Weekend Coffee Share: Furniture Is Annoying

If we were having coffee, I’d say that houses are bigger when they are empty. Furniture is annoying.  Unless we’re talking bookcases or my giant bed.

And we’re not talking about my bed. This is a family blog.  Apparently.

Anyway.  Coffee.  My favourite coffee is medium.  In strength and temperature.  And if I leave it hanging around a few hours, DO NOT MOVE IT.  I’m not finished.  I’ve just been distracted by my kid or a book.

Or I just might be taking a break  to dance in my seat, belt out a song lyric or yell, ‘Fuck! There’s too much furniture in this house.’

But I’m done now.  Back to coffee.  It’s hazelnut.  Or mint.  But the mint depends on when I brush my teeth.

Moving on.

If we were having coffee, I’d say I owe you a letter.  How about L?  Ls are nice.

If we were having coffee, in this house, right now.

You’d see Isla running around.  She does that now.  My feelings on this are so big and mixed that perhaps we should discuss them over a drink that isn’t coffee.

You’d see I’m surrounded by books.   Still and always.  There’s also box that once contained a box of pumpkin poptart-type things.  Thanks, Emily.  I owe you a letter.

Anyway.  These poptart-type-things are delicious, and I’ve already hidden them from my aforementioned kid.  Because mothers should keep something for themselves.  Apparently.

Well.  I was thinking more along the lines of a new laptop.  But breakfast food will do.  For now.  Because bacon.  Or something.

If we were having coffee I’d say I miss you, and I have read that book, and I still miss you.

If we were having coffee, you’d know that Neil just set off the fire alarm frying that aforementioned bacon.

If we were having coffee, I’d say I wanted to start a games night, and a cards night and a book group.

I’d say we should open that bookshop/coffeeshop/artsy place.  Or perhaps hang two shingles in the same place.

If we were having coffee I’d say,’ But enough about me, what about you?’

The link-up for Weekend Coffee Share can be found at: Part-Time Monster.

weekendcoffeeshare

Please Stay Tuned

Some of you may remember Coffeegate 2011.  Well, it’s become an annual event.  Earlier this week, I picked up my coffee with my left hand.  And promptly dropped it.  On my computer.  Again.  Maybe it was the weight of my engagement ring.  Or maybe it’s because I am seriously not left-handed.  At all.  Ever.

Anyway, the screen went black and coffee seeped between the keys before I could switch it off and flip it upside down.  I know what to do.  I’m a pro.  Obviously not.

I even tried to pull the battery out.  But it was stuck.  Probably held there by the left-over sugar from last time.  It was then I realised we’d run out of paper-towels, and so I had to use a touristy dish-towel.  It was decidedly non-absorbent and had a touristy poem on it.  Fail.

I then texted Sarge.  Not because I needed help.  But because he needed to know that his future wife is a moron.  He didn’t get the message.  I heard his phone go off in the bedroom.  He was at work.  Maybe he’s a moron sometimes, too.  We’re good for each other.

I updated Facebook on my phone, babbling about how much I need my own working laptop at the moment.  Because I do.  NaNoWriMo is coming up, the OU is online.  And then there’s the job-hunt.  Did I mention I was working on an application when The Dump happened?  I was.

Hemingway is drying out.  Again.   He’s still isn’t speaking to me.  I don’t blame him.  I haven’t been very good to him.  And now I’m going to replace him.

I’ve told Sarge I’m too embarrassed to take Hem anywhere to get fixed.  Again.  Especially not Sarge’s parents’ house.  No one else needs to know I’m a moron.  But now all of you do.  So, hi.

I’m writing this on Sarge’s laptop.  Which does not have a name.  I’m trying not to spend too much time on here.  I feel like a guest.

I’ve managed to read ahead in my counselling course-book and I’ve finished a few library books.  I submitted the application I was working on when The Dump happened.  Offline life is good.  More on that later.

Sarge is going to rescue everything on my hard-drive.  Tomorrow I’m going to smile sweetly and hope the gadget gods honour my insurance.  And I’d like one of these for Christmas.

What should I name the next computer?  I have an idea, but I’d like to hear your thoughts.

I hope to have the new one up and running soon.  Until then, stay tuned and talk amongst yourselves.  The bar is still open.

On my Christmas list!

Instant Coffee Tastes Like Mushrooms

I’ll repeat, instant coffee taste like mushrooms.  Fact.  That’s why, as I write this, there is a cup of zombie coffee by my side.  Anyway, these are, as ever, coffee-fuelled ramblings.

And so, this week, I went out for more real coffee with a friend.  I discovered many things:

  1.  It’s OK that I can’t get through five pages of Saturday or Enduring Love.  It isn’t just me.
  2. Apparently, I can’t go five minutes without talking about THE WEDDING.  And that’s OK.  But somehow less universal an issue than the density of Ian McEwan’s prose.

I’m going to be bold.  This post is not about THE WEDDING.  It’s not about the bike, either.  Or the shoes.  It’s about OTHER THINGS.

I’ve been writing a lot.  My last piece was rejected.  I’ve been trying to find words for this.  It sucks.  That’s two words.  Empty gaping hole.  There’s three more.  In all seriousness, this last knock sent me into a darkened room.  Really.  That’s where Sarge found me when he got home from work.  I tried to switch the light on, though.  And then I threw up.

And so, if I’m not talking about THE WEDDING, I’m talking about THE BIG FAT ‘NO’.  Or not talking about it.  I have since left the darkened room.  To watch Judge Judy.  Or The Sopranos.  Or this video.  Over and over.

Getting back to The Sopranos, Sarge and I are working through the box-set.  Two episodes left.  When the show was first on, I refused to watch the end.  I like to think the characters from my favourite shows live on in some funky parallel universe.  Which is kinda apt.  Because they’re ACTORS.

Coffee cup
Coffee cup (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

I’m planning a post that lists my favourite episodes of The Sopranos.  I’ll give you a hint.  Christopher is my favourite character.  So THAT ONE won’t be on the list.  I guess I’ve always had a thing for guys with big noses.

Which reminds me of THE WEDDING.  But that’s another post.

And that was six minutes.  Which is more than five.

Magic Coffee: Audience Participation

A few weeks ago, a friend sent me this photo and I thought I’d share it:

These are two of my favourite things! Thank you, Karen!

This week, while shopping for my nearly oldest friend’s birthday gift (but I’m still older than she is), I found this and had to get it for myself:

True words. On a mug.

So, what made you smile this week?

My Boyfriend is Better Than Coffee

One of the questions I ask a prospective PA when I interview them is, ‘Are you a morning person?’ Because, well, because I am not.

Like most people who are honest with themselves, I cannot speak without bumping into a cup of coffee in the morning. On days that aren’t weekends, there isn’t time to make zombie coffee using our Italian coffee machine, so I kid myself with the most drinkable instant I can find, or buy a coffee on the way to my day-job.

But like I said, pre-coffee Lorna (me) is vastly different from post-coffee Lorna (also me, because I’m good like that.) This is usually true 365 days of the year, but yesterday was slightly different.

I had slept through the first alarm, and Sarge forgot to set the second one, therefore my wake-up call was my PA downstairs buzzing to get in. Usually I have time to put my monosyllables in some semblance of understandable order. Yesterday, I did not. I even scared myself, I grunted my way through a shower, making it last as long as possible. I could not even make the small-talk necessary when someone other boyfriend has to see me naked.

There was still nothing as I shrugged into clothes, and spritzed myself with expensive-but-somehow-on-sale perfume.

And then Sarge walked in from the shower, somehow looking more put-together than myself. I managed to to mumble ‘excuse me’ to my PA, and turned to him saying, ‘Hug me, please. I’m all discombobulated.’ That was a lot of syllables. My brain almost fizzed. We hugged, and as if by magic, (pun may be intended), my monosyllabic grumbles turned into pleasant-sounding sentences. My boyfriend is better than coffee. Yes, I said it! If that’s too much information, then I’m sorry. But than, love means never having to say you’re sorry. So maybe I’m not.

Yesterday, at about three o’clock, staring at my emails and my Outlook diary, I could have used a Sarge-hug, but I had coffee instead. Somehow it wasn’t the same.

Yes, even this coffee. Maybe. This isn't the one I had yesterday.