Where's this mess coming from?

Why is my house so untidy? It used to be perfect. It used to be neat and clean and lovely. Now crap bubbles up on every available surface. Dust bunnies that you could step up on to form in every corner. Cobwebs, greasy fingerprints and unidentified bits gather and taunt me. I think the cats gang up and take it in turns popping out and picking up twigs n' shit and bringing it in.

The cause of my crap can be attributed to a few things:

1. I have a boyfriend.
2. I have way too much stuff.
3. I don't do enough housework.

Can you imagine the explosive damage these things can do to a mid terrace two up three down?

I miss my Mum.

I really miss her. This is the longest time I've ever gone without speaking to her, and its only going to get longer. I want to call her and tell her how well the funeral went and who came and things that are going on. I want to tell her about our night away and show her the flowers people sent me, and the flowers people bought for her. I want to tell her what I plan to do next. I want to thank her for everything and say I'm sorry for not being patient with her and not taking her seriously when she said she thought her time had come. Why would I think that? she only had a chest infection.

I feel guilty for leaving her little house alone, almost as if it's a pet or something alive. Not being cared for the way she did. The lights aren't coming on at night, nothing is being moved. It's all still where she left it. I'm dreading having to move everything. I know that weeds will be growing in between the bricks on her front path, and she's never going to pull them up.

I know people are genuine when they say to call them if I need anything or I need company, but I can't. It's past one in the morning on a school night, for God's sake. Who the hell do I call and tell them I'm upset? Who do I ring and ask if they think she's still here somewhere, just a veil away, or if your lights go out and you're gone? Who do I ask at this time in the night? I'm fighting back tears often and I know it's the wrong thing to do, but I don't want to impose myself on other people. I know I could have called her and told her how upset I was, because she was there for me. But I can't, because she's gone. I can't be real. No way has she gone. How could she be gone? she's my Mum.

Better.

One of the funniest stories my Mum ever told me, was about a time she was out shopping. I was working at the council at the time and we'd met for lunch. She'd had mushy peas (or sloppy peas as she used to call them) and they often had an immediate and, not uncommon side effect on her. When ever she ate them, she always warned whoever she was with that the was taking a bit of a chance, and so she'd apologise in advance for any 'wind' they may have to encounter.

Anyway, she's walking through the shops in our local shopping centre and decided that the inevitable was about to happen. Now, my Mum was never too worried about where she was when she farted, and since her hysterectomy several years ago, she could produce a sound that would shame a camel. We used to say she had a bigger wind capacity since shed had her 'big end' out. I'm not exaggerating here; I've never heard anything like it. She showed no shame and often in the knowledge that people would assume it was me, rather than the sweet, tiny little lady that she was, would just drop one anywhere. She'd then cross her legs and go all weak at the knees, trying not to pee herself laughing. She had issues, my Mum.

She decided that this was big enough, that she'd wait until she got to the car, just in case the unthinkable happened. (I'm not going to expand on that) So she saved it. Not for long, but a long time for her. She got to her little car in the car park, and braced herself against the door. She did it in style; bent over slightly, with an expression of relieve we only experience at the most sublime moments. When she told me about it, she stressed that even for her, it was a shocker. She didn't know what it was that made her turn around and look at the car parked right next to her, but as she turned, she saw some poor man, sitting in his car with the window rolled down, reading his paper. Poor bastard was less than a foot away from her arse when she did it, and when I imagine it, I see the guys Daily Mail flutter at the corner, under the gust of wind that assaulted him.

She did what only she would do; she looked him in the eye, grabbed her skirt, wafted it for effect and said 'ohhhh, that's better' then got in her car, and drove away. Laughing so hard she nearly crashed the car.

Mo Ripley: May 1945 - October 2009

Please adopt my lost sheep...

My boyfriend's a gamer. He plays war game type stuff, and I've never seen the attraction, even though he's tried to get me interested in all kinds of games. My friend basically talked me into having a look at FarmVille (he probably needed neighbours) and I liked the fact that nobody died (including the pigs) no zombies ate me, I didn't have to create a whole species, steal a car or kick a ball, but it was a gentle, creative game. Bit like me, in fact!

If you're not a Facebooker, you won't have a clue what I'm on about, so just move along please. If you do, you're either a farmer yourself (Howdy) or play Mafia Wars and hate our posts. Whatever.

No idea how long I've been playing for now (level 33) but it's something I really enjoy. I find it weirdly entertaining and it takes up as much or as little time as I like. Harvesting/ploughing/planting is one of the things I like the most, as time consuming as it is, because I often like to make patterns in the crops and make up little races with myself when ploughing etc. I like visiting my mates farms, leaving them daft signs, writing dafter signs on my own farm, hanging out on here, rearranging bits on my farm, all that kind of stuff. Or I can just do a full rotation in fifteen minutes and leave it at that. Not that I can ever leave it at that, of course.

Loads of people I work with play FarmVille and when we see each other, we kinda nod that farmer nod, knowing that we share this weird fascination with a cyber farm on Facebook. Grown men and women sending each other goats when we get home, and planting tomatoes 'cos they make the most coin!

Now it's my boyfriend that's the gamer widow, and I love my farm. Hell, it's the only exercise I get.

Good things come to those who...

It's been mad in Rippers World for a few weeks; some seriously weird goings on. I've had to wait for answers from other people, and let them make decisions on my behalf. I hate that. I want to make the decisions in my life, not wait on other people and leave it to chance in their hands. I've waited to see if I've behaved correctly, I've had to explain my thoughts and actions, and wait for someone else to decide if they were right. I've had to wait for someone to decide if I'm capable of doing a job that nobody has tried yet. What did they use to decide? Who I am, what I've done, or what I did on just one day? I'll never know.

The main thing is, they decided I was right. They decided that I'd behaved in the right way, and decided I'm capable of doing the job. They decided that I'm who I say I am. Thank god, because otherwise, I'd have been someone else, doing something else, and wearing someone else's knickers. It's so nice to be told you're right, but at the same time, it's horrible that someone else gets to choose.

They're not weird things though are they? Not in this day and age. Not unusual. Getting a call from my Mum to say someone who was lost to her 48 years ago has found her - found us - now that's unusual.

So I've got a new brother now. It's happened pretty fast and we met him really quickly after he called. I thought it would have been weirder than it was, but it was cool. N major breakdown in tears type situations, no awkward questions or anything like that. Maybe that made it even weirder. Anyway, we waited a long time to meet, and it was deffinately worth waiting for.