Bitch on the Blog

August 25, 2017

The ducking stool

Main thing in life?

Be honest. At least to yourself. Bullshitters will spend many an unhappy moment scraping off shit they inadvertently managed to stand in. No, let’s rephrase that: Bullshitters will spend many an unhappy moment sniffing shit they deliberately threw at someone else. It’s why I never touch a boomerang. You’ll have it coming.

In the spirit of which I am in awe of one of my “categories” I slammed on WordPress ages ago, namely, “Pretentious Shit”. To my chagrin, not many of my posts warrant to be categorized as pretentious shit. Never fear. Where there is muck there is bull, and where I lack – others will fill me in.

Once upon a time, someone asked me a rather strange question. That she was American is immaterial not least because she was ill disposed towards me: “Who talks like you?” Excellent question. Who talks like me? I do. Even if deemed pompous, pretentious shit. At least it’s mine rather than regurgitated other people’s shit.

Yes, so, in quest for advice I earned myself a lecture yesterday. From the Angel. I wish someone had brought me up like I did the Angel. That guy is so switched on. The error of my ways in blogland obvious and glaring. Which, considering that I should have worn sunglasses before it was too late, is glaring indeed. I will not intone as to what he had to say about social media and other crimes to humanity in general, and my particular engagement with blogging.

Hugs, hisses and kisses,

U

 

 

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July 31, 2017

Punctured

Who’d have thunk it? My blogging tyre is flat. Not because I can’t think of anything to say. Quite the opposite. I always fire on all cylinders – yet, the desire to press “publish” momentarily eludes me. “Delete” does me fine.

The joy has gone.

Why? Most certainly not on account of bloggers who cheerfully “follow” me even if they don’t comment. Most certainly not on account of those who comment here – with unfailing wit, perception, occasional mockery, always thoughtful.

However, and I don’t like admitting to what I perceive a weakness, there have been forces out in the blogging world which have achieved the unthinkable – namely, my, the unsinkable’s, reluctance to put myself into the public arena any further.

Looking back over my life, I have never been bullied. I am not the type. Yet there is one blogger, ably supported by a weak cast, who has shown me the vile side of life on the playground which constitutes blogging.

I am torn. I could name him and shame him. But then I’d be playing HIS game. Makes you think, doesn’t it, how someone else’s maliciousness tempts you to repay in kind. It is to my utter, total, most heartfelt regret that I have decided not to fall for that ruse – as much pleasure as it would give me to tear the guy and his accomplices apart. He hasn’t got a leg, or any other appendage, to stand on. Still, I’d rather not be a facilitator.

Yes, so my joy communicating on the page has momentarily been stifled. Please don’t send chocolate or other sweet condolences. A lime will suffice.

U

May 15, 2017

Reflection

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 05:26
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With her last reply Rachel has put forward an interesting observation. Namely, that she sees blogging, sometimes, as being in a “lonely” place.

Though I hope I know what she means I see blogging mainly as putting myself in an open and not at all safe place. Not easy for a person as private as I am.  To understand: None of my posts are plotted. They are, being self employed and working in the unadulterated company of my amusing self, what I call my “water cooler” moments. I take a break, throw something on the page and press “publish”. Brill. I feel fantastic. Till later. When I re-read what I wrote. If it was highly personal  I console myself that people’s attention span is barely greater than a goldfish’s and anyway, to use my father’s voice, him the investigative journalist: “No one is interested in yesterday’s news”. Or “old snow”. As consolations go it’s good. And not so good.

We put ourselves on the page. To do so means that we put a lot of trust and have faith in our readers. I won’t mention that marvellous British “benefit of the doubt” as I usually do. Nevertheless, I think we should employ that maxim more often than not. In my experience few people are after each others’ hide.

However, if there is one thing I have learned in blogland, and is what I believe Rachel touches on, that good will is hard to come by. Some say that it is the lack of, say, body language, facial expression, inflection in written conversation. Maybe. I’d say it’s lack of good will. I’d also say, and it’s a fact, that a lot of people are sensitive to anything perceived as the slightest hint of criticism. I use the word “perceived” advisedly. It’s a bit like family dynamics. Mainly mysterious. Though if you are the outsider looking in – oh my gosh, if only they’d let you, you could join all the dots and pinpoint everyone’s individual Achilles heel.

Before you tell me that the above is conceited – as is my wont – I too do have Achilles heels. Admittedly not many as my upbringing (and possibly my innate character) mean that a lot directed at me is water off a duck’s back. Which is not saying that I am impervious to slights. I am not. If I were I wouldn’t be human.

As an aside, and little to do with the above: I can’t remember the context this minute but some time ago Rachel mentioned being tearful. Despite my sunny disposition I am, potentially, on the verge of tears all the time. It takes nothing to make me well up. There you go. The human condition. Happy and sorrowful. Two sides of one coin. But then the world is full of both: Sunshine and Shit.

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

August 13, 2016

Lady Chatterley

Filed under: Amusement,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 13:21
Tags: , , , , , ,

Apart from the pleasure that communicating with others give me, my blogs and those of others have been and are an education.

An education not least how and when to keep my lips zipped, my keyboard locked and generally being “nice” [make the latter not say anything at all – which is the hardest].

I could (and, in due course, no doubt will) mention many an example where and when bloggers (including myself) could do with a lesson.

A lesson. Just now I happened onto a post (I think posted 12 August) of a blogger who is a harpy. And I mean a harpy. Her harpy always but always complains. Not least about her commentators. Mainly because they are American. In her eyes Americans have nothing to say. Other than “nice”. Which is fine. We all have a bone to bury and then dig up. In her case it’s Americans who are hooked on her. Gratitude? Don’t make me laugh. Disdain is her default mode. Does she lap up the adulation? Of course she does. Even if she spits on it.  So far so fine. Whatever sinks your boat.

What I don’t like – and maybe she’d like to think about it – that she allows comments yet never answers any of them. That’s not communication. That’s not discourse. Most certainly it’s not discussion. It’s “Come to my court”, and be dismissed.

As not to be misunderstood, I quite like her. Yet, truth be told, she is hard work as I have rarely encountered.

So, what got my wrath just now, reading her last post? She is a saint. A saint. Let’s leave it there before she recognizes herself as the saint she is.

U

 

June 7, 2016

Afflicted

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 10:35
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Where monkeys throw banana skins at each other or just plain ignore the one on the tree next to you I communicate. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have the urge. I don’t mean communicate when it’s necessary to purchase a loaf of bread or tell someone that their zip is unzipped but communicate just for the sake of connecting with others.

That road is not paved, it’s not even gravelled, it’s a mud bath.

There are a few blogs I read not because they give me joy, enhance my day, enlighten me, make me think. Oh, no. I read them because the blogger annoys me. Intensely. Thus I have learned to keep myself to myself. As in: I don’t comment. Yes, Sweethearts, I, Ursula, do NOT comment on them. I just enjoy myself being annoyed, baffled, even angry at times. The Angel who thinks I am mad to put myself through the misery misses the point. Not only do you learn about the world by reading the frankly, and for many reasons, unpalatable; you also learn discipline, how to rein yourself in and, in my case, to accept that you can’t  reason with some people. They and their opinions are so cast in stone they should go to a sculptor’s yard and be chiselled into something becoming, pleasing the eye, the ear and, above all, making sense.

Top of my list are those who think that the frequent use of swearwords to underline their argument conveys meaning. Eff off, will you.

U

 

April 10, 2016

Beginnings

February 25, 2016

Bitch on the Blog

Filed under: Amusement,Communication,Style — bitchontheblog @ 17:54
Tags:

New bloggers out there: Choose your blog name carefully. You may never live it down.

Recently I have been reminded, more than once, and in no uncertain terms, that I am a bitch. This doesn’t do dogs any favours. Still. One aims to please.

So here goes for all those mimosas out there – and wilt at your own speed.

Dearest (Mimosas – as in “flower”), if you knew how much pleasure you give me measuring the rather thin of your assorted hides, your pouting, your sulking, your insults, how much you make me laugh, you’d be whining and whinging even more than you are prone to already.

There was one rather sweet example the other day of someone’s rant (left on an other’s blog) how she (yes, it is a she, they usually are) doesn’t like whiners and whingers. She then proceeds to whine and whinge. Cute. And before you point the finger at yourself. Don’t. There is more than one of you.

In fact so cute I’d like to take people like that by their hand and show them the way out of the woods.

The more fragile among male bloggers?  Bad manners. No argument has ever been won by telling me …

Let’s cut to the chase. Intelligent debate is not fertilized by those who weed anything they don’t like to hear. That’s where a gardener fails at the first hurdle. Shoot the grey squirrel digging up your bulbs but contemplate whether what you consider to be a weed, and therefore irritating, is undesirable. By way of example: Nettles sting. You have two options. You put on gloves, pull the nettles and make them into tea or compost OR cry at your initial blisters.

Need a handkerchief, nay, a tissue to wipe your tears of indignation? Look no further. You may cut me off. I am here. Always ready to engage. Even with the ninnies and the most delicate of divas in blogging land.

Hugs, hisses and kisses,

U

November 13, 2013

Stick to your guns

Filed under: Amusement — bitchontheblog @ 15:27
Tags:

I now know at least two people who keep bleating (not at me, just generally): “Whatever works for you”. It’s a sort of swiping at a pesky fly type statement. Which has set me thinking about curiosity. I know it kills cats. Eventually. Humans won’t admit to it. I am the type of person who does not snoop. Not because I am a saint but because I have my pride. And there are levels I will not stoop to. My son leaves his various journals and notebooks flying around the place in the safe knowledge that I wouldn’t dream looking at anything he doesn’t show me voluntarily. Has there ever been paid a greater compliment? No. My poor father still remembers (had no idea until he told me recently) that it shook him to the core how incensed I was when he opened a telegram addressed to me. I was in my early twenties – briefly staying with my parents. My mother did the same once with a letter from my sister addressed to me. Her feeble (and she is a lovely woman) excuse that the letter was addressed to her (we both have the same first name and – at the time – shared the same surname). So fair do.

Where was I? Curiosity. As you know: Once upon a time I was wooed by a gay man. Not in a sexual way since – what do you know – I am not a man, but in a romantic way. God didn’t we love each other. Him being the front loader. Myself slightly mystified in the beginning but – and with most my friends being male – eventually falling hook line and sinker for him. Three years later he called it off. Just like that. Took me another three years to get over it. Yes, I know I am slow. Or maybe not used to be shown the door. Mind you, there must have been something in the water in 1961 because one of my sisters is the same: UNFORGIVING. It’s quite fantastic HOW UNforgiving some people are. They are incapable – as we say in the mother lingo – to jump across their own shadow. They rather chew on their vomit.

I am now pumping up volume since I have been reliably informed that blogs (like mine) shorter than 1500 words are not worth reading. Bloody hell. I have only just arrived at 387. Who in their right mind, and unless they are Lorna, Charles, John or Tom (links on request), thinks they can hold a passing flyby their blog with essay lengths of sometimes stupefying content? Not that I don’t admire EGOs the size of ostrich eggs. What I don’t like if an Ostrich tells my Quail I should lay large eggs to justify my existence.

Yes, back to GG and curiosity. Since I do not wish to become a stalker through the back door I have not visited his blog for I don’t know, say, a year. Do you actually know how much will power it takes to stifle a primal (as the Angel would call it) instinct? Obviously not a lot in my case. Sure, I am dying to know how he is but I know masochism when I see it. Not my game. I suppose I could phone his mother. Don’t worry. I won’t. There comes a time when we need to know when to let it rest. I am not good at resting. But learning.

Word count 571. Please don’t bother (see above). Unlike the L’Oreal advert I am not worth it. So please do go and waste your time on something far longer and proof read. Not this shit spur of the moment stuff (without visual content).

Water cooler hugs and kisses,

U

October 10, 2013

Tall tails

Filed under: Amusement,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 18:06
Tags: , , , ,

I come from a long line of honest fishermen.

I do not wish to single out one animal in particular yet bulls (by virtue of their size) do produce a lot of shit. As do horses. And bloggers.

Rule number one: Try to be consistent. Otherwise you will be found out as the lying bastard you are.

Rule number two: Don’t embellish. That catfish you caught was full of grit and half your size.

Rule number three: Don’t balloon. You may burst. No one likes other people’s shit on their face.

Rule number four: Do not outwit yourself. You’ll never catch up.

Rule number five: Hold on to your skeleton. It might come useful one day. If only to put flesh on it.

Rule number six: Always start at the end. That way you know you’ll finish.

Rule number seven: If you need to bore bore deep.

Hugs and kisses,

U

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