Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join Lulu from Live it, Love it and the fast-growing harem ofTMI-participators in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. If you want, leave it here in the comments! If you’re chicken, share someone else’s! Ah, the anonymity of the blogosphere… it’s a good thing.

Without further ado, here is my first Thursday’s Tale of TMI…

I’m trying not to get stressed. Stress and me, even a little bit don’t mix. It turns my tummy into knots, twists it into little pieces and gives me horrific mornings and sleepless nights. But you can’t help stressing about a health disciplinary about the tummy problems the stress is causing in the first place can you?

Anyways, I haven’t written about my IBS in a while, i didn’t want to gross any of you out with poop tales, but i did promise you all a TMI. And this is TMI and a half.

My new doc and I have been working through a bathroom cabinet sized variety of pills and potions and options and therapies to try and sort little old me out. I’ve tried Mebervine, Buscopan, Fibregel, colofax, peppermint oil in capsule form, you name it, i’ve tried it and none of them work for me. It always comes back with a vengeance. The newest option was to try a low dose anti-depression – anxiety medicine to a) calm me down and b) the side effects are meant to help.

The side effects didn’t help.

Friday night, picture the scene, me all glammed up, tight skinny jeans, new knee high boots, sexy eyes. Out for cocktails with my hot man and the creative director of a high street fashion store. We were talking fashion, models, crazy high street fashion employees, blogging. It was glamorous as hell.

However, i had forgotten to eat. But this isn’t a vomiting tale, oh no. It seems that the warning label on my anti-d’s was there for a reason. Instead of the alcohol coming out upwards, it came out downwards. And not whilst i was in the bathroom, having realising it was about to happen. Oh no, this had no warning.

Instead, i reverse-vomited as i was walking across Princes Street. Yes, that’s the main famous street of Edinburgh. At the busiest time of night, in front of loads of people. And in front of the boy. I don’t think he can ever look at me in the same way ever again (and I guess now neither can you).

And that my friends is TMI.

What is the most humiliating thing that has happened to you?

I have news about the Boy and I habitation situation. We have set a date. In exactly 50 days time he will be packing up his extensive wardrobe and hot footing it across town to join me in living in sin bliss.

(Although I’ll officially be a miss again by then so it’s not quite as wicked as it could have been, he has been going out with someone else’s wife for the last 2 years after all)

As this will be the third time I’ve had the joy of coupledom with a man I’ve had plenty of time to formulate my rules of successful co-habiting. Much like my last relationship list, this is tongue firmly in cheek stuff. Feel free to add your suggestions in the comments – a bloke’s opinion is especially welcome!

Thou shalt not squeeze the toothpaste from the top, nor leave it a twisted mess on the side of the sink, cap open with blue paste all over the sink, taps and mirror. Thou shalt not leave shaving hairs all over the sink or newspapers beside the toilet. Grazia and Glamour however are acceptable.

Thou shalt take charge of emptying the bins, the recycling boxes, reaching heavy things down from the top cupboard, and various other manly things.

Thou shalt not steal my socks, or shout at me for the lack of said clean socks or pants. Thou shalt learn that the place dirty socks and pants live is in the washing basket, not in the corner of the bedroom.

Thou shalt refrain from using the term “helping out” and take responsibility for half of the cooking, cleaning and de-cat hairing. I shalt take responsibility for cleaning the bathroom however, as men do not see dirt in the same way women do.

Thou shalt learn to relinquish the remote control. Whilst thou might think this is a god given mans right, there is more to life than family guy and sky sports news. Soccer AM is however acceptable, or any programme that involves close ups of hot men in shorts.

Thou shalt give warning when one will be returning home to a sea of boys, pizza boxes, beer bottles and fag smoke. A bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and my choice of film on the tv can be used on one occasion every month if thou forget this rule.

Thou shalt not question how your co-habitee spends their evenings off. Spending 4 hours on twitter whilst eating crisps with Glee on in the background is always acceptable and a woman’s god given right. Glee can be replaced with whatever award show is currently on for comedy twitter reading purposes.

If thou wishes any junk food to be added to the shopping list, notice must be given. Complaining about lack of various illuminous foodstuffs after the event is also discouraged and will result in a ban on said foodstuffs for an undefined period of time. Buying them yourself is however, acceptable.

Thou shall still ‘date’ your co-habitee. Just because one now resides in the same bed every night does not mean that meals and trips to the cinema and cocktails in fancy bars has been relinquished for a life of TV watching and avoiding boys nights in. Thou shalt learn the gift of give and take or how to order a takeaway.

Thou accept that your behaviour will now be blogged for comedy purposes.

Providing that you follow these simple commandments your life will be filled with all that you desire, including regular consent to rumpy pumpy.

Ah….men

I’ve decided to bring back the photo posts from my old wee-travellings blog – these were entitled Reflections. Unfortunately, the Iphone with all its wizzy technology has a terrible camera, but I miss taking photos and so I am going to treat myself to a new digital camera before my trip to Paris in June.

So, first up, this is my favourite photo from the Ocean Colour Scene gig at The Picturehouse in Edinburgh last night.  The photo is of Steve Craddock performing one of my favourite OCS songs – Robin Hood (im not sure if the link works, fingers crossed)

(clickable)

When I’m startin’ to cry
Come and sit by my side
I will love you so
And when the nightmares come
I will try to be fun, even though;
I’m so scared you know

It’s the return of the Monday sundries post (or should it be the Sunday Sundries? I like that). Ok, this is the renamed Sunday Sundries post. The post where i update you on my weekend, the post where i get my brain into gear before the week starts with a little rambling.

…First up… The return of the UK Girl Bloggers Meet Up!

After the success of the Manchester meet up, the next one will take place in my home town of Edinburgh from the 28^th-31^st of May. How very exciting. If you fancy coming along, then just follow @GBMEUP on twitter (that’s me!) and send me a DM and i’ll add you to the email list. Come for as long or short as you’d like, we’d love to meet you!

…Secondly… I have a serious TMI for Thursday, and i mean serious –  something that i may chicken out of telling folks on this blog and the wider world. It was utterly humiliating, something i really don’t think ill ever get over. AWFUL. JUST FECKING AWFUL.

…Anyways, thirdly, I really want this coat from Hobbs, but i’m not sure i can justify the price. I know a coat is an investment piece and this has all the mod style that i love, plus it would go amazingly with the new purple dress and all the black in my wardrobe. See, i’m trying to talk myself into it.

Yes, me buying a coat really is an important topic for this blog.

…this weekend was actually pretty quiet. I had a few cocktails in Bramble and the Voodoo Rooms and then we tried to go to the new YoSushi on Friday night but it shuts at 8.30. What restaurant shuts at 8.30? Ill have to go back another time as i’ve been craving sushi ever since.

… I made scrummy enchiladas on Saturday night. The chicken was marinated with cumin, cayene pepper, oregano, garlic, chilli, pepper and tomato puree. Heavenly. I also added some spiced beans.

…I’m also really excited about this coming weekend, I’m off to Dumfries and Galloway to spend a weekend in a cottage. Now this sounds twee, but its anything but. Last year was an absolute blast (pics here from last year) although i was really nervous as they are B’s mates (and a little intimidating) but i refuse not to have a good time this year!

…music wise i’m finally off to to see Ocean Colour Scene tomorrow night… i’m also loving the Boy who Trapped the Sun and liking Frightened Rabbit. Plus The Law are supporting OCS tomorrow, so im checking them out too.

So, how was your weekend? Any stories? Should i buy the coat? Any other gigs i should be checking out?

P.s Dont mention the TMI!

P.p.s – If you fancy reading some chick lit fiction – then click here – opinions and comments really welcome!

Short and very very sweet today (in fact this could be a tweet) – in 5 weeks time I will no longer be a Mrs.

Yes, the errant ExHubbie (EEH) has finally arrived back from his travels to deepest darkest Africa and signed for the forms.

Right before our 10 year anniversary as well.

Get in.

Deserving of a wee glass of wine this evening?

I think so VERY much…

If you have ever lost your hearing due to a cold then you’ll understand what I feel like today. However, as I am partially deaf in one ear it causes a double problem. I feel like I’m living in a bubble. Everything has a soft edge punctured by pain on occasion, pain in swallowing, pops and whistles that go on for hours.

My deafness has never really been a problem, apart from times like these. I hated getting hearing aids, I think I was about 14 before they realised I wasn’t just antisocial. Switching them on, I could hear things that for years I didn’t know existed. I could hear people in other rooms, hear conversations I didn’t want hear and I could no longer retreat into my own little world.

…and then there was the teasing. 4 foot 11, glasses and hearing aids at 14 with the added problem of a late puberty meant that I was the subject of taunts and laughter and dates with the only deaf boy.

So I stopped wearing them.

Of course there are many things that I must have missed out on; groups, clubs, noisy rooms are all a problem to me. But then so is my self esteem. Without my hearing aids there is no outward sign that I have this problem, no one will know unless I tell them.

No one will ever tease me for this. No one will pigeonhole me as ‘deaf’. I have enough to be getting on with, with out that to deal with as well.

But today, I understand.

A little (ok a lot) of self doubt has been creeping in recently. This though is not personal, but professional. I am in a happy place right now personally, but of course when there is too much happiness something has to give.

But, professional self doubt is for some reason worse than personal worries – it’s not necessarily about whether people like you, but whether people believe you can do the job you are being paid for. Fundamental really.

There are many people out there that hide self doubt particularly well. I am in awe of this talent. I, however, seem to pin ball from fire fighting to picking up pieces, to following in someone’s footsteps, to being the go-to girl for lots of people.

 Weeks goes by and my responses to my boss involve all or some of the following responses – done, complete, done before you asked. I am miss-efficient. I am smart, savvy and can report write like a demon.

But colleagues? Don’t seem to appreciate me right now. So who do I believe?

Maybe it’s not the bosses that are the problem, maybe it is the colleagues, the people on your level or just higher (but not your boss). Work is a backstabbing business.

Do people really succeed by criticising others, by picking holes in other people’s work; undermining them to the point that you feel your work just isn’t good enough? Or am I being paranoid. Or am I just awful at taking criticism?

Whatever, I need to get out of this fear-funk.