Bitch on the Blog

February 25, 2016

Bitch on the Blog

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Style — bitchontheblog @ 17:54
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New bloggers out there: Choose your blog name carefully. You may never live it down.

Recently I have been reminded, more than once, and in no uncertain terms, that I am a bitch. This doesn’t do dogs any favours. Still. One aims to please.

So here goes for all those mimosas out there – and wilt at your own speed.

Dearest (Mimosas – as in “flower”), if you knew how much pleasure you give me measuring the rather thin of your assorted hides, your pouting, your sulking, your insults, how much you make me laugh, you’d be whining and whinging even more than you are prone to already.

There was one rather sweet example the other day of someone’s rant (left on an other’s blog) how she (yes, it is a she, they usually are) doesn’t like whiners and whingers. She then proceeds to whine and whinge. Cute. And before you point the finger at yourself. Don’t. There is more than one of you.

In fact so cute I’d like to take people like that by their hand and show them the way out of the woods.

The more fragile among male bloggers? ┬áBad manners. No argument has ever been won by telling me …

Let’s cut to the chase. Intelligent debate is not fertilized by those who weed anything they don’t like to hear. That’s where a gardener fails at the first hurdle. Shoot the grey squirrel digging up your bulbs but contemplate whether what you consider to be a weed, and therefore irritating, is undesirable. By way of example: Nettles sting. You have two options. You put on gloves, pull the nettles and make them into tea or compost OR cry at your initial blisters.

Need a handkerchief, nay, a tissue to wipe your tears of indignation? Look no further. You may cut me off. I am here. Always ready to engage. Even with the ninnies and the most delicate of divas in blogging land.

Hugs, hisses and kisses,

U

February 18, 2016

Ace of Spades

Filed under: Amusement,Despair,Future,Geography,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 19:07
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Dearest Sweetest Hearts,

What am I going to do if Trump wins? This is the question I asked the Angel two nights ago. Planet Earth will not be mine. But how do I get myself to the Moon or Mars or somewhere? Anywhere.

Obviously, both Looney and my father are in a better space to tell us about demagogues. I just sit here, cortisol levels rising.

The Angel has little patience with politics. Listening to him I feel better and wonder why I bothered to be born.

U

February 13, 2016

Riding the wave

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Environment,Formalities,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 23:42
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Among one of the worst bunches of my traits: There are people (make that men, women don’t care as long as I admire them) who think I think them stupid.

I don’t.

I take people as they come. What’s it to me that my landlord doesn’t understand the mechanics of damp? Nothing. That’s what. Shorten my life by a few years. As long as I don’t think you stupid the world is my sneeze.

My landlord told me I think him stupid. I don’t. I had never considered the matter of his intelligence. Nevertheless, he is miffed. Him being Italian complicating matters because, on one hand, Italians revere women – particularly if you are their mother. On the other? Well, on the other they are short tempered even when they are shorter (in length) than you. Never mind.

If you want affirmation as to your intelligence speak to my father. I don’t say this lightly because I despise name dropping as some people do to make themselves grander, BUT. But my father’s IQ is of the jaw dropping, hit the ceiling variety. Incidentally so is that of LSF (longest standing friend). And yours [that’s my readers’] possibly too. After all, why would I talk to people who don’t show me the errors of my ways?

Yes, so my father – and it was one of the more shocking, leaving a long lasting impression on me, moments of my youth: He pronounced (don’t ask) % of people “stupid”. Since I myself am not THAT stupid the first question popping into my mind: What constitutes “stupid”? It’s a big question, not easily answered. Not that it matters.

Before I rest my case: One of my favourite books features, and is told through the eyes of, the proverbial “village idiot”. He may be simple. Yet, stupid he ain’t.

Hugs, kisses, dashes, yours,

U

 

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