Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Lucy and Ramona

I freaked out to see how old the Monkees have become in this photo in The Guardian today

Sadly my favourite, Mike Nesmith, will not be taking part in their reunion, but thanks to the magic of YouTube, I get to listen to one of the coolest pop videos from 1979:

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Teeny Weeny Burpday Greetings to Ms. Mac!

Dearest Soulie,

I was going to wish you especially HUGE, EXTRAVAGENT, VOLUMINOUS and IMPORTANT burpday greetings today, but then I remembered that it's only an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny, completely insignificant number that we are celebrating.

I mean, come on! You're still only thirteen, right? Nothing to get excited about!

But you are extremely honoured to take receipt of this delicious, home-grown rose wot bloomed in my garden yesterday.

If you lean very close to your computer and inhale deeply, you will detect its powerful, aphrodisiac fragrance. CAREFUL - not THAT close! Now you've smudged the screen with your nose. You'll have to get the Putzfrau in to clean it up, while Mr Mac takes you on the town for pizza and a movie. Or beer and an ACDC concert. Or champagne and a thé dansant. Something appropriate to your age!

Muchos burpday besos to you!

love, Love, LOVE,


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

To Do List

- Buy fabric rose to accessorize my Flapper headband for Charleston costume (dance recital only 1 month away).

- Finish altering figure-hugging, peacock-blue satin cheong-sam for dance recital.

- Buy and read Della Says OMG by the Lovely Keris Stainton, shower her with praise and stalk her until she deigns to meet me and impart her writerly wisdom.

- Wait feverishly for the postman to bring my bridesmaid's dress

from my personal dressmaker in Australia, so I can try it on and practice the complicated, yet sleekly elegant sash-tying technique.

- Clean out the putrid glob of old hairs & soap scum blocking the plughole in the bath because it's starting to stink...

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Turning Forty-Five

So my husband's grumbling 'cos he can't find a clean Tupperware to store the leftovers in and I'm all relaxed because "Man it's my birthday, who cares?" and after five (or six?) flutes of champagne, fuck I haven't been this drunk since 1989, we watched Aliens vs. Monsters with the kids and the rabbit peed on Pauline's pyjamas and I go into the kitchen laughing like a motherfucker to unload the dishwasher with one hand while sexting Ms. Mac with the other, but I keep pushing the SEND button too early (stupid phone is retarded obviously) and Stella has to hold her breath in between sexts to understand what the heck I'm talking about, and I make myself a coffee to try and sober up. Do NOT want to go to bed with so much alkyhall in the blood. Do NOT want to be hanged over tomorrow.

Kevin got the hiccups during the movie and Pauline was cross 'cos I kept shrieking with laughter and dropping my head onto her shoulder.

Shit now, with my eyelids at half-mast, I understand how people get drunk, take too many meds and fall down the stairs or into the fireplace!!! But I'm still sufficiently obsessed with good presentation to backtrack and correct my typos so y'all can read this.

So I check my email again to see if my brand new clients received the enormous, wonderful, skillfully-crafted and perfectly-formed translation I sent them tonight after three solid days of work. I am SO proud of myself. I worked SO HARD for the last week, wanting to impress them with my language skillz and show them how good my French is. My brain is fried and I understand why businessmen get drunk, sniff drugs and take a hooker for the night. Once I had pressed SEND on that contract, I had just one desire: to U.W.I.N.D baby. I haven't found any drugs to sniff or hookers yet, but I sure would like to.

And in spite of working from 7 am to 7 pm today, I had such a lovely burpday, with phone calls from Canada and New Zealand and Australia, and so many happy messages from around the world. I am a lucky, lucky girl!

Thursday, February 04, 2010

THIS is why you don't hear from us anymore

Her Majesty has a hurty knee!

Mine is here

but you have to email me first in a totally smarmy and sycophantic way to get permission.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

This One's For Tat and Trac!

Yes, I've had a couple of beers tonight...

Friday, November 13, 2009

Why I Hate Fridays

Antipo [typing away, hard at work in her study]

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:30]: Where's the rabbit?

Antipo [typing]: Under the bed in Popo's room.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:31]: I hope she's not doing poops or chewing the electric cables.

Antipo [typing]: Of course not, she is a pedigree, well brought up young lady, not like those rough rabbits from the housing estate.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:33]: You are supposed to be watching her when she's not in her cage.

Antipo [typing]: I'm working.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:35]: Well shut Popo's bedroom door so the rabbit can't go in there.

Antipo [STOPS typing]: I had all the bedroom doors shut yesterday so Fluffy would have to stay with me and you scolded me for not letting the warm air circulate, which makes the bedrooms cold and Popo might catch pneumonatic swine flu and tuberculosis and DIE and then I would be sorry!

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:38]: But today it's warm and sunny so you can shut the bedroom doors.

Antipo [shouting, not typing]: GET OUT OF MY FACE! I'm WORKING!

Fuck You Mr Grumpy Blackheart!

Thursday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart has a day's leave. I get up at 6:20 as I have done every day this year, to get son to the station on time for his train. I then take daughter to school at 8 am, briefly see Mr Grumpy Blackheart is up and getting his breakfast, and go jogging in the forest. When I arrive back at the house an hour later, I go into our bedroom and see he has gone back to bed. Oops! I close the door gently and tiptoe away, thinking I will have my shower later, as the bathroom is just next to our bedroom and I don’t want to make any noise.

My morning progresses satisfactorily: important writing, proofreading and emailing. I briefly visit Mr Blackheart in the basement where he is fixing the punctured tyre on his mountain bike, then get back to work in my study. At midday I hear Mr Blackheart making kitcheny noises, which means he is getting his lunch, but I don’t want to stop while I’m in the middle of a creative streak, so I keep working. At around two o’clock I succumb to hunger and skip downstairs in a good mood to get my lunch. I know Mr Blackheart often has an afternoon nap on weekends and holidays, but I foolishly assume that would not be the case today, as he has already spent the morning in bed. Wrong!

Later in the day he complains heavily that he couldn’t sleep this afternoon because of all the noise I made in the kitchen (microwave pinging, cupboard doors being opened and closed, my conversation with the rabbit). I sweetly tell him that if he would care to inform me when he is taking a nap I will be happy to sit noiselessy in a corner with my hands folded silently, but because he had a grasse matinée, I assumed he would not require further slumber today. I also inform him that I deliberately did not use the bathroom in the morning because I knew he was in bed, even though I am dying to take a shower. I cannot refrain from adding that some of us get up early, take care of children, do exercise, work, housework, and do not actually have time for lie-ins and afternoon naps. Some of us pretend to be young, bouncy and energetic, even if we are not, in order to avoid sliding into a state of lethargic depression.

Friday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart’s regular day off work (he works a four day week). He stays in bed until 11 am. I get the children out of the house by 8 am, go jogging, come home, have my shower, make my breakfast (ping! slam!) and talk loudly to Fluffy with lots of joyous exclamations.

Fuck you Mr Grumpy Blackheart!

I have a life!

(Note: He is now up at 11:20 and is vacuuming the lounge, even though I did it yesterday, because apparently I didn't use the correct attachment for rugs.)