Bitch on the Blog

January 18, 2013

Arctic Kiss

Filed under: Amusement,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 16:11
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Since we hit the bottle in more ways than one in my last post we might as well continue in the same puddle (not least to torture teetotallers and those currently fasting for their sins):

THE COCKTAIL

Apart from a Martini and anything involving champagne (say, a Bellini)  I believe cocktails to be the devil’s invention. Too many overtones of fruit (which makes you careless), too much high spirited alcohol (which makes you refuse breakfast the next day). Once only (Puerto Banus, Marbella, South of Spain, Europe, Planet Earth, ca. 1985), four of them innocently imbibed, and never again.

However, my beloved GG (Gay Guy) – and he does know what he does when he shakes and stirs – did create THE URSULA  for me (New Year’s Eve 2005). Here follows his concoction, and please do offer your own blends as you see fit:

1 part Frangelico, 1 part Tia Maria, 5 parts Champagne

Stir gently in lovely container. Pour for a soul satisfying evening of blissful intellectual stimulation. The perfect blend of sweetness and sophistication.

For himself he devised THE GG:

1 part Pernod , 2 parts Absinthe, 1 part Vodka

Serve over completely cracked ice. Prepare for immediate nausea.

The romance of it. Don’t you love a grand gesture, even if it’s only a small one?

GG

GG

Since his mother is Irish I’ll dedicate this post to her.  Sign outside a tavern:

“Drunk for 1d. Dead drunk for 2d. Clean straw for nothing.”

U

October 13, 2012

Congratulations

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 13:34
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I have just received two more ‘Failure Notices”. From the ‘postmaster’ himself. A timely reminder not to get above myself. Never to assume everything will just be fine. It won’t.

On 21st September, on occasion of my LSF’s (longest standing friend) birthday, and on the brink of dialling his number I managed to drown my phone. No, not in the toilet. But copious amounts of water were involved. Since the Angel was away I couldn’t borrow his cell phone. So far, so not so good. LSF deserves an Oscar in friendship terms but he refuses to accept any of my condolences as to his advancing years when they come late.

It gets worse. Not that long ago I acquired another friend, let’s call him MRS (most recent friend), red carpet material too, whose birthday (yesterday) I also managed not so much miss as ‘the postmaster’ putting the sock in. I had high hopes of the time zone difference giving me a leg up. No such luck. I missed midnight’s deadline.

I am not given to grovelling but needs must. With Lorna’s birthday on the horizon maybe there will be another failure notice winging its way to me.

Hugs, kisses, best wishes and Happy Birthday to everyone, past, present and future,

Unfailingly yours,

U

July 25, 2012

Each parting has its secret

Filed under: Communication,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 18:05
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On the whole people get it wrong. Which is why it’s wonderful when someone gets it right.

The art of giving presents was brought to my attention (by another blogger)  just now.

When his sense of humour was still intact – shortly after we separated – FOS presented me with a parting gift from heaven: A composting bin complete with worms. It’s all I ever wanted: A wormery. No joke. I was deliriously happy. Not so happy that I would have married him again but very very happy. I mean it. I was. Unfortunately, you need to choose your friends wisely. At that time my life was everyone’s soap opera so ‘friends’ thought he was taking the piss. Not so. He was most thoughtful. Tell your friends they’ve got it wrong: Why not shove a rock uphill instead?

Yes, so that was good. Other than worms give me flowers.

U

June 29, 2012

Hard hitting

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 09:36
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One of the reasons I am not overly keen on marriage that on tying the knot couples appear to come as a parcel rather than the two individuals they once were. Do not delude yourselves: Not everything needs to be shared. Particularly friends.

I once had a friend who now doesn’t talk to me any longer because her husband says so. One could, of course, reflect on what sort of friendship it was in the first place and what sort of woman she is to let herself be told who she can or cannot consort with.

Nora Ephron has died. Convention is that one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. And I won’t. Except that I don’t like people who can’t keep confidences, can’t keep their mouth shut. As her husband, Carl Bernstein, once remarked: Nora can’t even go to the supermarket without working it into her next screenplay.  Let’s put it this way: I’d have probably enjoyed her company but would have kept her at more than two arms’ distance as to the inner workings of my private life.

AND she did come out with some utter rot. Not least the line that men and women can’t be true friends “because that sex thing always comes between them”. Talk for yourself, Nora. And leave me out of it. I know what I know. And I have proven it.

That I also fail to see what was so funny about her having Meg Ryan (a sweet actress if ever there was one) do that fake orgasm in some American diner I will not mention. It would be mean.

Hugs and kisses to all you men out there waiting to be ravished. Be my friend first. Now we are talking.

U

December 25, 2011

Your Miss Marple to my Watson

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 12:35
Tags: , ,

Just had startling thought. Will now have to rethink blossoming career as a crime writer. It’s annoying.

Why would anyone murder anyone?

Let the thought melt. Let its aftertaste linger. Before you jump in with an answer.

It doesn’t make sense. Leaving aside crimes of passion, heat of the moment, perversions, why would I risk execution or sitting my days out in the claustrophobia of a cell because someone has evoked my wrath?

It amounts to that trite, yet true,  ”cutting off your nose to spite your face/ shooting oneself in the foot.” The person who might hope to be killed by my own fairly strong hands does not exist. Do I look stupid or something? Why would I give YOU the satisfaction?

Yes, I know it’s Christmas. And my Ode to the Tree, as yet not written, will be forthcoming. However, you can’t blame my brain for fermenting the most profound whilst making pastry.

Back to Bach.

U

December 6, 2011

Red carpet in shreds

Filed under: Communication,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 19:56
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If last Monday’s post went with a bang yesterday’s  Monday morning has me whimper.

No sooner had I slagged off those prizes bloggers award each other – in my reply to a comment the drop dead gorgeous Charles had left me – along comes writingfeemail.wordpress.com aka Little Miss Mischief aka La Tease and drops one hell of a clanger: I find myself the unhappy recipient of “The Versatile Blogger Award”. I wish I could hide like my two year old self behind my mother in the folds of her full skirt, pout and say “I don’t want it” (insert teary note). “Darling, don’t be silly. You like spinach so you’ll always be able to stomach the unpalatable. Say thank you.” Finger in mouth, eyes full of suspicion:  ”Don’t want to.”

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Which doesn’t make any economical sense. Unless you immediately take a gift horse to the slaughter house and reform it into salami you will need to feed, water and exercise it. In modern lingo this translates into: “There is no such thing as a free lunch.” Am now in existentialist crisis: Do I go down in history as a blogging scrouge who doesn’t have it in her heart to play by the rules (of others); or do I  humour the blogging community like a circus clown on his way out? Do I stick to principles or do I shrug my shoulders and say “Whatever.” ? Maybe I could rent some space in the broom cupboard one blogger has so lovingly created for her many awards.

Insert sigh.  I am in trouble. Confession time: First of all, I read few, and I mean few, blogs on a regular basis. Since I am terrific friendship material I tend to keep it small, and loyal. Not that I don’t throw parties, and please do gate crash. I will find the odd pearl in the crowd, even among those who do use my, as yet unread, Times as toilet paper.  It is quite awful: I feel another attack of scathing coming on. I’ll keep it for a day when I run out of bile. Also, and this is no excuse, amongst my most cherished blogging chums there are those already flooded with awards, and now do – as only the saturated will – refuse them. Or maybe they have run out of things to tell you about themselves. Which the more observant among you will notice I have already done up there, if somewhat in disguise.

And, I am such a mean cow I don’t want to share my friends with all and sundry. Look what happened to Charles. No sooner was he freshly pressed he (being diligent) was reduced to answering (intelligently) hundreds of comments. I don’t like being a crumb among many on the baking sheet of someone’s life so I retreated to the kitchen and baked some of his Italian biscuits instead. And no, I didn’t weep into the pastry. Sometimes you have to let those you care for off on a long leash. Or take the leash off altogether.

Where were we: Free lunch, trade off:  Naturally, to link like crazy to other blogs is not only a cheap marketing exercise, it is also a  way of spying on who I read outside my immediate circle. The last sentence sounds more complicated than it is. All my life, literally from when I was tiny, I have had three very different circles of friends on the boil. Their backgrounds not only not overlapping, but none of them knowing of each other. Yes, I know it’s ludicrous but makes for a slightly less complicated life to keep those in the higher echelons of elevated snobiety of intellect and creativity from sneering at the easy pleasers and the streetwalkers.

Some of my friends (and family) are such snobs that if they knew that I entertain a blog, how vulgar, they’d cut me off there and then. Don’t think I have just handed you the perfect tool to blackmail me. I haven’t.

What else is totally useless information about me:

A few years ago, in the early days of our courtship, a dear sweet man, so full of disdain for the world (what do you expect from someone who adores Huysman?) yet so vulnerable, him of Irish/Trinidadian extraction, a Canadian with perfect diction, sent me a “Mother’s Day” card. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.  He is gay. That way we are both safe.

When I was three I swallowed (by accident) a flat round button. It was white. That’s when I learnt two things: Not everything is digestible. And what will go in will come out. And oh did it not glow so in the dark.

So yes, since most of my blogging creme de la creme knows each other anyone else just snoop around in the comment boxes, and link. One of my believes: What you need will find you. And I have found true treasure in the last few months.

U

November 8, 2011

On a quest

Filed under: Errors,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 10:45

As Freudian slips go I have just excelled myself (not that I am competitive – I am not; no need to since, and you will agree, I am pretty perfect bar a margin for error).

Wrote email enquiring after someone’s well being, only to find I’d typed “Please let me know who you are”.

Do.

Ursula

April 29, 2011

Apropos of nothing

Filed under: Communication,Friends — bitchontheblog @ 18:23

What a day! It’s not over yet. So there is hope in my waste land.

Made promises so far not kept as I write. Mainly to myself. Don’t know where my concept of time has gone in recent months. Vanished. That’s what. One moment it’s four in the morning; the next it’s (like now) 7 in the evening. I did bake a cake though, watched the WEDDING, scratched my head, and read all there is to know about philosophy behind cremation – and, of course, the CONsortium’s offerings.

I will take my hat off to Con this week: He kept it short to confuse his readership with as little as our tiny brains can cope with. Ramana – considering the subject being  ’nothing’ – surprisingly expansive. Magpie as ever elusive. But then, in all honesty, the man could do with a bit more feedback from his CONsortium chums.  gaelikaa as usual her open and refreshing self stating that since she can NOT  talk about “Nothing” she will talk about something. For that alone I like her, if I didn’t like her anyway. GM’s sweet nothings I’ve forgotten this minute. Which is not a snide remark. It happens to be true. If you must know – every Friday I follow this order: GM – pitstop No 1. She sort of eases me into the subject, let’s me know what it is – and from then on I fear the WORST. Ramana (who I have decided to reduce to RAM not least because gaelikaa’s birthday – if memory serves me right is either Aries or Taurus, ie just gone or just about now, and a Ram either way). Where was I? Ram, No 2. Today he has left me vexed but at least it’ll rest my vocal cords. Next in the line up is NO  3 - awaited with trepidation – LeVinTel. Today he kept it short. Will have to revisit in a minute to remember what he said. Number four gaelikaa whose punctuality – come hell, husband, MIL, children, thousands of words in the making -  can always be relied upon. And the woman writes from the heart. Magpie, and I am not intimating that I leave best to last, elusive as befits birds: One moment they twitter, the next they will defile your windscreen and fly off.

U

PS Talking about birds: Every so often I grieve over loss of our cats. Like today. Miss them. Particularly the one who was the “dog”.

March 14, 2011

On the war path

Filed under: Communication,Friends,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 11:20
Tags: , , , , ,

I am going to do a ‘Jean’ by asking a question: Who are the people in your life who bring out the worst in you? Who are the ones who trigger the best in you?

Names I do not expect, since a personal matter. Who wants to embarrass friends, family, foe and those you have never even set eyes upon?

I know my answers, and there are plenty. Within the confines of this circle let me say that Ramana brings out the worst in me.  He is my daily outlet for all that brews and bubbles under the surface. And believe me I exercise considerable restraint when I comment on his blog. Grannymar – whether she detests me or not – makes little secret of the fact that she is human and thus fallible. And for that I will always like her;  despite her recipe for Roesti leaving out vital steps neither having much resemblance to the original. Doesn’t matter. Took me years to master the art. 

Ramana is supernatural. Karma, my foot. Should  you, Ramana, be gracious enough to comment here (and please do not use a quote, your own words will do nicely) please do not evoke my wrath by proving how bloody absolutely phantastic you are (and yes, Magpie, I do know that the English/Americans spell phantastic with an f – but I allow myself the odd indulgence as to where I stem from, not that you, Daphne, would ever point this out to me – that’s true kindness: Living with people’s foibles.).

Am in a hell of a foul mood which I am trying to work off before son resurfaces. So declared you, well, mainly Ramana, as my fodder. Which, as established above, does not come as a hardship.

Have I managed to bring out the worst in any of you? Or are you just biting your assorted tongues in misguided belief that “being nice” is nice? It’s falsehood. That’s what ‘nice’ is.

U

February 16, 2011

Smiley (mouth turned upward)

Filed under: Friends,Happiness — bitchontheblog @ 16:56

Am so happy: The Sun is shining. Our den is flooded with light even on a dank day. But when the sun shines the place is positively gleaming. I can never marvel enough how much difference sunshine makes to life’s pleasures.

Please do sit down first: Conrad left me a comment this morning (Closing Down 10 Feb). Am I chuffed?

I am chuffed. I am chuffed. I am delighted (chuffed- Brit. delighted). I could kiss him. Is there anything better than a hand outstretched? No there isn’t. I so pride myself on my self sufficiency, needing no one – yet, in truth, we do [need others]. See delusions.

I latched onto the consortium and hangers-on by a fluke. Lucky accident? Don’t know. Most of you are dear to me (for different reasons). It’s where GM’s and my paths part: She said, and I can’t get over it, that I should go away and find another playground. Is it really that simple?  How? You find yourself somewhere: Might be a new school, a new neighbourhood. You join the playground. Now yours too. You work at it. Hard. To be shown the way to the exit before you’ve even had a chance? No. Definitely not .

So yes, Con’s so warm hearted response made my day. Funny how he refers to feeling guilty when all his life currently does is to take over his time, promptly followed by my feeling guilty for giving him a hard time.

As they say on a stage in Stratford-upon-Avon: All is well that ends well. Let’s hope it’s true.

U

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