Bitch on the Blog

June 30, 2014

Come again?

Filed under: Amusement — bitchontheblog @ 12:51
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Only I can laugh at myself as much as I do. I am an embarrassment to myself. Not that that is news.

Just spoke to someone at a call centre. I like speaking to people at call centers. Their lives are misery without customers like me. I joke, I flirt, I remember their name. By not comprehending anything they say I’ll keep them for ages from the next awful call they’ll receive.

How many times do you hear a call center person say to you (at the end of it all) and with sincerity: “It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” I am so pleased with myself I am just about to fall off my perch on the high horse as the people pleaser I am. How I am going to work that into my CV/Resume is anyone’s guess.

Yes, so five minutes into the call D and I were friends. Cue (my) embarrassment: On ending the call I said: “See you”. I never say “See you”. Even to people I will ‘see’. What possessed me?

In other news:  My son, on leaving the house this morning, alerted me that I have a black eye. Brilliant. I can afford to not be particularly vain but am inordinately proud of my skin which – no doubt – is why it occasionally plays up. If one more person asks me how I came by my black eye I shall give them one myself. If only to compare notes with them which one goes greenish first. Don’t worry. Such a princess on a pea I have become that it takes no more than washing my face to look like a battered wife. You can’t beat life and its vicissitudes.

U

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Filed under: Books — bitchontheblog @ 04:16
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Aspiring novel writers please do not be disheartened.

There is a dichotomy: The older people get the more they could, if so inclined, write a good story. However, the older people get the less they read novels.

I haven’t made a study of it but hear it again and again (even, increasingly so, from myself) that the older you get the fewer novels you read. There is a good reason for it.

Leaving novels aside. Books of whatever genre:

It saddens me. Not least since a big love of my life is print. I am sick of it. Sick of it. Almost physically so. Have started weeding – big time. Next time I move house I want to move lightly. And, more importantly, I don’t want to leave my son with acres of print to wade through once I am out of the picture.

There is always an upside to a downside. I have friends on those shelves. My god. True friends who contributed to what I am today. Chiselled me decades ago and over time. And what do you know: By weeding those shelves, getting rid of the inconsequential,  friends stand acknowledged, stand out and give comfort. It doesn’t come easy to me to be autobiographical so I won’t give you names. Otherwise I might as well give you my DNA and/or an imprint of my palms or bequeath my brain to the Josephinum in Vienna/Austria. Let’s just say: My heart sings.

U

June 24, 2014

Conceived

Filed under: Atmosphere,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 16:31
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Remember my not so beloved conclusions?

They are coming thick and fast. If, mostly, they weren’t so amusing I’d hate them.

An apple a day keeps the dentist away. But what keeps conclusions away? They don’t erode your teeth. They erode your sanity. Your mental health. Your equilibrium. Making you wish you were the age I perpetually am. Five. When life was simple. You had a grandmother the centre of your world, a grandfather so sweet so kind so everything, lots of uncles who allowed me to plait their hair after returning from a hard day’s graft. Red ribbons no less.

And now? Apart from most the players having passed their ‘live by’ date I am left with conclusions. I sincerely hope that not all of them are valid. Some might turn out to be early miscarriages (barely noticed), some still born on conception. But some, boy oh boy, have kicked into life. The more mellow among you will call it wisdom. All that you have accumulated along the way. Don’t believe a word of it. I want to be FIVE. Who needs wisdom? You need wisdom at the BEGINNING of life. Not the end.

Other than that I feel like one of John’s hens (currently decimated by badgers). Hope springs eternal. No more than when you sit on an egg. Or come to yet another conclusion.

Hugs and hisses,

U

June 18, 2014

Disclosure

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 03:56
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I find myself in time warps. My mother is younger than I am now.

Back in the nursery: I am fond of my siblings (I won’t repeat the word “love” since I have just declared it to both WWW and Friko in reply to my last post). It’s crazy how, in my mind, there is a visual overlay between what was then and how it’s now. Many years ago I saw both my brother and my youngest sister everywhere (a physical impossibility since we live in different countries). I had to stop myself running after those evoking the image of them – lest I’d have to declare myself mad.

Oddly less so with the Angel. It was only yesterday he first kicked me in uterus (usually 2130 – he is as punctual as his father),  only yesterday I first held him in my arms, only yesterday I pushed little match box cars round the carpet making up improbable stories as we went along, and yet I see him very much as the man he is now. Sometimes, when he comes to me with joy or sorrow, it pains me that I can’t do what you do with a small child: Sit them on your lap, cradle them, make it all better.

As usual completely forgotten where I was going with this. Nowhere. That’s where. Which is as good as any destination. It’s my speciality:  Getting lost. I remember taking the Angel on walks in god forsaken nowhere: “Where are we, Mama?” You are in a double bind there: Do you answer truthfully: “No idea. Let’s look at the map (in absence of which hope for the best and some sort of direction)” or just lie through your teeth? I tended to lie through my teeth. The only reason being that children need their parent to be confident as to what they are doing. Till they tell you, twenty years later: “Mama, I can read you like an open book”.

U

June 13, 2014

In scant supply

Filed under: Errors — bitchontheblog @ 18:01
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I don’t wish to live back in the dark ages. I want to live in the easy ages.

I am rarely at point of bursting into tears. A week later – this minute I’ll give you Noah and his ark. Yes, that much water.

A couple of years ago I had my computer repaired. With the unfortunate consequence that ever since neither cd rom or dvd drives work.  Or my scanner. They are jammed. No matter. The guy having done the repair waved the fee in hope I’d waive redress. I did. Yes. That disinterested I am in life’s foibles.

Then my printer gave up the will to live.

One can live without a printer for a while. Say, the last four weeks. Eventually it gets wearing. There are times I can’t think if I haven’t got something physically, in print, in front of me. So, instead of buying something much more needed (like food), I blow my budget on a printer. Naturally, AND THIS IS WHERE MY LIFE (see above) FALLS apart, you need a DVD drive to install the software.

Sweethearts, I am at a dead end. And I have tried. Not that I am patient with any ware. But I have tried. Even the manual consoles me that if I don’t have drive (Pardon?) I can visit Canon’s local website to download the software in one million not so easy steps. Really? Like where? That I am not a man, not a nerd, not a geek, not anything but a helpless woman I have known for a long time. Why rub it in NOW? This minute I hate (part of) my life. Never ever believe anyone who tells you that money isn’t the road to happiness. It sure is NOT the way to unhappiness. I’d happily throw a lot at my misery going away.

Come to think of  it: I missed my mission in life. Oh to be a plumber or a computer expert. You dine on the incompetence of people like me.

Tissues and starched hankies welcome to mop up my damage.

U

June 12, 2014

Who will play you?

Filed under: Amusement,Architecture — bitchontheblog @ 11:39
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Sweethearts,

Yesterday I received the ultimate compliment. No, not on my looks. On a higher good. The one commenting no doubt feeling very pleased with himself since it was one of those backhanders when you are favourably compared to someone few people can abide. No, not John Humphreys, the Rottweiler. Better. Much much better. I am so pleased I am glowing. No bull. I am glowing.

Who have you been compared to? And why? Please don’t say Marilyn Monroe. I won’t believe you. Talking of whom:  Some years back and to my detriment in public standing, it was established that one of my favourite films is “Some like it hot”, mainly on account of Daphne (Jack Lemon in drag and tottering on high heels). Was there ever anything more delicious than him reminding himself  “I am a girl, I am a girl, …” whilst lying next to Marilyn Monroe? That’s one of the advantages for a woman like me lying next to Marilyn Monroe. You know you are a girl. And please please please don’t bring the Lesbo combo down on me. It’s not my fault that I am hardcore hetero. Even if politically incorrect. There is only so much Zeitgeist one can observe before forced to join a cloister.

U

June 10, 2014

On your starters – GO

Filed under: Gymnastics — bitchontheblog @ 07:02
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As mentioned many a time I am not a particularly competitive person.

Which is not to say that I don’t like winning. It’s just, and it is pathetic, that winning doesn’t mean much to me. Never has. I do something. So I do it. If someone else does it better good for them. If I do better [than you] please don’t throw a tantrum. It’s hardly my fault, is it? It’s no one’s fault.

Dear Readers, please do expand on the above. In your own ways. Without scrambling over each other. We’ll all get there in the end.

By way of comforting you I wish I could say that we won’t get there [in the end]. I can’t. As guarantees go this one is pretty much cast iron. No refunds given. Conclusion? Don’t give up. Neither do kill yourself in the process.

Hugs,

U

 

June 9, 2014

Count

Filed under: Health,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 06:26
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Should you be a hypochondriac (by default) don’t feel discouraged to answer my question:

How much thought do you give to your body – and its function(s)?

There is that school of thought that your body is your temple. It isn’t. It’s a sewer. Ask your liver, your kidneys, your bladder. Neither am I surprised that the colon is as long as it is. In fact, the colon, both parts of it, is the perfect symbol for anyone who procrastinates: Why take a short cut when you can make it long? Heart being the motor – goes without saying we should listen to it.

Then there are minor players. I dread the day my oesophagus will play up. I have a special relationship with my oesophagus. So far so good. There is a group photograph (taken in the summer of 1990 – my brother’s wedding, and yes, thanks for asking, close to their 25th wedding anniversary he has just fled a most accommodating nest). On that photograph – three tiers – my father’s longest standing friend is on the right, I am on the furthest left. LSF died not long afterwards. Cancer of the oesophagus. Just like that. Young(ish). Anyway, yes, I know my punchlines often take their time coming (see colon above). When I saw that photo I thought to myself: I’ll be next. To die that is. From whatever cause. What I find mildly disconcerting that I might be right. No one else of those others, I don’t know, say thirty people has yet bitten the dust.

Pen your obituaries now. And forget everything I ever said. Then there are the side players. Who ever gives any thought to their pancreas? Or their gall bladder? Beware the gall bladder. And pancreas will takes its revenge when you are otherwise occupied.

What I don’t get, though they are sweet in their own way, are the expendables: Appendix (I still have mine), and what’s it called in English, have forgotten now, ‘Milz’, the one that makes new blood cells. Not to forget tonsils. My tonsils are awesome. When they swell they swell. And they do swell. Once a year. For three days. Luckily my mother – despite the fashion of the day – had presence of mind to NOT allow my tonsils to be removed. My mother is a mild person – but when she puts her foot down she puts her foot down. Same here. My son has got his tonsils. Live with them.

All of the above neatly bringing us to skin. Skin is awesome. Skin are the bricks to hold the construction together. And your innards out of sight. Can you imagine the view you’d have of yourself without skin? Don’t. Unless you are a forensic pathologist.

Before I sign off I’ll bow to bones. The skeleton which gives us shape, keeps us upright and rarely makes itself known. To me that is.

My god! Dearest Brain. Please forgive me. Think of the old adage: LAST but not least! What would I do without you? Become a piece of vegetable in someone’s Ratatouille. That’s what.

U

June 8, 2014

Help

Filed under: High Finance,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 13:40
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Have come across (to my mind) awful notion on the “art” of  saying no. Yes, Ramana, your last post. To say no – in my life’s experience – does come easy to most. Very easy. Too easy.

The life affirming are those who say YES. And do. With no immediate discernible exchange in the bargain.

U

June 7, 2014

Looking from the outside in

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 04:21
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I like myself. In idle moments I wonder how I’d feel about me should I meet myself. As experiences go (other than being a mother) it can’t be bettered. No bull. I literally wonder what I’d think of Ursula if I met her.

Insert lengthy time lapse. Trying to get my brain round it. You can’t [get your brain round it]. It’s impossible.

Anyway, before I dive into my navel (can’t thank my mother’s midwife enough – she did such a beautiful job) do let me know, if you please, how you see yourself and whether you’d like to meet yourself or rather vomit on sight.

U

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