But I marched against the war already, isn't that enough?

"…a situation that the United Nations called “desperate" two years ago has become more grim. There are millions without adequate food and water, and millions more who were forced to flee the violence, and who now depend entirely on relief organizations for survival. But the relief organizations have stretched their resources to the breaking point."

No.

A haphazard post for a haphazard weekend.

When I asked the husband how he was doing this morning, as I am wont to do, he told me he was hung over. "I have a splitting headache and I feel nauseous*", he groaned. "But we didn't drink anything at all yesterday." "No. But I think all the alcohol from the rest of the weekend finally left my system".

That, my friends, is the sort of weekend we had. Red wine, white wine and whisky, all culminating in the most abysmal attempt to play poker ever.
"So, hang on, I've put in four of these chip things, does that mean I can knock on the table or do I have to put more in?"
"Who's left of dealer? Is it me?" "You're the dealer" "Oh, right. How many cards in the flop again?"
"Ha! I have a straight!" "It's not your turn. But I fold." "So do I" "And me" "Dammit".

Much of Sunday was spent trying to set up our shiny new wireless modem connection, which works fine on the desktop but sends my laptop into a confused tizzy. I'm not even going to go into it, except to say Who The Hell Told Me Laptops Were Fun This Isn't Fun.

And then in my hopes that this post would have a point, it somehow became Tuesday. I hate it when that happens.

*Yes, I know it's 'nauseated'. But I am not an asshole who corrects my husband on tiny pernickety grammatical errors first thing on a Monday morning. I make this qualifying comment only because some scientist-types like to get all pedantic in my comments section, as if it mattered whether a frog and a fish are in fact the same thing.

Idle post-weekend blogging

Despite me being the worst friend ever, my dear mate Matthew and his gorgeous partner Michelle* are coming back to my city for a visit, and staying with us for part thereof. So Matt and I are going out this Wednesday to our favourite Cheap Dive to drink too much wine and gossip. This makes me very happy. This will in due course make me very hung-over, because the dive in question boasts a wine selection apparently geared to the group of dead-eyed gamblers glued to the pinball machines in the corner, but for the sake of old times, I'll deal with that.

You know, now that I put it like that, I'm not entirely sure it's a good idea. Would it be cheating to have one drink at The Dive, toast to old times and then go somewhere where the wine is made from real grapes?

Or is that sort of soft-hearted liberal entitlement why the terrorists are winning?

In unrelated-but-for-being-a-good-thing news, we bought some new fish to replace the ones that died. We figured that they were killing each other because there were too many males and not enough females in the tank* so we tried to pick female fish. Obviously you can't just pick a fish up and flip it over to insert its nether regions, so this involved us standing by the fish tank in the shop and saying things like That One Looks Like It Has Hips and Not That One, It Looks Too Strong/Determined/Fast**. Obviously I have no problems with gendered behavioural stereotypes when they apply to amphibians.

They seem happy enough so far. Insomuch as they have not yet torn each other's fins off in a fit of rage. I'm not entirely sure how they even do this - having not caught them in the act I imagine some sort of coordinated attack involving specially sharpened gravel - but I swear they do. Behind those shiny fins and innocent flicks of the tail lie the hearts and minds of evil little killers.

And apart from an enjoyable afternoon strolling around galleries filled with antiques and artworks for sale and pretending I was rich enough to buy them, that was my weekend. And you wondered why I don't blog as often any more.

*First mentioned in the days before I started in with the cute nicknames. Possibly luckily for them.
**Disproving the old homily that fish have died and worms have eaten them, but not for caviar.
***In the speed sense, not in the sexual sense. A fast female fish, in the latter sense, is exactly what we want. The more baby fish the better, if you ask me.