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
Monday, 14 December 2009
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
Sinterklaas
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Mes Choux,
Today is the day of "Sinterklaas" in the old home country. What is that, oh glamourous one, I hear you ask?
It is the feast for children where you wake up in the morning to all sorts of treats left for you by your parents who pretend to be an omnipresent white bishop saint dishing out presents to all good little kids with the help of "Zwarte Piet" aka Black Pete, his (indeed) black helper. Apart from the racial thingy going on here, sounds familiar? Yes, my dears, this is the original Santa Claus. Nothing to do with Christmas at all, his name day is the 6th of December. You have to write a nice letter to him, stating how good you've been and what your wishes regarding presents are... not that they might be respected, of course! Part of being good is to learn to deal with the disappointment of not getting what you want. And to share with your siblings. This Saintly man enters the house through the chimney (even if you don't have one) in full bishop's outfit, funny hat et all. Oh, and staff. The black guy does all the work, carrying the toys, putting the bad children in his bag for punishment with the cane... Now, he is a Moor - not black from the chimney, you understand? Wears fine clothes but is obviously the servant! Children put a little present for the horse (preferred means of travel from Spain where the Saintly One lives during the rest of the year, I kid you not) like a carrot, or sugar cubes and a little something like a drawing or so for the Holy One! In my family it was normally a drink, can be cold out this time of the year on those roofs... Says more about my family than anything, hah. Every time I mention this in the UK, I see political correctness creep in... a black man as the inferior helper, eh? Tut, tut, tut... Oh, you have to know this: normally personified by a white person blackened up!!! Shock horror! The arrival of Sinterklaas some weeks in advance (by boat, from Spain) is still a televised happening hosted by the crème of presenters. I can tell you now that Black Pete was never perceived as inferior, he was the Keeper of your "good/bad" records, Helper and Punisher (cane!) and as such of equal importance which is something very hard to explain how that works... it just does and you have to take my word for it.
I miss Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet and all the pomp and silliness of it.
Makes far more sense to live in a castle in Spain than on the bloody North Pole surrounded by elves, me thinks!
x just thought I would share that with you. x
Mes Choux,
Today is the day of "Sinterklaas" in the old home country. What is that, oh glamourous one, I hear you ask?
It is the feast for children where you wake up in the morning to all sorts of treats left for you by your parents who pretend to be an omnipresent white bishop saint dishing out presents to all good little kids with the help of "Zwarte Piet" aka Black Pete, his (indeed) black helper. Apart from the racial thingy going on here, sounds familiar? Yes, my dears, this is the original Santa Claus. Nothing to do with Christmas at all, his name day is the 6th of December. You have to write a nice letter to him, stating how good you've been and what your wishes regarding presents are... not that they might be respected, of course! Part of being good is to learn to deal with the disappointment of not getting what you want. And to share with your siblings. This Saintly man enters the house through the chimney (even if you don't have one) in full bishop's outfit, funny hat et all. Oh, and staff. The black guy does all the work, carrying the toys, putting the bad children in his bag for punishment with the cane... Now, he is a Moor - not black from the chimney, you understand? Wears fine clothes but is obviously the servant! Children put a little present for the horse (preferred means of travel from Spain where the Saintly One lives during the rest of the year, I kid you not) like a carrot, or sugar cubes and a little something like a drawing or so for the Holy One! In my family it was normally a drink, can be cold out this time of the year on those roofs... Says more about my family than anything, hah. Every time I mention this in the UK, I see political correctness creep in... a black man as the inferior helper, eh? Tut, tut, tut... Oh, you have to know this: normally personified by a white person blackened up!!! Shock horror! The arrival of Sinterklaas some weeks in advance (by boat, from Spain) is still a televised happening hosted by the crème of presenters. I can tell you now that Black Pete was never perceived as inferior, he was the Keeper of your "good/bad" records, Helper and Punisher (cane!) and as such of equal importance which is something very hard to explain how that works... it just does and you have to take my word for it.
I miss Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet and all the pomp and silliness of it.
Makes far more sense to live in a castle in Spain than on the bloody North Pole surrounded by elves, me thinks!
x just thought I would share that with you. x
Tired, just a little bit.
Friday, November 16, 2007
hello (little tired voice),
Not much to say, amici! My boss/friend of 9 years whom I worked for 1 or 2 days a week (jewellery) is buggering off. This means I'm taking on the studio on my own... Even less people to talk to now... Bears me down to GalleryBoss and eventual customers, and taxi drivers when I do make an effort...
I've just spent the last 2 days painting 2/3 of the studio as that's empty and now I'm a bit shattered. My neck and upper back really hurt so I'm off to bed real soon. Sorry I haven't been filling you in on the Burlesque Night, but to cut a long story short: didn't get in, it sold out. I did look the Burlesque's knees however, even had my make up done professionally at the MAC counter in Debenhams. (Thank you, Sarah) The lovely N. suggested reverting to drinking cocktails in disappointment... which is alright to start with, but inadvertedly ends up with my face down the loo...
So didn't want to bore you with that part of the story. Let's just say, that I'm getting to be a bit of a liability! My social encounters are so far between that I get a bit enthusiastic, having an audience and that. Drinky-poos are being downed a bit too quick and then I find myself in more than 1 pickle. Suffice to say the lovely N. is an absolute perfect gentleman. And thank you, good sir, for getting me home! I sort of lost track whether he had to hold back my hair... but let's not go too deep into a sorry ending of a really good night out.
Yes, my friends! That bad! I'm too old to get that wasted, it's not good. Apart from anything else, it hurts in the morning. Hangovers are best left to the young, me thinks: SUFFER, YOU BASTARDS!... To be honest, I didn't have that bad a hangover. Just felt like a cork shirt. If that makes any sense..
And if it's any good: when you find yourself in the Goldbrick House in Bristol (swanky) do have a Clifton, but only one! Believe me, it's absolutely logarithmically lethal. You have been warned!!!
Apart from that, been to the opera: La Cenerentola (Cinderella) by the Welsh Opera last Saturday which was really, really fantastic (thanks to GalleryBoss). We were in full Princess mode, walking tall in the Marilyn silver sandals. Sunday I'm swanning off to Belgium, quick last visit before the festive season & buying a diamond for a commission in the event. Oh, and the last couple of days I've been really fascinated by "I'm a Celebrity (not), Get me out of here" !!! I just love Janice Dickinson, but who is she? Apart from hilariously fantastically funny...
Off to bed now, as I'm falling into the keyboard. Xx
hello (little tired voice),
Not much to say, amici! My boss/friend of 9 years whom I worked for 1 or 2 days a week (jewellery) is buggering off. This means I'm taking on the studio on my own... Even less people to talk to now... Bears me down to GalleryBoss and eventual customers, and taxi drivers when I do make an effort...
I've just spent the last 2 days painting 2/3 of the studio as that's empty and now I'm a bit shattered. My neck and upper back really hurt so I'm off to bed real soon. Sorry I haven't been filling you in on the Burlesque Night, but to cut a long story short: didn't get in, it sold out. I did look the Burlesque's knees however, even had my make up done professionally at the MAC counter in Debenhams. (Thank you, Sarah) The lovely N. suggested reverting to drinking cocktails in disappointment... which is alright to start with, but inadvertedly ends up with my face down the loo...
So didn't want to bore you with that part of the story. Let's just say, that I'm getting to be a bit of a liability! My social encounters are so far between that I get a bit enthusiastic, having an audience and that. Drinky-poos are being downed a bit too quick and then I find myself in more than 1 pickle. Suffice to say the lovely N. is an absolute perfect gentleman. And thank you, good sir, for getting me home! I sort of lost track whether he had to hold back my hair... but let's not go too deep into a sorry ending of a really good night out.
Yes, my friends! That bad! I'm too old to get that wasted, it's not good. Apart from anything else, it hurts in the morning. Hangovers are best left to the young, me thinks: SUFFER, YOU BASTARDS!... To be honest, I didn't have that bad a hangover. Just felt like a cork shirt. If that makes any sense..
And if it's any good: when you find yourself in the Goldbrick House in Bristol (swanky) do have a Clifton, but only one! Believe me, it's absolutely logarithmically lethal. You have been warned!!!
Apart from that, been to the opera: La Cenerentola (Cinderella) by the Welsh Opera last Saturday which was really, really fantastic (thanks to GalleryBoss). We were in full Princess mode, walking tall in the Marilyn silver sandals. Sunday I'm swanning off to Belgium, quick last visit before the festive season & buying a diamond for a commission in the event. Oh, and the last couple of days I've been really fascinated by "I'm a Celebrity (not), Get me out of here" !!! I just love Janice Dickinson, but who is she? Apart from hilariously fantastically funny...
Off to bed now, as I'm falling into the keyboard. Xx
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Brigitte Bordeaux
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Current mood: bouncy
Dahlinks!
One of my friends enquired over the weekend if I was still alive... as my last blog posting was 2 months ago!
Had I met Mr. Right and was now involved in wildly romantic trysts? Had I secretly killed off ExBoy and the Slapper and was keeping a low profile until the proverbial shit hit the fan? Had I undergone severe cosmetic surgery to turn me into my goddess within and was biding my time to make an Entrance? Had I gone into the closet fed up with men and waiting to come out?...
None of the above, mes amies, none of the above. Only thing I did was go to Florence for 5 days beginning of October which was nice; extremely nice actually!!! Oh, and I went to Belgium in September where every one was very happy to see me. I love my friends and family. Enough soppiness!...
And then I hit a bit of a black hole... Dunno if this had to do with the fact that it's exactly 1 year ago I escaped the Grim Reaper by a hair (nananananna...) and was sort of contemplating my navel? I found things in there I lost ages ago... fluff mainly. Now, we al know that indulging in self pity is NOT cool! So... I didn't bore you with it. No rants, no moans, just me alone in Duck Towers, formerly known as home, crying in my Grand Vin de Bordeaux. I met up with a couple of MySpace friends who are now Real Friends - you know who you are, you've been upgraded, - which was an absolute delight. But none of them is local, so... no good for a little sob on the shoulder and a pat on the back.
But finally... we hit floor (you always have to) and the only way is up now.
So things are looking good, me thinks.
I still hate ExBoy with a spitting vengeance but try to avoid confrontation which isn't that hard as he works away from the provincial town of B. half of the time. And the time he is around, he gets summoned by Slapper Girl.
It does get lonely, mind. Don't forget that due to what I do (making jewellery is rather solitary) there is no social work environment. And my friends seem to move away from B. at an alarming speed. So I'm a bit at a loss here, how to meet new people?
I do go out, on occasion, but find myself inadvertedly ending up in a gay club... because they have better music, more fun, are the right side of outrageous and don't judge you, so it seems. I don't think I'm going to bump into Mr. Right there though, am I? huh... Cinema is nice to do on your own, a concert too but I lack the enthusing afterwards with a companion, going to restaurants is near impossible, what's left? Gigs! Yup, that's a good one as you can always prop up the bar looking enigmatically solitary.
SO... been brewing up to this one... I'm going out on Thursday! To a burlesque evening no less. Well, if there are single hot blooded males about that should be the place, no? And the dressing up is a perk. Which brings me neatly to what I had on my liver all along (Flemish proverb, don't ask): I went shopping!
I bought a divine fake leopard coat, very lush. And then a little sparkly dress and posh knickers (Ospreys, oo-er), and sequined hair bands and outrageous tights (not for Thursday as that is stockings/hold ups day...) and I'm smiling like the Cheshire Cat. No shoes! Well, I'm still peeved that some bitch outbid me last second on the Louboutins last Sunday evening (may she have cobbles to walk on). But then I have the shoes and clutch to wear with my Outfit already... Brigitte Bordeaux is about to hit Bristol. Brace yourself, Boys! (grins very widely). And whoever declined my invitation: watch this Space...
mwuah mwuah, sweeties. (smelling of Maitresse by Agent Provocateur)
currently listening: I Wanna Be Loved By You by Marilyn Monroe
Current mood: bouncy
Dahlinks!
One of my friends enquired over the weekend if I was still alive... as my last blog posting was 2 months ago!
Had I met Mr. Right and was now involved in wildly romantic trysts? Had I secretly killed off ExBoy and the Slapper and was keeping a low profile until the proverbial shit hit the fan? Had I undergone severe cosmetic surgery to turn me into my goddess within and was biding my time to make an Entrance? Had I gone into the closet fed up with men and waiting to come out?...
None of the above, mes amies, none of the above. Only thing I did was go to Florence for 5 days beginning of October which was nice; extremely nice actually!!! Oh, and I went to Belgium in September where every one was very happy to see me. I love my friends and family. Enough soppiness!...
And then I hit a bit of a black hole... Dunno if this had to do with the fact that it's exactly 1 year ago I escaped the Grim Reaper by a hair (nananananna...) and was sort of contemplating my navel? I found things in there I lost ages ago... fluff mainly. Now, we al know that indulging in self pity is NOT cool! So... I didn't bore you with it. No rants, no moans, just me alone in Duck Towers, formerly known as home, crying in my Grand Vin de Bordeaux. I met up with a couple of MySpace friends who are now Real Friends - you know who you are, you've been upgraded, - which was an absolute delight. But none of them is local, so... no good for a little sob on the shoulder and a pat on the back.
But finally... we hit floor (you always have to) and the only way is up now.
So things are looking good, me thinks.
I still hate ExBoy with a spitting vengeance but try to avoid confrontation which isn't that hard as he works away from the provincial town of B. half of the time. And the time he is around, he gets summoned by Slapper Girl.
It does get lonely, mind. Don't forget that due to what I do (making jewellery is rather solitary) there is no social work environment. And my friends seem to move away from B. at an alarming speed. So I'm a bit at a loss here, how to meet new people?
I do go out, on occasion, but find myself inadvertedly ending up in a gay club... because they have better music, more fun, are the right side of outrageous and don't judge you, so it seems. I don't think I'm going to bump into Mr. Right there though, am I? huh... Cinema is nice to do on your own, a concert too but I lack the enthusing afterwards with a companion, going to restaurants is near impossible, what's left? Gigs! Yup, that's a good one as you can always prop up the bar looking enigmatically solitary.
SO... been brewing up to this one... I'm going out on Thursday! To a burlesque evening no less. Well, if there are single hot blooded males about that should be the place, no? And the dressing up is a perk. Which brings me neatly to what I had on my liver all along (Flemish proverb, don't ask): I went shopping!
I bought a divine fake leopard coat, very lush. And then a little sparkly dress and posh knickers (Ospreys, oo-er), and sequined hair bands and outrageous tights (not for Thursday as that is stockings/hold ups day...) and I'm smiling like the Cheshire Cat. No shoes! Well, I'm still peeved that some bitch outbid me last second on the Louboutins last Sunday evening (may she have cobbles to walk on). But then I have the shoes and clutch to wear with my Outfit already... Brigitte Bordeaux is about to hit Bristol. Brace yourself, Boys! (grins very widely). And whoever declined my invitation: watch this Space...
mwuah mwuah, sweeties. (smelling of Maitresse by Agent Provocateur)
currently listening: I Wanna Be Loved By You by Marilyn Monroe
Cat-sitting
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Current mood: sad
Salut mes amis,
It's the middle of the night and I cannot sleep - again.
Insomnia drives me into the treacherous sucking void of MySpace... only other insomniacs left, lots of weirdos and those in other time zones. 't Is a strange thing this MySpace, isn't it? Giving a false feeling of belonging with "meeting" new people, "befriending" them, "talking" to them... and none of it is for real, whatever anyone says. Your real friends look after you when you're down ...
My best friend here in the provincial town of B. is emigrating to Kiwiland tomorrow. The last weeks have been filled with packing, anxiety, more packing, reassuring, arrangements for the business, fights with the bank, more anxiety and tomorrow it's all over. She's on a plane swanning off to join her love.
I'll miss her, a lot!
Especially since my real circle of friends seems to shrink substantially lately. Well, there's the whole lot that came with ExBoy... don't hear from them, ever. Not even when I was croaking in hospital last year. Sort of out of sight, out of mind thing going on. Or maybe ExBoy has done my PR for me? Who knows? Sad nevertheless as good times were had.
Oh and that's another thing I was pondering the other day: when you split up after a long time together you loose the possibility to share memories. Like in "remember when you did so and so and then we blahdiblah... How we howled with laughter?" Or your holiday pics... All those memories; not gone, but unable to share them anymore as the one to share them with is working on other memories with someone else...
So effectively your life seems to be taken away from you; stripped to the bare essence which is you, I guess. And "you" is flipping lonely! No amount of MySpazz mates can change that as you can't have a sob and cuddle with them, can you now?
Insomnia invariably leads to extreme navelgazing, especially when one is suffering from the PMT. I'm so fed up of being alone! I'll be glad to get away for a day or 10, back to the old country. Meet people that are glad to see me. It'll do my soul good. Until then, I'm catsitting for GalleryBoss. Trust me to find the most unsociable cat in the world for company. J'en ai marre!!!!
I better take one of my little tablets...
Duck Towers is an oasis of tranquility compared to this place where traffic never stops, clubbers argue and vomit on their way home, ambulances tear by,.. the city centre, quoi?
Good morning , me ducks. I hope you have a better day than mine. xxx
Current mood: sad
Salut mes amis,
It's the middle of the night and I cannot sleep - again.
Insomnia drives me into the treacherous sucking void of MySpace... only other insomniacs left, lots of weirdos and those in other time zones. 't Is a strange thing this MySpace, isn't it? Giving a false feeling of belonging with "meeting" new people, "befriending" them, "talking" to them... and none of it is for real, whatever anyone says. Your real friends look after you when you're down ...
My best friend here in the provincial town of B. is emigrating to Kiwiland tomorrow. The last weeks have been filled with packing, anxiety, more packing, reassuring, arrangements for the business, fights with the bank, more anxiety and tomorrow it's all over. She's on a plane swanning off to join her love.
I'll miss her, a lot!
Especially since my real circle of friends seems to shrink substantially lately. Well, there's the whole lot that came with ExBoy... don't hear from them, ever. Not even when I was croaking in hospital last year. Sort of out of sight, out of mind thing going on. Or maybe ExBoy has done my PR for me? Who knows? Sad nevertheless as good times were had.
Oh and that's another thing I was pondering the other day: when you split up after a long time together you loose the possibility to share memories. Like in "remember when you did so and so and then we blahdiblah... How we howled with laughter?" Or your holiday pics... All those memories; not gone, but unable to share them anymore as the one to share them with is working on other memories with someone else...
So effectively your life seems to be taken away from you; stripped to the bare essence which is you, I guess. And "you" is flipping lonely! No amount of MySpazz mates can change that as you can't have a sob and cuddle with them, can you now?
Insomnia invariably leads to extreme navelgazing, especially when one is suffering from the PMT. I'm so fed up of being alone! I'll be glad to get away for a day or 10, back to the old country. Meet people that are glad to see me. It'll do my soul good. Until then, I'm catsitting for GalleryBoss. Trust me to find the most unsociable cat in the world for company. J'en ai marre!!!!
I better take one of my little tablets...
Duck Towers is an oasis of tranquility compared to this place where traffic never stops, clubbers argue and vomit on their way home, ambulances tear by,.. the city centre, quoi?
Good morning , me ducks. I hope you have a better day than mine. xxx
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Bank holidays
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Current mood: cheerful
Bongiorno amici,
All is set for a glorious August bank holiday weekend.
I woke up this morning in Duck Towers, back on my own after ExMum InLaw (OutLaw actually, come to think of it ... which is the whole problem, no?) has returned to blistering Spain. I can return to my routine of skillfully avoiding the Lord of the Flat, aka ExBoy, when he comes around to pick up his mail, faf around on his computer, or whatever he does when he's here. Normally he's gone by the time I get back, out of fear of leaving the Slapper on her own too long (She does deserve her little nickname, you know... but that's another story...)
So, yes, home alone again and it's bliss! Especially now the sun has decided to make an appearance and might be hanging around for the weekend. And... GalleryBoss decided executively that, as the weather is very good and nobody will be out buying art, doors will be closed on Saturday. This means I have an unexpected whole weekend off! !!!!! I was a bit miffed as I could have done something more exciting like, like, like (thinking hard)... go up North, visit some friends, visit Cornwall, or go to Welshy Wales... Now there is a thought... bear with me on that one!
So yesterday I locked up and cycled to the Waterfront after quickly nipping into Waterstones to buy a book (Sleeping Around - C. Townsend, appropriate reading for the single girl around town). Oh, on my part, there's lots of feverish wishful thinking and not a lot of action... but there you go. Maybe I pick up some tips along the read. A good spot to go and get the last sun is at the quayside of the Arnolfini. So, me dashes in for a beer - extortiate prices, flipping heck - to then find a spot amongst the little cliques of friends or canoodling couples. This normally depresses me, with being the loner and that, but this time I couldn't care less. I felt well jolly, and jolie since you ask, wearing my skinny hipster jeans with sparkly espadrille wedges, little white T and black and white polka dot hair band; reading a naughty paperback. Let's face it, last bank holiday I found myself on this quay (Easter Saturday eve) I got lucky, very handsomely so... (Grinning widely). Short but sweet and I don't refer to measurements in this case, dahlings!
A couple of things in the book made me laugh out loud as they were very recognizable (girl gets dumped by boyfriend, moans to girlfriend...). I sat there, quite happily for an hour or so before walking home (It's uphill, not enough gears on my pedal bike since I came off flying over the handlebars smashing the right gear lever with my coccyx - ouch for weeks!). I was even contemplating going out, on my own, dressing up and all that. Of course I got completely sidetracked by this booklet... which is not exactly a literature masterwork but here and there touches a girlie nerve. Like where she makes a statement about "drama-queen men" (men that express verbally their will to commit to you after a very short time)"Chances are that the guy who talk spontaneously in the future tense (...) on the second date will probably never show up for the third." Well, that surely rang a bell! Which brings me in a round about way to the aforementioned Wales.
You remember some months back? I met someone through the Guardian Soulmates (I know, I know... don't you start! Try my place! 44 year olds are not really top of the wanted list, sweeties, unless for 60+) After mailing and chatting a real life meet was set up. And guess what? We hit it off instantly... My situation as it is leaves little space to meet at mine so I coached over to M. (where CZJ has a little seaside abode) a couple of times. I fell, like a brick... stupidly so, with hindsight. I should have known better. In fact I DID, as I expressed my doubts in a blog posting. He seemed the sort of trophy wife type (nippy sports car, flash watch, ...) and I've never considered myself to be one of those, however well I scrub up on occasion. But he convinced me completely and I liked being paraded a bit. Did the world for my self esteem, I kid you not.
But then, bang! Last visit was cut short for one or other half baked reason from his side. I had a gut wrenching journey back, picking up on a bad vibe, not knowing what was going on. And that was it... He's been blanking me ever since. Only short polite answers to my messages. Doesn't pick up the phone (number recognition... fabulous!). I tried to have a talk when I did get through, giving him all the easy options ( "just tell me like it is", "we didn't make any promises", "I understand...", blahdiblahdiblah) Trying to work out a reason to make me able to accept the complete turnaround in him. Maybe his ex wanted reconciliation? Whatever... anything is better than nothing.
.But nothing is what I got "Things are a bit difficult with the business..." WTF????? This is the guy that started texting me 8 am, continuously during the day, until going to bed - I still keep some, just to remind me of how big his seismic shift was. This was, unfortunately pour moi, the first guy I opened up to since ExBoy. Dangerous and silly; well, I feel right silly now! Thank you, Mr. F.! Not so good for the self esteem. But then I should know better than to get that from a guy, I'm old enough! So there you go, unfinished business! Part of me wants to zip over and face him - not making a scene, just politely ask why, face to face. But it's better to let go, me thinks, as he probably will come up with other classics like "it's not you, it's me"... I can do without that sort of cowardly claptrap.
In the meantime I am brooding over a last gesture, I do like to have the last word in matters where I feel I've been cut out for no reason; I will keep you posted.
Time for a cup of industrial strength, me thinks and ponder about what to do with my unexpected day off... get my leathers out... go for spin...Pose, Biker Girl, pose!!!
Arrivederci, amores. xxx
PS I have booked myself a flight to Florence early October. I will pack nice dresses, high heels, jewellery and go on a sophisticated adventure. Who knows what the gods throw in my way? Just have to be careful not to trip over it then...
Currently listening: Two Wheels Good by Prefab Sprout
Current mood: cheerful
Bongiorno amici,
All is set for a glorious August bank holiday weekend.
I woke up this morning in Duck Towers, back on my own after ExMum InLaw (OutLaw actually, come to think of it ... which is the whole problem, no?) has returned to blistering Spain. I can return to my routine of skillfully avoiding the Lord of the Flat, aka ExBoy, when he comes around to pick up his mail, faf around on his computer, or whatever he does when he's here. Normally he's gone by the time I get back, out of fear of leaving the Slapper on her own too long (She does deserve her little nickname, you know... but that's another story...)
So, yes, home alone again and it's bliss! Especially now the sun has decided to make an appearance and might be hanging around for the weekend. And... GalleryBoss decided executively that, as the weather is very good and nobody will be out buying art, doors will be closed on Saturday. This means I have an unexpected whole weekend off! !!!!! I was a bit miffed as I could have done something more exciting like, like, like (thinking hard)... go up North, visit some friends, visit Cornwall, or go to Welshy Wales... Now there is a thought... bear with me on that one!
So yesterday I locked up and cycled to the Waterfront after quickly nipping into Waterstones to buy a book (Sleeping Around - C. Townsend, appropriate reading for the single girl around town). Oh, on my part, there's lots of feverish wishful thinking and not a lot of action... but there you go. Maybe I pick up some tips along the read. A good spot to go and get the last sun is at the quayside of the Arnolfini. So, me dashes in for a beer - extortiate prices, flipping heck - to then find a spot amongst the little cliques of friends or canoodling couples. This normally depresses me, with being the loner and that, but this time I couldn't care less. I felt well jolly, and jolie since you ask, wearing my skinny hipster jeans with sparkly espadrille wedges, little white T and black and white polka dot hair band; reading a naughty paperback. Let's face it, last bank holiday I found myself on this quay (Easter Saturday eve) I got lucky, very handsomely so... (Grinning widely). Short but sweet and I don't refer to measurements in this case, dahlings!
A couple of things in the book made me laugh out loud as they were very recognizable (girl gets dumped by boyfriend, moans to girlfriend...). I sat there, quite happily for an hour or so before walking home (It's uphill, not enough gears on my pedal bike since I came off flying over the handlebars smashing the right gear lever with my coccyx - ouch for weeks!). I was even contemplating going out, on my own, dressing up and all that. Of course I got completely sidetracked by this booklet... which is not exactly a literature masterwork but here and there touches a girlie nerve. Like where she makes a statement about "drama-queen men" (men that express verbally their will to commit to you after a very short time)"Chances are that the guy who talk spontaneously in the future tense (...) on the second date will probably never show up for the third." Well, that surely rang a bell! Which brings me in a round about way to the aforementioned Wales.
You remember some months back? I met someone through the Guardian Soulmates (I know, I know... don't you start! Try my place! 44 year olds are not really top of the wanted list, sweeties, unless for 60+) After mailing and chatting a real life meet was set up. And guess what? We hit it off instantly... My situation as it is leaves little space to meet at mine so I coached over to M. (where CZJ has a little seaside abode) a couple of times. I fell, like a brick... stupidly so, with hindsight. I should have known better. In fact I DID, as I expressed my doubts in a blog posting. He seemed the sort of trophy wife type (nippy sports car, flash watch, ...) and I've never considered myself to be one of those, however well I scrub up on occasion. But he convinced me completely and I liked being paraded a bit. Did the world for my self esteem, I kid you not.
But then, bang! Last visit was cut short for one or other half baked reason from his side. I had a gut wrenching journey back, picking up on a bad vibe, not knowing what was going on. And that was it... He's been blanking me ever since. Only short polite answers to my messages. Doesn't pick up the phone (number recognition... fabulous!). I tried to have a talk when I did get through, giving him all the easy options ( "just tell me like it is", "we didn't make any promises", "I understand...", blahdiblahdiblah) Trying to work out a reason to make me able to accept the complete turnaround in him. Maybe his ex wanted reconciliation? Whatever... anything is better than nothing.
.But nothing is what I got "Things are a bit difficult with the business..." WTF????? This is the guy that started texting me 8 am, continuously during the day, until going to bed - I still keep some, just to remind me of how big his seismic shift was. This was, unfortunately pour moi, the first guy I opened up to since ExBoy. Dangerous and silly; well, I feel right silly now! Thank you, Mr. F.! Not so good for the self esteem. But then I should know better than to get that from a guy, I'm old enough! So there you go, unfinished business! Part of me wants to zip over and face him - not making a scene, just politely ask why, face to face. But it's better to let go, me thinks, as he probably will come up with other classics like "it's not you, it's me"... I can do without that sort of cowardly claptrap.
In the meantime I am brooding over a last gesture, I do like to have the last word in matters where I feel I've been cut out for no reason; I will keep you posted.
Time for a cup of industrial strength, me thinks and ponder about what to do with my unexpected day off... get my leathers out... go for spin...Pose, Biker Girl, pose!!!
Arrivederci, amores. xxx
PS I have booked myself a flight to Florence early October. I will pack nice dresses, high heels, jewellery and go on a sophisticated adventure. Who knows what the gods throw in my way? Just have to be careful not to trip over it then...
Currently listening: Two Wheels Good by Prefab Sprout
Funerals
Thursday, August 23, 2007
So........where was I?
Ah yes, looking a few hundred squids, in the car waiting at the crematorium. Suddenly ExBoy's (half) sister walks by. Now she has been really nice to me during all the shenanigans. So we leap out of the Punto to say hello and she says she wanted to come for support. That put a lump in my throat. Then we all decided to stroll towards the cousins from up North to say hi. Some were very friendly, some were a bit distant; one asked frowning: "Where's (name ExBoy)?" I answered he would be arriving soon, with the family... a bewildered expression, but nothing was said. Suddenly a blonde woman dashes over, family, she's always there but I can't remember her name - shame on me! "My God, you look good! Where is...?" And that's when we all spotted him (and her). So I said "Looks like I'm officially not part of the family any more" upon which she grabbed me in a smothering hug and I'm pretty sure, muttering "bloody fool". Well, the cavalry was in! Made me feel sort of good. ExBoy then peeled away from his company to walk to us. To avoid confrontation I walked away from the cousins. Less embarrassing for all...
All were waiting to go in... We were watching them. I was being watched equally. The other sister arrived with her 2 girls, stood around for a bit and then... you could have knocked me over with a feather - came all the way over to me to give me a long comforting hug!?!!!! WTF? This woman has never been really friendly to me in 12 years and I expected her to be glad to be rid if you know what I mean. Now that threw me, people! And then it was time to go. Nothing much to say, but it felt really weird to see someone else walking and sitting where I had been not that long ago. She must have been told to wear something decent and not her typical punky clobber. High heels but cheap, darlings, cheap... the lip jewellery didn't help... That was new. So was the fact that his balding patch showed up really well! The hard bit was at the end, when the family got up and walked out. It's effing hard to see yourself being replaced with such ease and without any grace! Bit of a minor breakdown ensued - in private, after he past us by... Again the sister was there with a bear hug...and urged me to come to the wake after. Feck, we might as well go the whole 9 bloody yards, eh?
Bit of restoration to the old (very demure!) paintworks before facing the Family again. M. and me buggered off to have a pow wow over coffee and cake. We decided to go to the swanky hotel where the wake was to be held but not stay too long, acte de présence... And I was determined to put on a good show. And so it happened; we walked in when everyone was already well established to a (apparently) Shocked Pair, who then looked very uncomfortable for the duration of my stay. I had a chat with the family of the auntie (son) who was delighted that I showed up. The eyes of all present were on us, sweeties. What were they expecting? A scene? Eastenders style? Not from this bird... Then one by one, people walked up to me just to say hello, or give a little wink, or mouth "well done you"... And it suddenly dawned on me: every woman present - bar one, of course - was on my side as they could just empathize with their own worst nightmare: to have to stand there when the younger model is being paraded... ha! I felt better instantly. We left just short of an hour's stay and 2 glasses of red.
I hear you ask, but how did you get sloshed then, oh wondrous one? - There is a bit of a tail to the story I'm afraid. I dragged M. to the hotel bar as I deserved a treat after that. So I got her a juice (driving) and myself a glass of champagne! And we sat down to mull over the situation. M. was flabbergasted by the Slapper (not seen before) and came out with the immortal words: "She makes him look old!" I could have kissed her... And then the whole party walked in to go and sit on the balcony, smoking. It was sort of unexpected to see me, so after 5 minutes who comes walking back in, bee lining for me?....yes! !! And when he kneeled beside me to start talking, I nearly lost it. So I just told him to P*** Off, grabbed my bill and went over to the bar to pay, hairs standing on end and heart beating in throat. Cheeky bastard!
So, then M. dropped me off at home and I foolishly fished out a bottle of cava from my fridge and ... well ... great stonking headache the next day... A small glitch on the Richter scale of things.
Je vous laisse, mes amis, work to do!
Tara for now.
So........where was I?
Ah yes, looking a few hundred squids, in the car waiting at the crematorium. Suddenly ExBoy's (half) sister walks by. Now she has been really nice to me during all the shenanigans. So we leap out of the Punto to say hello and she says she wanted to come for support. That put a lump in my throat. Then we all decided to stroll towards the cousins from up North to say hi. Some were very friendly, some were a bit distant; one asked frowning: "Where's (name ExBoy)?" I answered he would be arriving soon, with the family... a bewildered expression, but nothing was said. Suddenly a blonde woman dashes over, family, she's always there but I can't remember her name - shame on me! "My God, you look good! Where is...?" And that's when we all spotted him (and her). So I said "Looks like I'm officially not part of the family any more" upon which she grabbed me in a smothering hug and I'm pretty sure, muttering "bloody fool". Well, the cavalry was in! Made me feel sort of good. ExBoy then peeled away from his company to walk to us. To avoid confrontation I walked away from the cousins. Less embarrassing for all...
All were waiting to go in... We were watching them. I was being watched equally. The other sister arrived with her 2 girls, stood around for a bit and then... you could have knocked me over with a feather - came all the way over to me to give me a long comforting hug!?!!!! WTF? This woman has never been really friendly to me in 12 years and I expected her to be glad to be rid if you know what I mean. Now that threw me, people! And then it was time to go. Nothing much to say, but it felt really weird to see someone else walking and sitting where I had been not that long ago. She must have been told to wear something decent and not her typical punky clobber. High heels but cheap, darlings, cheap... the lip jewellery didn't help... That was new. So was the fact that his balding patch showed up really well! The hard bit was at the end, when the family got up and walked out. It's effing hard to see yourself being replaced with such ease and without any grace! Bit of a minor breakdown ensued - in private, after he past us by... Again the sister was there with a bear hug...and urged me to come to the wake after. Feck, we might as well go the whole 9 bloody yards, eh?
Bit of restoration to the old (very demure!) paintworks before facing the Family again. M. and me buggered off to have a pow wow over coffee and cake. We decided to go to the swanky hotel where the wake was to be held but not stay too long, acte de présence... And I was determined to put on a good show. And so it happened; we walked in when everyone was already well established to a (apparently) Shocked Pair, who then looked very uncomfortable for the duration of my stay. I had a chat with the family of the auntie (son) who was delighted that I showed up. The eyes of all present were on us, sweeties. What were they expecting? A scene? Eastenders style? Not from this bird... Then one by one, people walked up to me just to say hello, or give a little wink, or mouth "well done you"... And it suddenly dawned on me: every woman present - bar one, of course - was on my side as they could just empathize with their own worst nightmare: to have to stand there when the younger model is being paraded... ha! I felt better instantly. We left just short of an hour's stay and 2 glasses of red.
I hear you ask, but how did you get sloshed then, oh wondrous one? - There is a bit of a tail to the story I'm afraid. I dragged M. to the hotel bar as I deserved a treat after that. So I got her a juice (driving) and myself a glass of champagne! And we sat down to mull over the situation. M. was flabbergasted by the Slapper (not seen before) and came out with the immortal words: "She makes him look old!" I could have kissed her... And then the whole party walked in to go and sit on the balcony, smoking. It was sort of unexpected to see me, so after 5 minutes who comes walking back in, bee lining for me?....yes! !! And when he kneeled beside me to start talking, I nearly lost it. So I just told him to P*** Off, grabbed my bill and went over to the bar to pay, hairs standing on end and heart beating in throat. Cheeky bastard!
So, then M. dropped me off at home and I foolishly fished out a bottle of cava from my fridge and ... well ... great stonking headache the next day... A small glitch on the Richter scale of things.
Je vous laisse, mes amis, work to do!
Tara for now.
't Is late and me is a bit sloshed...
Friday, August 17, 2007
'ello,
Ca va? Me, I'm a bit inebriated... had to go to funeral today. Remember the auntie that passed away last week? Voila!
Only, yesterday evening, ExBoy walked in to pick up his suit for the funeral... Had hair cut (about bloody time, he looked a right sight) with fancy sideburns bit... Lights fag... "I hear you go to the funeral tomorrow" (he says). "Pardon? Yes of course." "It's only that I will bring (Slapper's name), hope there won't be a scene?..." (.................WTF????!.....)
I thanked him for his gallantry!... but I'm telling you now that was my peaceful night gone... I also could've walloped him one. When have I ever made a scene? En plein publique? Pas moi, mon vieux! Anyway, that was me waxing to the nines, moisturizing, face masking, etc etc until the wee hours... and then fall asleep with half a tube of grape-a-loids around my eyes... only to wake up to "spot" alert, which was nipped in the bud. I put on "that outfit" (see pic) but thought it a bit too festive, so opted for understated but very defined short LBD with the K. Cole silk ankle strap shoes. Looked like a few hundred squids, sweeties! Demure but spicy, if you catch my drift. My best friend, Maike, came to pick me up.
(to be cont., am bit drowsy now... muah, muah)
'ello,
Ca va? Me, I'm a bit inebriated... had to go to funeral today. Remember the auntie that passed away last week? Voila!
Only, yesterday evening, ExBoy walked in to pick up his suit for the funeral... Had hair cut (about bloody time, he looked a right sight) with fancy sideburns bit... Lights fag... "I hear you go to the funeral tomorrow" (he says). "Pardon? Yes of course." "It's only that I will bring (Slapper's name), hope there won't be a scene?..." (.................WTF????!.....)
I thanked him for his gallantry!... but I'm telling you now that was my peaceful night gone... I also could've walloped him one. When have I ever made a scene? En plein publique? Pas moi, mon vieux! Anyway, that was me waxing to the nines, moisturizing, face masking, etc etc until the wee hours... and then fall asleep with half a tube of grape-a-loids around my eyes... only to wake up to "spot" alert, which was nipped in the bud. I put on "that outfit" (see pic) but thought it a bit too festive, so opted for understated but very defined short LBD with the K. Cole silk ankle strap shoes. Looked like a few hundred squids, sweeties! Demure but spicy, if you catch my drift. My best friend, Maike, came to pick me up.
(to be cont., am bit drowsy now... muah, muah)
Thursday, 1 October 2009
(whistling in the morning)
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Current mood: energetic
It is a glorious morning here in the South West!
Duck Towers is a scene of idyllic bliss: the little birdies are twittering in the bushes, the crows are -ahum- crowing in the high trees, the recycling collectors are merrily launching empty bottles and cans in their containers, Freddy the squirel is desperately burrying his nuts and the little spider in the window has just wrapped up a huge bluebottle picnic - must have invited the family around.
Et moi? I am sitting in my girlie jimmyjams in the window, real just-out-of-bed hair style, with a cup of industrial strength Yorkshire tea and a bowl of porridge, debating what to do today.
Today, ExBoy's mum is returning from Spain as there was a sad loss in the family. Remember the Auntie that gave me a hard time couple of months ago? Passed away 2 days ago - after a nasty illness, I hasten to add. Nothing to do with occult powers from my side. Anyway, I made my peace with her in visiting her a couple of times in these last weeks. Nobody deserves to be lonely at the end.
I have been slacking on the blog front, je m'excuse profondement. Not that my life suddenly got very exciting, au contraire mes amis... I have gone and bought myself a digital camera (finally) and you might as well know (drumroll): I couldn't resist a pair of strappy silver sandals as well!!!!!!!!... They are now officially the highest heels in da house, apart from the ones with platforms but that is cheating a bit. So, to get myself used to this new bit of complicated technology (it can do everything but make tea in the morning), I took pictures of my very modest shoe collection, personnaly posing with the highest. Then I whacked them on the computer, photoshopped a bit (= cropping the excess crap) and launched them on MySpazz pics under the caption "Chaud...chaud...chaussures" and defaulted a leggy, headless pic of myself (as you can still see). Well,.....what can I say? Suddenly every man and his dog wants to join my Friendly Horde. I get requests to go and walk all over some, endless offers of playing with my feet (and that's the decent ones...urgh)... to cut a long story short: My space is being inundated with visitors and not all of them equally welcome. So, without realising, I added to my daily tasks by having to muck out the muck.
The upside is to discover there are some normal people around who can see beyond the shoe thing and have a proper look at my work. ("a very good morning, you know who you are!") But it has me thinking about this MySpace thing again. Personally, I used it to be noticed (not half work the last couple of days...) and to vent my spleen about my life as it has been for the last year (sort of pretty crappy). It's like keeping an open diary and the good thing about that was that other people came with feedback, welcome or not. You can also hone your profile into a more presentable "you" by putting emphasis on some and be vague about others, all under the very protective blanket of relative anonimity. What you cannot control is how it is percieved. So it can be compared to hunting blindfolded with an unexhaustable paintgun (it's for fun, baby, not violence), shooting wildly around and then having a look what you hit: hey a tree, hey another tree, oops a dog, oh god... my own back... how the f.. did I manage that?
But this is getting a bit heavy for a morning blog in the lovely sunshine in the gardens of Duck Towers. Back to shoes, me thinks.
I have to make this statement: If anyone, ANYONE, ever catches me wearing those godawfull flipping butt-ugly multicoloured eyesore abominations of shoes called C-R-O-C-S, (I can't even pronounce it, it makes me gag). If you do, you have to shoot me pronto as I will have gone COMPLETELY mad and very probably RABID! I will be a liability to YOUR little children so please, have mercy and finish me off! Should a gun not be readily available, a short swift snap of my graceful neck will do the trick as well. And then, don't bother with a coffin for the pyrotechics. Please spend the money on a pair of Louboutins, I will post a pic on a wishlist, the silver ones... and lob my shoes into the cardboard box with me. And when my box disappears into the flaming pits I want "These boots are made for walking" by Nancy S. belting out of the system. After that you can go and have a party with a very strict dresscode: elegance and sophistication. Whoever shows up in Crocs can be stoned (as in "on the receiving end of very heavy rocks", let there be no misunderstanding!) in my honour and rememberance! A la bonheur!
There! Glad to get that off my chest!
mwuah, mwuah, mwuah, children, I'm off to my daily routines.
Catch you soon!
Currently listening: Boots by Nancy Sinatra
Current mood: energetic
It is a glorious morning here in the South West!
Duck Towers is a scene of idyllic bliss: the little birdies are twittering in the bushes, the crows are -ahum- crowing in the high trees, the recycling collectors are merrily launching empty bottles and cans in their containers, Freddy the squirel is desperately burrying his nuts and the little spider in the window has just wrapped up a huge bluebottle picnic - must have invited the family around.
Et moi? I am sitting in my girlie jimmyjams in the window, real just-out-of-bed hair style, with a cup of industrial strength Yorkshire tea and a bowl of porridge, debating what to do today.
Today, ExBoy's mum is returning from Spain as there was a sad loss in the family. Remember the Auntie that gave me a hard time couple of months ago? Passed away 2 days ago - after a nasty illness, I hasten to add. Nothing to do with occult powers from my side. Anyway, I made my peace with her in visiting her a couple of times in these last weeks. Nobody deserves to be lonely at the end.
I have been slacking on the blog front, je m'excuse profondement. Not that my life suddenly got very exciting, au contraire mes amis... I have gone and bought myself a digital camera (finally) and you might as well know (drumroll): I couldn't resist a pair of strappy silver sandals as well!!!!!!!!... They are now officially the highest heels in da house, apart from the ones with platforms but that is cheating a bit. So, to get myself used to this new bit of complicated technology (it can do everything but make tea in the morning), I took pictures of my very modest shoe collection, personnaly posing with the highest. Then I whacked them on the computer, photoshopped a bit (= cropping the excess crap) and launched them on MySpazz pics under the caption "Chaud...chaud...chaussures" and defaulted a leggy, headless pic of myself (as you can still see). Well,.....what can I say? Suddenly every man and his dog wants to join my Friendly Horde. I get requests to go and walk all over some, endless offers of playing with my feet (and that's the decent ones...urgh)... to cut a long story short: My space is being inundated with visitors and not all of them equally welcome. So, without realising, I added to my daily tasks by having to muck out the muck.
The upside is to discover there are some normal people around who can see beyond the shoe thing and have a proper look at my work. ("a very good morning, you know who you are!") But it has me thinking about this MySpace thing again. Personally, I used it to be noticed (not half work the last couple of days...) and to vent my spleen about my life as it has been for the last year (sort of pretty crappy). It's like keeping an open diary and the good thing about that was that other people came with feedback, welcome or not. You can also hone your profile into a more presentable "you" by putting emphasis on some and be vague about others, all under the very protective blanket of relative anonimity. What you cannot control is how it is percieved. So it can be compared to hunting blindfolded with an unexhaustable paintgun (it's for fun, baby, not violence), shooting wildly around and then having a look what you hit: hey a tree, hey another tree, oops a dog, oh god... my own back... how the f.. did I manage that?
But this is getting a bit heavy for a morning blog in the lovely sunshine in the gardens of Duck Towers. Back to shoes, me thinks.
I have to make this statement: If anyone, ANYONE, ever catches me wearing those godawfull flipping butt-ugly multicoloured eyesore abominations of shoes called C-R-O-C-S, (I can't even pronounce it, it makes me gag). If you do, you have to shoot me pronto as I will have gone COMPLETELY mad and very probably RABID! I will be a liability to YOUR little children so please, have mercy and finish me off! Should a gun not be readily available, a short swift snap of my graceful neck will do the trick as well. And then, don't bother with a coffin for the pyrotechics. Please spend the money on a pair of Louboutins, I will post a pic on a wishlist, the silver ones... and lob my shoes into the cardboard box with me. And when my box disappears into the flaming pits I want "These boots are made for walking" by Nancy S. belting out of the system. After that you can go and have a party with a very strict dresscode: elegance and sophistication. Whoever shows up in Crocs can be stoned (as in "on the receiving end of very heavy rocks", let there be no misunderstanding!) in my honour and rememberance! A la bonheur!
There! Glad to get that off my chest!
mwuah, mwuah, mwuah, children, I'm off to my daily routines.
Catch you soon!
Currently listening: Boots by Nancy Sinatra
Art in Action
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Current mood: lonely
Me hartees (atchoo),
Scuze me for sneezing but I'm not too well.
Having been to Art in Action to assist my mate M. together with A. in selling M.'s pebble & silver jewellery and camp over the 5 wettest days in one of the UK's most flooded regions did not help. On Friday morning my tent had water in the wine cellar... 20 cm of it by midday... Thankfully all contents were moved into the cars (6 fine bottles of Chateau Grelier 2000 included). It was moved to higher grounds when the downpours stopped for a couple of hours early evening. A.'s tent selfdestructed and was that waterproof that all the water that came in through the hole in the roof, stayed inside and sofly slopped over the edge of the groundsheet bit. M.'s tent was moved to where mine was, a distinctly better neighbourhood, next door to a famous contemporary jeweller (sort of like camping next to a saint), who very kindly let A. use hers.
And now it's Wednesday. My chest feels awfully tight scar side and I'm in bed dosed up with paracetamol and codeine. Seeing Doc tomorrow (he not there today) as I think I might be lining myself up for another pneumonia otherwise. Having done that last year, I do not wish to repeat the experience.
It's at moments like this you wish there was someone around that cared and brought you a cup of something hot.
But hey, look at the bright side... at least I'm in the dry, more than can be said of those poor inundated sods in Gloucester- and Oxfordshire.
Although "poor" is not the word associated with those counties now, is it?
Current mood: lonely
Me hartees (atchoo),
Scuze me for sneezing but I'm not too well.
Having been to Art in Action to assist my mate M. together with A. in selling M.'s pebble & silver jewellery and camp over the 5 wettest days in one of the UK's most flooded regions did not help. On Friday morning my tent had water in the wine cellar... 20 cm of it by midday... Thankfully all contents were moved into the cars (6 fine bottles of Chateau Grelier 2000 included). It was moved to higher grounds when the downpours stopped for a couple of hours early evening. A.'s tent selfdestructed and was that waterproof that all the water that came in through the hole in the roof, stayed inside and sofly slopped over the edge of the groundsheet bit. M.'s tent was moved to where mine was, a distinctly better neighbourhood, next door to a famous contemporary jeweller (sort of like camping next to a saint), who very kindly let A. use hers.
And now it's Wednesday. My chest feels awfully tight scar side and I'm in bed dosed up with paracetamol and codeine. Seeing Doc tomorrow (he not there today) as I think I might be lining myself up for another pneumonia otherwise. Having done that last year, I do not wish to repeat the experience.
It's at moments like this you wish there was someone around that cared and brought you a cup of something hot.
But hey, look at the bright side... at least I'm in the dry, more than can be said of those poor inundated sods in Gloucester- and Oxfordshire.
Although "poor" is not the word associated with those counties now, is it?
Brains, emotions and other crap
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Current mood: rejected
Ever heard of your amygdala?
Sounds like a goatee-woolen-sock-wearing word, doesn't it? (banging the finger cymbals together, OHM ing)
Nope, mes amis. We all have them, men and wimmen alike. Almondshape neuroprocessor thingies in your brains! Oh... and guess what? The circuits running through them are affected by surges and plunges in the oestrogen and progesterone houshold more commony referred to as the menstrual cycle (wimmen, of course) thus effectively altering reality as perceived...
So, you DO go bananas when your period is due, ladies! The brain circuits between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex responsible for emotional assessment and judgment area are fully functional and consistent AFTER the menopause.
To quote Dr Louanne Brizendine: "51 1/2 years is the average age of menopause, which starts 12 months after a woman's last period when the ovaries have stopped producing the hormones that boosted her communication circuits, emotion circuits, the drive to tend and care and the urge to avoid conflict. With the oestrogen down, the oxytocin is down as well. She is less interested in the nuances of emotions; she's less concerned about keeping the peace and she's getting less of a dopamine rush from the things she did before, even talking with her friends. She's not getting the calming oxytocin reward of tending and caring (...), so she is less inclined to be as attentive to others' personal needs. " - in simple Duck Speak: we turn into men! (without the equipment kept in action by blue diamond shaped pills)
Why can we develop aforementioned pills for men to keep up appearances, but not to sort out short circuiting amygdala thingies?... Surely nothing to do with priorities of anonymous men in pharmaceutical boardrooms?
But to be honest, bring it on! I'm sick of having housed a system that never worked for which it was designed... apart from excruciating pains every month, being concidered unclean by some religious types, going through the madness of it and being perceived as completely bonkers. I'm quite looking forward to be an inconsiderate person that can trample all over some one else's feelings without a sliver of remorse or empathy... and to get away with it.
But before that there's the perimenopause, where everything goes tits up (apart from your real tits deciding to go South, however small they are...). Ideal time to get dumped on then.
Current mood: rejected
Ever heard of your amygdala?
Sounds like a goatee-woolen-sock-wearing word, doesn't it? (banging the finger cymbals together, OHM ing)
Nope, mes amis. We all have them, men and wimmen alike. Almondshape neuroprocessor thingies in your brains! Oh... and guess what? The circuits running through them are affected by surges and plunges in the oestrogen and progesterone houshold more commony referred to as the menstrual cycle (wimmen, of course) thus effectively altering reality as perceived...
So, you DO go bananas when your period is due, ladies! The brain circuits between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex responsible for emotional assessment and judgment area are fully functional and consistent AFTER the menopause.
To quote Dr Louanne Brizendine: "51 1/2 years is the average age of menopause, which starts 12 months after a woman's last period when the ovaries have stopped producing the hormones that boosted her communication circuits, emotion circuits, the drive to tend and care and the urge to avoid conflict. With the oestrogen down, the oxytocin is down as well. She is less interested in the nuances of emotions; she's less concerned about keeping the peace and she's getting less of a dopamine rush from the things she did before, even talking with her friends. She's not getting the calming oxytocin reward of tending and caring (...), so she is less inclined to be as attentive to others' personal needs. " - in simple Duck Speak: we turn into men! (without the equipment kept in action by blue diamond shaped pills)
Why can we develop aforementioned pills for men to keep up appearances, but not to sort out short circuiting amygdala thingies?... Surely nothing to do with priorities of anonymous men in pharmaceutical boardrooms?
But to be honest, bring it on! I'm sick of having housed a system that never worked for which it was designed... apart from excruciating pains every month, being concidered unclean by some religious types, going through the madness of it and being perceived as completely bonkers. I'm quite looking forward to be an inconsiderate person that can trample all over some one else's feelings without a sliver of remorse or empathy... and to get away with it.
But before that there's the perimenopause, where everything goes tits up (apart from your real tits deciding to go South, however small they are...). Ideal time to get dumped on then.
Dogs
Friday, July 13, 2007
Current mood: blank
The difference between cats and dogs?
You can kick a dog repeatedly and it'll still come and lick your hand when you address it friendly. A cat? Forget it! She'll just adopt another family and play with prey before leisurely killing it.
It sucks that I'm more in tune with my inner dog...
One day I'll turn rabid and hopefully they'll call a vet. Until then I'll wag my tail. And bring back the ball, and walk proudly, collared. More honour in a sheep, really.
Grandma always said that bitches turn if they didn't have a litter. People should pay attention to what old folk say.
Current mood: blank
The difference between cats and dogs?
You can kick a dog repeatedly and it'll still come and lick your hand when you address it friendly. A cat? Forget it! She'll just adopt another family and play with prey before leisurely killing it.
It sucks that I'm more in tune with my inner dog...
One day I'll turn rabid and hopefully they'll call a vet. Until then I'll wag my tail. And bring back the ball, and walk proudly, collared. More honour in a sheep, really.
Grandma always said that bitches turn if they didn't have a litter. People should pay attention to what old folk say.
Tomorrow
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Current mood: contemplative
Hey all,
I am in a funny mood... funny as in peculiar, not as haha.
Look at the date: tomorrow is Independance Day.
One of the few things I will have in common with our American friends, since last year.
Is it a celebration?
Maybe I should turn it into one?
I could have breakfast in bed with a glass of champers, then weather providing go for a run on the bike to... mmm, let me see, Avebury springs to mind for one or other reason. Lovely place. Toodle back. Have nice shower and dress up full monty. Cook a lovely meal, more champagne and a nice red. Problem is... I have to do it on my own. And I feel a bit too fragile for that.
't Would be nice to share it with someone special.
I probably want too much. So I wont do anything. Just have a little cry. In private. (after telling the whole world here...)
Let's face it on a worldscale this is extreme navel gazing stuff.
Doesn't make it feel alright, though.
Current mood: contemplative
Hey all,
I am in a funny mood... funny as in peculiar, not as haha.
Look at the date: tomorrow is Independance Day.
One of the few things I will have in common with our American friends, since last year.
Is it a celebration?
Maybe I should turn it into one?
I could have breakfast in bed with a glass of champers, then weather providing go for a run on the bike to... mmm, let me see, Avebury springs to mind for one or other reason. Lovely place. Toodle back. Have nice shower and dress up full monty. Cook a lovely meal, more champagne and a nice red. Problem is... I have to do it on my own. And I feel a bit too fragile for that.
't Would be nice to share it with someone special.
I probably want too much. So I wont do anything. Just have a little cry. In private. (after telling the whole world here...)
Let's face it on a worldscale this is extreme navel gazing stuff.
Doesn't make it feel alright, though.
Nothing in particular
Monday, July 02, 2007
Current mood:deflated
Salut mes amis,
It's raining cats and dogs, it's cold and I'm wearing a hat in flippin July! What happened to that summer to end all summers?... drowned probably!
After a deafening silence of weeks I reappear like the proverbial bad penny. J'en ai marre! Super marre!
What's up? I hear you ask. Nothing, that's what, boys and girls. Zilch, Zibideedoohdah! Now, what was I going on about last? Ah yes, ExBoy calling me fat and hence not worthy of his everlasting attentions. It seems that my insecurity buttons have all been pressed then and I've been feeling crappy ever since. It doesn't help to go shopping in Asda, gore fest for track suit anoraks! What do you see there? you ask. Women of all ages and sizes like in big, enormous and humongous, but they all seem to have a bloke in tow... unlike muggins here. What can I say but it seems that a simple shit attracts more attention than moi... Like I'm the invisible woman wandering in this paralel universe, banging against the invisible partitions to no avail.
Of course, this is wallowing in self pity of Himalayan proportion. Exagerration is a style figure with humourous potential. Laughing at some one's pain can be more than simple slapstick. Not funny if you're at the receiving end but then I always aim to please, me hartees.
I've been buying too many shoes of late, the spikey high heeled variety...much to the amusement of my little fanclub. I was even on a promise of some really outrageous ones but that fell through... Think I'm compensating for something? And it won't be the lack of height I was born with either I’m referring to here. No, this is from a different order all together. Compensating comfort shopping for high heeled loneliness. It sucks but at least it looks good!
So can anyone tell me, anyone? What the bleedin' f*** is wrong with me?
Please?
Current mood:deflated
Salut mes amis,
It's raining cats and dogs, it's cold and I'm wearing a hat in flippin July! What happened to that summer to end all summers?... drowned probably!
After a deafening silence of weeks I reappear like the proverbial bad penny. J'en ai marre! Super marre!
What's up? I hear you ask. Nothing, that's what, boys and girls. Zilch, Zibideedoohdah! Now, what was I going on about last? Ah yes, ExBoy calling me fat and hence not worthy of his everlasting attentions. It seems that my insecurity buttons have all been pressed then and I've been feeling crappy ever since. It doesn't help to go shopping in Asda, gore fest for track suit anoraks! What do you see there? you ask. Women of all ages and sizes like in big, enormous and humongous, but they all seem to have a bloke in tow... unlike muggins here. What can I say but it seems that a simple shit attracts more attention than moi... Like I'm the invisible woman wandering in this paralel universe, banging against the invisible partitions to no avail.
Of course, this is wallowing in self pity of Himalayan proportion. Exagerration is a style figure with humourous potential. Laughing at some one's pain can be more than simple slapstick. Not funny if you're at the receiving end but then I always aim to please, me hartees.
I've been buying too many shoes of late, the spikey high heeled variety...much to the amusement of my little fanclub. I was even on a promise of some really outrageous ones but that fell through... Think I'm compensating for something? And it won't be the lack of height I was born with either I’m referring to here. No, this is from a different order all together. Compensating comfort shopping for high heeled loneliness. It sucks but at least it looks good!
So can anyone tell me, anyone? What the bleedin' f*** is wrong with me?
Please?
Friday, 25 September 2009
Cornered and squeezed
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Current mood: crappy
Bonjours to all my faithfuls and new applicants,
Peace returns to Duck Towers.
ExBoy's lovely mum will be going back to her sunny climes after a 2 weeks stay to celebrate her and some of her 5 sisters' birthdays. I am so glad that we never fell out over the whole sordid affair. After all, we are talking about her precious boy and I do try to respect that. Of course it does help that she went through exactly the same with ExBoy's dad.
But...3 days ago I got collared by one of the aunties.
As you know, in every coven there is always the Evil one, isn't there? This one has the most poisonous tongue ever, and always in a deceiving polite-ish way seeking approval for every word she utters. Oh, the deviousness of the woman. She will smile in your face and drag you through the gutter as soon as you have turned your back. I've seen her do it to many other people, amongst whom some of her own sisters. I guess she decided to put her oar in our situation now...
"Now, dear, how are you? And how are things at home with (ExBoy)?"
Upon which I told her that I didn't see much of him but things were sort of cold but civilised.
"Ah now, dear, don't you think he looks a bit scruffy, almost like... well, I suppose like a homeless person?"
-temperature drop to frosty- I could already sense where this was going...
She was outrageously suggesting that he stays with the Slapper on his off shift days because I am preventing him from using His Own Home – "because it IS his home, dear!"
I nearly screamed that it had been mine for the last 9 years as well although my name wasn't on the deeds. Suffice to say, hurt pride and anger about her butting in like that surged through me, and pain… How dare she even suggest I am taking advantage of the situation! After all, we might not have been married but I was always assured that was a mere formality.
"Ah yes, but you weren't, dear."
I wish I could stay calm and composed but it's quite upsetting to have fingers pointing at you when you aren't to blame for the whole shitty affair. I couldn't escape; I was cornered and she was determined. Evil, evil, evil old fat poisonous bat!
I wonder how she would talk about the man who did the same thing to her granddaughter, probably curse him and laden him with all the fucking sins in hell. I have never felt this lonely. They are casting me out. There it was, suddenly you are the odd one out. When I mentioned that my parents wanted me to return, she said simply "Why don't you do that, dear?" in a tone that could have sliced a brick. Also mark the subtle use of the word "dear"...
Why should I?
Why should I just go away and hand it to him on a plate? Why does he get away with treating me like a short term girlfriend? Like a piece of dog doo you scrape off.
Anyway, yesterday he came around in the evening as it was his mum's last evening. And she sat us down and tried to act as intermediate: we needed to talk. Well...
I know now that I let myself go!
He said he discretely suggested that I should have lost weight (News to me, I gained some after my second IVF, size 12 at max... hardly a hippo, no?), the knickers issue again,... In short: I was not making any effort to keep his attention and we were living like brother and sister and he felt he was too young for that. That's alright then, isn't it? Enough reason to just go and grab a younger model as the older doesn't fulfil the requirements anymore.
He then continues to say that he still loves me? See, I don't get that... I thought love was somewhat deeper than your clothes' number or the size of your smalls. Run this by me: I have to keep his attention going like it's a one way thing? And keep myself in the state we met, regardless of aging or treatment. So he could get fat and bald and that would allow me to cop off with a younger man?
I don't bloody think so somehow.
Listen, I'll be the first one to admit we were in a bit of a rut; a certain ennui does kick in after you know every in and out before it's even out but it was the same for me, and I never took off with someone else, did I?
He did it because he could! Because the opportunity presented itself and he took it. And he then managed single-handed, with the lying and deceiving and yoyo-ing afterwards, to blow up everything that was left. He is a liar and a cheat and there really are no two ways about that.
All I want is for him to realise that and to take his responsibility and show me the respect he says he has for me. Not to put the knife in and twist it.
Push all my insecurity buttons at once; why don't you, see if I self destruct…
His mum was a star, trying to keep from siding, somehow I still felt in the minority. Unfair, but I guess that is the way of the world. Onwards and upwards.
Since I'm on my own again in the flat formerly known as home, I will now put on my purple platform boots, a filthy gay outfit and sing at the top of my voice "Once I was afraid, I was petrified,……I will survi-i-ive!"
Oh yeah!
To avoid trouble with the neighbours I'll just bleach my hair me thinks. And I need a cuddle... Please?... Anyone?
Currently listening: I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor
Current mood: crappy
Bonjours to all my faithfuls and new applicants,
Peace returns to Duck Towers.
ExBoy's lovely mum will be going back to her sunny climes after a 2 weeks stay to celebrate her and some of her 5 sisters' birthdays. I am so glad that we never fell out over the whole sordid affair. After all, we are talking about her precious boy and I do try to respect that. Of course it does help that she went through exactly the same with ExBoy's dad.
But...3 days ago I got collared by one of the aunties.
As you know, in every coven there is always the Evil one, isn't there? This one has the most poisonous tongue ever, and always in a deceiving polite-ish way seeking approval for every word she utters. Oh, the deviousness of the woman. She will smile in your face and drag you through the gutter as soon as you have turned your back. I've seen her do it to many other people, amongst whom some of her own sisters. I guess she decided to put her oar in our situation now...
"Now, dear, how are you? And how are things at home with (ExBoy)?"
Upon which I told her that I didn't see much of him but things were sort of cold but civilised.
"Ah now, dear, don't you think he looks a bit scruffy, almost like... well, I suppose like a homeless person?"
-temperature drop to frosty- I could already sense where this was going...
She was outrageously suggesting that he stays with the Slapper on his off shift days because I am preventing him from using His Own Home – "because it IS his home, dear!"
I nearly screamed that it had been mine for the last 9 years as well although my name wasn't on the deeds. Suffice to say, hurt pride and anger about her butting in like that surged through me, and pain… How dare she even suggest I am taking advantage of the situation! After all, we might not have been married but I was always assured that was a mere formality.
"Ah yes, but you weren't, dear."
I wish I could stay calm and composed but it's quite upsetting to have fingers pointing at you when you aren't to blame for the whole shitty affair. I couldn't escape; I was cornered and she was determined. Evil, evil, evil old fat poisonous bat!
I wonder how she would talk about the man who did the same thing to her granddaughter, probably curse him and laden him with all the fucking sins in hell. I have never felt this lonely. They are casting me out. There it was, suddenly you are the odd one out. When I mentioned that my parents wanted me to return, she said simply "Why don't you do that, dear?" in a tone that could have sliced a brick. Also mark the subtle use of the word "dear"...
Why should I?
Why should I just go away and hand it to him on a plate? Why does he get away with treating me like a short term girlfriend? Like a piece of dog doo you scrape off.
Anyway, yesterday he came around in the evening as it was his mum's last evening. And she sat us down and tried to act as intermediate: we needed to talk. Well...
I know now that I let myself go!
He said he discretely suggested that I should have lost weight (News to me, I gained some after my second IVF, size 12 at max... hardly a hippo, no?), the knickers issue again,... In short: I was not making any effort to keep his attention and we were living like brother and sister and he felt he was too young for that. That's alright then, isn't it? Enough reason to just go and grab a younger model as the older doesn't fulfil the requirements anymore.
He then continues to say that he still loves me? See, I don't get that... I thought love was somewhat deeper than your clothes' number or the size of your smalls. Run this by me: I have to keep his attention going like it's a one way thing? And keep myself in the state we met, regardless of aging or treatment. So he could get fat and bald and that would allow me to cop off with a younger man?
I don't bloody think so somehow.
Listen, I'll be the first one to admit we were in a bit of a rut; a certain ennui does kick in after you know every in and out before it's even out but it was the same for me, and I never took off with someone else, did I?
He did it because he could! Because the opportunity presented itself and he took it. And he then managed single-handed, with the lying and deceiving and yoyo-ing afterwards, to blow up everything that was left. He is a liar and a cheat and there really are no two ways about that.
All I want is for him to realise that and to take his responsibility and show me the respect he says he has for me. Not to put the knife in and twist it.
Push all my insecurity buttons at once; why don't you, see if I self destruct…
His mum was a star, trying to keep from siding, somehow I still felt in the minority. Unfair, but I guess that is the way of the world. Onwards and upwards.
Since I'm on my own again in the flat formerly known as home, I will now put on my purple platform boots, a filthy gay outfit and sing at the top of my voice "Once I was afraid, I was petrified,……I will survi-i-ive!"
Oh yeah!
To avoid trouble with the neighbours I'll just bleach my hair me thinks. And I need a cuddle... Please?... Anyone?
Currently listening: I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Knickers
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Current mood: depressed (rather)
My faithfuls,
Sometimes life just stinks doesn't it ? And no matter how much you search, that silver lining turns out to be cheap tin...
It's just a mood and it will pass, I know, but at the moment I feel very deflated.
What brought this on, you ask?
Ah well...
Imagine coming home after a boring day at work. The flat is empty as usual, as it's been for the last year, although you have a visitor at the moment. ExBoy's mum is visiting from abroad and staying with you. His car is outside, so it's obvious they're out together.
Then your little nasty nagging voice starts kicking in...
Is the Slapper there as well? With them? Has she been hailed into the family as the new official GF?
Then you spot the washing machine has ended its cycle...
Oh, let's hang that up, shall we?
Out comes a strange duvet cover followed by knickers - cheap cotton bikinis, 10 for £3,- Asda sort of stuff.
And that, my friends, shocked me a bit. There I was,emptying the machine of their dirty laundry... There's some sad bad poetry in that. Or at least a country song.
It pleased me to see that he definitely upgraded himself in the knicker department... NOT! Remember his remarks? I was wearing "knickers Bridget Jones would be ashamed of..." Suffice to say, dear readers, that some days in the month you don't feel very sexy and you need something comfortable for the job... I will not go deeper into this. His incredibly selective memory has expanded these moments to "always". Well, I dare anyone to come and have a look in my Drawer of Unmentionables, thank you very much.
So here I am sitting now; watching the knickers of the woman that wrecked my life as I knew it dry. It beats paint, for sure. I wish I could go and buy some nits of little creepy crawlies to stuff into them. Failing that, some chili might have an interesting effect. Or, wait... rubbing some fibre glass in the crotch areas... now there's an uplifting idea...
I must be a bit hormonal that I can let a stupid situation like this affect me. It is about that time of the month, I suppose. Normally, I would be fuming hilariously for your entertainment. I do feel a big urge to stick pins in wax dolls, mind... black pins this time! Deffo!
Current mood: depressed (rather)
My faithfuls,
Sometimes life just stinks doesn't it ? And no matter how much you search, that silver lining turns out to be cheap tin...
It's just a mood and it will pass, I know, but at the moment I feel very deflated.
What brought this on, you ask?
Ah well...
Imagine coming home after a boring day at work. The flat is empty as usual, as it's been for the last year, although you have a visitor at the moment. ExBoy's mum is visiting from abroad and staying with you. His car is outside, so it's obvious they're out together.
Then your little nasty nagging voice starts kicking in...
Is the Slapper there as well? With them? Has she been hailed into the family as the new official GF?
Then you spot the washing machine has ended its cycle...
Oh, let's hang that up, shall we?
Out comes a strange duvet cover followed by knickers - cheap cotton bikinis, 10 for £3,- Asda sort of stuff.
And that, my friends, shocked me a bit. There I was,emptying the machine of their dirty laundry... There's some sad bad poetry in that. Or at least a country song.
It pleased me to see that he definitely upgraded himself in the knicker department... NOT! Remember his remarks? I was wearing "knickers Bridget Jones would be ashamed of..." Suffice to say, dear readers, that some days in the month you don't feel very sexy and you need something comfortable for the job... I will not go deeper into this. His incredibly selective memory has expanded these moments to "always". Well, I dare anyone to come and have a look in my Drawer of Unmentionables, thank you very much.
So here I am sitting now; watching the knickers of the woman that wrecked my life as I knew it dry. It beats paint, for sure. I wish I could go and buy some nits of little creepy crawlies to stuff into them. Failing that, some chili might have an interesting effect. Or, wait... rubbing some fibre glass in the crotch areas... now there's an uplifting idea...
I must be a bit hormonal that I can let a stupid situation like this affect me. It is about that time of the month, I suppose. Normally, I would be fuming hilariously for your entertainment. I do feel a big urge to stick pins in wax dolls, mind... black pins this time! Deffo!
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Small Gods
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Current mood: happy
Cheries ,
Little birds are twittering very loudly around Duck Towers this morning.
't Is bloody early again, I must say - nearly 5 am. By now, I have folded up my laundry, made myself a nice cup of strong tea, climbed back into bed with my lapdog and connected to the wiggly web.
My iPod is working again! Threatening to lob it in the bin might not be the engineering way of dealing with it but seems to have done the trick. Only the small god of electronics knows what happened there. I had put it in its dock, connected it to the mains, to the computer, shaken it; violently... nada, zilch!
Not even an meagre little icon sticking it's middle finger up to me.
In the evening I tried again and pronto... it started charging! I'm not complaining!
Now, my readers, I don't know whether you noticed but my rants are getting fewer and further apart? It does help that I don't see very much of ExBoy of course. But also, as I mentioned very briefly previously, I have met someone.
It scares the living bleedin' daylights out of me!
For the last 3 weeks I've been walking around with a smile on my face and a glint in my eyes (apparently, according to friends here). I know, I know, you are dying of curiosity: who is this man of mystery? Well, for obvious reasons, I will not go into too much detail. Don't want to jinx it, sweeties. But... he makes me feel all girly and giggly; he treats me like I'm an attractive and interesting woman and my knees turn to jelly when I hear his voice on the phone. Yup, that sort of chap!
Hang on, I need another cup of tea.
OK, back. Where was I?
Ah, yes, he's of similar vintage (3 years older), likes the same music (and plays guitar!), likes his food and wine (" red, white and all shades in between"), likes PDoA (Public Display of Affection) and other acronyms we seem to have in common... He LOVES my heels (don't worry, they're too small for him to borrow; yup, even I thought of that one... ) and the attraction was mutual and instant!
Isn't that wondrous?
I have fallen like a brick wall in a scale 9 earthquake and I love it!
I would like to kiss the whole world!
Apart from George Bush! ...And ExBoy! ...And Marilyn Manson!
I seem to have heaps of energy again; want to go into the workshop and make things,... like I've been kick started again! And that must be wonderful, no?
Some weeks ago when I was out dancing in Mr. Wolf's, I found myself reading the graffiti (like you do at some - euh - stage). One stuck with me: "Live like there's no tomorrow. Love like you've never been hurt before."
I think it was the small god of loo graffiti speaking to moi!
Et moi? J'ai envie d'aimer! (Oh stop puking, you're just jealous!)
xxxx
Currently listening: Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
Current mood: happy
Cheries ,
Little birds are twittering very loudly around Duck Towers this morning.
't Is bloody early again, I must say - nearly 5 am. By now, I have folded up my laundry, made myself a nice cup of strong tea, climbed back into bed with my lapdog and connected to the wiggly web.
My iPod is working again! Threatening to lob it in the bin might not be the engineering way of dealing with it but seems to have done the trick. Only the small god of electronics knows what happened there. I had put it in its dock, connected it to the mains, to the computer, shaken it; violently... nada, zilch!
Not even an meagre little icon sticking it's middle finger up to me.
In the evening I tried again and pronto... it started charging! I'm not complaining!
Now, my readers, I don't know whether you noticed but my rants are getting fewer and further apart? It does help that I don't see very much of ExBoy of course. But also, as I mentioned very briefly previously, I have met someone.
It scares the living bleedin' daylights out of me!
For the last 3 weeks I've been walking around with a smile on my face and a glint in my eyes (apparently, according to friends here). I know, I know, you are dying of curiosity: who is this man of mystery? Well, for obvious reasons, I will not go into too much detail. Don't want to jinx it, sweeties. But... he makes me feel all girly and giggly; he treats me like I'm an attractive and interesting woman and my knees turn to jelly when I hear his voice on the phone. Yup, that sort of chap!
Hang on, I need another cup of tea.
OK, back. Where was I?
Ah, yes, he's of similar vintage (3 years older), likes the same music (and plays guitar!), likes his food and wine (" red, white and all shades in between"), likes PDoA (Public Display of Affection) and other acronyms we seem to have in common... He LOVES my heels (don't worry, they're too small for him to borrow; yup, even I thought of that one... ) and the attraction was mutual and instant!
Isn't that wondrous?
I have fallen like a brick wall in a scale 9 earthquake and I love it!
I would like to kiss the whole world!
Apart from George Bush! ...And ExBoy! ...And Marilyn Manson!
I seem to have heaps of energy again; want to go into the workshop and make things,... like I've been kick started again! And that must be wonderful, no?
Some weeks ago when I was out dancing in Mr. Wolf's, I found myself reading the graffiti (like you do at some - euh - stage). One stuck with me: "Live like there's no tomorrow. Love like you've never been hurt before."
I think it was the small god of loo graffiti speaking to moi!
Et moi? J'ai envie d'aimer! (Oh stop puking, you're just jealous!)
xxxx
Currently listening: Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
Apple Juiced
Thursday, May 17, 2007
(loud) AAAAAAAAAAAAArgh!
't Is not a good morning in Duck Towers!
My iPod has completely packed in. Mini of the first generation with the well known battery problems! Ruddy thing is only 2 years old and I always looked well after it: playing it until dead, never dropped it, only put the very best music on it, ...
At this moment I would like to bump into the guy that verbally abused me yesterday; accusing me of damaging his car... I'm well up for some sort of confrontation!
Let me tell you about the incident.
I was walking home from work, up hill so I got off my bicycle. It was almost a Harry Enfield sketch... I passed a mini that was parking up; quietly walking on the pavement (me). I remember looking at it and thinking "that's a real Mini and in very nice condition too".
When I'm about 50 meters up further someone shouts in an obvious rage "HEY YOU! BITCH WITH THE BIKE!"
Charming, that was me then.
"YOU COME BACK HERE IMMEDIATELY, YOU C-word, YOU BUMPED INTO MY CAR AND I WANT YOUR DETAILS NOW!"
By now this man is jumping up and down next to his car, lots of hand gestures and expletives.
I'd stopped and turned around and told him (I wasn't that far away) "But I never touched it"
"OH YES YOU DID, YOU effing BITCH, I HEARD A NOISE AND YOU WILL COME HERE NOW OR ELSE..."
Upon which I thought "He's obviously raving mad, I didn't touch it and haven't done anything", shrugged and went on.
He kept on shouting obscenities at the top of his voice though. A small public built up - as always. It worried me; he might come running after me but he didn't. Of course. I just went on and ignored the fucker with good reason.
However, I got quite shaken by the whole incident.
Not very nice to be publicly and loudly accused of something you haven't done. And in such an utterly charming way as well.
Now what to do to this feggin' iPod... (voice trailing off)
(loud) AAAAAAAAAAAAArgh!
't Is not a good morning in Duck Towers!
My iPod has completely packed in. Mini of the first generation with the well known battery problems! Ruddy thing is only 2 years old and I always looked well after it: playing it until dead, never dropped it, only put the very best music on it, ...
At this moment I would like to bump into the guy that verbally abused me yesterday; accusing me of damaging his car... I'm well up for some sort of confrontation!
Let me tell you about the incident.
I was walking home from work, up hill so I got off my bicycle. It was almost a Harry Enfield sketch... I passed a mini that was parking up; quietly walking on the pavement (me). I remember looking at it and thinking "that's a real Mini and in very nice condition too".
When I'm about 50 meters up further someone shouts in an obvious rage "HEY YOU! BITCH WITH THE BIKE!"
Charming, that was me then.
"YOU COME BACK HERE IMMEDIATELY, YOU C-word, YOU BUMPED INTO MY CAR AND I WANT YOUR DETAILS NOW!"
By now this man is jumping up and down next to his car, lots of hand gestures and expletives.
I'd stopped and turned around and told him (I wasn't that far away) "But I never touched it"
"OH YES YOU DID, YOU effing BITCH, I HEARD A NOISE AND YOU WILL COME HERE NOW OR ELSE..."
Upon which I thought "He's obviously raving mad, I didn't touch it and haven't done anything", shrugged and went on.
He kept on shouting obscenities at the top of his voice though. A small public built up - as always. It worried me; he might come running after me but he didn't. Of course. I just went on and ignored the fucker with good reason.
However, I got quite shaken by the whole incident.
Not very nice to be publicly and loudly accused of something you haven't done. And in such an utterly charming way as well.
Now what to do to this feggin' iPod... (voice trailing off)
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Letters and shoes and other smalls
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Current mood: contemplative
Copins et Copines,
' t Is an early morning in Bristol.
All the noisy little birds are twittering away outside and guess what? Yours truely is wide awake, staring at the ceiling. So what better to do than to bore you again with a bit of contemplating and ranting.
Last entry was about the Waterboys concert and that lead to some other events but I don't want to speed tell you all.
First of all, ExBoy is back from his travels. I've seen him on
Monday as we sort of simultaneously arrived at the flat; him from the Slapper's, me from... now that would be telling, wouldn't it? He had been back for about a week but I was spared his company. Well, of course... after 3 weeks of absence there was probably a whole lot of shaking to be done, to paraphrase the great Jerry Lee. And I am very very miffed with him again - with ExBoy, not Jerry!
He left some freebie stuff on my bed last week from the trip he went on and a 2page letter to me, titled "the best years of my life" and I'm in orbits of flying rage again. My somewhat Zen like indifference pulverised like popcorn under an acetylene blowtorch!
I wish you could read this letter. From the onset it can be picked apart by amateur psychologists. It is insulting, self centred, pompous wallowing. (but without the SOH of this blog , I do hasten to add... ) And it's him putting on paper what lead to this sorry state of affairs. Now, you all know that the anniversary is upon us: July the 4th, Independence Day - literally; because that's the day I found him out and all spiraled from there. Basically it bears down to the fact that the size of my knickers ("even Bridget Jones would be ashamed to wear") were to blame for him looking elsewhere.
Charming!
Of course, now -according to him- I have bought new clothes and shoes (True!) and I'm making more effort. Loosing a dress size or 2 because of being ill has nothing to do with buying new clothes, of course! And yes, my faithful ones, I have discovered retail therapy!
A girl has to do something for some instant gratification as there hasn't been too much physical action on the agenda lately. There's a very interesting development in that department however (giggles) but I digress.
The trusted Mrs. Mills in Style magazine (Sunday Times) says on this specific subject: "The size of a woman's knickers has everything to do with her man's desirability". A friend of mine whom I confided this "smalls fact of life" to, gasped in exasperation that if knicker size had anything to do with the state of relationships, there wouldn't be any (relations) left and Marks & Sparks would be solely responsible for the demise of...
I know, not the Agent Provocateur range, obviously!
I rest my case, your honour. Or no, I don't rest it: if he didn't like them, why did he not go out and buy me some others? Surely cheaper than the muck he bought on DVD for his solitary games. There! Glad to vent that bit of spleen.
There's plenty more in the letter and I'm sure the Slapper would find it interesting reading as he's not very - how shall I put this carefully- positive about her.
ExBoy is one confused cookie. Good feggin' riddance!
About my retail therapy: it is true I have been indulging a bit lately.
Shoes!
I have bought outrageous wedges from Faith: black leather on wood with nails all around, rather fetishy look. I tried on the Gil Carvalho ones on as well... strutted through the shop, felt absolutely amazing, whooped over them with the salesgirl but declined as the price tag was out of this girls range - waiting for the sales and hope they still have a size 5 by then, fingers crossed because I do have my beady eye on them. Then I went to TK Max and found the "dirtiest" shoes ever: black patent leather, very pointy and showing plenty of toe cleavage with 4'' stiletto heels...
Current mood: contemplative
Copins et Copines,
' t Is an early morning in Bristol.
All the noisy little birds are twittering away outside and guess what? Yours truely is wide awake, staring at the ceiling. So what better to do than to bore you again with a bit of contemplating and ranting.
Last entry was about the Waterboys concert and that lead to some other events but I don't want to speed tell you all.
First of all, ExBoy is back from his travels. I've seen him on
Monday as we sort of simultaneously arrived at the flat; him from the Slapper's, me from... now that would be telling, wouldn't it? He had been back for about a week but I was spared his company. Well, of course... after 3 weeks of absence there was probably a whole lot of shaking to be done, to paraphrase the great Jerry Lee. And I am very very miffed with him again - with ExBoy, not Jerry!
He left some freebie stuff on my bed last week from the trip he went on and a 2page letter to me, titled "the best years of my life" and I'm in orbits of flying rage again. My somewhat Zen like indifference pulverised like popcorn under an acetylene blowtorch!
I wish you could read this letter. From the onset it can be picked apart by amateur psychologists. It is insulting, self centred, pompous wallowing. (but without the SOH of this blog , I do hasten to add... ) And it's him putting on paper what lead to this sorry state of affairs. Now, you all know that the anniversary is upon us: July the 4th, Independence Day - literally; because that's the day I found him out and all spiraled from there. Basically it bears down to the fact that the size of my knickers ("even Bridget Jones would be ashamed to wear") were to blame for him looking elsewhere.
Charming!
Of course, now -according to him- I have bought new clothes and shoes (True!) and I'm making more effort. Loosing a dress size or 2 because of being ill has nothing to do with buying new clothes, of course! And yes, my faithful ones, I have discovered retail therapy!
A girl has to do something for some instant gratification as there hasn't been too much physical action on the agenda lately. There's a very interesting development in that department however (giggles) but I digress.
The trusted Mrs. Mills in Style magazine (Sunday Times) says on this specific subject: "The size of a woman's knickers has everything to do with her man's desirability". A friend of mine whom I confided this "smalls fact of life" to, gasped in exasperation that if knicker size had anything to do with the state of relationships, there wouldn't be any (relations) left and Marks & Sparks would be solely responsible for the demise of...
I know, not the Agent Provocateur range, obviously!
I rest my case, your honour. Or no, I don't rest it: if he didn't like them, why did he not go out and buy me some others? Surely cheaper than the muck he bought on DVD for his solitary games. There! Glad to vent that bit of spleen.
There's plenty more in the letter and I'm sure the Slapper would find it interesting reading as he's not very - how shall I put this carefully- positive about her.
ExBoy is one confused cookie. Good feggin' riddance!
About my retail therapy: it is true I have been indulging a bit lately.
Shoes!
I have bought outrageous wedges from Faith: black leather on wood with nails all around, rather fetishy look. I tried on the Gil Carvalho ones on as well... strutted through the shop, felt absolutely amazing, whooped over them with the salesgirl but declined as the price tag was out of this girls range - waiting for the sales and hope they still have a size 5 by then, fingers crossed because I do have my beady eye on them. Then I went to TK Max and found the "dirtiest" shoes ever: black patent leather, very pointy and showing plenty of toe cleavage with 4'' stiletto heels...
They look fantastic under my smart shorts with tights and a tailored jacket!
2 Doors down from the gallery where I work there's a fetish shoe shop where all the trannies come for their foot gear. For months I've been wanting to go in, all I needed was a little nudge - and a little nudge I got. They stock 5'' and 6'' ers in a little boudoir in the back! She is expecting new stock so watch this space. Temptation is only 2 doors away.
A lot of things have been sort of falling into place lately. I am cleaning out my emotional closet. Snippets of my life that have seemed trivial so far start to make sense and there's new things to explore. Sorry I can't be more specific but it would lead us too far.
And I have met someone.
Someone I could possibly like. A lot. Only thing is... I'm not exactly trophy material, am I?
Je vous laisse, mes amis! Trying to get another wink or two.xxx
Currently listening:Bleed Like Me by Garbage
2 Doors down from the gallery where I work there's a fetish shoe shop where all the trannies come for their foot gear. For months I've been wanting to go in, all I needed was a little nudge - and a little nudge I got. They stock 5'' and 6'' ers in a little boudoir in the back! She is expecting new stock so watch this space. Temptation is only 2 doors away.
A lot of things have been sort of falling into place lately. I am cleaning out my emotional closet. Snippets of my life that have seemed trivial so far start to make sense and there's new things to explore. Sorry I can't be more specific but it would lead us too far.
And I have met someone.
Someone I could possibly like. A lot. Only thing is... I'm not exactly trophy material, am I?
Je vous laisse, mes amis! Trying to get another wink or two.xxx
Currently listening:Bleed Like Me by Garbage
Waterboys in Bristol
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Current mood: happy
Hi all,
I went to see the Waterboys yesterday! In the Colston Hall.
Remember "The Whole of the Moon"? And " Fisherman's Blues?" To name but a few?
Around 4pm I was running an errand for the gallery I work for and happened to pass the Hall. Two massive tour coaches were parked up and 2 guys were just bringing on trays of beer (my guess; didn't really pay attention as one of them was rather dishy. I know, I know...).
A quick glance on the "what's on": The flippin' Waterboys!!!! Had to dash back to work but I logged on and checked TheirSpace and sent off a quick message, trying to wiggle in on the guest list as it was sold out.
Anyway to make a long story really short, I managed to get a ticket from cancellations and a good spot I got too, next to the PA. I'd put on my 4 inch heels as Ms. Shortass here always looses out when everyone gets standing.
Well, they blew my socks off!!
As you can see and hear I've added their song as it works so well with MyBlog. "Nobody's baby anymore", it just rips my heart out. Superb wallowing. But what I really want to say is, go and see them live should you have the chance. Really! They were fabulous! And Mr. Scott is still a dishy chap with the most wonderful lyrics.
I wish now I had gone for the meet and greet afterwards, but I'm a shy girl really (stop shouting: Oh no you're not!) and my dainty feet were absolutely killing me by then.
't Was a busy night in Bristol as the Happy Mondays were playing around the corner in the Academy as well. Where's that cloning technology when you need it?
Currently listening: Book of Lightning by The Waterboys
Current mood: happy
Hi all,
I went to see the Waterboys yesterday! In the Colston Hall.
Remember "The Whole of the Moon"? And " Fisherman's Blues?" To name but a few?
Around 4pm I was running an errand for the gallery I work for and happened to pass the Hall. Two massive tour coaches were parked up and 2 guys were just bringing on trays of beer (my guess; didn't really pay attention as one of them was rather dishy. I know, I know...).
A quick glance on the "what's on": The flippin' Waterboys!!!! Had to dash back to work but I logged on and checked TheirSpace and sent off a quick message, trying to wiggle in on the guest list as it was sold out.
Anyway to make a long story really short, I managed to get a ticket from cancellations and a good spot I got too, next to the PA. I'd put on my 4 inch heels as Ms. Shortass here always looses out when everyone gets standing.
Well, they blew my socks off!!
As you can see and hear I've added their song as it works so well with MyBlog. "Nobody's baby anymore", it just rips my heart out. Superb wallowing. But what I really want to say is, go and see them live should you have the chance. Really! They were fabulous! And Mr. Scott is still a dishy chap with the most wonderful lyrics.
I wish now I had gone for the meet and greet afterwards, but I'm a shy girl really (stop shouting: Oh no you're not!) and my dainty feet were absolutely killing me by then.
't Was a busy night in Bristol as the Happy Mondays were playing around the corner in the Academy as well. Where's that cloning technology when you need it?
Currently listening: Book of Lightning by The Waterboys
Monday, 21 September 2009
Easter Surprise
Monday, April 16, 2007
A very jolly good morning to you my lovely readers!
As you can see I am still in a terribly good mood with a huge grin on my face, even 1week after Easter events and being ever so slightly hormonal.
't Is a funny thing this PMT!
When you're on your own you don't seem to suffer from it. A bit like that philosophical conundrum then: with a tree falling in the woods and nobody there to hear, does it make a noise?
I have very little time this morning as I need to go to work shortly. But one of my readers is rather keen to find out what my Easter surprise was. Even sent a email requesting me to write it down to the touch and minute. I am afraid I can't do that, I might get arrested by the Moral Majorans or banned altogether from MySpace! God forbid! Who would I have to bore with my shenanigans then?
Well, here's a hint. You remember the countdown to my last birthday? (see previous episodes)
Things to do before?
Point 3?
We-e-e-lll....... let's just say he wasn't boring at all!
And very very very fucking gorgeous!
Seriously!
After I told a "friend" (remember me to review her status!) about what happened, she asked me whether it was dark? The cheeky bloody so and so!
The short answer to that is: It WAS on Saturday night but not on Sunday morning, dahling!
(AFTER I'd gotten up, showered, went for the sunday paper and croissants and made tea)
I SO regret my scandalous behaviour...NOT! Hah!
(blows a kiss to her audience) bye for now, sweeties!
A very jolly good morning to you my lovely readers!
As you can see I am still in a terribly good mood with a huge grin on my face, even 1week after Easter events and being ever so slightly hormonal.
't Is a funny thing this PMT!
When you're on your own you don't seem to suffer from it. A bit like that philosophical conundrum then: with a tree falling in the woods and nobody there to hear, does it make a noise?
I have very little time this morning as I need to go to work shortly. But one of my readers is rather keen to find out what my Easter surprise was. Even sent a email requesting me to write it down to the touch and minute. I am afraid I can't do that, I might get arrested by the Moral Majorans or banned altogether from MySpace! God forbid! Who would I have to bore with my shenanigans then?
Well, here's a hint. You remember the countdown to my last birthday? (see previous episodes)
Things to do before?
Point 3?
We-e-e-lll....... let's just say he wasn't boring at all!
And very very very fucking gorgeous!
Seriously!
After I told a "friend" (remember me to review her status!) about what happened, she asked me whether it was dark? The cheeky bloody so and so!
The short answer to that is: It WAS on Saturday night but not on Sunday morning, dahling!
(AFTER I'd gotten up, showered, went for the sunday paper and croissants and made tea)
I SO regret my scandalous behaviour...NOT! Hah!
(blows a kiss to her audience) bye for now, sweeties!
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Time
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Current mood: bouncy
Hi there my devotees...(I wish)
The time is upon us to reflect and think. I just realized it's almost a month since you heard from me and no, I haven't croaked of self pity. Au contraire, mes amis! I am about to update you.
3 months have gone by after returning to Old Blighty and it has been sort of difficult. I still live in the flat formerly known as home, with ExBoy whom I barely see as his social agenda is somewhat fuller than mine. And it's not like I haven't been trying to expand. I met some lovely people since, of which some will be friends for life I hope. I've gotten drunk and in a tangle and said and done things I shouldn't, but such is the vengeful heart; or the very lonely one for that matter.
But it dawned on me recently: I still gave ExBoy the status of Mr. Right - who's done the dirty.
Well, think about it: Mr Right wouldn't do that, would he? Mr. Right wouldn't even look at another bird as he would be sort of oblivious to their existence through his devotion to moi. So ExBoy is really Mr. Wrong; Mr Very Very Wrong, the swine.
On his birthday, about a month ago, I left him a card with a pig on - a cute hog but a pig nevertheless. He was not too impressed! Upon which I dryly commented that murders and suicides happen over the shit he poured on us so a card with a pig was somehow the lesser of evils. So, Mr Wrong shut up and went partying with the Slapper.
Anyway, what else?
A friend had a fifty-th birthday party where she insisted on introducing me to all unaccompanied men present! Now this was an occasion for dressing up I wasn't going to let go, sweeties!!!
I wore my LBD and kinked it up with a black sequined corsetty top finished with lots of bling, my Gaultier jacket, very nice tights and high heeled black satin ankle strap court shoes, topped with a black feathery shawl reminiscent of a feather boa... Very burlesque.
To whoever was commenting on it I said I was working my dominatrix look, which had some men getting a glint in their eye. The beers kept coming at a rather fast pace. The party was a real hoot, the men were all unsuitable for different reasons but one of them showed me all the corners of the dance floor.
This to say, he was a bit of a danceur!
And I'm very partial to a good leading man, despite my look... He twirled me around and bent me backwards like I was Cyd Charisse and my table was whooping with delight and admiration. I heard afterwards they were having bets whether I was going to cop off with him - friends eh?
But what exhilaration, readers, it still puts a smile on my face thinking of the dancing. And before you ask, no, nothing happened. He gave me his mobile number but I deleted it some days ago as I was having a bit of a clear out.
Two days later I left for a week to visit Belgium. As my Eurostar arrived, (uncannily) my iPod shuffled to "Motorbike Boogie" from Old Flame's band. So I texted him to say I just rolled into Brussels Midi. Almost instantly I received his reply: "And suddenly the sun shines!" ... which was the nicest welcome I could have gotten.
The old charmer still does it!
Anyway, off I went to Antwerp as there was some diamond business to take care off in the morning. After that I went to lunch with my dearest friend and surrogate mum on a terrace in front of the Academy in the blazing sun. And I had an epiphany: life is good here, people really want me around, why not come back? Why not, indeed... I hadn't really considered that option, stubborn as I am. But a seed was sown. Later I walked through a sunny Antwerp, having just indulged in some rather nice new underwear (I know, I'm getting the hang of this girlie thing in my old age!) when my mobile went.
Old Flame!
"Where was I? Ok, want to meet for drink? Jump on tram to the other side of the river, Meet you there and will bring you back."
Blimey... keen or what? And you know the best part? I was looking rather good, strutting it with the pink booties under my skinny jeans and little black leather jacket. So, we met up!
How is it possible that 2 people fancy each other's socks off (and more...) and nothing gets done about it? It's a 15 year old mystery to me. Never mind, it was like all those years ago: I met up with him in the electronics shop buying "thingies", then off to the rehearsal den (holy of holiest) then drink on one or other terrace, then dropping me off but running out of time and promise to meet up later that week. With a very sweet little kiss... And I'm still falling for it!
That evening I took the train to go and see my family for 2 days which was terribly good fun and then by the end of the week return to R. & C.'s in Antwerp as I promised to help them out with some things. I also met up with K., my friend who lives in Manhattan now and was also visiting her family. A very fruitful visit, seeing so many people.
I know, all you want to know is "What happened with Old Flame?"
Well, we went for another drink one night, he is still as evasive as ever but there's no doubt that he is trying to convince me to return, for whatever reason. We had a cuddle when he dropped me off and arranged to go for lunch the next day. Which we did. And the last evening which I spent with Erika (surrogate mum and ex teacher), we waffled on the phone for almost 2 hours in the middle of the night, just like the olden days. What can I say?
I returned last week Monday feeling very ambiguous and I need to do some serious thinking. Antwerp or Bristol? Bristol or Antwerp?
There are no real binds either way and whatever I do, it will be the same effort: new job, new home, ... but Belgium has my safety net of family and friends which has proved invaluable when I fell ill. But it would feel like giving up without a bit of a fight, and it means ExBoy gets off scots free as he just seems to ride out the storm; letting me take all the decisions in a mess he created, cowardly bastard.
Time to Make my Mind Up.
And, more importantly, to have some fun while I'm doing it... (grinning very widely and wickedly) ! And that's another story, me harties. One I'm still savouring.
Let's just say, I had a rather eventful Easter weekend and some darkness has lifted. Isn't that what Easter is all about? (grinning even more like the cat that got the cream.........)
NOW I got you hooked, no?
(chuckling)
Current mood: bouncy
Hi there my devotees...(I wish)
The time is upon us to reflect and think. I just realized it's almost a month since you heard from me and no, I haven't croaked of self pity. Au contraire, mes amis! I am about to update you.
3 months have gone by after returning to Old Blighty and it has been sort of difficult. I still live in the flat formerly known as home, with ExBoy whom I barely see as his social agenda is somewhat fuller than mine. And it's not like I haven't been trying to expand. I met some lovely people since, of which some will be friends for life I hope. I've gotten drunk and in a tangle and said and done things I shouldn't, but such is the vengeful heart; or the very lonely one for that matter. But it dawned on me recently: I still gave ExBoy the status of Mr. Right - who's done the dirty.
Well, think about it: Mr Right wouldn't do that, would he? Mr. Right wouldn't even look at another bird as he would be sort of oblivious to their existence through his devotion to moi. So ExBoy is really Mr. Wrong; Mr Very Very Wrong, the swine.
On his birthday, about a month ago, I left him a card with a pig on - a cute hog but a pig nevertheless. He was not too impressed! Upon which I dryly commented that murders and suicides happen over the shit he poured on us so a card with a pig was somehow the lesser of evils. So, Mr Wrong shut up and went partying with the Slapper.
Anyway, what else?
A friend had a fifty-th birthday party where she insisted on introducing me to all unaccompanied men present! Now this was an occasion for dressing up I wasn't going to let go, sweeties!!!
I wore my LBD and kinked it up with a black sequined corsetty top finished with lots of bling, my Gaultier jacket, very nice tights and high heeled black satin ankle strap court shoes, topped with a black feathery shawl reminiscent of a feather boa... Very burlesque.
To whoever was commenting on it I said I was working my dominatrix look, which had some men getting a glint in their eye. The beers kept coming at a rather fast pace. The party was a real hoot, the men were all unsuitable for different reasons but one of them showed me all the corners of the dance floor.
This to say, he was a bit of a danceur!
And I'm very partial to a good leading man, despite my look... He twirled me around and bent me backwards like I was Cyd Charisse and my table was whooping with delight and admiration. I heard afterwards they were having bets whether I was going to cop off with him - friends eh?
But what exhilaration, readers, it still puts a smile on my face thinking of the dancing. And before you ask, no, nothing happened. He gave me his mobile number but I deleted it some days ago as I was having a bit of a clear out.
Two days later I left for a week to visit Belgium. As my Eurostar arrived, (uncannily) my iPod shuffled to "Motorbike Boogie" from Old Flame's band. So I texted him to say I just rolled into Brussels Midi. Almost instantly I received his reply: "And suddenly the sun shines!" ... which was the nicest welcome I could have gotten.
The old charmer still does it!
Anyway, off I went to Antwerp as there was some diamond business to take care off in the morning. After that I went to lunch with my dearest friend and surrogate mum on a terrace in front of the Academy in the blazing sun. And I had an epiphany: life is good here, people really want me around, why not come back? Why not, indeed... I hadn't really considered that option, stubborn as I am. But a seed was sown. Later I walked through a sunny Antwerp, having just indulged in some rather nice new underwear (I know, I'm getting the hang of this girlie thing in my old age!) when my mobile went.
Old Flame!
"Where was I? Ok, want to meet for drink? Jump on tram to the other side of the river, Meet you there and will bring you back."
Blimey... keen or what? And you know the best part? I was looking rather good, strutting it with the pink booties under my skinny jeans and little black leather jacket. So, we met up!
How is it possible that 2 people fancy each other's socks off (and more...) and nothing gets done about it? It's a 15 year old mystery to me. Never mind, it was like all those years ago: I met up with him in the electronics shop buying "thingies", then off to the rehearsal den (holy of holiest) then drink on one or other terrace, then dropping me off but running out of time and promise to meet up later that week. With a very sweet little kiss... And I'm still falling for it!
That evening I took the train to go and see my family for 2 days which was terribly good fun and then by the end of the week return to R. & C.'s in Antwerp as I promised to help them out with some things. I also met up with K., my friend who lives in Manhattan now and was also visiting her family. A very fruitful visit, seeing so many people.
I know, all you want to know is "What happened with Old Flame?"
Well, we went for another drink one night, he is still as evasive as ever but there's no doubt that he is trying to convince me to return, for whatever reason. We had a cuddle when he dropped me off and arranged to go for lunch the next day. Which we did. And the last evening which I spent with Erika (surrogate mum and ex teacher), we waffled on the phone for almost 2 hours in the middle of the night, just like the olden days. What can I say?
I returned last week Monday feeling very ambiguous and I need to do some serious thinking. Antwerp or Bristol? Bristol or Antwerp?
There are no real binds either way and whatever I do, it will be the same effort: new job, new home, ... but Belgium has my safety net of family and friends which has proved invaluable when I fell ill. But it would feel like giving up without a bit of a fight, and it means ExBoy gets off scots free as he just seems to ride out the storm; letting me take all the decisions in a mess he created, cowardly bastard.
Time to Make my Mind Up.
And, more importantly, to have some fun while I'm doing it... (grinning very widely and wickedly) ! And that's another story, me harties. One I'm still savouring.
Let's just say, I had a rather eventful Easter weekend and some darkness has lifted. Isn't that what Easter is all about? (grinning even more like the cat that got the cream.........)
NOW I got you hooked, no?
(chuckling)
Friday, 18 September 2009
Insomnia
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Current mood: lonely
Miljaarde, miljaarde, miljaarde!!!!
Voila, glad to get that off my chest. That was a bit of gratuitious cursing, Flemish style.
Readers, I'm suffering from insomnia. Again.
Oh, yes, I have tablets but I don't like taking them. And yesterday evening I reverted to emptying a bottle of French grape juice... after which loud music and dancing in the living room ensued! Sometimes it is good to be home alone.
My imaginary friend (Stan) thought I was behaving rather silly: trying on all my shoes, dancing to my top tunes. Have I told you about Stan?
He's lovely, I'd marry him tomorrow: he likes my shoes and sparkly dresses, has impeccable manners and taste, looks a bit like George Clooney (of course) and has the wackiest sense of humour. Come to think of it: probably gay... He's also a bit difficult to go out with, on account of being wholly unsubstantial. A cheap date, quoi? On the plus side he ALWAYS agrees with me.
Where was I?
I've been in floods of self pity this week. Everywhere I look I see cosy couples holding hands and canoodling. Everywhere! And then there's me, with Stan.
See, it could be worse; I could be really lonely.
This internet dating malark is not going terribly well by the way. And I do worry about meeting someone new: will it ever happen again? Women of 44 don't come top of the heap in the desire-able department. Not if one isn't rich or stunningly beautiful... somewhat lacking in those departments. New singles of my own age want to date younger fluff anyway and I'm a wrinkle or two beyond that too. If I take a leaf out of ExBoy's book, I should be looking at 64 year olds. Christ, now that's a depressing thought. I do apologize to any pensioners but I guess I show to be a bit of an agist there. I just can't see myself polishing a walking frame; let alone... That's my shallow inner bitch talking.
I really feel like I'm going to waste. Only lover I have needs (rechargeable) batteries and definitely doesn't hug me back. Just a little bit sad really.
Maybe Old Flame could be tempted? I know I am but then I always carried that torch. But, and this is the million euro question, do I really want to go there? My Old Flame is gorgeous; I'd even drop Mr. Clooney for that one. He's also the eternal bachelor boy, still lives at his mum's back in the old country. I have known him for 15 years now and he still rocks my boat. We met up in December just before I returned to Blighty in the new year.
Pfwoar! I'm telling you now if someone could have convinced me staying was a good idea, it was him. But... it never happened, not 15 years ago and not now; so most probably it never will. He does keep in touch though, the swine.
Come to think of it, my Stan is completely modelled on him.
I think I'm going mad. Where are those tablets?
Current mood: lonely
Miljaarde, miljaarde, miljaarde!!!!
Voila, glad to get that off my chest. That was a bit of gratuitious cursing, Flemish style.
Readers, I'm suffering from insomnia. Again.
Oh, yes, I have tablets but I don't like taking them. And yesterday evening I reverted to emptying a bottle of French grape juice... after which loud music and dancing in the living room ensued! Sometimes it is good to be home alone.
My imaginary friend (Stan) thought I was behaving rather silly: trying on all my shoes, dancing to my top tunes. Have I told you about Stan?
He's lovely, I'd marry him tomorrow: he likes my shoes and sparkly dresses, has impeccable manners and taste, looks a bit like George Clooney (of course) and has the wackiest sense of humour. Come to think of it: probably gay... He's also a bit difficult to go out with, on account of being wholly unsubstantial. A cheap date, quoi? On the plus side he ALWAYS agrees with me.
Where was I?
I've been in floods of self pity this week. Everywhere I look I see cosy couples holding hands and canoodling. Everywhere! And then there's me, with Stan.
See, it could be worse; I could be really lonely.
This internet dating malark is not going terribly well by the way. And I do worry about meeting someone new: will it ever happen again? Women of 44 don't come top of the heap in the desire-able department. Not if one isn't rich or stunningly beautiful... somewhat lacking in those departments. New singles of my own age want to date younger fluff anyway and I'm a wrinkle or two beyond that too. If I take a leaf out of ExBoy's book, I should be looking at 64 year olds. Christ, now that's a depressing thought. I do apologize to any pensioners but I guess I show to be a bit of an agist there. I just can't see myself polishing a walking frame; let alone... That's my shallow inner bitch talking.
I really feel like I'm going to waste. Only lover I have needs (rechargeable) batteries and definitely doesn't hug me back. Just a little bit sad really.
Maybe Old Flame could be tempted? I know I am but then I always carried that torch. But, and this is the million euro question, do I really want to go there? My Old Flame is gorgeous; I'd even drop Mr. Clooney for that one. He's also the eternal bachelor boy, still lives at his mum's back in the old country. I have known him for 15 years now and he still rocks my boat. We met up in December just before I returned to Blighty in the new year.
Pfwoar! I'm telling you now if someone could have convinced me staying was a good idea, it was him. But... it never happened, not 15 years ago and not now; so most probably it never will. He does keep in touch though, the swine.
Come to think of it, my Stan is completely modelled on him.
I think I'm going mad. Where are those tablets?
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Time for the olde crafte?
Monday, March 12, 2007
Current mood: giggly
(adjusting her pointy black and slightly floppy hat, wagging a bony finger)
Me dears,
Maybe it's time to use some of those witchy powers I no doubt inherited from Mother. I stumbled upon this spell - bored internet browsing can do that to you:
Select a candle of light sky blue
And cut seven notches firm and true.
Add to this seven strips of parchment paper
Placed beside thy candle taper.
Upon them scribe, both first and last
The name of the Lover bold and fast.
Fold the strips in two lengthwise
To keep the names from prying eyes.
Strike a flame and set the candle to burn
And let one strip to ashes turn.
Speak out these words seven times in all,
To summon the forces and with love enthrall:
"Spirit of the dark love Goddess dear,
Bring (name) to my arms right here.
Let me kindle the flame of desire,
And my love always with passion inspire."
Firm thy vision of what is intended
As the candle to the first notch burns and the hour is ended.
Repeat this spell a notch each night
And one of the strips gleefully light.
With witches will and concentrated vision
Thou canst capture thy lover with precision.
This is a spell for a Passionate Affair.
Yup, I could do with a bit of that!
Now, let me see: I better not buy one of these fat candles or this might take an eternity to perform; just a normal table one in light sky blue. I wonder where to find that?
And the other thing I wonder? Should I be greedy and write "George Clooney" on the piece of parchment? What if it worked? And Gorgeous George does pop around with crates of Martini like in the advert... I'd probably be far too star struck to do anything but drink all the Martini, wide eyed and shell shocked and then die of Martini poisoning making an absolute arse of myself! Aaaaaaaaargh....!
Who to write down? There is this funny, interesting sounding guy with the most wonderful voice I occasionally talk to on the phone (he can read the telephone directory to me for all I care) but I don't know what he's like. I do know his name which helps a little with the writing down, but what if he looks like "not my type at all" whatever that is? Brown paper bag? Over my own head? mmmmmmmm, the voice on it's own IS very lovely.
(giggle dies away in the distance)
(comes running back)
Wait! Wait! Wait! What if he -passionately in spellbound love- turns out to have really annoying habits I can't cope with? Like admiringly picking bellybutton fluff, or liking Nicole Kidman, or... damn, I can think of a thousand things that would rub me up the wrong way. I can see this leading to all sorts of problems. Maybe better not , eh?
By the way, did I tell you that ExBoy found my little voodoo doll while I was away? A friend gave me this little book of voodoo as a silly support wish months ago, before I fell ill. So I read it and realized that I needed something substantial of the Slapper's, like hair or nail clippings,... Little did I know then I would find that in my own home later...hah! So I decided on a positive spell for Himbo: the ring I made for him 12 year ago, shoved over the dolly's head and a big WHITE pin stuck in its heart? (big grin)
It did warp him a bit, I'm telling you!
Although whatever made him go through my drawer where he found it, God knows... Anyway, I coolly informed him that
1. there are white pins and black pins for obvious difference (black being evil wishes, strictly reserved for the Slapper... of course) and
2. if he took this serious, he was in a far worse state than I as you can compare it with a prayers and we all know those don't come true.
He shut up after that. I quite enjoyed that in a wicked way!
There is some voodoo in there after all...
Currently listening: In the Right Place by Dr. John
Current mood: giggly
(adjusting her pointy black and slightly floppy hat, wagging a bony finger)
Me dears,
Maybe it's time to use some of those witchy powers I no doubt inherited from Mother. I stumbled upon this spell - bored internet browsing can do that to you:
Select a candle of light sky blue
And cut seven notches firm and true.
Add to this seven strips of parchment paper
Placed beside thy candle taper.
Upon them scribe, both first and last
The name of the Lover bold and fast.
Fold the strips in two lengthwise
To keep the names from prying eyes.
Strike a flame and set the candle to burn
And let one strip to ashes turn.
Speak out these words seven times in all,
To summon the forces and with love enthrall:
"Spirit of the dark love Goddess dear,
Bring (name) to my arms right here.
Let me kindle the flame of desire,
And my love always with passion inspire."
Firm thy vision of what is intended
As the candle to the first notch burns and the hour is ended.
Repeat this spell a notch each night
And one of the strips gleefully light.
With witches will and concentrated vision
Thou canst capture thy lover with precision.
This is a spell for a Passionate Affair.
Yup, I could do with a bit of that!
Now, let me see: I better not buy one of these fat candles or this might take an eternity to perform; just a normal table one in light sky blue. I wonder where to find that?
And the other thing I wonder? Should I be greedy and write "George Clooney" on the piece of parchment? What if it worked? And Gorgeous George does pop around with crates of Martini like in the advert... I'd probably be far too star struck to do anything but drink all the Martini, wide eyed and shell shocked and then die of Martini poisoning making an absolute arse of myself! Aaaaaaaaargh....!
Who to write down? There is this funny, interesting sounding guy with the most wonderful voice I occasionally talk to on the phone (he can read the telephone directory to me for all I care) but I don't know what he's like. I do know his name which helps a little with the writing down, but what if he looks like "not my type at all" whatever that is? Brown paper bag? Over my own head? mmmmmmmm, the voice on it's own IS very lovely.
(giggle dies away in the distance)
(comes running back)
Wait! Wait! Wait! What if he -passionately in spellbound love- turns out to have really annoying habits I can't cope with? Like admiringly picking bellybutton fluff, or liking Nicole Kidman, or... damn, I can think of a thousand things that would rub me up the wrong way. I can see this leading to all sorts of problems. Maybe better not , eh?
By the way, did I tell you that ExBoy found my little voodoo doll while I was away? A friend gave me this little book of voodoo as a silly support wish months ago, before I fell ill. So I read it and realized that I needed something substantial of the Slapper's, like hair or nail clippings,... Little did I know then I would find that in my own home later...hah! So I decided on a positive spell for Himbo: the ring I made for him 12 year ago, shoved over the dolly's head and a big WHITE pin stuck in its heart? (big grin)
It did warp him a bit, I'm telling you!
Although whatever made him go through my drawer where he found it, God knows... Anyway, I coolly informed him that
1. there are white pins and black pins for obvious difference (black being evil wishes, strictly reserved for the Slapper... of course) and
2. if he took this serious, he was in a far worse state than I as you can compare it with a prayers and we all know those don't come true.
He shut up after that. I quite enjoyed that in a wicked way!
There is some voodoo in there after all...
Currently listening: In the Right Place by Dr. John
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