I adopted the little black kitten, named him Cruiser (to match the dog Bailey) and I love him to bits. He is massive now. After nearly 4 weeks. They grow so fast!
But really, I wanted to tell you all (so, Bryan) that I must have eaten my weight in dinner tonight (which I cooked myself and I am very proud of).
I ate:
- Approximately 2 kg of roast lamb (I am not exaggerating I was a pig)
- Two good handfuls of fruit salad
- About 3 handfuls of vegetables
- 3 roast potatoes
- The size of my hand in both jelly and instant pudding
- 3 slices of birthday cake
- 2 (very generous) slices of sponge cake (with jam and cream in the middle)
- 2 glasses of fizzy drink
- And everyones leftovers (not a lot of food, mind you, it was yummyful).
In conclusion, how I still fit my size 12 pants is a mystery. (That's New Zealand sizes, just in case any of my American friends wander over here and decide I am humongous. It's about a size 4...I think. Or 2. I have no idea. Something like that.)
Have been watching Dylan...f*ck, forgot his last name. Hang on......................................................................Moran! He is Irish, he smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and makes me laugh until I pmsl. I do believe I am in love. It's the Irish accent, it drives me insane. To show you how nutty I am about it, Shane (my boyfriend since 23/09/07, keep up) and I were discussing where we might like to travel as soon as the issue of funding ceases to be an issue. I mentioned Ireland, and he quickly shot down the idea when the memory came to mind of how I react to every (*every*) Irishman on the street (well, everyone who is under the age of 30). He also seemed to recall how after every Colin Farrell movie that we watch he gets very very lucky. He decided, "No, under no circumstances are we ever going to Ireland and you are forbidden to go by yourself!...I will never be able to find you again, you will be transfixed talking to Irish people about things you hate just to hear their accents." Sadly, he is right. So that takes Ireland off the menu. (Menu? Now we are eating countries?... I suppose France will taste like snails and poodles and Mexico will taste like tequila and burritos?)
Even I don't know what I am on about. This is one of the many reasons why I keep Shane around. He tells me (and everyone else) what I mean. Everyone needs someone like that in their lives, I think. For instance, "Computer bigging piece of [10 minutes of expletives]...mirf?"
Means, "This computer is being of great annoyance to me, please help me fix it"
I have work tomorrow. Bugger me days. I am shift managing though, so now I am only $2 behind minimum wage instead of 3. Joy!
I can't be bothered cleaning and cooking for people who don't appreciate me and serving idiots who cannot read the menu and have issues with my counting, as well as being total scabs on the face of society by taking 25 minutes to choose what topping they would like on their pizza, then swearing at me because it's taking 25 mins to make, as well as scowling at me while I take everyone else's orders because I cannot be waiting on you for forever and a day to decide if you want original or deep pan shaped pizza, or if you would like it seared and grilled and with onions and herbs and spices (who would put spices on a pizza you sad freaks) and wondering to yourself (and me, the sad person sacrificing her life), "Would garlic be nice?" (no it would not it's f*cking garlic you dip-shit) and if the price includes cheese and sauce or just topping (OF COURSE IT DOES YOU IDIOTS WHAT IS PIZZA WITHOUT CHEESE AND SAUCE DO YOU THINK I AM JUST GOING TO THROW SOME PEPPERONI YOUR WAY AND YELL "DEAL WITH IT" OVER THE COUNTER??)
For Christ's sake.
All this, and not even minimum wage.
I ask you.
mmmmm… lamb.
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