Have a great 2010!

I've very much enjoyed your 2009 catch up posts. It's almost ludicrous that yet another year has passed by. At least this year I feel like I caught the train, rather than being stuck at the 2009 station, waiting for the next one.

I'm definitely going to do the 50 book challenge this year. I'm tempted to cheat a little and include a book I was reading last week, but I'm taking the high road.

Instead over the last 2 days I read Nelson DeMille's 'Nightfall'

It's not the sort of book I'd normally pick up, but I am slowly making my way through Beast Master's collection. He is the owner of a stunning array of war books, spy books and non fiction coffee table books that have nothing but things like 'Carriers of the Crimea' plastered all over the front.

It's sort of endearing - such a boy obsession. Suffice to say I've been avoiding 'Super Chargers: The True Story of Depth Mines' and the like. I'm more enjoying his spy and police collection, which is where DeMille's book comes in.

A short review... TW 800 was a flight that actually did explode about 12 minutes after take off from New York. 230 passengers died on their way to Paris. Horrible stuff. This book posits that it may have been a terrorist attack. At the end of the day, it's a great detective story and I sort of love then main character, troubled smart aleck cop with an axe to grind, John Corey. So much I have raided the Spare Oom to get the next book in the series. If anything, it'll give me awesome things to annoy Beast Master with - my favourite interchange was Corey simply beating on his nemesis and calling him an asshole. And then telling him he stepped on his, erm, member.

Pretty engrossing, and I even didn't get too bothered by this author having his work endorsed by Dan Brown. Demille is several orders of magnitude above Brown, in my humble opinion. At least I give a crap about his characters.

The only good thing I've got the say about the Da Vinci code was the interview with Paul Bettany about how he made Tom Hanks fart during filming of the movie.

Donna Reed can go fuck herself. In the arse.

I've been trying to channel both Donna Reed and Nigella Lawson respectively to no avail. I've decided that without a production crew to starch my apron or to pull in my whalebone stays, I'm better off just being The Girl Formerly Known As Haversham.


So preparation for Christmas has seen me break all of the good house keeping rules. Mind you, like a lot of other people, I love the antiquated good house keeping guides of yore. The linky up above is a particularly good one.

I spent a lot of time doing weekend party planning to save enough money for the family Christmas presents. Which is itself is a feat of endurance. Then I managed to get all sorts of shitty at the Beast for spending said money. Shopping with me is never fun - I hate to part with a well earned dollar. I also hate to pay full retail. I'd rather shop around. Anyway, the shopping was horrific and then I decided that I would make presents as well...

Let me just say I am not a domestic goddess. After a weekend of entertaining, cleaning, entertaining and cleaning again, I am decidedly pissy. Then spending all day cooking and making dodgy gifts that quite closely resemble a third grader's art project (a severely artistically challenge third grader read that as: I am a spaz) I am feeling less than enthusiastic about Christmas.

Top off doing the washing and folding for two and I am one bitchy little hausfrau.

Let's just say that on days like this, the Beast earns his keep. The poor bastard.

Harrumph and good day, sirs!

The Smuggening

Well, I have a lot to say. Most of it inappropriate and cloying. Along the lines of 'last night we were watching tv, just holding hands and he said the cutest thing...'

But I am well aware that's the most annoying line of conversation in the world.

Adjusting to being a Smug from a Haversham has been remarkably easy. We went through the Stages of Early Coupling:

Meeting.--> Not sure.--> Great conversation.--> Getting sure.--> First date.--> Getting surer.--> Second date.--> Pretty damn sure.--> Third date.--> Sure.--> Lose count of dates, gain greater certainty.--> Staying the weekends.--> Not seeing anyone else barr each other for about 2 months during which time other firsts happen, first vomit/fart/nose pick etc in front of each other. Actually, the nose pick thing still hasn't happened. But you'll be pleased and disgusted to know I broke the seal on the other two things.--> Introductions to friends.--> Introductions to family.--> Uncertainty about whether everyone likes you.--> Having Serious Talks.--> Asking me to move in.--> Moving in.--> More Serious Talks.--> Making future plans.--> Squealing with Mother about future plans.--> Leaving brochures from jewellers around the house.--> Thus End the Early Coupling Phase.--> Stay tuned for 'Late Early Coupling Phase'.

Currently I am just about to enter the 'leaving brochures' phase. I like to be subtle. And Klassy. That's right, you saw the capital K. That's me.

I don't know, when I think realistically about it, there's nothing I would rather *not* do more. That sort of thing means I have to get serious about getting thin again. And then I have to be ok with forking out obscene amounts of money to people and places I'd really rather not employ or go to. Photographers? Hair? Makeup which quite frankly, I look at and think 'I'd have been happier doing it myself'? I hate that crap.

But what is it about the thought of having that Big Day that still sets most girls' stupidity factors soaring? I never really had to think about it before, it's always been very abstract. I know I'll end up being a 'zilla demanding bigger and better things. But is it what's important?

Hmm. I don't have the answer for that. But I can say, these are pleasant problems to be consumed with. I'm not complaining by any stretch, but some days I look around the townhouse we share, and all my things here and all the couples stuff we do now and wonder - 'how did this happen to me?'.

I was all set to be a nosey old Haversham, stealing stem cells from placenta to keep my evil powers growing and complaining about neighbours and their pets.

I'm freaking lucky, that's for sure.

Sorry for the girl post. So that's where I'm at right now. Being a girl who is worried about being fat. The more things change - the more they stay the same, right?