Oh, I forgot to mention that I now see where the sister-in-law has discovered this hithertofore unknown love for brand of the douchebags, Jack Wills. All of her boyfriend's farmer/builder friends were sporting JW polos or rugby tops.
So once again, my sister-in-law basically changes who she is, because of a boy with terrible teeth. Par for the course. Out went the lesbo trainers, jeans and hoodies, in come the heels and skirts. She got her tattoo and wanted to get them things that stretch out your earlobes because of the last boyfriend (he was covered in tattoos and had in those things that stretch out your earlobes). He wanted to go to New Zealand, she wanted to go to New Zealand. She went bleached blonde and got a stupid haircut because of the one before that (he was bleached blonde and had a stupid haircut). So now the farmer likes Jack Wills, Mr Bunny has to drop fifty quid on Jack Wills' vouchers.
I've realised how lucky I am, that even though Mr Bunny isn't at all into designer labels (apart from his twenty-four pairs of Diesel jeans), he lets me indulge myself and he doesn't normally complain. Even though he sometimes annoys me to the point where I want nothing more than to punch him square in the middle of the face, he's always been happy to let me do my thing.
And I guess I'm also lucky because I sort of know who I am and I'm stubborn enough to stick to it. :P
Thursday 25 November 2010
Wednesday 24 November 2010
What? More frigging Post Mortem?
We sit down at the table, and my poor sister is stuck next to Fat Suuuu (ok, I'd just like to clarify that Fat Suuu is not morbidly obese or anything. She's just a little bit chubby. But since I am one for nicknames, this is how I always refer to her). Fat Suuu was next to The Bell, and The Bell's boyfriend. Fat Suuu's boyfriend was next to Mr Bunny. It was a very odd seating arrangement, but the gin was kicking in, so I didn't give a shit.
So I ordered the pate to start with, followed by the potted shrimps. Mr Bunny ordered the potted shrimps to start with, followed by the lamb's liver. My sister chose the potted shrimps followed by the duck. Fat Suuuu ordered everything. Ok no, she didn't. I honestly didn't pay attention to what she chose, because I was too busy wondering if I should have the lamb shank instead. Then the waitress got to The Bell. The Bell dithered for so long, the waitress actually said "I'm going to have to take the order from the next table and come back to you. Is that alright?" The Bell just tittered and said ok and began to think out loud. If you had ever heard The Bell's voice, you would know just how painful this is. It was all I could do to not cringe and shout out"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Instead, I just chatted a bit with Mr Bunny. The waitress came back, took The Bell's order and that was that.
Then Fat Suuu clocked my bag. She was like "Oh, is that a genuine Jimmy Choo?" And I just looked at her and was like, in this fake posh voice, "It is indeed madam. I don't do knock-offs darling." And I smiled so she'd think "Well, at least she's a funny bitch." So then she asks where I got it, and I said "Um, Jimmy Choo." I mean, like d'uh. Steups. I was just waiting for the follow up questions and she did not disappoint. "Oooh, which one? Was it expensive?" So I'm like "Jimmy Choo in Cannes. It wasn't cheap, but I really wanted it. So they saved it for me, I sent them the money and they posted it. It was pretty easy." Then she says "Wow. That's cool. Was it for your birthday or something?" And this is where I saw my chance to put the boot in. Rub her nose in it. Make her regret her past mistakes. "Nah. I just saw it and wanted it. Like I said, it wasn't cheap, but I was like whatevs. I love it, so I'm having it." She goes a bit red, and I want to laugh SO badly. But then she goes "Didn't Mr Bunny say anything?" and says to him "Mr Bunny, you didn't mind?" And God bless Mr Bunny for saying "Meh. She likes her handbags. Everyone has their thing." and shrugging while smiling.
It was right then that it became clear to me why I married him.
So then she starts to ask him how he's finding life back in England and all that. I tune them out and chat a bit to my sister, who whispers to me that she thinks The Bell has noticed that every time she speaks, I make this face. My sister had noticed that every time The Bell said something, she'd look over at me to see what my reaction was. It looks like I was doing it unconsciously. Oh my.
I fully expected them two to be all up in my shits, prying into my business and trying to find out exactly how we live and what not. And so said, so done. All the questions were there, nosiness in full swing. To be honest, I didn't really care. I mean, if they wanted to spend their evening talking about me, then whatevs. They both had boyfriends there, but they only factored into the equation occasionally. I also wondered if the boyfriends knew about the history of this little incestuous group- The Bell and Mark, The Bell and Mr Bunny, sister-in-law with The Han, sister-in-law with Mark, The Bell kind of with The Han. It's all very 'Friends' and all very disgusting.
Fat Suuu's boyfriend is bloody brilliant though. He got drunk very quickly and was soon talking loudly and making jokes. When someone whipped out a camera, he began doing Magnum and Blue Steel in which ever direction the lens was pointing. At one point, he had to ask Suuu for money because he didn't have any cash. Turns out he has a massive gambling problem and isn't particularly 'solvent'. Oh me, oh my. The Bell's boyfriend only comes up to my waist, bless his tiny little heart. I got a chance to have a little chat with them, when the two harpies did that annoying girlie thing and went to the loo together. They're both really nice guys and they both have my sympathy.
The food comes, it's deelishis and we all chow down and make small talk. They seemed very curious to know what we did on the weekends. This meant that I had to reciprocate and pretend I gave a shit about what they got up to on Saturdays and Sundays. The Bell then brings up some restaurant that I simply must get Mr Bunny to take me to. It's called Cock & Barrel or something like that. Suuu's boyfriend latched on to that and started shouting out "Cock! Cock! Cock!" She was obviously embarassed. I mean, let's be honest, Mr Bunny would have gotten the look by then. So she says "Oi, stop it! Please, just ignore him. He gets like this sometimes." And I genuinely felt sorry for her. Mr Bunny can be a bit of a douche when he's had a few too many, so I know how annoying it is.
However all this sympathy flew out of my arse a few moments later. Mr Bunny went to the bar to replenish my uncomfortably low drink. Suuu and The Bell decided to go get another bottle of wine. I turned around in my seat to try and get his attention to tell him I actually fancied a vodka instead of gin, when I saw a white hand on his lower back, touching him in a way that most def did not say "Yeah, we're just mates." In a split second, I thought about going over there and punching someone out, about shouting across the room to startle them and about pretending as if I'd seen nothing. I went with option three. When Mr Bunny came back, he whispered to me "Fucking Suuu keeps touching me. What's her problem?" and I just looked at him.
They tried to convince us to stay out and follow them into Nantwich so we could continue the festivities. Um, no. I'm good thanks. I didn't even want to be in the stupid pub! I'd extend the torture by willingly going to another pub with them? I may be a little weird, but I'm not totally insane. As soon as was polite, we made our excuses and looked to hit the road. That's when it started "Oh no, you mustn't leave so soon. Stay for one more drink. Mr Bunny, why are you dragging her home so early? Oh come on, stay out with us. We'll make sure she gets home ok." And I'm thinking "Are these heifers for real? Like seriously? At what point in the evening did I ever act as if I wanted to socialise with you beyond these enforced social parameters?"
We just swatted away all that bollocks, said our goodbyes, got our coats and left. And I do not think I have ever been more relieved to leave a social gathering in my entire life. Even though Mini Han didn't come in the end (turns out he has a life in London), the evening wasn't as terrible as I thought. It was a bit, but the excellent food sort of made up for it.
I realised that I feel a bit sorry for the both of them. I'm also a bit baffled by all these feelings. I mean, yeah I married Mr Bunny and he is the homme de ma vie, but let's be honest- he's not the best looking guy I've ever seen. He does have his moments though, I must say. *wink wink*. Why are these chicks still toting feelings all these years later? He and I have been together for nearly five years and married for nearly three of those years. It's been nearly half a whole decade. Even longer for Suuu, since they broke up when Mr Bunny was like 22. I am just left to wonder why after all this time, they're still acting like this. I understand that they might feel that there's some unfinished business between them, when you think about the reasons why both relationships ended. Mr Bunny found out Suuu was cheating on him and dumped her. The Bell played a game and it backfired horribly on her. So neither of them really wanted things to end. I can also understand the resentment they may feel towards me. I mean, as far as they knew, Mr Bunny moved up to Preston for work. Nothing more. But he moves in to a flat where the awesome black girl just happened to live, and is married two years later. I'm an outsider to their little group, I'm a foreigner, I'm wicked clever, I have a degree, I'm the first black person they've ever really had any extended contact with and I don't conform to the stereotype and now they just don't know what to make of me. I come in and invade their little comfort zone and upset their equilibrium. If I wasn't the one who was so awesome, I'd hate me too!
I catch them sneaking glances at my engagment ring (the diamond's not as massive as I'd have liked, but it's still bigger than average). I see them checking Mr Bunny's ring finger. I remember before we even got married, Suuu asked him if he was planning to wear a ring. Sigh. When a bit of Mr Bunny's hair was sticking up and I smoothed it down, out of the corner of my eye I saw her looking at me. Fat Suuu especially finds any reason to touch him, which I can't say I mind. Since it really just rolls off his back.
What I can't hack is the fake friendliness. We're all sat around that table and they're acting like we're all best mates and do this on a regular basis. "Oh, you really must come round to Suuu's on a Friday and have some wine with us." "Oooooh, you really have to come out with us in Nantwich one night. It'll be brilliant!" "Ooooh, next time you're going to the pub give us a shout."
Yeah right bitches!
You don't like me, you don't like me. That's fine. I'm ok with that. I don't expect you to like me. But don't pretend to be my best mate. The Bell seems to have completely forgotten her rather bizarre behaviour just over a year ago, when I nearly ended up cussing her out on the phone. Instead, when Mr Bunny phoned his sister, I kindly gave her a carefully worded message that I know she passed on. Long story! I don't have time for white girls like you. I knew enough of you at uni and they irritated me no end! I can deal with the fact that you're the exes and that you will all at certain times, end up hanging out together. I don't mind that you and his sister are all dead tight. I don't mind that he might run into you at her house or in a pub or something. It's ok. I trust Mr Bunny implicitly. I don't really trust you, but hey, them's the breaks. But you are not my equal in any way, shape or form. So I'm good, ta. I'll be civil and polite when we see each other, but please stop with the bullshit. It just does my head in and in any case, I'm better at it than you.
I mean after all, I am the winner.
So I ordered the pate to start with, followed by the potted shrimps. Mr Bunny ordered the potted shrimps to start with, followed by the lamb's liver. My sister chose the potted shrimps followed by the duck. Fat Suuuu ordered everything. Ok no, she didn't. I honestly didn't pay attention to what she chose, because I was too busy wondering if I should have the lamb shank instead. Then the waitress got to The Bell. The Bell dithered for so long, the waitress actually said "I'm going to have to take the order from the next table and come back to you. Is that alright?" The Bell just tittered and said ok and began to think out loud. If you had ever heard The Bell's voice, you would know just how painful this is. It was all I could do to not cringe and shout out"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Instead, I just chatted a bit with Mr Bunny. The waitress came back, took The Bell's order and that was that.
Then Fat Suuu clocked my bag. She was like "Oh, is that a genuine Jimmy Choo?" And I just looked at her and was like, in this fake posh voice, "It is indeed madam. I don't do knock-offs darling." And I smiled so she'd think "Well, at least she's a funny bitch." So then she asks where I got it, and I said "Um, Jimmy Choo." I mean, like d'uh. Steups. I was just waiting for the follow up questions and she did not disappoint. "Oooh, which one? Was it expensive?" So I'm like "Jimmy Choo in Cannes. It wasn't cheap, but I really wanted it. So they saved it for me, I sent them the money and they posted it. It was pretty easy." Then she says "Wow. That's cool. Was it for your birthday or something?" And this is where I saw my chance to put the boot in. Rub her nose in it. Make her regret her past mistakes. "Nah. I just saw it and wanted it. Like I said, it wasn't cheap, but I was like whatevs. I love it, so I'm having it." She goes a bit red, and I want to laugh SO badly. But then she goes "Didn't Mr Bunny say anything?" and says to him "Mr Bunny, you didn't mind?" And God bless Mr Bunny for saying "Meh. She likes her handbags. Everyone has their thing." and shrugging while smiling.
It was right then that it became clear to me why I married him.
So then she starts to ask him how he's finding life back in England and all that. I tune them out and chat a bit to my sister, who whispers to me that she thinks The Bell has noticed that every time she speaks, I make this face. My sister had noticed that every time The Bell said something, she'd look over at me to see what my reaction was. It looks like I was doing it unconsciously. Oh my.
I fully expected them two to be all up in my shits, prying into my business and trying to find out exactly how we live and what not. And so said, so done. All the questions were there, nosiness in full swing. To be honest, I didn't really care. I mean, if they wanted to spend their evening talking about me, then whatevs. They both had boyfriends there, but they only factored into the equation occasionally. I also wondered if the boyfriends knew about the history of this little incestuous group- The Bell and Mark, The Bell and Mr Bunny, sister-in-law with The Han, sister-in-law with Mark, The Bell kind of with The Han. It's all very 'Friends' and all very disgusting.
Fat Suuu's boyfriend is bloody brilliant though. He got drunk very quickly and was soon talking loudly and making jokes. When someone whipped out a camera, he began doing Magnum and Blue Steel in which ever direction the lens was pointing. At one point, he had to ask Suuu for money because he didn't have any cash. Turns out he has a massive gambling problem and isn't particularly 'solvent'. Oh me, oh my. The Bell's boyfriend only comes up to my waist, bless his tiny little heart. I got a chance to have a little chat with them, when the two harpies did that annoying girlie thing and went to the loo together. They're both really nice guys and they both have my sympathy.
The food comes, it's deelishis and we all chow down and make small talk. They seemed very curious to know what we did on the weekends. This meant that I had to reciprocate and pretend I gave a shit about what they got up to on Saturdays and Sundays. The Bell then brings up some restaurant that I simply must get Mr Bunny to take me to. It's called Cock & Barrel or something like that. Suuu's boyfriend latched on to that and started shouting out "Cock! Cock! Cock!" She was obviously embarassed. I mean, let's be honest, Mr Bunny would have gotten the look by then. So she says "Oi, stop it! Please, just ignore him. He gets like this sometimes." And I genuinely felt sorry for her. Mr Bunny can be a bit of a douche when he's had a few too many, so I know how annoying it is.
However all this sympathy flew out of my arse a few moments later. Mr Bunny went to the bar to replenish my uncomfortably low drink. Suuu and The Bell decided to go get another bottle of wine. I turned around in my seat to try and get his attention to tell him I actually fancied a vodka instead of gin, when I saw a white hand on his lower back, touching him in a way that most def did not say "Yeah, we're just mates." In a split second, I thought about going over there and punching someone out, about shouting across the room to startle them and about pretending as if I'd seen nothing. I went with option three. When Mr Bunny came back, he whispered to me "Fucking Suuu keeps touching me. What's her problem?" and I just looked at him.
They tried to convince us to stay out and follow them into Nantwich so we could continue the festivities. Um, no. I'm good thanks. I didn't even want to be in the stupid pub! I'd extend the torture by willingly going to another pub with them? I may be a little weird, but I'm not totally insane. As soon as was polite, we made our excuses and looked to hit the road. That's when it started "Oh no, you mustn't leave so soon. Stay for one more drink. Mr Bunny, why are you dragging her home so early? Oh come on, stay out with us. We'll make sure she gets home ok." And I'm thinking "Are these heifers for real? Like seriously? At what point in the evening did I ever act as if I wanted to socialise with you beyond these enforced social parameters?"
We just swatted away all that bollocks, said our goodbyes, got our coats and left. And I do not think I have ever been more relieved to leave a social gathering in my entire life. Even though Mini Han didn't come in the end (turns out he has a life in London), the evening wasn't as terrible as I thought. It was a bit, but the excellent food sort of made up for it.
I realised that I feel a bit sorry for the both of them. I'm also a bit baffled by all these feelings. I mean, yeah I married Mr Bunny and he is the homme de ma vie, but let's be honest- he's not the best looking guy I've ever seen. He does have his moments though, I must say. *wink wink*. Why are these chicks still toting feelings all these years later? He and I have been together for nearly five years and married for nearly three of those years. It's been nearly half a whole decade. Even longer for Suuu, since they broke up when Mr Bunny was like 22. I am just left to wonder why after all this time, they're still acting like this. I understand that they might feel that there's some unfinished business between them, when you think about the reasons why both relationships ended. Mr Bunny found out Suuu was cheating on him and dumped her. The Bell played a game and it backfired horribly on her. So neither of them really wanted things to end. I can also understand the resentment they may feel towards me. I mean, as far as they knew, Mr Bunny moved up to Preston for work. Nothing more. But he moves in to a flat where the awesome black girl just happened to live, and is married two years later. I'm an outsider to their little group, I'm a foreigner, I'm wicked clever, I have a degree, I'm the first black person they've ever really had any extended contact with and I don't conform to the stereotype and now they just don't know what to make of me. I come in and invade their little comfort zone and upset their equilibrium. If I wasn't the one who was so awesome, I'd hate me too!
I catch them sneaking glances at my engagment ring (the diamond's not as massive as I'd have liked, but it's still bigger than average). I see them checking Mr Bunny's ring finger. I remember before we even got married, Suuu asked him if he was planning to wear a ring. Sigh. When a bit of Mr Bunny's hair was sticking up and I smoothed it down, out of the corner of my eye I saw her looking at me. Fat Suuu especially finds any reason to touch him, which I can't say I mind. Since it really just rolls off his back.
What I can't hack is the fake friendliness. We're all sat around that table and they're acting like we're all best mates and do this on a regular basis. "Oh, you really must come round to Suuu's on a Friday and have some wine with us." "Oooooh, you really have to come out with us in Nantwich one night. It'll be brilliant!" "Ooooh, next time you're going to the pub give us a shout."
Yeah right bitches!
You don't like me, you don't like me. That's fine. I'm ok with that. I don't expect you to like me. But don't pretend to be my best mate. The Bell seems to have completely forgotten her rather bizarre behaviour just over a year ago, when I nearly ended up cussing her out on the phone. Instead, when Mr Bunny phoned his sister, I kindly gave her a carefully worded message that I know she passed on. Long story! I don't have time for white girls like you. I knew enough of you at uni and they irritated me no end! I can deal with the fact that you're the exes and that you will all at certain times, end up hanging out together. I don't mind that you and his sister are all dead tight. I don't mind that he might run into you at her house or in a pub or something. It's ok. I trust Mr Bunny implicitly. I don't really trust you, but hey, them's the breaks. But you are not my equal in any way, shape or form. So I'm good, ta. I'll be civil and polite when we see each other, but please stop with the bullshit. It just does my head in and in any case, I'm better at it than you.
I mean after all, I am the winner.
Tuesday 23 November 2010
A further Post Mortem
So dear reader, we left it with me deciding to look fairly casual, not wanting to waste any of my proper clothes on the world's worst guest list. I'd ordered a wicked playsuit from Topshop a few weeks ago, and it looked brilliant when I tried it on. But I didn't order it for this and I wasn't going to waste it on them.
We'd decided to drive to the pub and meet everyone there. And just so we wouldn't have to give anyone a lift back, we were going to go in the Alfa, since it only has two seats and we can say "Ah, sorry. Our car's only got two seats." But then my sister is staying with my for a couple days, and Mr Bunny practically BEGGED her to come along, so we ended up going in our boring car. So we're getting dressed and his sister texts him to say that we can all meet up at her place and we can follow them to the pub. We'd planned to follow the trusty sat-nav, since it hasn't failed us yet. But he told her we'd do it. So she said to be at hers for between half-six and seven. So I said we'd get there for seven, to minimise the awkwardness of just hanging around her house. Then she texts and says to get to hers for quarter to six. Twenty minutes later she texts again and says to get there for seven instead. At this point, I was ready to rip off my dress and climb into bed.
So I punched her postcode into the sat-nav and we set off. However, she neglected to give any information as to how to actually find her bloody house. She lives on a main road, in a place called Villa Farm. So the sat-nav says "You have reached your destination" of course, when we're on the main road. And we're there driving as slowly we could do without pissing off the drivers behind us, looking for the tiny sign that would say 'Villa Farm'. She could have said "Yeah, it's just past the village store, over the bridge on the right." But she just said "There's an electric gate." And we ended up driving up and down this road for about ten minutes, with Mr Bunny's blood pressure slowly rising and me wishing more and more that I was at home watching Harry Hill's TV Burp. Par for the course with her. So I had to end up ringing her and swallowing the urge to shout "You stupid bint! Give proper directions!!!"
Anyway, we finally make it to her house and she wants us to come inside. Right away I clock that she's wearing a dress and heels. At first I get pissed off, because I'm like "Wait a minute, she said no dresses, since it wasn't really a fancy 'do'." Then I'm surprised, because she never wears dresses and heels. Like, never. Seriously. She's always saying that she can't walk in heels and she loves her trainers and jeans. And of course that always makes me skin up my face and go "Oh, I don't wear jeans or trainers." I can't help it. So we go inside so she can show off her little love nest, then I realise that her car isn't there and I twig that she's actually coming with us! Yeah, thanks for checking that it was ok. What if we'd actually come in the Alfa? I mean, I would have happily strapped her to the roof, but I don't think she would have appreciated that. Steups. She finishes showing off, and we jump in the car and head off. I switched the sat-nav back on, but she was like "Oh no, you don't need it. I know how to get there."
Sigh.
Turns out the pub is fucking miles away and she is just as shit at giving directions in person. At one point, Mr Bunny had to do like an eight point turn in a country lane, because she didn't know her left from her right. But oddly enough, that wasn't the low point of the evening. So we're inside and I order a double G&T and a bottle of alcoholic ginger beer. And she's busy schmoozing and kissing her boyfriend, who really does look like a farmer. She then comes over to make the announcement that the two exes are going to be late, because The Bell is such a flake. Oh my God! Like totally! Yes, she and The Bell had made up a few weeks ago and she has been welcomed back into the fold as if she wasn't a class A fuckwit. Then again, they're all Class A fuckwits, so birds of a feather and all that.
Then the moment arrives. They arrive, all dresses and opaque tights and heels. If I was a paranoid person, I'd have thought that she said it wasn't dressy in an attempt to get me to turn up in jeans and slippers. But she clearly underestimated my powers. For in a simple black maxi dress, earrings and pashmina, I managed to look all classy and understated 'n' shit. While they looked like they were trying too hard. You can't polish a turd. Look, it's a fact. Deal with it.
So I'm standing next to Mr Bunny and my sister when Fatsooo makes a beeline over to us, abandoning her own boyfriend who just looked on, and kisses Mr Bunny on the cheek. And she stands there making small talk with me and trying to find out my business. However, all that ended up confirming, was the fact that the coven sit around talking about me. Because she brings up the Alfa and says "But isn't it your car?" To which I replied "Yeah, Mr Bunny bought it for me, but I think I fancy something else now." and also "So have you qualified yet? What are your languages again?". These are things neither myself nor Mr Bunny have told her. She knows nothing about the car situation from me and I have never told her I was doing my MA. She also sought out confirmation on certain aspects of our life "So does he just give you the card and let you go shopping?" and I answered loftily "No, we have a joint account and I have all his credit cards and access to his current account, so I just take as much as I want, whenever I want." She just looked at me and I smiled at her.
Then The Bell comes over and I am suddenly engrossed in the menu. But her shrill tones prove too hard to ignore and she touches me on the arm "Ooooh, nice to see you. You look lovely. That's a nice simple dress" And I just say "Yeah, didn't feel like dressing up just to come to the pub. Didn't see the point in it." And we all laugh like drains. I know I'm partly to blame for the continuing 'atmosphere' but I can't help it. I should be the bigger person and let these little comments and questions just roll off my back, but I just can't seem to do it. I know all I'm doing is throwing more fuel on to the fire, but is it really all my fault? Bah.
So I make a bit of small talk, get introduced to Fatsooo's boyfriend (who it turns out, is bloody hilarious and a very loud drunk) then we get told we can be seated. I go to the bar with my sister and tell Mr Bunny to get some seats. Another G&T and a pint for Mr Bunny. Mr Bunny then came to the bar with a fairly apologetic look on his face- we've ended up on a table with The Bell and Fatsooo. That, dear reader, was the low point of my evening. It could have been a billion times worse though. I could've ended up being sat next to the sister-in-law and the farmer.
...I guess.
We'd decided to drive to the pub and meet everyone there. And just so we wouldn't have to give anyone a lift back, we were going to go in the Alfa, since it only has two seats and we can say "Ah, sorry. Our car's only got two seats." But then my sister is staying with my for a couple days, and Mr Bunny practically BEGGED her to come along, so we ended up going in our boring car. So we're getting dressed and his sister texts him to say that we can all meet up at her place and we can follow them to the pub. We'd planned to follow the trusty sat-nav, since it hasn't failed us yet. But he told her we'd do it. So she said to be at hers for between half-six and seven. So I said we'd get there for seven, to minimise the awkwardness of just hanging around her house. Then she texts and says to get to hers for quarter to six. Twenty minutes later she texts again and says to get there for seven instead. At this point, I was ready to rip off my dress and climb into bed.
So I punched her postcode into the sat-nav and we set off. However, she neglected to give any information as to how to actually find her bloody house. She lives on a main road, in a place called Villa Farm. So the sat-nav says "You have reached your destination" of course, when we're on the main road. And we're there driving as slowly we could do without pissing off the drivers behind us, looking for the tiny sign that would say 'Villa Farm'. She could have said "Yeah, it's just past the village store, over the bridge on the right." But she just said "There's an electric gate." And we ended up driving up and down this road for about ten minutes, with Mr Bunny's blood pressure slowly rising and me wishing more and more that I was at home watching Harry Hill's TV Burp. Par for the course with her. So I had to end up ringing her and swallowing the urge to shout "You stupid bint! Give proper directions!!!"
Anyway, we finally make it to her house and she wants us to come inside. Right away I clock that she's wearing a dress and heels. At first I get pissed off, because I'm like "Wait a minute, she said no dresses, since it wasn't really a fancy 'do'." Then I'm surprised, because she never wears dresses and heels. Like, never. Seriously. She's always saying that she can't walk in heels and she loves her trainers and jeans. And of course that always makes me skin up my face and go "Oh, I don't wear jeans or trainers." I can't help it. So we go inside so she can show off her little love nest, then I realise that her car isn't there and I twig that she's actually coming with us! Yeah, thanks for checking that it was ok. What if we'd actually come in the Alfa? I mean, I would have happily strapped her to the roof, but I don't think she would have appreciated that. Steups. She finishes showing off, and we jump in the car and head off. I switched the sat-nav back on, but she was like "Oh no, you don't need it. I know how to get there."
Sigh.
Turns out the pub is fucking miles away and she is just as shit at giving directions in person. At one point, Mr Bunny had to do like an eight point turn in a country lane, because she didn't know her left from her right. But oddly enough, that wasn't the low point of the evening. So we're inside and I order a double G&T and a bottle of alcoholic ginger beer. And she's busy schmoozing and kissing her boyfriend, who really does look like a farmer. She then comes over to make the announcement that the two exes are going to be late, because The Bell is such a flake. Oh my God! Like totally! Yes, she and The Bell had made up a few weeks ago and she has been welcomed back into the fold as if she wasn't a class A fuckwit. Then again, they're all Class A fuckwits, so birds of a feather and all that.
Then the moment arrives. They arrive, all dresses and opaque tights and heels. If I was a paranoid person, I'd have thought that she said it wasn't dressy in an attempt to get me to turn up in jeans and slippers. But she clearly underestimated my powers. For in a simple black maxi dress, earrings and pashmina, I managed to look all classy and understated 'n' shit. While they looked like they were trying too hard. You can't polish a turd. Look, it's a fact. Deal with it.
So I'm standing next to Mr Bunny and my sister when Fatsooo makes a beeline over to us, abandoning her own boyfriend who just looked on, and kisses Mr Bunny on the cheek. And she stands there making small talk with me and trying to find out my business. However, all that ended up confirming, was the fact that the coven sit around talking about me. Because she brings up the Alfa and says "But isn't it your car?" To which I replied "Yeah, Mr Bunny bought it for me, but I think I fancy something else now." and also "So have you qualified yet? What are your languages again?". These are things neither myself nor Mr Bunny have told her. She knows nothing about the car situation from me and I have never told her I was doing my MA. She also sought out confirmation on certain aspects of our life "So does he just give you the card and let you go shopping?" and I answered loftily "No, we have a joint account and I have all his credit cards and access to his current account, so I just take as much as I want, whenever I want." She just looked at me and I smiled at her.
Then The Bell comes over and I am suddenly engrossed in the menu. But her shrill tones prove too hard to ignore and she touches me on the arm "Ooooh, nice to see you. You look lovely. That's a nice simple dress" And I just say "Yeah, didn't feel like dressing up just to come to the pub. Didn't see the point in it." And we all laugh like drains. I know I'm partly to blame for the continuing 'atmosphere' but I can't help it. I should be the bigger person and let these little comments and questions just roll off my back, but I just can't seem to do it. I know all I'm doing is throwing more fuel on to the fire, but is it really all my fault? Bah.
So I make a bit of small talk, get introduced to Fatsooo's boyfriend (who it turns out, is bloody hilarious and a very loud drunk) then we get told we can be seated. I go to the bar with my sister and tell Mr Bunny to get some seats. Another G&T and a pint for Mr Bunny. Mr Bunny then came to the bar with a fairly apologetic look on his face- we've ended up on a table with The Bell and Fatsooo. That, dear reader, was the low point of my evening. It could have been a billion times worse though. I could've ended up being sat next to the sister-in-law and the farmer.
...I guess.
Monday 22 November 2010
Post Mortem
So Saturday was the dreaded day and I have survived to tell the tale. Was it as horrific as I envisioned it would be? Only marginally so. Was it amusing enough to not be painful? Meh. Would I do it again? No, not so much.
This thing has been building up ever since she announced her intention to force us all to spend time in each other's company. This was done via the medium of Facebook. Facebook is apparently now a suitable tool for declaring such things. People will soon be announcing their divorces and death of loved ones on FB. Anyway, she created this event on Facebook and invited a load of people. But she was very crafty and made it super-private, so you couldn't even see who else was invited. Mr Bunny accepted the invite a couple days after she sent it out and I held out for as long as was decently possible, then caved to marital pressure and clicked 'attending'.
However, at one point earlier this month, Mr Bunny and I had a massive blowout (about his sister. Another long story in itself. Sigh!) and he shouted "Fuck it! I can't deal with this shit. We're not fucking going to that dinner." As if that was supposed to be some sort of punishment. A couple days afterwards, she texted him to ask why he wasn't coming, since he'd apparently changed his RSVP to 'not attending'. He made up some bullshit about not being able to see who was on the guestlist, so he just thought he'd do that in case it wasn't on anymore. Steups. So she said she wasn't aware she'd done that and she'd change it, so we could all see the guest list.
And just like that, we were going again.
When she did that, it was then that the full horror of the event was unleashed upon me. The Bell was going. This surprised me greatly, since she and The Bell had fallen out in a big way a few months ago, and she moaned about it at great length the last time we had a drink with her. So imagine the groan that arose from my throat when I saw that The Bell was meant to be in attendance. In addition, there was also Fatsooo, who is still obviously in love with Mr Bunny. But it was all going to be tolerable because Mini Han was meant to come up from London. Mini Han's good people and very lovely to hang around with. So at least I had that to hang on to. With Mini Han there, the evening would be bearable.
I obviously had no desire to go to this little soiree, but I knew if I didn't go, it would look bad on a couple fronts. But mostly to the two douchebag exes. You see, you have to play the game. They're already looking for any chink, any crack, any dent in the relationship, so my non-appearance will be fodder for gossip. Mr Bunny does not understand this. He has no idea that every single word coming out of their mouths is loaded. He thinks it is just my imagination. But my female friends totally get what I'm saying. "Where's Bunny? How come she didn't come? Is everything ok?" It'd be a lose/lose situation. I'd either be a bitch who hates her sister-in-law, worried about the exes and thus want to avoid them, or having marital problems. Plus if he didn't go, they would all think exactly the same and blame ME for it. So the path of least resistance was to just go to the bloody thing, grin and bear it.
So a couple weeks ago, or maybe last week, I texted the sister-in-law to ask her what the dress code was for this pub. I texted from Mr Bunny's phone, pretending to be him. She said it wouldn't be at all dressy, since it's just a country pub, so he could wear jeans and a shirt and I wouldn't need to wear a dress or anything. But I still wanted to buy something new, since I just wanted something new. I didn't find anything, but decided to wear a maxi dress I pulled out from my wardrobe. I just couldn't be arsed really. And I thought "Well, she did say no dresses, but this isn't too dressy. So it'll be cool."
Or that's what I thought.
This thing has been building up ever since she announced her intention to force us all to spend time in each other's company. This was done via the medium of Facebook. Facebook is apparently now a suitable tool for declaring such things. People will soon be announcing their divorces and death of loved ones on FB. Anyway, she created this event on Facebook and invited a load of people. But she was very crafty and made it super-private, so you couldn't even see who else was invited. Mr Bunny accepted the invite a couple days after she sent it out and I held out for as long as was decently possible, then caved to marital pressure and clicked 'attending'.
However, at one point earlier this month, Mr Bunny and I had a massive blowout (about his sister. Another long story in itself. Sigh!) and he shouted "Fuck it! I can't deal with this shit. We're not fucking going to that dinner." As if that was supposed to be some sort of punishment. A couple days afterwards, she texted him to ask why he wasn't coming, since he'd apparently changed his RSVP to 'not attending'. He made up some bullshit about not being able to see who was on the guestlist, so he just thought he'd do that in case it wasn't on anymore. Steups. So she said she wasn't aware she'd done that and she'd change it, so we could all see the guest list.
And just like that, we were going again.
When she did that, it was then that the full horror of the event was unleashed upon me. The Bell was going. This surprised me greatly, since she and The Bell had fallen out in a big way a few months ago, and she moaned about it at great length the last time we had a drink with her. So imagine the groan that arose from my throat when I saw that The Bell was meant to be in attendance. In addition, there was also Fatsooo, who is still obviously in love with Mr Bunny. But it was all going to be tolerable because Mini Han was meant to come up from London. Mini Han's good people and very lovely to hang around with. So at least I had that to hang on to. With Mini Han there, the evening would be bearable.
I obviously had no desire to go to this little soiree, but I knew if I didn't go, it would look bad on a couple fronts. But mostly to the two douchebag exes. You see, you have to play the game. They're already looking for any chink, any crack, any dent in the relationship, so my non-appearance will be fodder for gossip. Mr Bunny does not understand this. He has no idea that every single word coming out of their mouths is loaded. He thinks it is just my imagination. But my female friends totally get what I'm saying. "Where's Bunny? How come she didn't come? Is everything ok?" It'd be a lose/lose situation. I'd either be a bitch who hates her sister-in-law, worried about the exes and thus want to avoid them, or having marital problems. Plus if he didn't go, they would all think exactly the same and blame ME for it. So the path of least resistance was to just go to the bloody thing, grin and bear it.
So a couple weeks ago, or maybe last week, I texted the sister-in-law to ask her what the dress code was for this pub. I texted from Mr Bunny's phone, pretending to be him. She said it wouldn't be at all dressy, since it's just a country pub, so he could wear jeans and a shirt and I wouldn't need to wear a dress or anything. But I still wanted to buy something new, since I just wanted something new. I didn't find anything, but decided to wear a maxi dress I pulled out from my wardrobe. I just couldn't be arsed really. And I thought "Well, she did say no dresses, but this isn't too dressy. So it'll be cool."
Or that's what I thought.
Friday 19 November 2010
In memoriam
Our new kettle has just arrived, so I'd just like to have a moment of silence for our crackhead lifestyle. The saucepan used to boil water will now be relegated to the cupboard. Unfortunately, I've not been able to try out the new kettle yet, because I'd just boiled the crackhead pan for some fresh tea. So once I've guzzled this pot, I'll be plugging in and switching on.
On a more sombre note, I cracked my cafetiere on an empty jar of pasta sauce. Don't ask. So now I need a new one, or a nice posh teapot that has a press for looseleaf tea.
The Lord giveth with one hand, and taketh away with the other.
On a more sombre note, I cracked my cafetiere on an empty jar of pasta sauce. Don't ask. So now I need a new one, or a nice posh teapot that has a press for looseleaf tea.
The Lord giveth with one hand, and taketh away with the other.
Thursday 18 November 2010
Hurts doughnut?
My mom phoned me this morning, just to check in and say hello. She does this a couple times a week, and usually it goes well. And it was going well this morning, as per. Y'know, just chatting about our imminent move, my sister, Mr Bunny, the weather, the usual bollocks. But then it all went straight to hell. You see, I mentioned the upcoming dinner from hell and my profound desire to pass the evening tucked up in bed, watching Golden Girls and eating smoked salmon. My problems with the sister-in-law and the two exes are well known to my mother.
Anyway, I told her that I really couldn't be arsed to go, based on the guest list. And her advice to me? "Well, just make sure you don't do anything...just handle the situation in a, you know, dignified manner. Don't be difficult, eh?" And that just pissed me off. I mean, what the hell does she think I'll do? So I said to her "Eh? Who do you take me for? What do you think I'm going to do? Cuss them out and spit in their food? Yeah I'd bloody love to, but I'm not going to do that. Steups." Then she had a go at me for not inviting that chick to my wedding, telling me I behaved badly and I was in the wrong. And I wanted to release a barrage of F-bombs down the phone. But she's still my mother and she can still lay down some slaps on me if she wanted. So I just let out a long steups.
Look, I have NO regrets about not inviting that girl to my wedding. There were 10 people at my wedding, including me and Mr Bunny and the priest. Same for the meal. The problem arose when Mr Bunny, in a drunken haze decided to invite his mate, The Han. The Han's brother, Mini Han was best man. It was really a toss up a to who would get the gig. Mini Han won. Anyway, after the ceremony, we're back at the hotel having some drinks and Mr Bunny decides he wants to invite The Han to the meal, which I had zero issue with. I like The Han. He's a good laugh and he's always been very nice to me. My only stipulation was that he couldn't bring his girlfriend, since it wasn't a 'plus one' situation. My mate The Princess didn't bring her boyfriend, even though I knew him really well and she'd invited both of us to her wedding later on that year. Mini Han didn't bring his boyfriend, even though we also knew him and I quite like him. The Han's girlfriend on the other hand, I'd met her only once and she was a complete sour faced cow. PLUS The Han was thinking of breaking up with her! AND there were loads of close friends I hadn't invited because we were having a small, intimate wedding.
Why the hell would I want her at my wedding? In my pictures? Why should my dad pay for a meal for some girl I barely even know? I mean, if there were going to be hundreds at my wedding, yeah come in, sit down, get lashed. But I'd booked a table at this fab little restaurant for a nice quiet meal with our nearest and dearest. And that did not include her. Steups. In the end, I had to phone The Han myself, and tell him that 'plus ones' weren't invited. I did feel a little bad, but whatevs. But the way my parents reacted, you'd swear I just called up and cursed out my gran! Steups.
So anyway, homie is still toting feelings. Almost three years later. Bah. I maintain that I was in the right, and there is no one on this earth, who can tell me any different.
What really aggravates me even though, is that not only does my mother still think I was in the wrong with this whole wedding malarkey, but she obviously thinks so little of me that she feels I'm going to be a twat at the Meal from Hell TM. It's like this- I know I'm better than all of them. I'm better looking, better educated, a better dresser, classier and have cooler hair. In short, I'm just awesome. But I'm ace enough that my aceness just shines through. So there's no need for me to cuss up anyone or make sarcastic remarks or be a bitch. I can just sit there, being fab and smiling serenely and they won't have any choice but to sit there and take it.
And I guess it's just a little hurtful that my own mother doesn't see me like that. Instead she felt the need to make stupid remarks and piss me off, as is her wont these days. Steups.
Instead of wallowing though, I had smoked salmon, cream cheese and Ryvita, for it is the breakfast of the awesome!
Anyway, I told her that I really couldn't be arsed to go, based on the guest list. And her advice to me? "Well, just make sure you don't do anything...just handle the situation in a, you know, dignified manner. Don't be difficult, eh?" And that just pissed me off. I mean, what the hell does she think I'll do? So I said to her "Eh? Who do you take me for? What do you think I'm going to do? Cuss them out and spit in their food? Yeah I'd bloody love to, but I'm not going to do that. Steups." Then she had a go at me for not inviting that chick to my wedding, telling me I behaved badly and I was in the wrong. And I wanted to release a barrage of F-bombs down the phone. But she's still my mother and she can still lay down some slaps on me if she wanted. So I just let out a long steups.
Look, I have NO regrets about not inviting that girl to my wedding. There were 10 people at my wedding, including me and Mr Bunny and the priest. Same for the meal. The problem arose when Mr Bunny, in a drunken haze decided to invite his mate, The Han. The Han's brother, Mini Han was best man. It was really a toss up a to who would get the gig. Mini Han won. Anyway, after the ceremony, we're back at the hotel having some drinks and Mr Bunny decides he wants to invite The Han to the meal, which I had zero issue with. I like The Han. He's a good laugh and he's always been very nice to me. My only stipulation was that he couldn't bring his girlfriend, since it wasn't a 'plus one' situation. My mate The Princess didn't bring her boyfriend, even though I knew him really well and she'd invited both of us to her wedding later on that year. Mini Han didn't bring his boyfriend, even though we also knew him and I quite like him. The Han's girlfriend on the other hand, I'd met her only once and she was a complete sour faced cow. PLUS The Han was thinking of breaking up with her! AND there were loads of close friends I hadn't invited because we were having a small, intimate wedding.
Why the hell would I want her at my wedding? In my pictures? Why should my dad pay for a meal for some girl I barely even know? I mean, if there were going to be hundreds at my wedding, yeah come in, sit down, get lashed. But I'd booked a table at this fab little restaurant for a nice quiet meal with our nearest and dearest. And that did not include her. Steups. In the end, I had to phone The Han myself, and tell him that 'plus ones' weren't invited. I did feel a little bad, but whatevs. But the way my parents reacted, you'd swear I just called up and cursed out my gran! Steups.
So anyway, homie is still toting feelings. Almost three years later. Bah. I maintain that I was in the right, and there is no one on this earth, who can tell me any different.
What really aggravates me even though, is that not only does my mother still think I was in the wrong with this whole wedding malarkey, but she obviously thinks so little of me that she feels I'm going to be a twat at the Meal from Hell TM. It's like this- I know I'm better than all of them. I'm better looking, better educated, a better dresser, classier and have cooler hair. In short, I'm just awesome. But I'm ace enough that my aceness just shines through. So there's no need for me to cuss up anyone or make sarcastic remarks or be a bitch. I can just sit there, being fab and smiling serenely and they won't have any choice but to sit there and take it.
And I guess it's just a little hurtful that my own mother doesn't see me like that. Instead she felt the need to make stupid remarks and piss me off, as is her wont these days. Steups.
Instead of wallowing though, I had smoked salmon, cream cheese and Ryvita, for it is the breakfast of the awesome!
Wednesday 17 November 2010
I don't think he'd be too flattered...
So on Saturday, we went to Chester ostensibly to get a present for my sister-in-law's birthday, but also just to get out and enjoy the sunshine. It's that time of year when you have to run out and bask in the sun whenever you get the chance, what with the constant rain and barely six hours of daylight. Sigh. I personally prefer to sit in and keep warm and watch the tits who think wearing four layers of clothes is better than staying inside, wearing some fuzzy slippers and drinking a hot chocolate.
Anyway, we got the train and it looked like everyone else had the same idea. The train was surprisingly full and Chester city centre was a bit manic. A lot of the mania was thanks to tourists, since Chester is a historical city, full of Tudor buildings and Roman ruins. Admittedly, it is a lovely place and the buildings are listed, so you have all these shops in the original tudor construction, complete with uneven floors, bumpy walls and super-low ceilings. It's kind of cool, methinks.
I'm woefully off-track here so I'll try to rein it in a bit.
The reason why we ended up in Chester and not say, Manchester or Liverpool was because the sister-in-law (I really must think up a suitable nickname for her) wanted either iTunes vouchers or a gift voucher from this shop, Jack Wills. Now, when she first requested this, I was like "What the hell is Jack Wills? Sod it, just get her twenty-five quid in iTunes vouchers and leave it." Turns out that Jack Wills is a fashion chain, and their nearest branch is in Chester. I'd never in my life heard of this store so not only did Mr Bunny have to ask her what the hell she was talking about, I had to google it. Well, let me tell you I was not impressed in the least. Firstly their prices are ridiculous- I saw a dress for £730! And it wasn't even a nice dress! So we decided to actually go to Chester, kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
After the obligatory stop in Primark, Marks and Spencer's, Topshop and French Connection we found Jack Wills and went inside. And it was shit.
Jack Wills appears to want to be the British Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger, complete with exorbitant prices but with none of the brand recognition. I consider myself to be pretty au fait with well-known international brands. Mr Bunny would say I'm a brand whore, but that's just semantics in my opinion. I've always liked to wear 'name' products, ever since I became aware of the concept. So we used to wear LA Gear or Nike or Reebok or British Knights. Then I went through my phase of being 'understated' so I would only wear Keds. You had to have a 'genuine' rasta bag (though I don't really know what made one bag more genuine than the other. The length of the salesman's dreadlocks, perhaps?). Folders had to be Trapper Keeper. Then there was the whole 'choonky bag' phenomenon but some memories are best left repressed.
Now, I'm a grown-up and I still like to make sure my clothes and shoes are from reputable stores. I mean, yeah I shop at Primark and I rock the hell out of my five pound jumper or eight pound pinafore, and I worship at the altar of Topshop. But I'm awesome. I can get away with it. When I do want something classy and well made, I head for a place people have heard of. A lot of my winter wear is Ralph Lauren and I have a few Tommy Hilfiger polo shirts. When I worked, I had a couple of lovely Burberry shirts. The combined worth of the four handbags I use the most work out to about thirty-five hundred pounds. I bought two pairs of shoes from Russell & Bromley and nearly passed out when I got to the till and the girl told me the total, and Kurt Geiger has a fair amount of Mr Bunny's money. While I don't own any clothing from a major designer like Prada or Versace, I do know who they are. They've earned the right to charge ridiculously high prices. Their clothes are quality and amazing... a bit like me. *wink wink*
So what was this ill-thought out rant really about? The fact that Jack Wills thinks that by putting leather labels on some ugly plaid shorts or a tartan duffel bag, he has automatically earned the right to charge eighty-five quid for said items, I think says a lot more about the douchebags I saw in the surprisingly lengthy queue, than about Mr Wills himself. But why do I think he's imitating Ralph? Well, you know how Ralph has the polo ponies? Jack Wills has some sort of bird in a top hat and carrying a cane. You know how Ralph likes stripes in bold, contrasting colours? Jack Wills has stripes in bold contrasting colours. You know when you walk into a Ralph Lauren store, and it's instantly 'horsey'? There might be a saddle, some polo sticks or riding crops, and the mannequins will be in jodhpurs and riding boots. Well, in Jack Wills there was a pair of ice skates, a lacrosse stick and other assorted tat too dull to even remember.
But what shocked me the most, is the sheer number of people in the wretched place. When we first walked in, it was buzzing. But hey, everyone likes a browse, n'est-ce pas? It was only when we went to the join the queue to pay, I realised just how many knobheads there are in Chester. After three minutes of waiting, I was like "Fuck this. Just buy her some sodding iTunes vouchers so we can get the hell out of here." In an odd display of patience, Mr Bunny suggested we go to Starbucks, wait it out then come back. He is very cunning, because he knows that promising me a Hazlenut hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, will get me to agree to many things. So I had my hot chocolate, watched an obese barista throw out some croissants and pain aux raisins, imagined her going back to the bins after everyone had left and fishing them out so she could hoover them up, while Mr Bunny had a filter coffee and read the paper.
We walked back to Jack Wills, only to discover that even more tits had been suckered in, and the queue was even longer. I wanted to shout out "If you want clothes that look like Ralph Lauren's SHOP AT RALPH LAUREN!! The Big Pony Collection is ACE!!!!" But I felt that that would have been frowned upon by the shop staff who forget that they're earning minimum wage selling rip-off clothes and clearly feel that the only reason they haven't been recognised by the Nobel Prize committee is due to a mere oversight. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I wonder what Mr Lauren would make of the wholesale theft of his 'look'.
Anyway, we waited for what seemed like the rest of my natural life, and Mr Bunny swiped his card for a fifty quid voucher. As we were leaving however, I made my peace with the whole thing, by realising that my sister-in-law would fit in perfectly with the clientele there. The downside, is that this gift will be handed over during the dinner from hell.
But on the way home, we stopped at a chippy and I had what can only be described as a tower of chips. Saturated fats make everything better.
Anyway, we got the train and it looked like everyone else had the same idea. The train was surprisingly full and Chester city centre was a bit manic. A lot of the mania was thanks to tourists, since Chester is a historical city, full of Tudor buildings and Roman ruins. Admittedly, it is a lovely place and the buildings are listed, so you have all these shops in the original tudor construction, complete with uneven floors, bumpy walls and super-low ceilings. It's kind of cool, methinks.
I'm woefully off-track here so I'll try to rein it in a bit.
The reason why we ended up in Chester and not say, Manchester or Liverpool was because the sister-in-law (I really must think up a suitable nickname for her) wanted either iTunes vouchers or a gift voucher from this shop, Jack Wills. Now, when she first requested this, I was like "What the hell is Jack Wills? Sod it, just get her twenty-five quid in iTunes vouchers and leave it." Turns out that Jack Wills is a fashion chain, and their nearest branch is in Chester. I'd never in my life heard of this store so not only did Mr Bunny have to ask her what the hell she was talking about, I had to google it. Well, let me tell you I was not impressed in the least. Firstly their prices are ridiculous- I saw a dress for £730! And it wasn't even a nice dress! So we decided to actually go to Chester, kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.
After the obligatory stop in Primark, Marks and Spencer's, Topshop and French Connection we found Jack Wills and went inside. And it was shit.
Jack Wills appears to want to be the British Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger, complete with exorbitant prices but with none of the brand recognition. I consider myself to be pretty au fait with well-known international brands. Mr Bunny would say I'm a brand whore, but that's just semantics in my opinion. I've always liked to wear 'name' products, ever since I became aware of the concept. So we used to wear LA Gear or Nike or Reebok or British Knights. Then I went through my phase of being 'understated' so I would only wear Keds. You had to have a 'genuine' rasta bag (though I don't really know what made one bag more genuine than the other. The length of the salesman's dreadlocks, perhaps?). Folders had to be Trapper Keeper. Then there was the whole 'choonky bag' phenomenon but some memories are best left repressed.
Now, I'm a grown-up and I still like to make sure my clothes and shoes are from reputable stores. I mean, yeah I shop at Primark and I rock the hell out of my five pound jumper or eight pound pinafore, and I worship at the altar of Topshop. But I'm awesome. I can get away with it. When I do want something classy and well made, I head for a place people have heard of. A lot of my winter wear is Ralph Lauren and I have a few Tommy Hilfiger polo shirts. When I worked, I had a couple of lovely Burberry shirts. The combined worth of the four handbags I use the most work out to about thirty-five hundred pounds. I bought two pairs of shoes from Russell & Bromley and nearly passed out when I got to the till and the girl told me the total, and Kurt Geiger has a fair amount of Mr Bunny's money. While I don't own any clothing from a major designer like Prada or Versace, I do know who they are. They've earned the right to charge ridiculously high prices. Their clothes are quality and amazing... a bit like me. *wink wink*
So what was this ill-thought out rant really about? The fact that Jack Wills thinks that by putting leather labels on some ugly plaid shorts or a tartan duffel bag, he has automatically earned the right to charge eighty-five quid for said items, I think says a lot more about the douchebags I saw in the surprisingly lengthy queue, than about Mr Wills himself. But why do I think he's imitating Ralph? Well, you know how Ralph has the polo ponies? Jack Wills has some sort of bird in a top hat and carrying a cane. You know how Ralph likes stripes in bold, contrasting colours? Jack Wills has stripes in bold contrasting colours. You know when you walk into a Ralph Lauren store, and it's instantly 'horsey'? There might be a saddle, some polo sticks or riding crops, and the mannequins will be in jodhpurs and riding boots. Well, in Jack Wills there was a pair of ice skates, a lacrosse stick and other assorted tat too dull to even remember.
But what shocked me the most, is the sheer number of people in the wretched place. When we first walked in, it was buzzing. But hey, everyone likes a browse, n'est-ce pas? It was only when we went to the join the queue to pay, I realised just how many knobheads there are in Chester. After three minutes of waiting, I was like "Fuck this. Just buy her some sodding iTunes vouchers so we can get the hell out of here." In an odd display of patience, Mr Bunny suggested we go to Starbucks, wait it out then come back. He is very cunning, because he knows that promising me a Hazlenut hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, will get me to agree to many things. So I had my hot chocolate, watched an obese barista throw out some croissants and pain aux raisins, imagined her going back to the bins after everyone had left and fishing them out so she could hoover them up, while Mr Bunny had a filter coffee and read the paper.
We walked back to Jack Wills, only to discover that even more tits had been suckered in, and the queue was even longer. I wanted to shout out "If you want clothes that look like Ralph Lauren's SHOP AT RALPH LAUREN!! The Big Pony Collection is ACE!!!!" But I felt that that would have been frowned upon by the shop staff who forget that they're earning minimum wage selling rip-off clothes and clearly feel that the only reason they haven't been recognised by the Nobel Prize committee is due to a mere oversight. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I wonder what Mr Lauren would make of the wholesale theft of his 'look'.
Anyway, we waited for what seemed like the rest of my natural life, and Mr Bunny swiped his card for a fifty quid voucher. As we were leaving however, I made my peace with the whole thing, by realising that my sister-in-law would fit in perfectly with the clientele there. The downside, is that this gift will be handed over during the dinner from hell.
But on the way home, we stopped at a chippy and I had what can only be described as a tower of chips. Saturated fats make everything better.
Tuesday 16 November 2010
Tis a different kettle of fish
Yesterday I returned our kettle. It was the third time I've had to take it back and it pissed me off. I mean, it was a brilliant kettle. It was called a Hot Cup and it was by Breville. It boiled one cup at a time and it just looked cool. But the lid on the first one we had kept jamming, so I exchanged it for a new one. That lid stopped working as well so I took that one back. The lid on the third one started jamming as well, but I couldn't be arsed to return it so we soldiered on. But then it started cutting out for no apparent reason. This started a few weeks ago, but once again I couldn't be arsed to return it so we kept it. Then I nearly snapped one day and almost threw it through the window at three-legged cat, who just happened to be opening his bowels in my flowerbed at that moment.
So I went onto John Lewis' site to see what else they had to offer me and I found a wicked cool black and stainless steel kettle by Bosch. So yesterday I made the trip up to Preston with Mr Bunny and took the car while he was busy earning the money to keep me in Mulberry bags. After sitting in traffic caused by some terrible fog, I returned the kettle to the branch we originally bought it from, got my refund and just browsed for a bit. When I went to buy the new kettle, turns out they were out of stock, but the nice chap told me they should be getting some pretty soon. I decided to go to the Trafford Centre and try the branch there. After standing in a queue that could have easily been mistaken for the queue to draw one's pension, turns out that branch was out of stock too. But this even nicer man told me he could take my name, address and card details, and when the shipment came in, it would automatically ship the kettle to me.
So now we have no kettle and have been reduced to living like crackheads, boiling water in a saucepan. And seeing as I drink about seven or eight cups of tea in the morning, and the only liquids Mr Bunny drinks are tea and beer, we need a kettle and we need it fast. This gives the phrase 'a pot of tea' a whole new meaning.
This is my life and sometimes it's shit.
So I went onto John Lewis' site to see what else they had to offer me and I found a wicked cool black and stainless steel kettle by Bosch. So yesterday I made the trip up to Preston with Mr Bunny and took the car while he was busy earning the money to keep me in Mulberry bags. After sitting in traffic caused by some terrible fog, I returned the kettle to the branch we originally bought it from, got my refund and just browsed for a bit. When I went to buy the new kettle, turns out they were out of stock, but the nice chap told me they should be getting some pretty soon. I decided to go to the Trafford Centre and try the branch there. After standing in a queue that could have easily been mistaken for the queue to draw one's pension, turns out that branch was out of stock too. But this even nicer man told me he could take my name, address and card details, and when the shipment came in, it would automatically ship the kettle to me.
So now we have no kettle and have been reduced to living like crackheads, boiling water in a saucepan. And seeing as I drink about seven or eight cups of tea in the morning, and the only liquids Mr Bunny drinks are tea and beer, we need a kettle and we need it fast. This gives the phrase 'a pot of tea' a whole new meaning.
This is my life and sometimes it's shit.
Friday 12 November 2010
Give me strength
Exactly one week tomorrow, I will be attending the dinner from hell, with the guest list from hell. My sister-in-law's birthday is this month and as such, she wants to go for a meal next Saturday. I do not care very much for my sister-in-law. When we first met all those years ago, she was not very nice to me. It was as if she felt the need to make some sort of statement about control or whatever (LONG story). The fact that she did this in my own home was what I took umbrage at. It was so bad, even my future father-in-law (who was visiting us) was like "What the fuck's she playing at?" But no one said anything to curb her behaviour. I continued to make the effort, but after a while I was like "Wait, why the hell am I being a knobhead? Fuck it!" So I stopped. But now, she wants to make nice and I can't be fucking arsed. My feeling now is- I already have sisters and friends and I need more of neither.
Am I being harsh? Maybe. Am I being petty? Possibly. Do I give a shit? Not really. Mr Bunny cares though, but he can suck my plums. My feeling is that when he had the chance to nip the shit in the bud, he wimped out. He wanted to avoid confrontation, like he avoids his sister. So now he's trying to guilt me into making amends. But I'm still like "Fuck it."
But I digress.
So it's her birthday soon, and we have to go to this meal. So why is it going to be so hellish? Well in attendance will be both of Mr Bunny's long-term exes; or as I like to refer to them "The Losers." Oh did I not mention that my sister-in-law is best mates with them? Sigh.
Both of these exes hate me, for obvious reasons. In particular, the one who was with him months before we met despises me. I call her The Bell. I don't blame her though. For hating me I mean. It was her own stupid fault that they broke up. You see, they'd been together for two years, off and on. They lived together for most of that time. Then she broke up with him and vanished for like four months. When she reappeared, they got back together ad all was well. But then she broke up with him again. He then moved to Preston and met the awesome black girl and the rest is history, as they say. From what I was told, they were supposed to get back together and settle down. And up until a few weeks before we met, she and Mr Bunny were doing that typical ex thing, of hanging out together and boning down. So she thought they were on track for a reconciliation and the happy ending. And to some extent, so did he.
But then in swooped the black girl to jumbie her scene. Diddums.
The hilarious thing is that she so blatantly still fancied Mr Bunny and he was so horrifyingly oblivious. It all came o a head the night I went out with his friends. Yes, The Bell is part of his circle. She tried all sorts of tricks to catch his attention, including sexy dancing and a sexy walk. But on her best day, she's not as ace as me on my worst day. Added to this, Mr Bunny is the most unobservant man I have met in my entire life, so this all went over his head. Anyway, we got back to another friend's house and all went inside. I went up to use the loo, while Mr Bunny's dad phoned and he stayed outside talking to him. When I came back from using the 'facilities', The Bell was sat on his lap, speaking to his dad "Oh Gerry, I miss you so much. Can't wait to see you again! Miss you loads, love you lots." When Mr Bunny clocked me stood in the doorway, he kind of looked at me as if to say "What could I do?". I went back inside and sat on the sofa, watching a bit of telly. The Bell then came inside and sat next to me and was like "Look, you mustn't be angry. Just so you know Mr Bunny and I have been best mates for ten years, so you know, we're just close. It's just that we've been best mates for ten years, y'know. So we have a lot of history. It's been ten years, y'know?" She just kept on saying ten years, like some sort of mad old woman. When she was finished, I just looked at her, smiled a little and said "It's cool you know. But just so you know, I don't play games and I don't do bullshit. I'll just tell you like it is. Anyone who knows me knows that they shouldn't fuck with me. Just so you know." *little smile* She just gave a little laugh and went back outside to have a fag. By the by, I later found out that Gerry could not stand The Bell. He used to call her 'Einstein' behind her back. She is a bit of an idiot, to be fair.
Mr Bunny had no idea all this was going on inside. He was outside having a beer with the lads. But when we were leaving, The Bell walks up to him and whispers in his ear. Later, I learned that she told him that she was still in love with him. His response? "Um, nice one."
When we've met subsequently, she's been nice to me and I've been pleasant to her. She's always been one for the underhanded compliment though. One Christmas, we all went out again (including Fatsooo, the other ex he lived with) and she was like "Oh, I love your shoes. You're looking a bit thin though, is everything ok?" And I just laughed said "Yeah. Sorry, still married." She just looked at me with some nervous smile and went to the bar.
I won't even go into Fatsooo and her constant questions to Mr Bunny "Are you happy? Are you sure? You always said you'd never get married. Are you travelling, like you always wanted to?"
So needless to say, I'm in no way looking forward to wasting a whole Saturday night, sat next to any of these three. I've already told Mr Bunny that he is the designated driver, since I will need to consume copious amounts of alcohol just so I don't end up slitting my own wrists and trying to drown myself in the ladies' loo. This isn't even taking into consideration Mr Bunny's best mate's ex, who is STILL pissed off at me because I didn't invite her to my wedding.
Garcon! I'll start with the quadruple gin and tonic please, followed by a triple vodka and cranberry. No, no food for me. But do you by chance have a bottle of Scotch? Many thanks.
Am I being harsh? Maybe. Am I being petty? Possibly. Do I give a shit? Not really. Mr Bunny cares though, but he can suck my plums. My feeling is that when he had the chance to nip the shit in the bud, he wimped out. He wanted to avoid confrontation, like he avoids his sister. So now he's trying to guilt me into making amends. But I'm still like "Fuck it."
But I digress.
So it's her birthday soon, and we have to go to this meal. So why is it going to be so hellish? Well in attendance will be both of Mr Bunny's long-term exes; or as I like to refer to them "The Losers." Oh did I not mention that my sister-in-law is best mates with them? Sigh.
Both of these exes hate me, for obvious reasons. In particular, the one who was with him months before we met despises me. I call her The Bell. I don't blame her though. For hating me I mean. It was her own stupid fault that they broke up. You see, they'd been together for two years, off and on. They lived together for most of that time. Then she broke up with him and vanished for like four months. When she reappeared, they got back together ad all was well. But then she broke up with him again. He then moved to Preston and met the awesome black girl and the rest is history, as they say. From what I was told, they were supposed to get back together and settle down. And up until a few weeks before we met, she and Mr Bunny were doing that typical ex thing, of hanging out together and boning down. So she thought they were on track for a reconciliation and the happy ending. And to some extent, so did he.
But then in swooped the black girl to jumbie her scene. Diddums.
The hilarious thing is that she so blatantly still fancied Mr Bunny and he was so horrifyingly oblivious. It all came o a head the night I went out with his friends. Yes, The Bell is part of his circle. She tried all sorts of tricks to catch his attention, including sexy dancing and a sexy walk. But on her best day, she's not as ace as me on my worst day. Added to this, Mr Bunny is the most unobservant man I have met in my entire life, so this all went over his head. Anyway, we got back to another friend's house and all went inside. I went up to use the loo, while Mr Bunny's dad phoned and he stayed outside talking to him. When I came back from using the 'facilities', The Bell was sat on his lap, speaking to his dad "Oh Gerry, I miss you so much. Can't wait to see you again! Miss you loads, love you lots." When Mr Bunny clocked me stood in the doorway, he kind of looked at me as if to say "What could I do?". I went back inside and sat on the sofa, watching a bit of telly. The Bell then came inside and sat next to me and was like "Look, you mustn't be angry. Just so you know Mr Bunny and I have been best mates for ten years, so you know, we're just close. It's just that we've been best mates for ten years, y'know. So we have a lot of history. It's been ten years, y'know?" She just kept on saying ten years, like some sort of mad old woman. When she was finished, I just looked at her, smiled a little and said "It's cool you know. But just so you know, I don't play games and I don't do bullshit. I'll just tell you like it is. Anyone who knows me knows that they shouldn't fuck with me. Just so you know." *little smile* She just gave a little laugh and went back outside to have a fag. By the by, I later found out that Gerry could not stand The Bell. He used to call her 'Einstein' behind her back. She is a bit of an idiot, to be fair.
Mr Bunny had no idea all this was going on inside. He was outside having a beer with the lads. But when we were leaving, The Bell walks up to him and whispers in his ear. Later, I learned that she told him that she was still in love with him. His response? "Um, nice one."
When we've met subsequently, she's been nice to me and I've been pleasant to her. She's always been one for the underhanded compliment though. One Christmas, we all went out again (including Fatsooo, the other ex he lived with) and she was like "Oh, I love your shoes. You're looking a bit thin though, is everything ok?" And I just laughed said "Yeah. Sorry, still married." She just looked at me with some nervous smile and went to the bar.
I won't even go into Fatsooo and her constant questions to Mr Bunny "Are you happy? Are you sure? You always said you'd never get married. Are you travelling, like you always wanted to?"
So needless to say, I'm in no way looking forward to wasting a whole Saturday night, sat next to any of these three. I've already told Mr Bunny that he is the designated driver, since I will need to consume copious amounts of alcohol just so I don't end up slitting my own wrists and trying to drown myself in the ladies' loo. This isn't even taking into consideration Mr Bunny's best mate's ex, who is STILL pissed off at me because I didn't invite her to my wedding.
Garcon! I'll start with the quadruple gin and tonic please, followed by a triple vodka and cranberry. No, no food for me. But do you by chance have a bottle of Scotch? Many thanks.
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