I haven't said anything because I didn't want to jinx it really, but I am leaving for England 22 days from today. I probably won't get my passport approved now that I've actually talked about this whole thing because everytime I mention something in this diary that is mildly hopeful about something exciting and lifechanging, it never happens. Anyways, I fly out of the Fredericton Airport on September 7th at 8pm, and I will land in London the next morning at 8:25am, and then we are staying in Waterloo. I don't know, but Bex has a hotel booked and I have two, so we will have to see what she says when she comes home from Alfrica. Then, welcome to my budget trip to England. I don't know how much money I will have (hopefully enough to survive at least!), because the exchange is piss-poor, but I guess we'll have to try, and see what happens, and if I get poor while I am there, I can tap dance for money or go to a karaoke bar a la Britney Spears, Zoe Saldana and Taryn Manning and pass around a big jar, and the more money people put in the sooner I will stop singing. Dad has taken to calling me "Bridget" as in Bridget Jones, because I left my Bridget Jones: Edge Of Reason book lying around and I think he's been reading it. He said "I hope that the numbers will be; "cigarettes: 0, minutes since last shag: 0... " wait... how many minutes are in 20 years?" This was in the car on the way to a family picnic/birthday party/pool party that we went to on Sunday for my Aunt Gail who used to live in the house we live in now. Then, being smart, and remembering the song from RENT, I calculated that there are 10,512,000 minutes in twenty years and in my diary entries hence, it should say "Minutes since last shag: 10,512,000". Yesterday, I had a slight freakout. I was grumpy because I hadn't had much sleep (had a pretty busy weekend between the pool party and taking the baby to the beach, etc), and I snapped at Andre. Then I spent an hour feeling bad about how I am just turning into a bitchy fat woman. Clothing size: Expanding, Grumpiness Factor: Rising. You know who I am talking about.. bitchy old fat ladies who sit around and smoke and wear tight sweatpant-shorts, and have short hair that sticks straight up in the air most of the time. All they do is complain and bitch and make life miserable for other people and they don't have any personality except for bitch. You all know at least one, so you know who I am talking about. I am afraid I am becoming one of those. Sore, fat, grumpy. That's it. *sigh* I did convince myself this morning that I am not that at all, but now I am having my doubts. I guess I will have to see what happens.
Disclaimer: These are my personal thoughts, emotions and opinions -- they are not intended to offend or aggress upon anyone. Likewise, though I do appreciate a constructively critical comment on occasion, I prefer non-hateful and thoughtful comments with respect to myself. I shouldn't have any problems with that though, we're all grown ups here, right? Please note that any offensive, aggressive and anonymous comments will be deleted from my comments, notes and guestbook, as I like knowing that the rest of my readership doesn't have to read that trash. Also, the HTML on this design has been designed solely by myself, Amanda Neal, and song lyrics are from the song "Wild Horses" by Natasha Bedingfield.
Tuesday, Aug. 16, 2005 ~ 9:05 a.m.
