Wednesday, February 20, 2008
People...
I am watching the Brit Awards as we speak and I am just short of throwing my Andrex Puppy slippers to ExBoy's huge flatscreen, screaming blue monday - no sorry, murder!
I haven't seen anything as self congratulatory as this shite! Sharon O. acting as your Mum and Best Friend of all things Pop, Ozzy as a bumbling prop to Her side, Fern whatshername being very blonde, Kylie trying out the Ms. D. Harry look and failing (sadly, huh)
Half of the nominees I haven't even heard of and I do take an interest in new sound bites!
Oh!!! David Tennant is on (dr. Who of the Scottish persuasion) I have a soft spot for him. Bear with me.
Midget Minogue just got best international female. Dahlink, if you can't walk in your 5" heels you shouldn't be wearing them; no matter how short you are. Looked ridiculous to be walked to the stage on the hand of that ugly bouncer. Ms. Harry would have rather died... I rest my case!
Who the f. is Leona Lewis? Just googled it.. won X factor... no wonder I didn't know. Sounds like a cross between Mariah Carey (puke violently) and Whitney Houston (more puke) with the same dramatic movements and the warbling of the voice. Where are those flippin' suicide bombers when you bleedin' need them!!! Gawd!
Next on... James Nesbitt???? Poor woman's George Clooney (as named by AA Gill)? Good actor but what is he doing there handing a trophy to Kate Nash - Kate bloody Nash... AAAAAAAARGH! for what? The fakest accent in pop? Singing several seconds off rhythm?
Crikey, this is dire, folks. Amy Winehouse… now, I like her voice – but she looks like her stick insect non existent arse has swallowed the cork of the organic (obviously) vodka bottle after snorting Charlie's line and the beehive looks in need of some serious DDT treatment. And by feck, she dances (or wiggles more to the point) to another drummer all together. Good shoes, I'll grant her! But again, why wear them if you can't stand in them, girlfriend?
Take That (self professed hardest working band of all? WHEN? When I wasn't watching?), some good acts (tongue firmly wedged in cheek)… but … what's the point? I don't get it, apart from the Arctic Monkeys being blind drunk and taking the piss out of those arrived (James thingy, Blur, country gent, cheese – some pointers spring to mind). Why am I watching this crap?
What happened to the likes of Jarvis Cocker mooning Janet Jackson's Tit? Or was that her brother? What's the difference anyway! Those were the days.
So… what's the piece the resistance you think? Paul "I just got rid off a Millstone" Mcbleedin' Cartney ! Shoot me now? Please? You'd be doing me a favour… I'll pay. Seriously!
(still spitting venom as we speak)
And I held back – just so you know. Last Night of the Effing Brits with awards thrown in for good measure and justification, sponsored by some credit card… Coming to think of it, might be reason to send mine back (the credit card)!
Eurgh, piss off corporate twats!
Spit, spit, spit,…!
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Dances with Black Dogs
Monday, February 11, 2008
current mood: exhausted
My Friendly Horde,
All is not well at Duck Towers.
I am lost in the depths of my own navel, again, I'm afraid.
It is a beautiful day and all I mustered was get up, get the Sunday Times and wash the windows – inside and out.
My view is clear now, clean from the recent rains and backsplash from the window boxes. It looks like spring has arrived in the grounds. Snowdrops and daffs are out, the 3legged Cat came for a staggering visit and I also – shock, horror - cleaned up 4 enormous dog turds from the lawn… If I find out who lets their best friend foul here, I will personally deliver it back through their mailbox. Rest assured!!! Maybe I need a bit more of this anti social behaviour; it wakes my inner raging bitch – like the yobby lowlife that nicked my mobile phone off the desk in the Gallery. Rage that makes me feel like I am alive.
Because, my friends, I've been a bit "Dancing with Black Dogs" of late.
First, it was the run up to Christmas, but that was counteracted by a holiday back in the home country. Once back, the "warm and wanted" effect wore and it slowly crept back up on me. The bummed birthday didn't help.
Loneliness is a bit of a drag.
If I didn't have the Gallery weekends, weeks could pass without speaking to a real person (telephone calls excluded, for obvious reasons). I play music very loudly to drown out the sound of silence, moving images on the tele as pretend company, virtual friends as plasters for a battered ego...
When people ask you how you are, they don't really want to hear the truth.
And frankly, who can blame them, nobody wants to hear doom and gloom. I'm sick of it myself. Finding yourself back on the shelf at the tender middle age of 45 is a bitter pill to swallow. But it's not just the rejection thing; it's also my own stupidity of having put me into this vulnerable position in the first place. To have build my life around 1 person for nearly 12 years was asking for trouble, no? Eggs and basket spring to mind.
Excuse me your honour, but isn't that a description of marriage? Well yes, stupid girl... only you were never elevated to marital status, were you?
I rest my case. Result: 12 years and nothing to show for it but scars... magnificent they might be; they won't pay the rent! So I'm stuck at the crossroad of boulevards of broken dreams and quite lost.
And the crossroads I'm facing are daunting, to the extend of complete paralysis: which ever choice I make, it has to be the right one; there's no time left to make more mistakes.
Does that make any sense? Rabbit caught in the headlights to use another cliché.
At this moment there's no energy left more than getting through the day.
Inertia veni vidi et vici.
I want to give myself a kick up the back side but it requests a yoga movement I haven't mastered yet. It might help if I started taking yoga lessons of course.
This complete lack of Va Va Voom in myself pisses me off no end, but even that is not enough to kick start a change. Doctor suggested Happy Pills… they didn't agree with me last time so I'm sticking to the herbal remedy for now, telling myself there's far worse in the world.
The ticking of the clock wakes me up at the impossibly early hours of the morning to dance with the Black Dog. Staving off panic, curling into a ball, rocking.
To go back (to Belgium) or not to go back, to go back or not to go back, to go back... to go back ... to fail, to fail, to fail again... until the blissful oblivion of sleep claims me back.
Needless to say I wake up rather tired from all that dancing.
current mood: exhausted
My Friendly Horde,
All is not well at Duck Towers.
I am lost in the depths of my own navel, again, I'm afraid.
It is a beautiful day and all I mustered was get up, get the Sunday Times and wash the windows – inside and out.
My view is clear now, clean from the recent rains and backsplash from the window boxes. It looks like spring has arrived in the grounds. Snowdrops and daffs are out, the 3legged Cat came for a staggering visit and I also – shock, horror - cleaned up 4 enormous dog turds from the lawn… If I find out who lets their best friend foul here, I will personally deliver it back through their mailbox. Rest assured!!! Maybe I need a bit more of this anti social behaviour; it wakes my inner raging bitch – like the yobby lowlife that nicked my mobile phone off the desk in the Gallery. Rage that makes me feel like I am alive.
Because, my friends, I've been a bit "Dancing with Black Dogs" of late.
First, it was the run up to Christmas, but that was counteracted by a holiday back in the home country. Once back, the "warm and wanted" effect wore and it slowly crept back up on me. The bummed birthday didn't help.
Loneliness is a bit of a drag.
If I didn't have the Gallery weekends, weeks could pass without speaking to a real person (telephone calls excluded, for obvious reasons). I play music very loudly to drown out the sound of silence, moving images on the tele as pretend company, virtual friends as plasters for a battered ego...
When people ask you how you are, they don't really want to hear the truth.
And frankly, who can blame them, nobody wants to hear doom and gloom. I'm sick of it myself. Finding yourself back on the shelf at the tender middle age of 45 is a bitter pill to swallow. But it's not just the rejection thing; it's also my own stupidity of having put me into this vulnerable position in the first place. To have build my life around 1 person for nearly 12 years was asking for trouble, no? Eggs and basket spring to mind.
Excuse me your honour, but isn't that a description of marriage? Well yes, stupid girl... only you were never elevated to marital status, were you?
I rest my case. Result: 12 years and nothing to show for it but scars... magnificent they might be; they won't pay the rent! So I'm stuck at the crossroad of boulevards of broken dreams and quite lost.
And the crossroads I'm facing are daunting, to the extend of complete paralysis: which ever choice I make, it has to be the right one; there's no time left to make more mistakes.
Does that make any sense? Rabbit caught in the headlights to use another cliché.
At this moment there's no energy left more than getting through the day.
Inertia veni vidi et vici.
I want to give myself a kick up the back side but it requests a yoga movement I haven't mastered yet. It might help if I started taking yoga lessons of course.
This complete lack of Va Va Voom in myself pisses me off no end, but even that is not enough to kick start a change. Doctor suggested Happy Pills… they didn't agree with me last time so I'm sticking to the herbal remedy for now, telling myself there's far worse in the world.
The ticking of the clock wakes me up at the impossibly early hours of the morning to dance with the Black Dog. Staving off panic, curling into a ball, rocking.
To go back (to Belgium) or not to go back, to go back or not to go back, to go back... to go back ... to fail, to fail, to fail again... until the blissful oblivion of sleep claims me back.
Needless to say I wake up rather tired from all that dancing.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Tiaras, Crowns and Halos
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Current mood: sassy
Mes amours.....
It is the middle of the night and all is quiet in Duck Towers.
I am suffering from insomnia again for one or other reason. Christmas is slowly creeping up on us and I've been working flat out in the studio and the gallery. GalleryBoss is driving me round the bend with constant remarks about things she does wrong herself. She probably doesn't realize she's doing it but when the blood sugar levels are running low and I have scissors in my hand to curl the umpteenth ribbon with, it is probably not the wisest of ideas…
Only Christmas Eve to go now and then it's (sings like a young Madonna) "Holida-ayy… Celebra-ate…" I like working in the gallery on Christmas eve… It is "desperate man day": you can tell by the way they come storming in, eyes wild with panic as they cannot find that special present for she who shall refuse sexual favours if The Present is Wrong. They also left it too late, again! It is then an act of almost Mother-Theresa-like proportions to sell them something expensive, a role I play to perfection by now almost developing a halo as we speak!
Yesterday I was wrapping a gaudy mug for a Mum – sorry, crazy designer pottery in outrageous colours – whilst Dad and his young Boy were looking on. Dad, relieved that he didn't have to wrap that awkward thing and the Boy fascinated by the whole process; the Boy asked if he could then put it under the tree and Dad said it might not be a good idea as little Mutley, the new pup, had decided that the presents were his new chewy toys… My cartoon mind kicked into gear and I chuckled. This made the Boy ask me if I had a tree? I told him I hadn't. "You are leaving it a bit late" he frowned "It's Christmas in 2 days"…
"But he will still bring you presents, you know! He'll just leave them in your stocking!..."
Aaaah, bless! Little did the boy know my stockings are of the saucy variety that might cause some problems for F. Christmas re-entering that chimney. Oo-er, carry on, Vixen! I then told the boy – made it up as I was going – that as I was alone over Christmas I had decided not to have a tree and give the money intended, to charity or carol singers or the beggar outside Sainsbury's, whatever took my fancy. The Boy looked at me approvingly and then replied he really liked that idea. My halo grew a little bit; it'll be a proper tiara like the pope next! Now, I'm morally obliged to do that! So some poor beggar will have a bit of a pleasant shock having 20 squids pushed in his hands in the next couple of days. I liked that little boy. He was amazed at my ribbon curling capacities as well! Little joys like that make my day.
And now for something completely different. My Space hit counter passed the 5000 mark last week!... I wish there was a way to determine who nr. 5000 was, I would send them a special Christmas present.
Who'd have thought last year this time it would take off like this? I sat there, at mum and dad's, trying to learn how to breathe again, bored out of my skull - life as I knew it, finished! So… ah, yes, MySpace... why not start a blog on that? Vent my spleen a bit about ExBoy, offload my frustrations. The thing had been set up about 8 months before but not played properly. And I started and never looked back. Only waiting for that publisher now to offer me a 5 figure advance on the rights. Hell, I will throw in the juicy bits for 6 figures and a share …and believe me, I can write a juicy story or 2 (grins widely). You however, will have to buy the book! Kerching! (hums the tune to Pink Floyd's Money)
Last summer, I bought myself the digital camera and because it was raining I was "forced" (grins wider) to take pics of my shoes to get familiar with working the thing. That's also when the headless avatar pic went up. Proved to be quite a hit! My popularity soared to high heaven after that, from Mouse to Minx overnight!
I have now befriended and met people I would have never known existed. Men give me their mobile numbers hoping for an audience and I have a direct line to Barry White! I kid you not! It can be as fabulous as that! It can also be a bit mucky... but there's always the block/ delete/ obliterate button. "Off with their heads!"
MySpazz' alter ego is taking on a life of her own. I am quite the little queen of MyPage; jesters, acolytes, admirers, musicians, artists et all, and thoroughly enjoying my court and reign.
I had to pick up a lot of pieces since last year and I think I'm slowly getting there. Not quite there yet, lost too much in a flash but I will do it, rest assured. The best thing about being damaged is that you know you can survive. There's a strange fulfillment and strength in that.
So on the eve of Christmas, I would like to thank you all for your attention lavished on Moi and I hope I entertained you a bit along the way. Couldn't have done it without you! (spits on halo to give it a quick polish and shoves it back, a bit skewiff for coolness).
Now let the festivities officially start today. I promise to keep you updated. (blesses her public benevolently)
Be good! Fat man around the corner threatening with presents… ! As I was a very good girl, I do hope Santa found his way to ye 5" killer heels shoe shoppe or the LaPerla website. One can dream, can't One? George Clooney with a bow (like in decorative, not Robin Hood!) wouldn't go amiss either...
Have a good Sunday. Me is going to try and get a bit more sleep. Mwuah, mwuah!
Currently listening: A Star Is Born by Judy Garland
Current mood: sassy
Mes amours.....
It is the middle of the night and all is quiet in Duck Towers.
I am suffering from insomnia again for one or other reason. Christmas is slowly creeping up on us and I've been working flat out in the studio and the gallery. GalleryBoss is driving me round the bend with constant remarks about things she does wrong herself. She probably doesn't realize she's doing it but when the blood sugar levels are running low and I have scissors in my hand to curl the umpteenth ribbon with, it is probably not the wisest of ideas…
Only Christmas Eve to go now and then it's (sings like a young Madonna) "Holida-ayy… Celebra-ate…" I like working in the gallery on Christmas eve… It is "desperate man day": you can tell by the way they come storming in, eyes wild with panic as they cannot find that special present for she who shall refuse sexual favours if The Present is Wrong. They also left it too late, again! It is then an act of almost Mother-Theresa-like proportions to sell them something expensive, a role I play to perfection by now almost developing a halo as we speak!
Yesterday I was wrapping a gaudy mug for a Mum – sorry, crazy designer pottery in outrageous colours – whilst Dad and his young Boy were looking on. Dad, relieved that he didn't have to wrap that awkward thing and the Boy fascinated by the whole process; the Boy asked if he could then put it under the tree and Dad said it might not be a good idea as little Mutley, the new pup, had decided that the presents were his new chewy toys… My cartoon mind kicked into gear and I chuckled. This made the Boy ask me if I had a tree? I told him I hadn't. "You are leaving it a bit late" he frowned "It's Christmas in 2 days"…
"But he will still bring you presents, you know! He'll just leave them in your stocking!..."
Aaaah, bless! Little did the boy know my stockings are of the saucy variety that might cause some problems for F. Christmas re-entering that chimney. Oo-er, carry on, Vixen! I then told the boy – made it up as I was going – that as I was alone over Christmas I had decided not to have a tree and give the money intended, to charity or carol singers or the beggar outside Sainsbury's, whatever took my fancy. The Boy looked at me approvingly and then replied he really liked that idea. My halo grew a little bit; it'll be a proper tiara like the pope next! Now, I'm morally obliged to do that! So some poor beggar will have a bit of a pleasant shock having 20 squids pushed in his hands in the next couple of days. I liked that little boy. He was amazed at my ribbon curling capacities as well! Little joys like that make my day.
And now for something completely different. My Space hit counter passed the 5000 mark last week!... I wish there was a way to determine who nr. 5000 was, I would send them a special Christmas present.
Who'd have thought last year this time it would take off like this? I sat there, at mum and dad's, trying to learn how to breathe again, bored out of my skull - life as I knew it, finished! So… ah, yes, MySpace... why not start a blog on that? Vent my spleen a bit about ExBoy, offload my frustrations. The thing had been set up about 8 months before but not played properly. And I started and never looked back. Only waiting for that publisher now to offer me a 5 figure advance on the rights. Hell, I will throw in the juicy bits for 6 figures and a share …and believe me, I can write a juicy story or 2 (grins widely). You however, will have to buy the book! Kerching! (hums the tune to Pink Floyd's Money)
Last summer, I bought myself the digital camera and because it was raining I was "forced" (grins wider) to take pics of my shoes to get familiar with working the thing. That's also when the headless avatar pic went up. Proved to be quite a hit! My popularity soared to high heaven after that, from Mouse to Minx overnight!
I have now befriended and met people I would have never known existed. Men give me their mobile numbers hoping for an audience and I have a direct line to Barry White! I kid you not! It can be as fabulous as that! It can also be a bit mucky... but there's always the block/ delete/ obliterate button. "Off with their heads!"
MySpazz' alter ego is taking on a life of her own. I am quite the little queen of MyPage; jesters, acolytes, admirers, musicians, artists et all, and thoroughly enjoying my court and reign.
I had to pick up a lot of pieces since last year and I think I'm slowly getting there. Not quite there yet, lost too much in a flash but I will do it, rest assured. The best thing about being damaged is that you know you can survive. There's a strange fulfillment and strength in that.
So on the eve of Christmas, I would like to thank you all for your attention lavished on Moi and I hope I entertained you a bit along the way. Couldn't have done it without you! (spits on halo to give it a quick polish and shoves it back, a bit skewiff for coolness).
Now let the festivities officially start today. I promise to keep you updated. (blesses her public benevolently)
Be good! Fat man around the corner threatening with presents… ! As I was a very good girl, I do hope Santa found his way to ye 5" killer heels shoe shoppe or the LaPerla website. One can dream, can't One? George Clooney with a bow (like in decorative, not Robin Hood!) wouldn't go amiss either...
Have a good Sunday. Me is going to try and get a bit more sleep. Mwuah, mwuah!
Currently listening: A Star Is Born by Judy Garland
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Melancholic Murderous Minx gazes navel again...
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Current mood: sad
Shivering me timbers, mateys!
If I were in the possessions of such delights, my sweetbreads would be freezing off as we speak...
Just went for my Sunday Times, as one does on the day of the Lord and it is rather nippy out there. It looks splendidly sunny from indoors: blue tits turning over leaves on the lawn of Duck Towers searching for food, the little wren hopping up and down the fence, a robin making a hell of a racket and I even spotted a couple of finches this morning... Must be the bird feeder table next door! Jolly nice as long as Freddy and his squirrel bunch don't raid it.
He's well handsome, our Freddy, bit of a redhead and temperamental with it and all. Last week had him running around like a (ahum) squirrel possessed! Or he might have picked up a discarded XTC tablet: raving bonkers he went... very amusing. Passersby stopped and pointed into the grounds where he was putting on quite a show, a bit like the original Freddy M. from Queen then.
How's you all, my Friendly Horde?
Are you as fed up with the run up to day X as moi? Hoho-bloody - ho! I have just made a very sick Xmas card and that cheered me up no end!!! Burned it onto CD and will see if I can get it printed tomorrow. I am chuckling as we speak, wondering what the good man in the print shop will think.
I shall rehearse my most manic look.
I did tell you about storming out of the Virgin shop, did I? Noddy Holder, screaming about the delights of Christmas does that to me and a raging underlaying anger with ExBoy. For a nano second, I looked into the mind set of your average mass murder, you know the one that goes on a rampage through schools, and I understood... Mind you, my weapon to hand was a rather lovely new set of saucy lingery, (black, frilly and red satin ribbons galore since you ask) - I doubt if it would've been quite as effective as a semi-automatic fire cracker.
Apart from slowly turning into Murderous Minx (huh, in my dreams) I am also deeply Melancholic... It's that time of the year for reflection, innit? Every waking hour I'm reminded of the Failure.
All I can see is couples, hand in hand or not, making big and small decisions together: what to get auntie X for Christmas, where to hang that decoration, what to have for dinner,...
A year and a half ago, I believed myself to be part of that coupled up group.
And now, there's phantom pain. It hurts the most when I see older couples, helping eachother with little infirmities, that almost symbiotic bond they seem to have. That cuts the deepest in an almost physical and soul destroying way.
My inner dr. Freud tells me situation as it stands, taps into the deepest rooted instincts: sexuality, aggression and the need for belonging. I gave a man 12 of my prime years as a woman, with total commitment, only to bediscarded for a 20 year younger bit of scruff like I was of no importance whatsoever beause of...of what?
Oh yes, having knickers that Bridget Jones would be ashamed about... and being overweight (seize 12 tops)... and things got a bit boring...
All perfectly good reasons for divorce, of course! Ask any lawyer... if only we had been married. And that's the thing: I have nothing to show for it apart from some serious scars - and they are serious, believe me! Yet I am expected to scram, move on, take it on the chin like a man.
WTF! I'm digging my highest heels in for some serious grip: 1. I am NOT responsable for this situation, 2. I was told I could have all the time I needed to sort myself out (have it in writing even) 3. If no SUITABLE alternative is provided by Himbo, I WILL take my time as I don't see why I should accommodate the perp.
Ah, you twigged I had another run in with ExBoy? I am sick to the core that he tries to turn me into the Wicked Witch. Believe me, if I had the chance I'd be out here like a shot. Just can't afford to rent anything more than a broom cupboard on top of the studio (no, can't go and live there)... So what to do with all my stuff, just leave it with him? So he and SlapperGirl can enjoy it?
Eff off!
I normally do my crying in the shower, sort of in tradition with the Everly Brothers' song but yesterday he caught me unawares. On top of the Christmas blues, as well. Something went "sproing" inside, me hartees, and I had a blubber on the phone to my sis and a dear friend later on. It calmed me down a bit. Still had a godawfull night of insomniac half dreams. I am so tired and so sick of it all!
Thank you, to all of you who offered help, kind words, shoulders, shelter and hugs... you kept me going.
I never forget kindness. Now all I want is to curl up in a little ball and wait until the bad vibes go away. They will, I know. Until then I reserve the right to be unsociable... need a bit of healing time. So please don't be offended if I decline an invitation, it's not that I don't like you.
Au revoir, mes choux, a bientot.
I am counting the days until I go to my silly little country for a wedding and the New Year festivities. Glad to see some people are not afraid of commitments. xxx
Current mood: sad
Shivering me timbers, mateys!
If I were in the possessions of such delights, my sweetbreads would be freezing off as we speak...
Just went for my Sunday Times, as one does on the day of the Lord and it is rather nippy out there. It looks splendidly sunny from indoors: blue tits turning over leaves on the lawn of Duck Towers searching for food, the little wren hopping up and down the fence, a robin making a hell of a racket and I even spotted a couple of finches this morning... Must be the bird feeder table next door! Jolly nice as long as Freddy and his squirrel bunch don't raid it.
He's well handsome, our Freddy, bit of a redhead and temperamental with it and all. Last week had him running around like a (ahum) squirrel possessed! Or he might have picked up a discarded XTC tablet: raving bonkers he went... very amusing. Passersby stopped and pointed into the grounds where he was putting on quite a show, a bit like the original Freddy M. from Queen then.
How's you all, my Friendly Horde?
Are you as fed up with the run up to day X as moi? Hoho-bloody - ho! I have just made a very sick Xmas card and that cheered me up no end!!! Burned it onto CD and will see if I can get it printed tomorrow. I am chuckling as we speak, wondering what the good man in the print shop will think.
I shall rehearse my most manic look.
I did tell you about storming out of the Virgin shop, did I? Noddy Holder, screaming about the delights of Christmas does that to me and a raging underlaying anger with ExBoy. For a nano second, I looked into the mind set of your average mass murder, you know the one that goes on a rampage through schools, and I understood... Mind you, my weapon to hand was a rather lovely new set of saucy lingery, (black, frilly and red satin ribbons galore since you ask) - I doubt if it would've been quite as effective as a semi-automatic fire cracker.
Apart from slowly turning into Murderous Minx (huh, in my dreams) I am also deeply Melancholic... It's that time of the year for reflection, innit? Every waking hour I'm reminded of the Failure.
All I can see is couples, hand in hand or not, making big and small decisions together: what to get auntie X for Christmas, where to hang that decoration, what to have for dinner,...
A year and a half ago, I believed myself to be part of that coupled up group.
And now, there's phantom pain. It hurts the most when I see older couples, helping eachother with little infirmities, that almost symbiotic bond they seem to have. That cuts the deepest in an almost physical and soul destroying way.
My inner dr. Freud tells me situation as it stands, taps into the deepest rooted instincts: sexuality, aggression and the need for belonging. I gave a man 12 of my prime years as a woman, with total commitment, only to bediscarded for a 20 year younger bit of scruff like I was of no importance whatsoever beause of...of what?
Oh yes, having knickers that Bridget Jones would be ashamed about... and being overweight (seize 12 tops)... and things got a bit boring...
All perfectly good reasons for divorce, of course! Ask any lawyer... if only we had been married. And that's the thing: I have nothing to show for it apart from some serious scars - and they are serious, believe me! Yet I am expected to scram, move on, take it on the chin like a man.
WTF! I'm digging my highest heels in for some serious grip: 1. I am NOT responsable for this situation, 2. I was told I could have all the time I needed to sort myself out (have it in writing even) 3. If no SUITABLE alternative is provided by Himbo, I WILL take my time as I don't see why I should accommodate the perp.
Ah, you twigged I had another run in with ExBoy? I am sick to the core that he tries to turn me into the Wicked Witch. Believe me, if I had the chance I'd be out here like a shot. Just can't afford to rent anything more than a broom cupboard on top of the studio (no, can't go and live there)... So what to do with all my stuff, just leave it with him? So he and SlapperGirl can enjoy it?
Eff off!
I normally do my crying in the shower, sort of in tradition with the Everly Brothers' song but yesterday he caught me unawares. On top of the Christmas blues, as well. Something went "sproing" inside, me hartees, and I had a blubber on the phone to my sis and a dear friend later on. It calmed me down a bit. Still had a godawfull night of insomniac half dreams. I am so tired and so sick of it all!
Thank you, to all of you who offered help, kind words, shoulders, shelter and hugs... you kept me going.
I never forget kindness. Now all I want is to curl up in a little ball and wait until the bad vibes go away. They will, I know. Until then I reserve the right to be unsociable... need a bit of healing time. So please don't be offended if I decline an invitation, it's not that I don't like you.
Au revoir, mes choux, a bientot.
I am counting the days until I go to my silly little country for a wedding and the New Year festivities. Glad to see some people are not afraid of commitments. xxx
lalalalalaaa lala la laaaaa
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Current mood: sick
't Is the season to be jolly... lalalalallalalalala...
Jolly murderous more like!
Today, I went to the studio to make some jewellery as one does.
I needed to get myself to Broadmead, the central shopping area to bring back stuff for refunds. Now I don't like this on the quietest of occasions but at this time of the year, it is living hell! People are out in hordes to buy their Christmas presents. Everywhere there's Christmas muzak piping. I went into the Virgin music shop - it has changed name to something ridiculous - to buy a small gift for a lonely friend abroad. The muzak was a tad too loud, like the habit seems to be in cinemas of late as well. It also was my most hated Christmas song of all, the one by Slade!!! It seemed to go louder and louder and I needed to get out of there before going into a fit. So when the lovely check out girl asked if I was able to find everything I was looking for, I told her I was looking for their stereo to shoot it to hell and failing that, the nearest exit please! She laughed miserably: At least you can escape... Poor cow!
I've been nursing a stinking headache since, I kid you not. Bordering on migraine, and I know what I'm talking about.
Back to the studio to finish what I was doing, barely able to focus. Phone rings: ExBoy. To let me know John died on Sunday afternoon.
John... gone...
Diagnosed with the big C at 58; 2 years later, over and done with. I had a bit of a cry, my friends. He was ExBoy's closest friend and landlord when we met 13 years ago. I loved zipping over on my Bonnie from Belgium to Southend to visit. He will be sorely missed...
I'd like to go to the funeral, pay my last respects but it might be a bit awkward with ExBoy and the old friends. Let's face it, no-one of them stayed in touch with me when our shit hit the fan. Oh, crumbs... I probably can't get there anyway by public transport.
I need some of my special painkillers pronto, this is a banging one... salut et au revoir.
Current mood: sick
't Is the season to be jolly... lalalalallalalalala...
Jolly murderous more like!
Today, I went to the studio to make some jewellery as one does.
I needed to get myself to Broadmead, the central shopping area to bring back stuff for refunds. Now I don't like this on the quietest of occasions but at this time of the year, it is living hell! People are out in hordes to buy their Christmas presents. Everywhere there's Christmas muzak piping. I went into the Virgin music shop - it has changed name to something ridiculous - to buy a small gift for a lonely friend abroad. The muzak was a tad too loud, like the habit seems to be in cinemas of late as well. It also was my most hated Christmas song of all, the one by Slade!!! It seemed to go louder and louder and I needed to get out of there before going into a fit. So when the lovely check out girl asked if I was able to find everything I was looking for, I told her I was looking for their stereo to shoot it to hell and failing that, the nearest exit please! She laughed miserably: At least you can escape... Poor cow!
I've been nursing a stinking headache since, I kid you not. Bordering on migraine, and I know what I'm talking about.
Back to the studio to finish what I was doing, barely able to focus. Phone rings: ExBoy. To let me know John died on Sunday afternoon.
John... gone...
Diagnosed with the big C at 58; 2 years later, over and done with. I had a bit of a cry, my friends. He was ExBoy's closest friend and landlord when we met 13 years ago. I loved zipping over on my Bonnie from Belgium to Southend to visit. He will be sorely missed...
I'd like to go to the funeral, pay my last respects but it might be a bit awkward with ExBoy and the old friends. Let's face it, no-one of them stayed in touch with me when our shit hit the fan. Oh, crumbs... I probably can't get there anyway by public transport.
I need some of my special painkillers pronto, this is a banging one... salut et au revoir.
Brigitte Bordeaux, your Flemish Belgian ambassadrice...
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Current mood: talkative
It's a gruesome Sunday in Duck Towers: windy, wet and cold.
Freddy the Squirrel just hopped along the window, from trough to trough, shivering in his fur coat on his way to raid the bird feeder table next door. He brought a little date the other day. Make no mistake: Freddy is definitely a boy!!! A very confused boy, as he seemed to think it was spring already...
I have wolfed down my brunch as we speak: bacon, egg and chips and plenty of it as I could eat a horse I was so hungry. (Not really, folks, as I'm not too keen on the taste of horse meat, too sweet for my taste).
My friend T. came for the night on Friday and I do regret not having made it to treat her to a Clifton Cocktail but we just curled up on the sofas and talked, talked, talked,... Someone's ears must have been burning as we picked him apart in the most secret and wicked way only women can whilst polishing off some damn fine Bordeaux.
I was going to have a rant about men for your entertainment today. You know these little idiosyncrasies they have? Like, like, like…. When they tell you they bought you a present, but it's really something that took their own fancy?
But I shall digress from that, as I needed to clarify some Belgian facts for a new MySpace friend. Welcome to my Friendly Horde, sir.
The question was why the Flemish didn't want to be Belgians.
I for one am a dedicated Flemish Belgian and proud of it - which has my separation eager parents in fits. To don a Belgian flag was high treason in my family, still is. So it's a subject better avoided when I'm there visiting. (giggles). I try to do something Belgian on the 21st of July; like eat mussels and chips, drink a duvel (or 2 or 3…). I can only sing the piss take version of the national anthem and I don't own a flag yet. But there's a certain quirkiness about the country that I only started to appreciate when I became an expat.
Belgium's is a complicated story I'm afraid. And one that touches upon the history of Europe, class and cultural differences. Start with the fact that it is an artificial country, decided upon by the greater surrounding countries in 1830 as they needed a neutral battleground to fight their future wars somewhere central in Europe. A king was found of German descent, related to the British lot with friendly strings to Holland and France... the rest is young history!
The North spoke Flemish and the South French. Apart from that, the upper classes and the catholic church (heavily in bed with the powers that be... nothing new really) used French to distinguish themselves from the poor working classes. (Watch "DAENS", an Oscar nominated film about this)
It's where the expression: "Et pour les Flamands, la meme chose" comes from.
Orders (like in the army) were given in French, the language of officers, and then was added "and for the Flemish, the same goes" in French with a delightful arrogance...
Workers in the wool mills were totally exploited (with help of English mill owners and their new technology which cut down the workforce) to give but one example ... But they stood up and fought their way. The Flemish part is very affluent now (as it has been in the past, think the Baroque period, Rubens etc...), the South is poorer with a more relaxed lifestyle ("scrounging off the system which is totally supported by us" as dad puts it). As with all these things the whole story is a very complex matter.
I have learned to appreciate my country by being away from it. We have an enormous rich history, which reflects the history of Europe through the ages. Education, though mainly catholic, is very good. I speak 4 languages, to give an example. In the South however they only speak French - a bit like the French...one could say.
Life is very good in Belgium and people there don't realize it as they are not the most travelling of folk.
Now, to me it would be crazy to split up a country the size of a postage stamp. Because we might differ from each other like night and day, we also have things in common like the weirdest sense of humour (compare to Monty Python in its most surrealistic ways). The Flemish don't want to join the Dutch. I personally would go back to take up politics and campaign against that!!!! And the Walloons don't want to join France as we are both looked down upon by our respective language partners as the slightly stupid little brother (think the English and the Welsh)...
I know we here have the reputation of being boring.
"Of course we are, darlinks, just look at me... "(fits of giggle)
We also happen to have the best beer & the best chocolate in the world. We invented the baguette and the chips (seriously!); you eat better and finer on average in Belgium than in France. (Forget food in Holland, starving IS the better option, and Germany is ok if you are a pork and cabbage addict)
A gas-fired internal combustion engine similar to a horizontal double acting steam beam engine, with cylinders, pistons, connecting rods and flywheel in which the gas took the place of the steam was invented by Jean Lenoir, a Belgian – the first internal combustion engine to be produced in numbers! Eat your heart out, Jeremy Clarkson!!
Adolphe Sax (saxophone inventor, sweeties) was a Belgian and so was Django Reinhardt and Toots Tielemans (still alive) and Jacques Brel, etc.
So you see, there's more to Belgium than Hercule Poirot & Tintin & Snowy, although these little stories give you a little insight if you can read between the lines.
But who gives a flying F? Let's keep it the best kept secret in the world. We don't want the tourist hordes, let them go to Paris to get fleeced.
Dearie me, I got a bit on my soap box there! (grins widely). Seem to be on a bit of a mission of late to educate the in-cognoscenti... I'm sure there's some arrogance in that as well... LOL
Currently listening: Les 100 Plus Belles Chansons by Jacques Brel
Current mood: talkative
It's a gruesome Sunday in Duck Towers: windy, wet and cold.
Freddy the Squirrel just hopped along the window, from trough to trough, shivering in his fur coat on his way to raid the bird feeder table next door. He brought a little date the other day. Make no mistake: Freddy is definitely a boy!!! A very confused boy, as he seemed to think it was spring already...
I have wolfed down my brunch as we speak: bacon, egg and chips and plenty of it as I could eat a horse I was so hungry. (Not really, folks, as I'm not too keen on the taste of horse meat, too sweet for my taste).
My friend T. came for the night on Friday and I do regret not having made it to treat her to a Clifton Cocktail but we just curled up on the sofas and talked, talked, talked,... Someone's ears must have been burning as we picked him apart in the most secret and wicked way only women can whilst polishing off some damn fine Bordeaux.
I was going to have a rant about men for your entertainment today. You know these little idiosyncrasies they have? Like, like, like…. When they tell you they bought you a present, but it's really something that took their own fancy?
But I shall digress from that, as I needed to clarify some Belgian facts for a new MySpace friend. Welcome to my Friendly Horde, sir.
The question was why the Flemish didn't want to be Belgians.
I for one am a dedicated Flemish Belgian and proud of it - which has my separation eager parents in fits. To don a Belgian flag was high treason in my family, still is. So it's a subject better avoided when I'm there visiting. (giggles). I try to do something Belgian on the 21st of July; like eat mussels and chips, drink a duvel (or 2 or 3…). I can only sing the piss take version of the national anthem and I don't own a flag yet. But there's a certain quirkiness about the country that I only started to appreciate when I became an expat.
Belgium's is a complicated story I'm afraid. And one that touches upon the history of Europe, class and cultural differences. Start with the fact that it is an artificial country, decided upon by the greater surrounding countries in 1830 as they needed a neutral battleground to fight their future wars somewhere central in Europe. A king was found of German descent, related to the British lot with friendly strings to Holland and France... the rest is young history!
The North spoke Flemish and the South French. Apart from that, the upper classes and the catholic church (heavily in bed with the powers that be... nothing new really) used French to distinguish themselves from the poor working classes. (Watch "DAENS", an Oscar nominated film about this)
It's where the expression: "Et pour les Flamands, la meme chose" comes from.
Orders (like in the army) were given in French, the language of officers, and then was added "and for the Flemish, the same goes" in French with a delightful arrogance...
Workers in the wool mills were totally exploited (with help of English mill owners and their new technology which cut down the workforce) to give but one example ... But they stood up and fought their way. The Flemish part is very affluent now (as it has been in the past, think the Baroque period, Rubens etc...), the South is poorer with a more relaxed lifestyle ("scrounging off the system which is totally supported by us" as dad puts it). As with all these things the whole story is a very complex matter.
I have learned to appreciate my country by being away from it. We have an enormous rich history, which reflects the history of Europe through the ages. Education, though mainly catholic, is very good. I speak 4 languages, to give an example. In the South however they only speak French - a bit like the French...one could say.
Life is very good in Belgium and people there don't realize it as they are not the most travelling of folk.
Now, to me it would be crazy to split up a country the size of a postage stamp. Because we might differ from each other like night and day, we also have things in common like the weirdest sense of humour (compare to Monty Python in its most surrealistic ways). The Flemish don't want to join the Dutch. I personally would go back to take up politics and campaign against that!!!! And the Walloons don't want to join France as we are both looked down upon by our respective language partners as the slightly stupid little brother (think the English and the Welsh)...
I know we here have the reputation of being boring.
"Of course we are, darlinks, just look at me... "(fits of giggle)
We also happen to have the best beer & the best chocolate in the world. We invented the baguette and the chips (seriously!); you eat better and finer on average in Belgium than in France. (Forget food in Holland, starving IS the better option, and Germany is ok if you are a pork and cabbage addict)
A gas-fired internal combustion engine similar to a horizontal double acting steam beam engine, with cylinders, pistons, connecting rods and flywheel in which the gas took the place of the steam was invented by Jean Lenoir, a Belgian – the first internal combustion engine to be produced in numbers! Eat your heart out, Jeremy Clarkson!!
Adolphe Sax (saxophone inventor, sweeties) was a Belgian and so was Django Reinhardt and Toots Tielemans (still alive) and Jacques Brel, etc.
So you see, there's more to Belgium than Hercule Poirot & Tintin & Snowy, although these little stories give you a little insight if you can read between the lines.
But who gives a flying F? Let's keep it the best kept secret in the world. We don't want the tourist hordes, let them go to Paris to get fleeced.
Dearie me, I got a bit on my soap box there! (grins widely). Seem to be on a bit of a mission of late to educate the in-cognoscenti... I'm sure there's some arrogance in that as well... LOL
Currently listening: Les 100 Plus Belles Chansons by Jacques Brel
Friday, 23 October 2009
Pet Hates and Poles
Friday, December 07, 2007
Tonight the lovely T. comes to visit me from the big capital of L.
She is scooting off back home to New Zealand, another friend going! Soon there will be no friends left, just Poles. They are like God and bad pennies... everywhere.
Jenny Foreigner here gets exceedingly lonely in this Provincial Pole Infested Backwater, all scheming to steal your jobs and your men!!!... Don't say I didn't warn you (maniacal hollow laughter).
I have to explain that last remark: SlapperGirl is of the Polish Persuation. So you understand I am now nurturing a filthy and somewhat unreasonable hatred against all things Pole - except the ones to dance on!
After all it takes a foreigner to know one, no? (tongue firmly wedged in cheek).
My little racist (are they a race? no? then it's not racist, is it?)...
Restart: My little pet hate aside, I am rather well, thank you! And I'm going to treat my leaving friend to a Clifton in Goldbrick House. But just the one, you understand...
Anyway , must dash - work to go to.
I need to have a bit of a rant about men as well! But I'll save that until Sunday. Watch this space.
xxx tara for now
Tonight the lovely T. comes to visit me from the big capital of L.
She is scooting off back home to New Zealand, another friend going! Soon there will be no friends left, just Poles. They are like God and bad pennies... everywhere.
Jenny Foreigner here gets exceedingly lonely in this Provincial Pole Infested Backwater, all scheming to steal your jobs and your men!!!... Don't say I didn't warn you (maniacal hollow laughter).
I have to explain that last remark: SlapperGirl is of the Polish Persuation. So you understand I am now nurturing a filthy and somewhat unreasonable hatred against all things Pole - except the ones to dance on!
After all it takes a foreigner to know one, no? (tongue firmly wedged in cheek).
My little racist (are they a race? no? then it's not racist, is it?)...
Restart: My little pet hate aside, I am rather well, thank you! And I'm going to treat my leaving friend to a Clifton in Goldbrick House. But just the one, you understand...
Anyway , must dash - work to go to.
I need to have a bit of a rant about men as well! But I'll save that until Sunday. Watch this space.
xxx tara for now
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