volcanic's Diaryland Diary
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teenage dirtbags
Aah. Weekends. Twice as blissful for me because I only get two per month, as I work the other two. I have to cram lots into my weekends, to make it all feel like it hasn't been wasted, and to eradicate any latent guilt I feel about not seeing fatboy for two weekends a month.
I always wake up early. I guess it comes with the territory when I have to get up at six on work days, and it means that even on days when I'm not working, I still wake up with the birds. By eight yesterday, I was on my second load of washing, had washed and straightened my hair and was nearly ready to go shopping.
We had a splendid time. fatboy bought himself one of those nasty tacky fake Tetris games, that alleges to play 2001 different games, which are all actually just speed/ level permutations of about 9 games (and half of them are just upside-down versions of the rest). This is his THIRD nasty tacky brick game device. One died, one got lent-and-never-returned to a girl at school, and I've been searching like a maniac for a replacement ever since. Bizarrely, all the nasty tacky shops which used to sell them had run out, and I was panicking a little. fatboy has plenty of toys, especially electronic gaming devices. he's got a Gameboy Color, a PSOne and even an original Nintendo old school Game& Watch (which I found in a junk store). But for some reason, it's the nasty tacky Brick Game which is the favourite.
My son is cheap. And also thoroughly delighted with his purchase, which came in a set with a calculator and a watch (also both nasty and tacky) all in metallic green plastic for the princely sum of £3.99. Bargain.
I managed to find myself a lovely bikini. I know in my last entry I said I'd got a gorgeous bikini, but I was being a tad premature. What I should have said was that I'd ordered the pink tropical flower-print hotpants bikini set online, and that the hotpants had arrived, and fitted a treat.
I spoke too soon.
The bra came a couple of days later, and whilst ostensibly being the same size as me, would've been snug on someone with no breasts at all, let alone a voluptuous beach Venus like myself who's blessed with 38D bonus-sized ones.
I was distraught, and thrown into a bit of a panic, because I basically had two shopping days to replace it before I went to Menorca. Nightmare, eh?
Luckily, good old British faithfuls Marks & Spencer saved the day.
Cute, isn't it? Actually, my top is the underwired version (on account of the afore mentioned generous bosom). Thus, if any of you happen to find yourselves on the south coast of Menorca next week, you'll be able to spot me. It'll probably be accessorised with flowery flip flops and a Moschino headscarf and a small boy with a large Action Man rubber ring.
So yes, we're pretty much sorted for our holiday. I'm excited.
The weather's been good to me this weekend- did my window box yesterday. It's full of various pink Impatiens and some dangly anonymous pink things donated by my neighbour.
My neighbour's great. She's about 15 years older than me, and lives alone, and we spend lots of time chatting and plotting mad schemes. Our theme this weekend has been self-sufficiency. She's been wondering about getting a pig. I suggested that my dad (who's handy like that) could build her a pigsty. I, on the other hand, would like some ducks and hens. Needless to say, we both concluded that we'd stick to vegetables and flowers.
I had a stinking headache by teatime. Unfortunately, my neighbours on the other side have gone away and left their (big) teenage boys Home Alone. That usually means beer, football, a drop-in facility for the local degenerate youth en masse and noise. Lots of Noise. They're not particularly cool boys, although I suspect they like to think they are, and as a result, their noise consists of Nu-Metal being played at anti-social volume, and singalongs.
Yes, singalongs.
When I was their age, I was out every weekend, drinking cider and snogging and dancing to bad Goth records in dingy dives. these boys prefer to stay in and play Green Day songs on the guitar, and sing along. Their repertoire also covers a few Weetus songs, "Angels" by Robbie Williams, and that nice slow Metallica one that was in the charts a few years ago.
Like I said, they're not particularly cool, these boys.
To be honest, I don't mind that much. On the big scale of Bad Things that teenagers could be getting up to, hosting singalongs doesn't score too badly. But by 12.10am I was a bit bored. I rang them to suggest they shut the fuck up, but they let the phone go straight to the answering machine. I rang again, and someone picked up, but didn't speak. I didn't speak either, just to freak them a little bit.
It worked. They shut up.
But, as I said earlier, I tend to wake early. I woke early this morning, and looked and felt pretty shitty as a result of not having had enough sleep. Then I had an idea.
I got Fatboy to plug in his CD player right next to the party wall between my stairs and their bedroom, and in between seven and eight a.m. we played Britney Spears, Daphne & Celeste and the Venga Boys at full volume. Then we played them the Sunday Morning church service. Then Fatboy did his drum practice on the stairs, using a large Tupperware as his instrument.
They've been suspiciously quiet all day, and I feel better. I think she would be quite proud of me. I still have one last trump card- their Granny's phone number, which I usually threaten to use if they get really out of hand. The deal with their parents is that if they really piss me off, I ring Granny, and they have to go and stay with her instead of being Home Alone.
Revenge is much more fun, though...
Bath soon, for me. I'm waffling terribly tonight, in between dreaming about being at college by the sea and finding a nice man.
That's fine, and all totally do-able.
9:05 a.m. - 05.05.02
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