Bitch on the Blog

March 8, 2017

Forever

This post is not pleasant. I am going to make an observation and don’t expect any of you to answer, if at all, truthfully.

Do you wish/have you ever wished anyone would just die? Not because you bear them ill will, just because you’d like to tick a box (make that a coffin), breathe a sigh of relief and be done with that person?

Can’t believe I am writing this but there it is.

U

March 3, 2017

Trilling

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

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

December 22, 2016

Jesus Christ

Filed under: Atmosphere,Exasperation,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 14:59
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Naturally I consider myself the epitome. Don’t ask of what. Or you’ll all hate me. For ever and ever and ever. It would be disingenuous of me to say I don’t care whether I am liked or not. On the whole I don’t but – on account of being human – will make exceptions.

Yes, insert heart felt sigh, earlier today I came across a fine example of stupidity. Not mine. That would be forgivable. Others’ stupidity? Nah. Forget it. Not that I am easily disappointed. But then I am.

When I say “stupid” I don’t mean people like myself who don’t understand theorems, maths and stuff. I mean people who are so stupid they’d light a match to see if there is a fire. Who light a match to see if they have switched off the light. People who look at you blankly. People who are so stupid all you can do is keep your temper in check and remember that it’s not their fault. If ever there was something to test my humanity it’s stupidity. The other being “inconsiderate”. Don’t get me started on the latter. There is not enough foam within me to cover the contempt I do have for the inconsiderate. My only consolation that I try and remember they aren’t inconsiderate DELIBERATELY. Thus saints are made. You forgive everything and everyone.

Yes, so today I was what can only be called “on a wild goose chase”. The goose wasn’t wild. It was dead. And nowhere to be found despite a delivery address.

Still, what would life be like without an injection of drama and associated adrenaline? Peaceful. That’s what. Who wants peace? In the season of peace and good will. Am on vigil of the next instalment.

In the meantime, light a match to light a candle. I love candles. As soon as winter’s daytime darkness sets in (think Finland) candles will be lit in this house. So soothing.

And yes, before your condolences flood in, it took me all but twenty minutes to locate the temporarily missing goose. No thanks to imbeciles involved but my own brilliance of powers of deduction. And what a beauty it [the goose] is.

U

December 8, 2016

Weather

Filed under: Ethics,Exasperation,Fortune,Roadkill,The Reaper,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 14:40
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There is a blogger. Let’s rephrase that. There is someone, somewhere, who blogs.

He has surpassed himself. It’s not even him being selfish. It’s him being thoughtless. Inconsiderate.

Yes, so come early December – and now he has got his “overcoat” out – he laments that December’s temperature, so far, is way above “cold”. One may say “warm”. He wants “cold”. God damnit, and if he wants cold he wants cold. Till March. May Bambi’s April showers piss on him.

Why do I even note this? Insert derisory snort. Because people like him with his beer and his whisky on tap don’t give a monkey’s thought to all those homeless, sleeping in doorways, ignored by passers-by, kicked by drunkards around midnight, who might, just might, be truly grateful that December isn’t as cold as Mr Blogger and his overcoat wish it to be. Those who can’t afford to heat the place if indeed they have a roof over their heads. Those who don’t eat because maybe it’s better to starve than to freeze. Those who don’t have a winter coat.

Plumbers are hard to come by on Christmas Eve. May Mr Blogger’s overcoat stand him in good stead. And be moth eaten next December.

Disgusted yours,

U

November 21, 2016

Royal Flush

Filed under: Despair,Exasperation,History — bitchontheblog @ 20:33
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Dearest sweetest Hearts, please absolve me from all evil as you will be absolved from your own misdemeanours. Not that it’s a bargain, neither am I mercenary.

Why? Why? Oh why, don’t ask Merkel, did this have to become public? The Orange one’s grandfather of German descent? I have never disowned anyone. But am perfectly unhappy to make an exception .

This really takes the Ginger (bread man).

For once not easily consoled, yours,

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 9, 2016

Awakening

Filed under: Atmosphere,Exasperation,Future — bitchontheblog @ 13:13
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Don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s November.

And on this fine 9th of the month my first words spoken out loud, the tune the Angel woke up to: “The future is orange”.

I can’t discuss Putin on these pages as the Angel has warned me that people, particularly Americans, get a bit tetchy when you give the guy the benefit of the doubt. The Angel’s interest in world politics is such that he will sit me down and make me watch (and listen to  – subtitles allowing) the most tucked away Putin interviews – available on the internet if you know what you are looking for. Yes, so my long held wish which had faded over the years, namely to learn Russian so I can read Dostoewski in the original, may yet come true. After hours and hours of Putin’s Russian ringing in my ears I’ve definitely got the incantation of the language. The rest will follow.

Yes, Putin. Oh, must he be laughing (in a smirking kind of way) at this morning’s result. Like the cat who will be playing with the mouse.

On a different, a sociological note, just now I went to our nearest shop. I mentioned to the cashier that I was a little befuddled in the “aftermath”, and she asked me what had happened. WHAT HAD HAPPENED? Such innocence, such bliss. At mid day (GMT) there are still people who don’t know about a new political landscape. I don’t hold it against her. Still … Makes me wonder what planet I do live on.

Will I ever look at one of my favourite coat dresses (burnt orange with streaks of black) the same again?

U

PS Do you know what the two men (Putin and Trump) have in common? They both don’t drink. I wish they did.

October 15, 2016

Don’t send chocolate

Filed under: Amusement,Dizzy,Exasperation,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 20:45
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As Lovely Lorna (LL) suggested the other day, I do need a break. Luck. Hope that saying about seven years of … followed by seven years of … is NOT correct. It’s so depressing. Mind you, I have always liked the “seven” times table. Particularly when we got to seven times seven (49).

I do not put any fault at Lady Luck’s door. Not least because I am convinced that if luck weren’t on my side I’d be long dead. Possibly, most likely, not even born. Which, of course, and I only learnt this recently (where have I been all my life?) that there is a particular school of thought which advocates that paradise is to never been born. Maybe. To me life is a bonus. Even when shite at times. At least you are alive.

Where were we? Luck. Yes, so to continue my saga of unfortunate mishaps, today I slipped. Don’t say Lady Luck wasn’t on my side. I could have broken something. I didn’t. I will, no doubt, have a bruise on my lovely right buttock, but am not concussed though did hit the tarmac with the back of my head. Neither, for once, did I break a wrist.

My sister, the youngest, once asked me, rather impatiently, why I kept breaking my arms. THERE MUST BE A REASON, she said. I have no idea what she was implying. Obviously THERE is a reason. Like, in this case, the lovely combo of autumn’s fine drizzle and leaves falling. And yes, I was wearing flat shoes. I slipped. Simple, ain’t it?

Anyway, to compound temporary shock, all my coins scattered all over the place. Thus I found myself ten p (in Dollars probably 15 cents – who knows with Pound Sterling plunging) short. So, limping along as best I could without showing the limp, I asked a couple of guys outside a pub for ten pence short of my  four remaining pounds. Sweethearts, I tell you, it’s hard to believe the relationship some people do have with money. Remember ten pence. Not ten pounds. Not a hundred. Not a thousand. Ten measly peeeeeeeeeeeee.

The moment someone asks you WHAT you need money FOR is the moment you know you won’t get it. He wouldn’t let go. Kept asking me what I needed 10 p for. He even suggested that, no doubt, his continued questioning could be interpreted as “intrusive”. Indeed. I told him to forget it.  May Karma bite his behind. When in need find a taxi driver. Mean they ain’t. Neither do they ask questions. Thus I was able to make the purchase I’d gone out for in the first place.

On my return, naturally, I found my key unable to open the door.

Safely ensconed in my abode once more, living to tell the tale, yours,

U

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