originally uploaded by sabellachan

Um, oops? I just seemed to have impulse bought a nice new green iPod shuffle.

Yes, I have no self control.

And yes, I do already have an iPod (my beloved third gen, four year old lovely).

So why do I want a new iPod, especially an iPod shuffle that only holds 240 songs when I have a 15gb beastie that still has room for another few thousand songs on it? My reasons are as follows:

1. It’s colourful. Not white/silver, but GREEN. I had a bit of a “do I want green or blue?” moment, but in my mind I had a green one, and I try to go with my gut on things like this. I like colour and am frankly a bit bored with this whole sterile white/silver thing. Sure, it looks beautiful, but I’m a girl who needs a bit of funk in her life, you know what I mean?
2. My current iPod is starting to show it’s age. The battery can still just about get me airport-to-airport on a transatlantic flight, but the screen is dim (yes I know the shuffle has no screen, that’s the next point), and it’s starting to randomly turn off mid song for no apparent reason.
3. The shuffle has no screen, (which also relates to the next point) which means less scratching when I throw it in my bag. So my current iPod is scratched and dented to hell anyway, but I still feel bad when I just hurl it in my handbag. With a shuffle I wouldn’t have to worry.
4. The big iPod isn’t gym-friendly, having no practical solution for affixing it to pocket-less sports clothes. The shuffle, whilst it holds less music, can be clipped most anywhere. When you’re going full tilt on the cross trainer you don’t want to be looking at the screen to change tracks anyway. The shuffle would be loaded with music I wanted to listen to, so no need for a screen…
5. The shuffle costs less. My iPod goes with me pretty most everywhere, and I am VERY conscious that if I lost it, I’d been shelling out a good £300 or more to replace it. I don’t have that type of cash. I do have £55 to stretch to a new shuffle if I need to.
6. My iPod serves as my home stereo and alarm clock. As such, it’s permanently docked and plugged into speakers. This means when I take it with me to work each day or the gym, I have to remember to plug it back in when I get home or there’s nothing to wake me up in the morning… It seems like a little thing, but I have the memory retention of a brain-injured goldfish, and at least once a week I wake up in the middle of the night going “bugger, forgot to plug the iPod back in”. I know, I know, cute :P. Still annoying
7. I play all my music on random anyway.
8. I want one. I can’t rationalize it, I just want one. I work hard for my disposable income and, well, I want one. All my friends seem to be getting shiny new technology at the moment – I feel left out.
9. Did I mention it’s green?!

So there you have it. Just chalk me up as one more victim to consumerism and Apple fan-boy-ism. When my new toy arrives (hopefully by Saturday, most likely next week when I’m back at work *le sigh* more fights with the postal service) I will of course do a review. Till then, I’m going to go and lock my credit card away before I can do more damage.

Life is not fair. I have this entire week off from work and I had plans damn it! So not interesting plans (sleep, catch up on college work, sleep, maybe watch unhealthy amounts of dvds, read some, go to the gym, sleep a lot more), but plans that I was looking forward to.

Then what happens on the first day of my holiday? I’m lain up on the sofa tucked up under the Beast, watching unhealthy amounts of West Wing season 7, mainlining cups of tea, and feeling like death warmed over. So watching large quantities of TV was part of my master plan, but I want to be doing that because I CHOOSE to, not because that’s all I can muster up the strength to do!

Meh. My life is horrid. At least if I’d been at work I would have got sympathy. Instead I was home alone all day and not in the mood to enjoy it 🙁

Yes. I am feeling pitiful and sorry for myself. I want sympathy. I need love.

Love me?

The Latvian Lovely gave birth on Tuesday to a lovely baby boy (9lb 3oz – every woman I’ve spoken to kinda goes “ooh!” and winces in sympathy at that point) called Eriks (pronounced Eric in English).

We went round and saw him this evening – he is quite the cutest thing. I know people say that about most babies, but he really is adorable. At least when not crying.

I still find it a bit of a mind flip that someone my age can produce a tiny new person. It’s just all so grown up! I can just about manage to get myself through the day, though falling down the steps at Waterloo on Thursday gave some small indication I’m not quite ready to be left alone just yet, and here’s the Latvian Lovely doing that AND being responsible for a teeny-tiny human being.

As I said, mind flip and reality check. Though I guess there’s some things you’re never actually ready for till they happen.

I also, rather worryingly, found myself having a little “I want one” moment. Just a tiny thought, nothing to get concerned about, and certainly no sign to my mother to rush out and by the “World’s Best Grandmother” mug just yet. Just… it’s there, lurking in a dark, dusty, cobwebby corner of my psyche that I normally studiously avoid. Medical factors and current lifestyle aside – baby?! Eeek! I’d be a mommy blogger, and that’s a thought that’s just plain wrong whatever way you look at it.

But that’s all another discussion for quite a different time, place, and therapists office.

As it is, it’s a boy! I get to fulfill the groovy aunt role – vicarious baby kicks, the best kind. He’s totally adorable and that’s all that matters.

Where did this mean streak in me come from?

I’m here, listening to a bit of Lifehouse, dancing round Meadow Towers in my PJ’s (silently, ear phones in – it’s an odd look, but Moose is sleeping) and I have this desire, this urge to ring up Mr T., go out dancing, wind him round my little finger, and then leave him standing forlornly at the bus stop again, much like I did last week.

So last week there was no dancing, but there was the wearing of a short dress, the buying me drinks, apologizing (worth waiting three years for), accidental (on my part) and deliberate (on his part) footsie, forlorn bus-stop standing, and much glee in my heart as my taxi drove off into the night.

Which just isn’t me. Ask anyone. I might talk the talk, but when it comes down to the wire, I just can’t find the nasty. I hate to cause pain to other people. Normally.

But a part of me just wants to twist the knife some more. I’m already taking unholy pleasure in the fact my life rocks whilst his… doesn’t. Now I want to screw with his head.

What’s disturbing me is the fact I think I really could. I’ve discovered I might actually have it in me to intentionally hurt someone.

So I’m also buzzed from a good day today – meetings in London, knowing I’m doing a bloody good job, and more caffeine than is probably wise – combined with a degree of tiredness I’m only coping with because I know I have next week off, have all conspired to make me more than usually wired. I’ve got ants under my skin. I’ve had my fill of being sensible and grownup. I want to go dancing. I want to have some fun.

And I want him to be there so I can turn, smile slowly, and make it clear “this is what you let go. Fool”.

He dumped me, I went to New York, I got a tattoo, I got over him. I genuinely got more pleasure out of the chocolate ginger cake I had when I got home, than I did out of last weeks reunion. (Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy hooking up again. I did. Just… It was good cake). He’s still very easy on the eye – I will admit it is a pleasure to look. And he’s still good company and knows how to make me laugh. But, I’ve moved on. I want more.

And, as previously stated, I want to f*** with his head. Not out of a desire for revenge, I want to make that clear. I don’t feel angry. I’m not all hung up, nor am I in danger of turning into a girl who takes it out on innocent pet rabbits. I’m just very aware that I’ve suddenly found the vein of nastiness said to run through us all. It’s not something I’ve felt before, but I’m starting to see why my male friends always start to look worried when us girls get talking… Power. God it feels good. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right? Well, I think we need a new metaphor – because Cas is bored, antsy, and getting in touch with her inner bitch.

You have been warned.

(And I do have permission to be blogging whatever I want on this topic. I checked. Even I’m not the kind to blog and run. That would just be mean).

“Holes in the ground with dead stuff in”
~Neko