Bitch on the Blog

November 2, 2011

Per favore

Filed under: Communication,Despair — bitchontheblog @ 15:08

Dearest Sweetest Hearts, you have missed me dreadfully the last three weeks, haven’t you? As I have myself. You do not need to admit to it since immaterial to me.

Sometimes I wish there were a shoulder I could throw myself at and CRY.  Doesn’t fit the image, does it: Ursula, weeping. Dear Dog in Heaven. What’s the world coming to?

Self satisfieds may stay away from my comment box. You are too good to be true. It’s why I have stopped commenting on some blogs. Can’t stand the same rose tinted repetition of empty reassurance that your world is well.

My life is good. Doesn’t mean that odd shit doesn’t happen. It does. I resent people who belittle the bad. And tell me in the manner of those – loathed by me – self help books to focus on the “bright and beautiful”. Fuck off. I do love, say, sunflowers; that’s easy. I do focus on that which is not so great, eg blackfly on your roses. Bright and beautiful can look after itself. It’s the dark corners that need attention. And when a room is facing North not even a Californian Pollyanna will make the sun shine there. Feeling better now. Hope some of you reflect and feel a lot worse than you did a minute ago. And please do contemplate the luxury of your Smeg Fridge/Freezer (no need for north facing anything). And never ever take anything for granted. Neither will you splash more than from a height.

Am livid this minute. Not least because my blog has lost its footing, its thread. Only about two days ago I said to one of the kinder people walking this earth that on blogs you tread a fine line between the haha and the personal.  Who cares? I don’t any longer. In the end what does matter? What does matter? Really?  Personal question. I know what matters to me. Neither will I make a song and dance about it. And yes, the unthinkable has happened: I do carry something in my heart. Akin to hatred? Don’t know yet. But it’s not good.

And then you have friends.

Friends do draw you out and throw it back at you. And will engage in that which amounts to a friendly snow ball fight.

In that spirit yours,




  1. I like reading your blog. You write creatively & invoke thought. But I have no desire to fight. Not even a “friendly” snow ball fight.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — November 2, 2011 @ 16:24 | Reply

    • Would you be willing to put a carrot and two pieces of coal onto the face if I built the 6 ft snow man?


      Comment by Ursula — November 2, 2011 @ 16:32 | Reply

  2. i think you’re a totally loose cannon. but i have always liked loose cannons.
    notice i did not say loose marble. as in… ”her marbles are loose.” no wait…
    it’s “she has a loose marble.”
    oh damn. my husband told me once i should never try to use those cliche’ type phrases after i very haughtily told him to “get off your high hog.” yeah, i know… high horse.
    oh well.
    as to your bad times. it seems it’s only by slogging thru those that we recognize the good times. weird planet we live on. paradoxes in everything.
    and no… even tho not invited… i would not put the carrot on the 6 foot snowman’s nose.
    i would have to aim lower, since i’m only 5’2″ and it would be an obscene snowman.
    hugs to you U, whether you want one or not.
    tammy j

    Comment by tammy — November 2, 2011 @ 16:58 | Reply

    • Dear Tammy, never got round to thanking you for likening me to Robin Williams minus the chest hair. Considering what a sweet person he appears to be one does wonder. Don’t you? Yes. Let’s trail that thought into thin air …

      As to loose cannons, and you may wish to consult your husband (past or present), the trick is in the firing. Thus the “loose” cannon is entirely the responsibility of the shooter. I will return to this finely chiseled thought once I know what I am talking about.

      5 ft 2 is ok. I am a bit taller, and most people think me even taller. That’s the fake I truly am. So there will be no problem with the nose. I’ll stick it where it belongs. You can always hold on to the wobbly stool I’ll be standing on. Or give me a leg up. The devil is in the detail; that’s why perfectionists suffer bowel problems. I don’t [suffer bowel problems]; but then I gave up on perfectionism when I couldn’t be arsed any more.

      Hug U too

      Comment by Ursula — November 2, 2011 @ 17:19 | Reply

    • Nah! She hasn’t lost her marbles!
      Glad she’s not a loose canon however!

      Comment by magpie11 — November 2, 2011 @ 22:15 | Reply

  3. Yay! You are back! The world has indeed missed you, even if only two brave souls have ventured out onto the deck while the loose cannon is rolling about untethered. I think the important thing to remember is good friends never kick another friend when they are down. Never! Maybe when they are not looking, but never when they are down. Ha! Add me to the list of those who missed you. Like a goat misses a favorite stump.

    I’m guessing now would not be a good time for me to link to happy unicorn and fairy pictures with cute, trite, sugar-coated sayings???

    And now you’ll pardon me while I run off to avoid getting hit by any errant snowballs tossed in my direction (Smilies intentionally omitted).

    Comment by Phil — November 2, 2011 @ 18:06 | Reply

    • Phil, you are too trusting. People will kick you when you are down. Especially when you are down. It’s easier, less risky, for them.

      I like goats. When the Angel was about four or six he had his future all mapped out: A goat herd at day, a poet at night. As expediency goes I was impressed. Keeping his mother in cheese and reading matter.

      What a fine lot of spoil sports my readership is: I love snowball fights. You don’t need to fashion them into cannon balls. Just a bit of fluff to burst on impact.


      Comment by Ursula — November 3, 2011 @ 01:29 | Reply

      • Pssst! Ursula! Look over here!

        (S P L A T ! ! ! ! !)


        That will teach you to trust me. (must avoid the temptation to put tongue-sticking-out smilie right now)

        Comment by Phil — November 3, 2011 @ 01:42 | Reply

  4. You mean sugar coated like “Dearest Sweetest Hearts” with a few 🙂 or :Ds. How about life is a mirror. Get the best result. Smile at it 🙂
    Let a cutesy widdle puppy kiss your face. Give a stranger a smile. It’s the only sunshine he’ll see all day. 🙂 HAPPY Halloween, MERRY Xmas.
    LOVE YOU! 000 & XXX

    Comment by bikehikebabe — November 2, 2011 @ 20:49 | Reply

    • A bit early for Christmas, isn’t it? I smile, BHB. Believe me. I smile. And I don’t fake it. Please don’t go all Jean on me, perpetrating that which I hate about Polyanna Americans. And don’t tell me life is a mirror. A mirror of what? Think about it, BHB.

      Neither do I let puppies or cats kiss my face. Neither will a parrot ever eat the regurgitated off my lips. All unhygienic; all health hazards.

      You do realize, don’t you, that I am letting you off lightly considering that you are born in the same year and within three weeks of my mother. She never pulls the age card, so I won’t let you either.

      In the name of courtesy: Do please spare me the smileys. You know how much i hate them. So much so it’s become a joke among some of my commentators.

      Other than that: Love you too and Happy New Year.


      Comment by Ursula — November 2, 2011 @ 22:10 | Reply

      • Life is a mirror of what, you ask. A mirror of YOU. You pretty much get back what you give. You can dissolve, or at least confuse, an approaching frown with a smile 🙂

        Bloggers don’t like Jean because she ISN’T Polyanna. You’ve got to know that. She doesn’t become two faced or overlook when she sees what she doesn’t agree with. She’s also compassionate. When I had to stay in bed with a swollen foot for FOUR months, she called & entertained / cheered me often. 😀

        Comment by bikehikebabe — November 2, 2011 @ 22:52 | Reply

        • Bike Hike Babe, Life is not a mirror. Imagine you were blind. Neither is life a trade off: “You pretty much get back what you give.” You must be joking. I won’t stoop so low as to give examples of why your equation doesn’t add up.

          I didn’t liken Jean to Polyanna. Neither does she live in California. Two faced? What are you talking about? One more smiley and I shall ban you.


          Comment by Ursula — November 3, 2011 @ 00:54 | Reply

          • 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂

            Hope that wasn’t an empty promise. 😀

            Comment by bikehikebabe — November 3, 2011 @ 01:48 | Reply

  5. I missed you as you know… and I do’d something about it.

    Now, I’m intrigued: Was that a Freudian slip or a deliberate phrase? Dear Dog in Heaven. No Don’t answer just in case you spoil my vision.

    As for weeping. Well, we’re all allowed to do that if it helps and if it doesn’t too. ( Uh?)

    Glad your life is good… but about those blackfly….they ruined my broad beans this year and all the other crops around them. And the thing I hate on roses is lack Spot…. reminds me of pirates and things. One of the benefits of London Smog was the way it kept the rose bushes free of Black Spot…played hell with the asthma though.

    A North Facing window? It has its uses: Back in the lab days we always tried to view the colorimeter tubes by a North Light to get a clearer comparison. If we hadn’t then who knows what damage might have been done to the crops.

    Artists apparently like a North Light to work by. Would you like some water colours for the festive season?

    All that said…..I understand your point….

    Welcome back.

    Comment by magpie11 — November 2, 2011 @ 22:34 | Reply

    • Freudian slip? I know English women like their slips. I don’t. It’s one layer too many. Though may reconsider. Remembering “A Streetcar named Desire”. Dear dog in heaven. Without subtitles. I was only 19 first time I saw it. Marlon Brando looks like my father before he got fat [Brando that is]; and I couldn’t understand a word Kowalski said.

      No, I wouldn’t like watercolour for the festive season. What I am waiting for is that cabbage you promised me last year.

      Yes, blackfly. At least they show their true colours. Greenflies are a bunch of complete chameleons in flora and fauna – trying to play hide and you shall not find.

      Bestest friend who has just left me floored (on the phone) paints at night. It’s why (like Vermeer) he is into light. Please don’t give him away. If ever he finds out that I blog I’ll be dead meat.There are people who have standards.


      Comment by Ursula — November 3, 2011 @ 01:14 | Reply

      • Oh. I’m tempted to discuss the merits of a sheer silk slip under a wonderfully full, utterly feminine skirt…… oh! And those Ukranian dancers wear slips too!

        Now as to cabbage….Youngest’s girlfriend is a lovely girl whose name is Kohl….cue horrendous racist teasing at school…. I have some cabbages awaiting your pleasure and some more growing…

        Vermeer? Loved painting pictures of the female of the species…. another who appeared to love light was Rembrandt…not to forget El Greco or Velásquez ….. and then Turner…”The sun is God.”

        Comment by magpie11 — November 12, 2011 @ 15:07 | Reply

  6. By the way….did you know that you have a Jane Fonda Lookalike who likes this blog?

    Comment by magpie11 — November 2, 2011 @ 22:36 | Reply

    • Yes, I do [know]. And most attractive she is.


      Comment by Ursula — November 3, 2011 @ 01:15 | Reply

  7. Just pondering your lack of faith in the power of us California Pollyannas. It has been awhile since I was hanging out in England and brightening the place up.

    Comment by Looney — November 3, 2011 @ 03:23 | Reply

    • Looney, please do let me know next time you are around these isles. I will be glowing.

      I do have a lot of faith in Californian Pollyannas. Not least the lovely lady (and this is not sarcastic, she is truly lovely) who is FOS’ (father of son) wife Where she does take the patience from (for the last 16 years and no one is counting) to endure her husband’s bit of “bash the Americans” I do not know. In company her husband’s cruelty (sorry, the English call it “sense of humoUr”) is at times borderline. One dares not imagine what it’s like in private. May I also record, for posterity, that FOS hates the Catholic Church. Which is, presumably, why he married a devout Catholic American Polyanna. Yes, the human heart. Just leave me out of it.

      Talking about heart: FOS and his wife took the Apple of my Eye to California early October. They did the lot: LA, Huntington Beach, Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, San Diego … etc. My geography has never been that hot. Happy to report that the Angel fitted perfectly into the long blond locks blue eyed surfer scene. What else he got up to I cannot include here in name of decency. I hasten to add that the Angel has just turned 20. Little does his father know. Not even how to prevent sunburn.

      It’s annoying I didn’t think about it: You and the Angel could have met up. East meets West. Globalization. Voelkerverstaendigung, smudged borders and all that. Next time.


      Comment by Ursula — November 3, 2011 @ 06:00 | Reply

  8. well. you may not want me as a post follower anymore…
    yes. i freely admit it.
    i am a kisser of dogs. the four-legged kind.
    i have never met a dog i wouldn’t kiss.
    nor have i ever met a dog i didn’t like.
    (i think that’s what will rogers really meant.)
    i do not kiss humans. (my husband before he died, yes.)
    but back then i didn’t kiss dogs so much.
    now i do and i’m proud of it. proud.
    they top people on so many different levels that i’d bore
    you with the list. (the first being… they like you just as you are.)
    and that’s not the least on the list.
    ok, beating a good dog to death here.
    tammy j

    Comment by tammy — November 4, 2011 @ 16:32 | Reply

    • Tammy, you don’t seriously think that your positively liking being slobbered over by a dog has any impact on our relationship, do you?

      I like dogs, though not indiscriminately. What I call “hand bag dogs” I do view with some bewilderment. Neither is it their fault that they are’t big and as awesome as, say, an Alsation/German Shepherd dog. I grew up with one. Black fur. Magnificent creature. I was tiny and he was my first bodyguard, chaperoning me into our village, with no adults needed to look over me. The freedom I had. I loved that dog. One of my uncles, the hellraiser, gambled him away. It wasn’t a question of money. The bet was that highly desirable dog. And my family (my grandparents) had to honour it. Broke my heart. As I think it did Pongo’s who was so very attached to my grandmother. We visited him once, I was ony four or so, in his new place. Better stop. Otherwise I’ll be crying any moment now. But then I am easily moved. Will post photo once I can locate scanner.

      Ca. 1983 I came so close to falling in love with black labrador puppy how I made my escape I do not know. Dobermans and Collies are (mentally) fragile creatures, Let’s just say I wouldn’t leave a small child, unsupervised, in their vicinity. Highly strung. Lassie not withstanding.

      Cats: Do you like cats? One of mine I called “the dog”. She followed me everywhere, with such an intense interest in everything I did. People may think me soppy: I am not. And it’s true: The conversations I had with that cat – unbelievable. She had such an array of different miaous, expressing her precise opinion – frankly – on anything I did or said. Oh, did we talk. Ridiculous conversations if ever there were any. She was not a lap cat preferring to keep a distance; but she was loyal with a big L. My son chose her when she was a kitten. Eight and a half years later a car hit her. How many times had I told her not to sit in the middle of the road. She’d even run out when she heard us returning home (Diesels are noisy). Oh, I sometimes got so angry with her. “Do you have a deathwish or something, Fleurry?” “Miaou”. Was a sad day when some vet called me (she was microchipped so they were able to trace me).. Shortly followed by her son dying of skin cancer. Yes, so that was that. The Angel and I now live very much in the city; as tempted as we are a pet is not an option. Instead of which I enjoy the company of the odd fruit fly. Try and talk to a fruit fly. I believe they are tone deaf.

      I will stop now before regaling you with my love for most things living, and goldfishs’ propensity for turning belly side up. Should you ever need to know how to dispatch a half dead goldfish as humanely as possible look no further. Enter young son returning from school that afternoon: “I am afraid Oscar has gone to the big wide goldfish bowl in heaven.” The Angel took it surprisingly well. I liked Oscar. He had spirit. Which you really do need when going round and round in circles.

      Kiss, Kiss,


      Comment by Ursula — November 4, 2011 @ 18:32 | Reply

      • You’ve left me with a lot of responses: dogs, cats & fruit flies.

        Dog: My family was given a collie (called Lassie) because that family lived in town & we lived in the country. I’d never name a collie Lassie but we never changed the name. (“The dog” is a good name for a cat.) I kissed Lassie on the nose a lot & after I had a baby I didn’t. I didn’t notice that. Someone pointed it out.

        Cat: Big Kitty (after I was married) slept with me, until she howled to go out, curled up against me. I didn’t move so as not to disturb her. She had 4 little kitties. I thought 3 was enough so I held one under water in the basin. My kid came in & asked what I was doing. “Giving it a bath.” Glad that happened; it had held it’s breath. How could I do that? Mine & my father’s favorite cat (before I got married) got mange & lost most of her fur when she was old. Daddy held her in a bucket of water ’til she drowned. Long before Animal Shelters.

        Fruit fly: I had a pet spider that at 1st hid when I went to the potty next to where she resided. I put out water & a crumb for her. She trusted me & didn’t run later. Tom killed her. He said she might have bit our grandchildren. Have had the same experience with lizards. They run at 1st but later trust me & don’t run. BTW my friend snakelady says her snakes have personalities.

        Comment by bikehikebabe — November 4, 2011 @ 21:25 | Reply

        • Let’s gloss over drowning kittens. My first husband – in his early twenties so chilled he was unmoveable – flushed no 4 and 5 down the toilet. Put a new spin on the man. Naturally, when his favourite kitten “offspring”, a little Tom, had to be put down because incurable he couldn’t face coming with me to the vet; to let the deed be done in what turned out to be my presence alone. I thought it quite pathetic. Still, we all have our idiot syn crazies.

          Watched horrible film recently. Lunatic.On some vendetta. Holding down a cat in a bucket of water. Cats will fight. To the death. Nine lives if need be. And that sadistic piece of shit’s hands were torn to bleeding bits by the time he had achieved his end. Punchline, on a side note, that the cat was NOT the target’s, the one the arsehole was menacing. The cat was a neighbour’s. Double whammy in terms of a waste of life. But then I do like irony. If you can’t follow the story don’t worry. The Angel didn’t either when I told him.

          I was very fond of Lassie. Lassie saved people (from themselves). However, the first Collie I encountered in real life was terrible. With a big T. I’d just left home – on a whim (will tell you another time) – and the mother of a friend of mine let me a room in her house. Great. The room was fantastic and within my means. What was not so fantastic that her collie – in my landlady’s absence – would sit outside front of my door, absolutely refusing to let me in (say, on my return after school). Interesting. She didn’t exactly bite me but it hurt nevertheless. And I am not easily hurt.

          I give you credit, BHB. Nurturing a spider. I can imagine that if, by way of example, I were in prison or a looney bin I too would take to a spider, maybe even a rat. Beggars can’t be choosers. Otherwise, thanks. Spiders freak me out. Though I don’t kill them, on the whole. As to Tom killing the poor mite: He was jealous of the attention you spent on that creature. That’s all there is to it. Shakespeare on a stage near you. How big was the spider?

          What’s so sad about lizards is that their tails snap on impact. Though some will grow back. Sort of.

          If it’s any comfort, Cynthia: There was a time in my life when I kept snails. At snail’s pace, when my attention was diverted, they escaped. The gratitude. I’d even named them. Have you ever noticed that as soon as you name anything (animate or not) you will form an emotional attachment? To your detriment?

          And yes, just like any of us, even snakes have personalities. Bloody plants have personalities. One will bloom, the other will spite you and die.

          Green fingered yours,


          Comment by Ursula — November 4, 2011 @ 22:28 | Reply

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