Guilt-Ridden, PMSy, cantankerous and starving!

Have not had the best month. Am currently on Week Four of the New Regime and I'm not feeling any thinner, healthier or happier. Granted, I haven't been following it to the letter but at the very least I'm cooking at home more often.

The aftermath of the honeymoon, and my new-found determination to be a lovely wife and not a screaming shrew has left me with some frustrated energy to expend on someone other than my dear beloved Husband and since there are only so many self-defence classes I can take (and sex I feel like having... oddly enough my libido has taken quite a plunge... I now have to be seduced into it rather than me actively prodding said Husband to engage in some marital fun.... notice how marital is an anagram of martial?)

Anyway.... so I've got all this steam to give off. I'm feeling particularly disgruntled because young-bun co-workers are first in line to eat cakes and sweeties I bring but very last in inviting me to pub outings, discos, etc (with the notable exception of Mari, who is always trying to drag me out - sometimes successfully - to go out eating or dancing). Anyway, the last straw was when I sent an invite out for people to come over on Friday night after the team supper at my favorite Chinese place.

Nevermind the fact that this COW from Montpellier totally hijacked the plan and kept bleating on about how she wanted us to go to karaoke - which we did... which was a disaster. I don't mind if people have other ideas. I do mind that they do not even acknowledge invitations. This after I had lugged home several gallons of mixer to go with the cheap-ass booze I had left over from other parties, trips to Lidl, etc.

In actual fact I just wanted to get rid of all the crap in our booze cabinet and I figured the best way would be to hold this party and serve this stuff (after all, some of them left over this crap). But no. Marc had confided in me that apparently people were miffed that I did not include my address on the invite.

Oh bollocks, most of them knew where I lived already and I didn't feel like providing my address to all and sundry anyway.

So I'm in an evil mood towards everyone and feel like going postal though they do not know it. But that is the last (and I mean LAST) time I am ever so much as a tea party (let alone a huge booze-up) for anybody. And they can forget about biscuits.

I don't go down to lunch anymore (does anyone ever stop to ask me to come down with them? not a fucking chance). I've overstayed my stay here... right now I'm running on fumes and looking elsewhere. Thank FUCK we are leaving Scotland sooner or later because sometimes I really can't stand it anymore.

The truth of the matter, is that some of the people that I work with, no matter how nice and charming they are (and some really are) are still too young. I can't be bothered with that lifestyle anymore. I don't go out and drink, don't go out clubbing and I prefer to spend money on more adult things.... like four-star lux hotels in Eastern Europe. Who gives a toss that DJ Sasha-DigFuck-FooFoo-Franz is playing XYZAlternateeniegothcacaclub? I'm from MONTREAL - I've fuckin' seen and done it all!