Bitch on the Blog

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 21, 2017

Why, oh why, oh why

As I currently appear to be in questioning (if not questionable) mode here is another one to make you, my dear Readers, blush:

What do you remember as one of the more embarrassing moments of your life? Obviously, all of us are spoiled for choice, and some episodes best taken to the grave, never to see the light of day. Others? Other embarrassments may make (some time in a far away future) a passable anecdote.

And yes, before you scroll back, I DID say that ALL of us (no use denying it) are spoiled for choice – and I say this as someone who is NOT easily embarrassed. As they say “Shit happens”, so, and being conceited as I am, I am reconciled to the human condition. However, when I do embarrass myself, boy oh boy, no half measures taken, no hole to swallow me in the near vicinity, I do wonder why this mortal coil of a life is peppered with snares to get trapped in.

It also makes for a rather interesting exercise in time travel, not least when you learn that some people were elephants in a previous life; they never forget, and have amazing ability to cut you down shorter than to size by casually mentioning something that happened ages ago.

In the short space it took me to type the above, my life of embarrassing episodes has flashed past me and I feel a little hot under the collar. It’s why the prospect of someone writing your biography once you are dead and therefore unable to put the record straight is pretty daunting. OH MY GOD. Actually tempts me, rarely – but it does, to put it all down on paper myself. Except, of course, who wants to relive that which is best forgotten?

Please don’t be shy. As so often, I will reveal myself in reply to you. If that sounds like a trade off – it isn’t. It’s my ingenious way of hiding my tree among bushes, in the hope no one notices.

U

March 16, 2017

Appearances

Filed under: Accuracy,Bureaucracy,Errors,Family,Future,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 20:39
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Let me bore you, and ask you as, no doubt, have done so before: What’s in a name?

I don’t mean surnames. From a woman’s point of view and/or if you were born out of wedlock, your father later marrying your mother, you may have had as many surnames as me, namely a few. I will not beat Liz Taylor’s record as I am not the marrying kind.

So, first names. How did you come by your first name? If any of you have already told me, that’s fine. I am more than happy to be told the same story many a time. Repetition is what anchors an anecdote in one’s mind.

Myself? I am rather in love with the story how I became an Ursula. All down to my beloved grandmother who registered my birth. My mother’s preferred choice would have caused me no end of pain. She registered her second daughter under the name she wanted to give me. Which is why I am a little bear and my sister is a rock. Not as in reliable, but as in immovable. Stone. Hard as nails. She was followed by our brother, named after “The Great”, and Cornelia, our youngest, who feels short changed to this day. What Cornelia doesn’t understand that someone does have to be the youngest – even if you were part of quadruplets. Perish the thought.

So, please do indulge me and tell me, if you know or at least have an inkling, how you came by your first name. Why you love it, hate it, are indifferent to it. What you’d name yourself if you could be arsed to apply for a name change. What was your name shortened to if at all? No guess what our very own Nick’s of “here and now” fame complete name is. And, last but, not least: Were you given a nickname? By whom? And why?

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 15, 2017

Repetition

Filed under: Errors,Fairy Tales,Folklore,Future,language — bitchontheblog @ 13:53
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Never being backward at being forward I have identified at least three phrases I have started overusing in my blog posts. If I were my own editor I’d have word with me.

In no particular order:

“in the olden times”

“once upon a time”

“apropos of nothing”

creep up with increasing frequency.

Mitigating circumstances are, say, age. Obviously now there are more “olden times” than any time ahead of me. “Once upon a time” is solely to be put at the doorstep of being brought up on a heavy diet of fairy tales and folklore, a habit I have kept up to this day. “Apropos of nothing”? Well, it is usually apropos of nothing. Just something that pops into my  mind, apropos of nothing.

So, not so much apropos of nothing, what do you find when digging in your memory box of once upon a time in the olden days?

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

November 18, 2016

Tripped up

Filed under: Errors,Ethics,Exasperation — bitchontheblog @ 18:22
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Looney, his sceptiscm and the law of probability notwithstanding – November is unfolding as I hoped it wouldn’t. Normally I rate reliability highly. Not when it comes to November. I had such high hopes for a nice surprise. November being out of character – just for once.

Yes, so lost my grip. Not metaphorically – though it can only be a matter of time before even I hang up my coat of tattered nerves; but literally. I literally lost my grip.

At times like this one wishes one lived in the “United” States of America and their sue you for damages culture.

It’s ok. I am sure I’ll mend. What I find distasteful, and always will, how people so easily go on the DEFENSIVE. Where my fall occurred it was the premises’ owner’s utter negligence. When I first reported this to his shop it was mainly to prevent the same occurring to someone else. I don’t chime in with my father’s take on humankind, namely that x % are pretty stupid. However, I will concede that some people’s reasoning will leave a lot to be desired.

Never mind. Upshot being that, in my estimate, the hassle of getting recompense for pain and loss of earnings isn’t worth the battle. Rarely do I carry utter disdain in my heart – I offered the guy a jokey and amicable “settlement”. No doing. How very short sighted of him. And I am not the vengeful kind.

U

November 7, 2016

Machinations

Filed under: ahead,Errors,Integrity,The Reaper — bitchontheblog @ 16:03
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For light relief I looked at a photo shoot of Trump’s “life in pictures”. If YOU are looking for comfort – don’t. In fact it’s pretty unsettling to see a young boy morph into the man we now know. Can’t help wondering what role his mother played in his upbringing. If any, and if she were still alive, she may care to retrace her steps and wonder where it all went wrong.

To top it all Trump is a Gemini. All the baddies populating my life (and I don’t even believe in astrology) were born, invariably, under that most duplicitous of star signs, namely the twin.

So, as the world is quaking in their boots with breath bated on the eve of the election (don’t I just hate the time divide)  reason is (unasked for) pressed on me. Hillary, so I am told, is bad news. On hearing this and my eyes clouding over in disbelief (considering the alternative) I am quickly reassured that – should Trump win – he’d only be the TRUE administration’s puppet anyway. Allow me to remain sceptical. Either you are the president or you aren’t. And if he/she isn’t more than a puppet then I am really worried.

Hugs and hisses, you Americans do have a lot to answer for. Not that you appear to know the question. And for that I do not blame you.

U

October 26, 2016

Spooky

Filed under: Amusement,Bureaucracy,Errors — bitchontheblog @ 15:22
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To add to intermittent gloom of the season (and I love autumn unless I slip on its shed leaves and bang my head) here is the bad news (for me): Soon it’ll be November.

I have reported on this before. But old news, like a good stew, are no worse when warmed up. Yes, November. Of all the months of the year November is my nemesis. Awaited with trepidation.

This year I am resolved to break the spell. How? I don’t know. I still have five days before the first of the month strikes. The build up already promising what I dread.

May I be pleasantly surprised, and surprise myself not so unpleasantly.

U

September 11, 2016

Taking stock

Filed under: Amusement,Errors,Human condition,Observations,Psychology,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 11:38
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I am not looking for sympathy. If you have any.

I have been accused of so many shortcomings (on line/internet) if I were a lesser person and not as “arrogant” as many a reader deem me to be I’d just lie down and die. Which, obviously, would be bad news for all those I owe money to. So I won’t.

Never mind. I don’t go with my beloved Nietzsche. His “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” is overrated. Just weep. Or, in absence of tears, laugh or shake your head. As I do.

The Angel who has zero interest in any internet altercation has been urging me for ages not to engage. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Mama?” he asks.  I don’t know. Mainly because I like engaging with other people and stand my ground.

Truth is though, I suppose I am … something. Not sure what. I think “arrogant”, often thrown at me in absence of the critic’s more imaginary vocabulary, is not the right word. But I AM sure of myself. That’s for sure. And I like it. Just like I like people who are sure of themselves too.

U

 

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