LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: spoonie (Page 2 of 7)

Home Sweet Home

Alternative title: I have acquired so much tat and crap in all my years on this earth that I am standing amongst the ruins of many a textbook, items of clothing and magazines filled with bullpoop on how to lose weight with the dawning realisation that I am going to need another skip. 

I am practically on first name terms with the guys and gals at our local recycling plant, I rock up with my car filled to the brim with 1980’s newspapers and an assortment of garments I haven’t worn since I was last out of my tree on Cider and Black (ah, the drink of champions) or bladdered on red wine (which is the drink of sophisticated champions  … Who like to ride bucking broncos and drink cocktails out of bartenders trousers … I was a student ok!).

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Moving House

Alternative title: We have the keys! I repeat – WE HAVE THE KEYS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL PEOPLE! 

We also have no internet … I know right?! How archaic! So in the meantime I’m snaffling my parents internet under the pretense of needing to put 31 years worth of shit (not literal shit obviously) into cardboard boxes. Quite frankly it would be a faster process if I didn’t feel the need to read random pages of books I haven’t seen since 1993 that had been hidden away in the backs of various shelving units. I fear I own a library’s worth of literature that I now need to cart about.

I may also have had a moment (or two) in which I started hugging my Molecular Cell Biology book and crying about what might have been if I’d carried on in academia.

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Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Alternative title: Because having your Anxiety turn you into a distraught mess at 3:30am over the fact you can’t complete the ritual of checking the front door anymore due to being too overwhelmed and exhausted to count to 3 is definitely a far cry from what most people assume OCD is.

My name is Ruebi … And I am a ritualistic checker. I check in 3’s (usually 3 lots of 3); I check windows, doors, ovens, hair straighteners, plugs and a myriad of other things … Heaven forbid I neglect to check (or, far more likely, my brain convinces me that I have forgotten to check when I have) as I will drive home from work to do so! No I’m not joking, or if fail to complete the counting part of it (if I get disturbed on either side of the 3 or a multiple of it) I will have a meltdown.

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Alternative title: It’s no secret that I can’t dance, I have no sense of rhythm … In fact, I am probably the only person on the planet who can put Carlton Banks to shame! Yet there I was, pulsing squats and belting out the words to “Booty” in my dulcet (read as: tone deaf) Northern tones like a right royal tit.

Did I look like a tool? Yes (not much of a change from normal there then). Was I completely out of sync? More than likely (I walked into a door this morning so very likely – I am a disaster area!). Was I sweating buckets? Erm, can we say ‘glistening like the goddess I am’? (I was freaking drenched – back and butt sweat is the worst! Urgh).

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