Bitch on the Blog

December 17, 2017

Dashed hope

The notion doesn’t just belong to Christmas. Though I did come across the subject in the context of it. Presents. Or should that read “expectations”?

What would you have liked to be given at any time, at any occasion, at any stage of your life – but didn’t? Worse, what were you given though you didn’t want it? Whilst you mull over both those questions so will I.

U

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December 14, 2017

Que?

Don’t say my dreams aren’t amusing if draining.

Last night I fought two battles. The second vaguely baffling. As I was passing some restaurant on my way home I was offered a job to serve food at table. To start this instant. Typical. Ask me a favour, I’ll comply. Not that I was dressed for the job. My first customer’s order wasn’t for a meal, but some sort of whiskey on ice. It took me half an hour to fulfill the order, not least because it took me ages to open the bottle and then I had to find the ice. Meanwhile the clock, in my vision, was ticking. Then, somewhat belatedly, the actual bartender came to little rescue and it got worse from there. This is why I prefer daytime and wakening hours to slumber. Dreaming is stressful and you have no control over what the hell is going on.

My first [dream] however, did set me thinking. You know the third eye? Well, I had one. Right bang in the middle of, and between, my two “normal” eyes, slightly elevated on my foreheard. So far so good. However, I had to fight forces (in the dark) who told me all sorts of nonsense why I needed to give up my third eye, and what terrible things would befall me if I didn’t. I willed myself to wake up.

U

November 26, 2017

In search of answers

Filed under: Communication,Formalities,Human condition,Integrity,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 20:37
Tags:

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

November 8, 2017

Others

Filed under: Environment,Geography,Psychology,Travel — bitchontheblog @ 21:16
Tags: , , , ,

If people knew how much, and particularly why, they contribute to the hilarity of my daily life I dare say few would still be on talking terms with me.

Take those who travel. Now, those who travel – not least on their blogs – have a nerve. They will say things like how much they enjoyed a spot once “the tourists” had all gone. As in “It was ok once I got away from all the tourists”. Yes, no doubt. Bar one [you,tourist], turning your nose up at all other fellow visitors.

U

November 7, 2017

To cast the die

Since we were talking games, and one in particular,  here is a general question: Do you play games, board, card, any other? If yes, which? If no, why not? Do they bore you? And even if they do, do you like the company they afford? Do you prefer those games which depend on luck or those which depend on skill? Though before your virtuous selves answer in the affirmative as to the latter, please do remember that even the seasoned chess player will still be in the clutches of Lady Luck. Trust me.

There are people born lucky. Within reason. The Angel is one such.  Doesn’t come up much these days, but there were occasions – when they were all younger – when his cousins resigned themselves, from the outset, to lose. The consensus, and expectation, being that the Angel would win “regardless”. Even my mother (who loves playing games) once lost the plot so much so I had to take her aside and ask her to get a grip. Reason? The Angel had won for the umpteenth time. You can’t hold winning against the winner, can you?

U

 

 

November 5, 2017

Reparations to my last post

There is a saying in the motherland: “Lass die Finger davon”. Good advice. Roughly translated as “Don’t touch it” – underlined, usually, and for theatrical effect, by being hissed.

Anyway, the good news is that I can play Snap with four year olds, even three year olds. After that it gets tricky. As my last post shows.

To keep you on your toes, and please do keep your own selections coming, here are three more. Not because I want to but because I feel need to redeem myself.

One – My mother, sleep walking, climbed out of a window, ready to jump, when eight months pregnant with me.

Two – A mouse kept me locked out of the bathroom.

Three – I have never knowingly killed anyone.

Spot the lie. And keep your own riddles coming.

And yes, ref my last post and exchange with Mike, my father did send me a telegram, just as I was packing to decamp and fly to the motherland in time for the church wedding, him declaring the whole affair off. The whole affair went ahead, no thanks to him. I didn’t hold it against him – the wedding photos are witness to that. As they are witness that he didn’t feel an ounce of shame or remorse. He has never once apologized, acknowledged the huge impact what he did had on my subsequent marriage. FOS (father of son), unfortunately, not as easy going as my father.  And spare a thought for my mother. She is easily flooded by tears. That she didn’t drown on occasion of that “cancellation” is a miracle. So, as I said to Mike, the Angel thought two of yesterday’s guesses the truth, and thought the lie that turned out one of the truths. Never mind. At least I won’t need to throw myself on a pyre when FOS snuffs it.

Yes, pregnant pause, strange when you think back over your life … so far away yet so real – the blessing, a curse possibly for some, of an almost photographic and audio memory.

U

November 4, 2017

Let’s play

Filed under: Amusement,Fun,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 14:19
Tags: , , , , , ,

Hope you are up for playing a rather awful game. It only came to my attention today and does appeal to the forensic scientist in me.

“Spot the lie”. You have to make three statements (about yourself/experiences you have had) two of which are true and one which is a lie. If you have difficulty to get your brain round the concept do not worry. My brain is in a spin.

Anyway, think about it. As will I. It’s damn difficult to come up with a lie so outrageous as to outshine two truths without being detected. Good luck.

Be bold, be brave, let’s meet later,

U

Some time later … update … see first comment

November 2, 2017

Consistent

Brief annotation to my observations on bloggers.

There is a blogger. He doesn’t read my blog (literally and figuratively so his feelings are being spared, his dignity intact). He is interesting in many ways. Interesting in the way you put something under a microscope and marvel at its intricacies once they are visible through being magnified.

I have “known” and read him long enough to be able to predict which posts of his he will take down. Eventually. Consistently. That he takes them down is understandable. I wouldn’t have published them in the first place. What is less understandable that a man of a certain age and undoubted intelligence shows so little self restraint. Throw yourself on the page, only to retreat? Consistently?

When someone consistently takes themselves back, doesn’t stand by what they said earlier (lacking conviction?), I question their integrity. To put it another way: If that guy were a bridge I wouldn’t set foot on it. Too wobbly.

U

 

October 23, 2017

Not always what it says on the tin

A rarity so rare I feel compelled to record it for posterity: I denied someone commenting on my blog publicity.

No, not for the reasons the easily excitable blogger, the overly sensitive blogger, the ones who get annoyed at anything that doesn’t tally with their opinion, will delete a comment. Not at all. The comment was perfectly ok – if somewhat missing the point and spirit of my original post. Which made it so depressing. So depressing, so dispiriting, I can’t bear it. So I moved it. I haven’t deleted it. Just made it invisible. Invisible. And thus I have learnt, for the umpteenth time in my life, that “out of sight out of mind” doesn’t work for me. No amount of stuffing into cupboards, closing the door and never opening it again will erase the taste of an initial impact – good or bad.  I might as well stick with open shelving.

Do you employ shredders – successfully?

U

October 5, 2017

Purr

I need a reference point for reasons – in the context of this post – not important. Let’s just say that I need to put my mind to rest. Not least because my mother makes me wince every so often when she “remembers” things in my life she wasn’t even present at better than I do. Now? Now I don’t say anything any longer to correct her. Not since, about ten days ago, I sat next to a lovely lady two years my mother’s senior who was switched on, inquisitive, funny, lively – except every fifteen minutes or so she’d ask me whether I had any children. Having covered the subject of the Angel’s existence several times during our two hour wait my penny suddenly dropped. OH MY GOD. So this is how decline (ever so barely noticeable) manifests itself. No wonder my mother recently apologized to me for upsetting me profoundly. Unfortunately, what she apologized for wasn’t what I had taken offence at. WHAT the …? I left it. Thanked her for her apology. I don’t think she is interested in detail any longer. Main thing is that everything is hunky dory. “All I want is to be good with you”, she says. I do have to rejig my mind set when talking with her in future.

The reference point I need is for a period of utter chaos in my life (ca. eight/nine years or so ago). A few details a little hazy. A couple of days ago I realized that I remembered something that is, chronologically, not possible. So, anyway, and do laugh, I phoned the veterinary practice and asked whether they keep records from many years ago. Yes, they do. Great. Can you please tell me the date when my cat Bouncer (reference point) was put down?

Bloody blasted hell (and only my refined upbringing stops me from using all the swearwords I can muster to express my utter disgust at what the world of information has come to). They can’t give me the date of my OWN cat’s death over the phone because of data protection. Short of my date of birth which they didn’t request I gave the receptionist all the data she needed to conclude that I am not a Russian agent spying on myself. No doing. On top of which she kept calling me “My Lovely”. What’s wrong with the British? Emotionally stunted they proceed to call complete strangers “Love” and “Deary”.

I am now in the recovering position. Next stop on my journey through life? Extracting my own teeth.

U

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