That's my new name. Mona. Lott. Because I moan. A lot. Mr D thought it up just today after I told him I was rating him using the new Points-Based Measuring-of-Performance Indicator (PBMPI) that I've just developed, and that he got only got 1.5 for his early morning joshing around.
Grumpy, I guess. (Me...) The instant Novotel hotel coffee he fixed for me kind of half got me into the right frame of mind again. Kind of.
When he inquired about my new rating system he said, "Do I get to start at zero?"
Me: "Of course!"
Him: "Perfect. That's all I can ask for. I was worried I was already in the hole."
Damn. I should have thought of that. Could have started him at -500. Never mind.
Anyway, now I'm gonna moan some more.
Because I'm miserable.
You know that crummy feeling you get when you discover that you're not the only one that's (pick one): bought the dress in the front window of Etam; created a Facebook account; started a flippin' blog, or -- let's face it -- breathed today....?
I missed the boat/train/plane, and not by just 3 minutes, like the other morning in Wokingham, but by a couple of goddamn years.
I'll blame it on being out of the country (which country were we talking about?) and not watching the news, and not keeping up with trends, and just being a generally self-absorbed techno-phobic mentally-challenged expatriate mother-of-four, among other things.
So how come nobody told me about blogs, fer Pete's sake? Until like last week? And that there's 80 billion of them and most of them were started about 4 months ago? No, scratch that. Four years ago. Jeez Louise. I feel like a fool! Blogs about this, blogs about that... I should have realised that more than twelve people were blogging when I saw a couple of articles in the New York Times.
But no. I thought it was just me, and maybe like six or perhaps seven other brilliant chicks also writing.
This is that same crazy feeling I get whenever I travel, taking the cab ride to the airport. I see all the homes and apartments and businesses and offices and people and everything along the whole ride to the airport... and think, "My God, look how many people there are! All doing stuff! Living in houses! Driving! Working in offices! Heavens! I'm actually NOT the center of the universe!"
How in the world did that happen? I'm shattered. Just shattered.
Time for a shot of Żubrówka to kill the pain. It's the only way forward in middle-to-eastern Europe.
(Take no notice of the fact that this bottle is empty. It's an old photograph. Really!)