Bitch on the Blog

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 24, 2017

Hop Scotch

What of the theory that certain character traits and talents do tend to skip a generation? Do you think it bollocks or can you cement the above with examples of your own life’s experience?

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 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

December 18, 2016

Chemistry

Filed under: inexcusable,Kitchen,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 16:45
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Don’t think me mad. I am not. Or no madder than to be expected once you have left the relative safety of your mother’s womb.

I don’t know why, and this is why I am throwing myself at your collective shoulder, I do have a distinct horror of curdled milk. A fine cheese maker I’d have made.

In decades I haven’t curdled milk but this minute I did.  And before Looney and any scientists among you say anything, I know it’s NOT me who curdled the milk. The milk curdled all by itself.  Shows you what an awful position to be in when you are the middleman. The facilitator. The one with the pan. The milk. And the means to heat it.

Gravely and in grieving, yours,

U

November 5, 2016

Reality

My life has been populated by many of divergent vocations. The “artistes” – musicians, painters, writers, an actor or two. Journalists, politicians. Indeed, as recently mentioned, a spy. Spies and journalists are exciting. Artistes – on the whole – are exhausting. It’s not their fault. They don’t mean to. They just are.

Enter one of the most scary people into the canvas of my life – and John of Going Gently may relate to this: THE SOCIAL WORKER. To understand: Once upon a time, and to this day, I was/am one of those people who feel compelled to look after others. My father who, at the best of times, has a truly astonishing disdain for mankind poo pooed my idea from the word go. You wouldn’t last a minute, he said. Why? Because apparently I take everything not only too seriously (whatever that means) but to my HEART. So, naturally, and at the time my father’s word gospel, I didn’t become a social worker. Fast forward, say, two decades. The mother of one of the Angel’s friends was a social worker. At the time I met her she was not so much at the forefront of dealing with day to day misery of the unfortunate, but in a managerial position. Sweethearts, this woman was one of the most hard nosed, cold and unforgiving people I have had the fortune to meet in my life. Breathtaking. Awful.

Where am I going with this? Mainly, you may have ideals. Only for them to be blown out of water into the cold ice and wind.

U

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

October 1, 2016

A game people shouldn’t play

May have mentioned this before. What unsettles me more than anything else in relationships with humans, THE COLD FISH.

The cold fish has power to break me like no other creature. I suspect it’s because I don’t understand the cold fish’s approach, their detachment. That’s it: Detachment. Shout at me, criticize me, give me a hard time, tell me what you really think of me but don’t give me the cold shoulder, wrap yourself in silence.

The few times in my life I have been shown that cold shoulder, that silence, have crept me out. Made me feel a despair foreign to me. Years down the line I should have learnt; I haven’t.  I cannot even begin to describe to you how helpless (and humiliated) I feel in the face of those shrugging you (and others) off. Them walking away with not so much as a backward glance. It literally defies all I myself stand for and believe in.

To give the cold fish the benefit of the doubt: Those who apply that approach are either on a power trip or are scared of life. What the latter do, first and foremost, is protect THEMSELVES. A bit like snails in their shells. Except, of course, that shells are easily crushed. Unless those shells are so calcified that little can break the barrier. Beware your bare foot being cut when, inadvertently, you step on sharp edges along the beach.

U

 

 

September 13, 2016

Simple

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 15:55

Despite what some people think of me I am charitable when it comes to intelligence. Not everyone is Einstein. Not that he was tiresome. But some people are STUPID. Not as in village idiot, or lovable stupid, just stupid.  It’s painful to acknowledge it. It’s even more painful that you can’t tell a stupid person that they are stupid. First of all they wouldn’t know what you are talking about (otherwise they’d not be stupid), secondly it’d be downright cruel (and rude). So you say nothing. Or rather I say nothing.And suffer. In silence.

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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