Bitch on the Blog

May 10, 2018

Real

Filed under: Communication,Friends,Integrity,Observations,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 20:20
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My mind firmly nailed to the cross all bloggers have to bear [blogging] one question:

Some bloggers appear to make a distinction between “real” people and those they meet in cyberspace.

Do you?

U

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March 24, 2018

Alternative Comment Box, Finals … – Going Gently

Sorry about pauses in proceedings.

Sometimes I wish there were three of me. Don’t groan. It could be worse. Four of me. Hundreds, Thousands …

The only reason I wish I were more than one of me that I could delegate to my others. Delegate to my others to tidy all those loose ends I leave in my trail whilst trying to tend to the main business of my life.

This morning’s washing (black) coming out of the machine covered in tiny shreds of white tissue. I nearly lost the will to live. Then I remembered my mission in blog land; namely to support rhyme and reason, eradicate unfairness and instill justice. Not just on my behalf. I can live with shit – even John’s who can barely contain his.

Before I stop mentioning John by name (after all, he just stands for others with similar limitations), I won’t deny him the public glory of having excelled himself. To my dismay I  had, initially, not picked up a true morsel he served me up on a platter. You may remember my post “Inadequate” in which I ask about the morals of a man who applies double standards.

Casting my inner eye over most people in my life, not least some of my readers/commentators, I imagined their answers if I had laid such a serious question at their respective door steps. And what eloquent and reasoned replies I would have received. What does One John come up with? It was so thin, I nearly missed how thick it is: “No comments as per usual….go figure”.

You ask someone about their moral bankruptcy and all they are able to come back up with is “No comments as per usual….go figure”?

Yes, John, go figure.  Unlike you I don’t hone a herd of sycophants who comment even if they haven’t got anything to say; even if there is nothing to add.

Unlike you, and some of your circle, I do not make layman’s pronouncements (in absence of anything mildly original to say) on others’ mind, soul or inner workings. Without wishing to stretch the limitations of your brain power to bursting point:

What does that feeble “counter attack” (if you can call a lame response that) of yours say about you? That you are feeble?

Ok. Let’s, for sake of argument, say that you are feeble. In which case, dearest John, you will be so happy to hear that I only blame myself that I didn’t follow a hunch many moons ago that I was whiling time away in the wrong part of Wales. To no one’s benefit.

Read the last paragraph again (yes, I know, you claim you don’t read my posts any longer; pull the other one, John. You’d have to be super human not to; not least because you don’t rest in yourself but are totally dependent on anyone’s and your readers endorsement of you). I said “I only blame myself”. You see, John, that is self awareness. That is admitting that we have limitations. Mine being that I don’t recognize that gold nuggets are not to be found in a sand pit. I am tempted to go as far as apologizing that I mistook you for someone you are not.  You never claimed you are something you are not – so it sure ain’t your fault that I find you morally bankrupt.

To you it’s all black and white. Which, considering your surname is Gray, is almost tragic.

U

 

 

 

 

March 12, 2018

The Alternative Comment Box, 6 – Priorities

Filed under: Communication,Ethics,Formalities,inexcusable,Integrity,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 23:05
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As I named my last post Nick, I could have named this post JOHN. Not least because it is an open letter to John. But, as he is unable to get his priorities right, I named the post Priorities. So far so nothing.

Just as I thought the dust was settling despite spineless Nick’s intervention I left this comment on John’s blog. For readers to understand: John has had a bladder infection which I commented on, a comment which, jippee, was allowed to stand. He is now back among the living and I left him, subsequently under another of his posts, this little morsel of hope by way of ancedote:

“Such is your presence in blogland that I find it vaguely unsettling when there are longer than usual intervals as to updates of your daily travails. You doing a Hippo (three years) would be unthinkable, nay unbearable, to your loyal (make that addicted) readers.

My insight as follows of no useful interest to you; however, just like you, once upon a time I too knew, and was never further away than a sprint, all public loos in the vicinity. No, I didn’t have a bladder infection. I was pregnant (and deliriously happy because of it). During the first three months the as yet barely noticeable does press on your bladder; during the next three months bladder and baby find some accommodation so false sense of security will descend on you; then (and the Angel was growing big time) during the last trimester overpopulation, density and duress issues wrestling for limited space were battling it out. Not that you would ever guess looking at the Vanity Fair issue of Demi Moore on the cover (August 1991). We were gone as far as each other. Wonderful photo.

Good luck, John; wishing you speedy recovery and no repercussions.

U”

Heartfelt comment. Personal comment. Giving an insight into  dear moments of my life. Not to be pissed on one would have thought. Pissed on it will.

What do I find a few hours later? Let no one be the judge but the judges

John’s Blog

Ursula5:30 pm

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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    I have just read your comments about nick. I am therefore deleting your posts here

     

    For which spineless Nick duly did say “Thank you”. The way you look out for each other so touching.

Dear John, what the hell does my comment to YOU have to do with Nick? Spineless Nick who, from nowhere, has conjured up all sorts of commentators (in your blog’s comment boxes) supporting his whining about me – oddly none of them having a traceable blog of their own.

You then leave me a comment under my post “Nick” : “Like I said Ursula I am worried about your obsession with being crossed , it’s unhelpful and inappropriate.”

No need to worry about ME. Worry about YOUR priorities, John.

Nick comes first. You push me over the cliff. Fine. I make my mistakes, you make your mistakes, Nick made a mistake, and let’s hope that other people are wiser than the three of us.

Spineless Nick and I have been in correspondence for years. Suddenly it occurs to him that I am a pain. And uses your blog to tell all and sundry about the fact that he is a piece of jelly I never gave up trying to nail to his cross. His sudden grief over me helped not just by you but by untraceable commentators. Wow. What a man. Or is he?

Talking of men. Please do pass on to Nick (he won’t like it – or maybe he’ll thank you again) that you, John, are far more MAN than his spineless graceless Nickness. At least you keep communication open (let’s forget your trigger happy deleting my comments as if I were a kid sent to the naughty step), addressing me directly.

I am not sure what your expression “crossed” means. Crossed as in double crossed? Sure. You say MY “obsession” is “unhelpful and inappropriate”. I’d say Rachel’s, the Sculptor’s, yours and Nick’s obsession with me is, I don’t know, … something? An obsession? “Unhelpful and inappropriate”? Why do the four of you need a punching bag? United you stand, eh? Heroes. Safety in numbers. As punching bags go you should have chosen more wisely. But, yes, to give you some satisfaction and not let your combined efforts go in vain, you did manage to make me a little tearful. Just once. A little. Not much. No water was wasted. Salt of the Earth.

You, John, You John, you of all people making yourself a mouthpiece for shitters who can’t wipe their own arses. What a pity and a waste of energy and good will.

Well, in the words of someone dear to me, the most gorgeous gay guy of all time, who once feared I was writing him a “Dear John” letter (I wasn’t) …

Ursula

January 31, 2018

Stunted

On the whole I don’t believe it despite all evidence to the contrary. Namely that people need an “incentive”. By which I don’t just mean salesmen given a carrot so they wield their stick and charms making people buy.

I just do what needs to be done. Or (see my last post) wrestle with good intentions. And wait for both Ramana and the Angel (age before beauty) to weigh in and remind me of Karma.

Never mind. Karma is in the future. I am in the now. As one of the few people who amuses me no end is myself I am most amused. I am so happy I could kiss you. Why – apart from, maybe, you being kissable and my being happy? Bear with me.

The last few days’ fallout on various blogs have more than one benefit. Not only will I employ the last morsels of time left to me on this mortal coil in ways more conducive to everyone’s, not least my own, happiness by ditching certain bloggers. I won’t have to endure any longer, and it’s only just come to me, one commentator’s (she doesn’t blog any longer herself though is vocal in comment boxes) endless “LOL”s. To her life is just one (desperate) long loud laugh in absence of being more specific and articulate. If that isn’t an incentive for me to stop latching onto certain blogs and their comment boxes I don’t know what is. May she roll in the aisles.

LOL – Lots of love,

U

November 26, 2017

In search of answers

Filed under: Communication,Formalities,Human condition,Integrity,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 20:37
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I was just about to throw myself onto my blog’s page when I realized something. Not for the first time.

Is a blog the devil’s temptation to be mistaken (by the blogger) as a confessional? Readers and commentators being the blogger’s agony aunts and uncles?

Other than that, everything is fine.

U

October 10, 2017

Sacrifice

Filed under: Amusement,Culture,Ethics,Integrity,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 22:59
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First you wait for a rose to blossom, the next moment three skunks turn up.

Yes, so stink is where it’s at. I’d live another life if mine didn’t throw up a conundrum when I am already working on another. Just now, the most pressing, that “something” (I can’t be more specific) needs to be aired in the public’s interest. Forget interest. … should be brought to wider attention. HA. My intention may be good, even honourable. Enter the dreaded “but”. If I did air it’d hurt many – particularly one. Now one may be a skunk but even skunks have feelings to be considered. So whilst all worthy, even amusing, is it permissible to air how clever you are at the expense of a skunk or three?

Please say no.

U

September 30, 2017

Location, location, location

Unlike most of you and other squeamish, sanitized and contemporaries, there will be no fire for me. Brimstone more like it.

Yes, I shall be buried. Come maggot and worm. OH MY GOD. I can see it now. Particularly my eye sockets. Never mind. Whilst aesthetically not pleasing I shall stick with earth to earth. Ashes go with the wind. Earth is solid.

In one of the more wonderous moments of my life, a few days ago I found the cemetery cum graveyard I would like to be buried in. If push comes to shove I’ll move into its vicinity to ensure a place. It’s pure magic. Absolute magic. Acres and acres, largely not yet populated. Proper graves. Can’t wait.

Urns (and their ashes), by comparison, measly. Measly. Meagre. Mean. Cheek by jowl. Reminds me of some two years ago when the Angel and I visited Minstead’s graveyard where Arthur Canon Doyle (think Sherlock Holmes) and his wife are buried. The Angel remarked that it’s so much nicer to be able to visit a grave (and, naturally, to the Angel’s horror, I managed to stand on it) rather than being restricted to, well, a measly, teensy, weensy spot with an urn of which there are quite a few on Minstead’s cemetery too,  even if blessed with a “view” over rolling country side.

I am not particularly tall though some people think me so. There is something to be said to be buried stretched to your full length rather than reduced to your volume in ashes. I am sure that’s what Archimedes thought when displacing water, resulting in his joyous “Eureka”.

U

August 14, 2017

Not so nice

Filed under: Human condition,Integrity — bitchontheblog @ 19:30
Tags: , ,

Holy what’s it. There is a threshold. Some people die before they have barely drawn their first breath, some people die – at, say, fifty.

And some people live. Forever.

My parents a point in case. My mother is eighty four, my father eighty. You’d think they’d have the good grace to abdicate. Well, my mother will, soon. My father? Not so much out of spite as determination he’ll probably live long enough to refuse attending any of his four children’s funerals because it’s just too much hassle.

Where am I going with this? I don’t know. All I know is that I have had it with being held to ransom. Most of you, my readers older than me, most of you having buried or are about to bury your parents, please do throw me a morsel of comfort. What? Throw me a morsel of comfort? How selfish. What I meant to say: Please don’t do to your children what I most certainly hope to spare the Angel.

So much for cheer. I’ll crank it up with my next post.

Lost, lost, lost and ashamed,

U

November 10, 2016

Don’t fence me in

Once upon a time I was a homeowner with all the responsibility that entails. Not least, in Britain, to respect the boundaries your neighbours will impose. Though not British, when in Britain, I will do (within reason) as the British do – or, at least, try not to ridicule what’s bred in their bone. And as much as the Brits’ homes are their castles (complete with a mortgage that even a drawbridge groans under) as much they do like borders.

Yes, borders. As in walls, fences. One of my more far fetched theories that the reason the British prefer dogs to cats that cats do not respect fences. If they want to climb up and jump over one they jolly well will.

So back to Trump and neighbourly etiquette. If my neighbour wants to put a fence or a hedge or whatever else round his patch of immaculate lawn thus blocking his view that’s fine. What’s not fine, indeed unacceptable, is to ask me to pay for it. That’s Trump’s plan on Mexico. The guy has no manners.

Before I take this post into a direction even I find beyond satire I’ll leave you to do your own fencing.

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

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