Bitch on the Blog

April 25, 2017

Level playing ground

Filed under: Accuracy,Communication,Ethics,Psychology,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 13:16
Tags: ,

Straight from the horse’s mouth “You can be UNBELIEVABLY arrogant”. I have no grounds to deny this, and take great comfort from the word “can” which implies that at other times I am NOT insufferable.

One good thing about being arrogant to the point it’s noticed is that you take others, arrogant too or even more so, in your stride. Not one feather ruffled. That’s how you distinguish the true arrogant from its fake cousin. The newcomer, the wannabe – they have a point to prove. A veteran arrogant has nothing to prove. Because he already has. Not least that he has no need to be approved of, liked or anything else that constitutes human coinage.

Before you answer and tell me that, naturally, YOU are not arrogant ever, in the slightest, indeed abhor the notion, try and think first how you actually define “arrogance”. Trust me, what is one person’s arrogance is another’s being self assured.

U

April 17, 2017

Trigger happy

Bloody Hell. Never buck a trend.

I commented on some thread (national newspaper). Two sentences on MY personal experience re a woman’s issue. Clearly didn’t chime with other commentators, most clearly didn’t fit in with the paper’s agenda. Bingo. Deleted.

This is crazy making stuff. Two sentences, nothing offensive.

Well, not to put too fine a point on it: I am done.

Is this the world we are coming to? Take an eraser to you just because of … what exactly? Because you put an opposing view on a subject?

Never mind. My username has been taken for that of a man many times. Which (and here is one for Nick, the defender of damsels in distress) means I cause offence to other WOmen. The irony is so delicious as to make me smirk with amusement.

U

March 31, 2017

Whimsy

One of the less palatable facts of life (apart from death, obviously) how, at times, to cope with the whole caboodle. I have found myself at points which didn’t bring me so much to breaking as having to take some deep breaths, thank my lucky stars that it’s too far and damp to walk to the next cliff, and then regroup. It pays to have shoulders. And brings to mind camels and backs, and straws that break the camel’s back, and taking water from the well till the vessel cracks, you name it there will be an image for it.

Which reminds me, apropos of nothing, and one Looney may have the patience to answer: What’s it with camels, wells and donkeys? And going through the eye of a needle? That camels feature large is, geographically speaking, not a surprise. Still. Wait till a Llama spits at you, not out of spite – just because that is what Llamas do, and you look at life, as only a five year old can, through a heightened lens.

That’s how animosity starts. One moment you are meandering through your own overgrown backyard, the next someone offers you to borrow their lawn mower. Obviously the latter never happens but as an idea it works.

So, what do you do? Accept that your neighbour lends you their lawn mower not because you don’t have one but because they don’t want to be seen living to someone who is perfectly happy to walk among daisies? Or do you mow that meadow of yours to keep the peace?

Let me know. Not that I do have any land, overgrown or mowed, at the moment.

U

March 28, 2017

Rope

Filed under: Communication,Exasperation,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 19:31
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Ask me a complicated question. Nullo problemo. I will bullshit my way out with the best of Seneca and Socrates at the frontier. Wittgenstein if you can’t take a hint.

Ask me a simple question. Multo problemos.

When I say simple I don’t mean: “Does my bum look BIG in this?” If you have to ask me you know the answer without compromising my good manners. So stop it and go back to the changing room.

However, I will, from time to time, find myself be thrown to the dogs when someone asks me whether I like something (on them) or a poem they wrote. A shit drawing they drew.  Photos – smartphone – prevalent in blogland. It’s complicated (multo – on many levels). No one can accuse me of being backward in coming forward. However, there are limits. Even for me. I don’t want to deflate anyone’s balloon.

If there weren’t a place called Dodge City already I’d start putting down the foundations right now. Probably in Texas. Or Colorado. Or Kentucky. Or wherever they will tolerate me – no questions asked. Mexico. I can scale walls if need be. Ace of spades. A trump, nay, a death card if ever there was one.

Yes, so how do you tell someone who asks you whether you “like” it? Doesn’t matter what “it” is. All that matters is that you already know that THEY “like” it. And want your affirmation.

Good luck. Those are the moments you wish Clint Eastwood were there to shoot the noose before it tightens.

U

March 3, 2017

Trilling

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Dizzy,Exasperation,Fun,manners — bitchontheblog @ 16:59
Tags: , , ,

In the wake of my last post, and your assorted favoured instruments doing what instruments do (who’ll provide the crescendo?) I will throw my own screech into the ring. Namely the chatterbox.

Don’t dismiss the chatterbox and come to me with bland spoutings of silence is golden” (though it is, and one of the reasons I rarely listen to music when working, instead spending most my life enveloped in relative silence). What’s the other one put forward by those who have little to say, yet trying to justify being a little vacant? “I am a good listener”. Really? How about being a good conversationalist? You know, like ping pong, a game of (table) tennis? Back, forth, back, forth … Then, naturally, and it’s a pet hate of mine, and was amply targeted at me by a woman of questionable integrity and even less brain matter and now having run out of steam: “The empty kettle makes the loudest noise.” What eludes the poor sausage that repeating the same saying again and again doesn’t make her (or the saying) any more interesting or true. She’d have been better advised to fill her own kettle. At least, at boiling point, she’d have made a hissing sound instead of just running dry.

Yes, so, once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox. It’s a gift. Trust me. I have drawn people out of themselves who consider themselves tongue tied, particularly on the phone (yes, phone phobics are my speciality). Of course, one could and would and possibly should agree with one of my sisters who once said to me, tartly: “There is no such thing as a short (telephone) conversation with you, is there?”. She was cross with me at the time, and also right. There isn’t such a thing as a short telephone conversation with me. Not even when you are phoning from a callcentre. I have made friends with people in call centers, weeping at my far removed shoulder, thanking me for talking to them as if they were part of the human race, not just doing a shitty job.

Yes, chatterbox. Like any instrument you need to fine tune it (a bit like Lorna’s and Shoshanah’s much desired singing voices and/or bodies) and Maria’s hardening finger tips. I once did stop in my tracks when FOS (father of son) suggested it might be less time consuming (for him) if I stuck to written communication which, apparently though not evidenced by this post, tends to be concise and to the point. I interpreted it as a sort of a backhander of a compliment.

Anyway, and then I shut up, you will suffer, like with any art, for refining your powers as Ms Chatterbox. Not least because you tempt people into lying to you. One hour on, they’ll tell you someone is at the door, the dog has died or whatever a suitable excuse may be to get me off the blower.

Apropos of nothing: Today John told someone (not me) that he (the other) was a “tit”. I have been wondering: Obviously what is a tit to a suckling baby, and a singing bird to the enthusiast, is someone else’s arse. Or some such.

U

February 27, 2017

Tabula rasa

To blow the lid off yesterday’s vessel I will give you something to think about, to reflect on. A laughing matter it ain’t. In fact, I am in shock. Not that I should be since I have experienced same in a different guise before.

There I was, reading a comment. Unfortunately – and please do follow the story line – I didn’t take in the name of the commentator. By the tone of the voice, its sheer being obtuse, I “knew” who it was. Cue hackles rising. I worded my answer accordingly, erring on the acerbic side. Being my lucky day, before I pressed “publish” my gaze happened upon the name of the actual sender.

And what do you know? And this is the punchline and the whole point of this post – and it is shameful. Once I realized who it really was from my whole mindset changed. Suddenly, the very same text took on a completely different nuance. Seen though a filter of benevolence and affection I do have towards this particular commentator. How mad (subjective) is that? Needless to say that I deleted and re-wrote my answer.

If that doesn’t wake you to the vagaries  of human exchanges nothing will. I literally cannot believe it. When I say “it” I mean, I can’t believe that I fell into the very trap I so despair of with others.

U

January 13, 2017

Please select one of the following options

I need to vent a brief spleen. And who better than my helpless readers to vent it on?

One of the reasons I am considered to be so “good with children” that I have the patience of several saints rolled into one. Keyword “patience”. I myself would say that the reason I am good with children, indeed anyone, is because I am interested in them. But that’s not today’s spleen’s subject.

Patience. Naturally, as one would expect considering the laws of adversity, my personal life is peopled with people on a short fuse. GG (gay guy) had the shortest of them all. He was charming with it and, at a distance, one can live with other people’s short fuses. Though, truth be told, short fuses leave me bewildered. I don’t get it.

Back to where I started. I nearly blew a very long fuse ten minutes ago. Though I didn’t. It’s not that poor girl’s fault (Chinese, stuck in some god forsaken BT call centre, with an almost undecipherable accent to match) that the company she works for is what it is.

What got my goat – and not for the first time – that people just assume (in letters ASSUME) that I have a mobile/cell phone/handy so they can send me a text to confirm whatever there is to confirm. I DO NOT HAVE (see above). On relating this the dense will repeat the question: “What is your mobile number?”. This is the moment when even I (eleven minutes into a tedious call) am ready to burst a blood vessel. I don’t and I didn’t.

My question to you: Are we supposed to sing and dance to the same tune?

U

January 5, 2017

Cold turkey

Some people do seek, or are advised to do so, aversion therapy. I don’t.

Why? Because, other than the usual candidates, I am averse to little. Particularly not people. I never tire of them. Not even bloggers (with potential) whose blogs I comment on who can’t be arsed to enter a civilized discussion (two at the current count). I take their idiocies in my patient stride. They may “block” me and my comments as often as they like (showing themselves up as the wastes-of-time I keep telling myself they are). And yet. What do I do? Keep going. Which is why I need aversion therapy in reverse.

Any suggestions, words of wisdom?

U

October 25, 2016

Send chocolate

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 16:35
Tags: ,

Trigger Warning. Spoiler Alert.

Am down in the dumps. Crossroads and all that. Disenchanted.

Yesterday I bothered (on some other – close to me – people’s behalf). Today? Today I wish I hadn’t. Today I have just about had it. The Angel who got a brief glimpse of my despair last night besieged me to leave well alone, not let it get to me. Wise words, no doubt. How? It HAS gotten to me. Strange, in many ways, that I have never been able to hold hatred in my heart. But occasionally, just occasionally like virtually never, I am so close to it. The very thought of this being a real possibility shocks me.

Even my usual remedy coming to terms with all ills, namely going for a long brisk walk mulling it all over, didn’t help today.

Some of you, most of you I dare say, seem able to disconnect, to shunt, to close doors. Without so much as a backward glance. Why can’t I?

So frustrated, yours,

U

October 23, 2016

Chat chat chat

“She lets other people babble on, while giving away little about what she thinks.”

No this quote isn’t about me. I rarely let other people babble on, and I do, freely, give away what I think. When I do let someone babble on it’s for tactical purposes. It’s like watching a spider weave its net.

When I say “practical purposes” I don’t mean nefarious. Quite the opposite. Sometimes, particularly on the personal, it’s best to let someone just talk. Not only will you learn an awful lot about them (giving you a better grounding if they wish for your advice) but, most importantly, they will hear themselves speak. I realized this, and it was a revelation, when some years ago my doctor advised and subscribed grief counselling for me. I was in such despair to find a way out of my despair, for once I put all my scepticism to one side and gave it a shot.

To this day I can’t believe what happened during those fifty minutes sessions. Being engaged at all times, interested in everyone and everything, I tried to enter into dialogue with my “counsellour”. No doing. They will not be drawn. Though eventually he did relent and told me a little about his background before he went into counselling (teaching). But, on the whole, I did all the talking, pouring it all out – I HEARD myself aloud. I was, literally, listening to myself. If, in an hour, he interjected with a couple of questions that was a lot. Took two sessions of talking aloud – whilst being listened to – to clear the cobwebs, giving me some footing to handle my sorrow. An extraordinary experience. Also slightly eerie and vaguely unsettling since it was nothing like what normal human exchange is like.

U

 

Next Page »

Blog at WordPress.com.