CH4

Sweethearts, I am in awe of myself. I was given four choices as to the correct formula for methane and I scored bulls eye. I hope you are duly impressed. And if any of you run a chemistry lab and looking for staff I am more than happy to blow up the place. A price well worth paying for having me on your pay roll.

I don’t do cross word puzzles or quizzes other than in idle moments when, perversely, I want to prove to myself that I know nothing. Or rather: When I want to confirm a long held suspicion of mine that I know very little indeed. Which makes most my ticks guesses. Educated guesses – but guesses nevertheless. There is something peculiarly satisfying to still score high. Foam over substance.

Hazy greetings,

U

Habit

I can bore with the rest of you:

Have discovered peculiar phenomenon. There is a corridor in this place linking all rooms as corridors do. About a year ago I deposited some storage boxes, nicely covered up in the most wonderful yellow cloth, narrowing the passage way. Frankly, it was a nuisance. But like with all nuisances I do get used to them. A few days ago the Angel dropped a hint. So I moved the boxes out of that particular way. It’s fascinating: The passage is clear yet when I walk it in the dark I still do that little swagger with my hips when squeezing past where boxes once were but are no more.

Have turned myself into a lab rat. Will report back as to how long it takes for brain to compute that there are NO boxes to negotiate any longer.

Hamster greetings from the wheel,

U

Viscous

Wish I’d thought of this myself and first, not least in the wake of Ramana’s recent musings and Wise Web Woman offering a spout:

“Opinions are like arses. Everyone has one.”

Naturally, and I will, one can take the implied negativity of that assertion apart. Arses are good. What else would we sit on? Our thumb? And as long as there is a hole we can shit. I am not a doctor but do believe that function vital. Not least since I was given the most awful of all laxatives – Castor oil. I was only four at the time. Leaving its benefits aside swallowing it set me up for all that life offered years hence.

Opinions too serve a purpose. If only to make enemies of  some. I’ll leave you with Shackman’s recent and adorable: “If I want your opinion I’ll give it to you.” Take note. That’s class.

U

Sensuous

You can’t capture it in a photo, it doesn’t make a sound:

A cool breeze.

U

Picking apart at the seams – 2

Another question “What is your greatest accomplishment” aforementioned blogger answers with:

“My daughter. She is a happy, healthy, intelligent and creative young lady.”

How can one’s child be a personal ‘accomplishment’? A success story? Sure, credit where it’s due when a parent provides fertile soil for their offspring. Let me turn up the volume: What of genes? What of what’s bred in the bone? Immutable.  I wonder what the writer’s answer as to her greatest accomplishment would have been if her daughter had turned out not so much a medal to stick to her mother’s lapel.

Let me ask this blogger another question, not that she will answer it: “What is your greatest failure in life – so far?” Do you want me to write down your oh so predictable answer? No, thought not. There are no failures. You didn’t drop a stitch once.

U

Picking apart at the seams – 1

A fellow blogger states, in answer to the question what she would change about herself:

“Nothing. People seem drawn to me warts and all.” 

Sweethearts, I am gasping. I like confidence, I like arrogance – in others and myself. But that, her, statement smacks of a self satisfaction unrivaled. Let me spell it out: OF COURSE people are drawn to us – warts and all. Otherwise we’d all be lonely zombies walking this earth alone. But to have the chutzpah to say she wouldn’t change ANYTHING about herself? It’s breathtaking.

U

Splayed

I could google this but, frankly, I want an answer: Why do men’s bikes have a crossbar high up? What is its actual purpose? Other than giving  men an excuse to execute that elegant Ballet manoeuvre of swinging their leg over in a half circle- particularly when dismounting. I don’t get it.

I once had a friend – he was the adopted son of an Opera singer. Not that his mother’s occupation contributes anything to this story. Other than that she hit a high note. As did I one day when visiting them for the weekend. Thomas brought out his bike and let me ride it. We were twelve. Oh, dear. Never ever have I been hit so hard between my legs as when having to brake hard, no time to dismount in an organized fashion. Eye watering. The type of pain when tears spill out involuntarily, your eyes wide and astonished at what the world has in store for you. Yes. So that was an education.

So, guys (and guyesses), particularly the engineers among you, please do enlighten me what purpose that bar serves. Thank you.

U

Displaced

Am still battling with a question which I mentioned the other day and has been rearing its Hydra’s head the last few years:

How does one reconcile a long held perception we have of someone whose actions do not tally with said perception? How do we reconcile recognizing someone as the good person they are whilst having to acknowledge that there is some segment of their personality which is utter shite? How to reconcile that even if all is forgiven and forgotten they will not take your hand?

Figuratively speaking, not that it helps:

Nearly three years ago I broke one of my arms. They tried to reset it. With K-wires. It didn’t work. There are two bones now on record as a ‘mal union’. I love that expression. Mal Union. Has such a ring to it. I now look at certain relationships and think: “Yup, a MAL UNION”. Witty and apt as it may be it doesn’t give comfort. It’s the pits. Unnecessary pits. And why do I not tire of leading at least two of those horses to water? Neither of which will drink. If it kills them.

U

Obstetrics

A wasp has nothing on me this minute. Mad as a hatter, closely following my last post’s theme which I wish I’d never posted. But that’s posting for you: Once in the box don’t blush.

If I open one more (quality?) broadsheet paper and get shit like “Childfree” I am not sure what I AM going to do. I’ll do something. At least throw up if nothing else comes to mind.

C H I L D FREE? May you never regret not having been shackled.

Naturally, those who pride themselves on being ‘child FREE’ also spout, in the same breath: “Why would I breed?” Indeed why would you bitches BREED? Remember, sweethearts, you are not dogs, horses, cattle put to work by a BREEDER.

Can’t attribute this quote, just as well: “Sexually active yet childfree is a relatively new achievement.” Achievement? What achievement? Are you guyesses out of your fucking mind? If your biological destiny passes you buy – fine. Don’t make a virtue out of it.

To clear up any misunderstanding: All I object to is the term child “FREE”. Can’t even blame Americans to put this crap expression at our doorstep since the English have latched onto it like a baby to its mother’s breast.

My father once reminded me (in a different context): “Not freedom FROM what, but freedom TO what?” Hope you get the drift.

In the line up of women accompanying a particular article on the subject I am ashamed of what complete vacuous arseholes some women make of themselves. Do what you want to do, don’t do what you don’t what to do: But, for heaven’s sake, don’t brag about your life choices at the cost of those who made a different one.

And, when you spout “Life is better without kids”, do remember that once upon a time, when your parents couldn’t help themselves, you (A KID) did come about.

U

Balls

First hilarity of the day served to me on a silver platter.

Women of this world: Before choosing a man to father your child line up as many men as possible, ask them to let their trousers down and do the rounds. No, this is not a re-enactment of  a Hieronymus Bosch painting – it is so you can compare size. No bull. A US Study tells me as early as eight this morning  that the size of testicles is directly linked to a man’s “childcare ability”. Holy cow. If there is one argument to overthrow ‘saving’ yourself for your wedding night it’s just been delivered.

To be fair to the study: Apparently size of testicles only accounts for one of five elements of what makes a good father. Can’t believe this ….

Oh, yes, and before I forget: The SMALLER your testicles the better a parent you will be. Get out your rulers, get measuring – for once you’ll be able to boast ‘mine are smaller than yours’, go home and still beat up the kids.

U