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
Friday, 25 September 2009
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
Sundays
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Current mood: frustrated
Sweeties,
't Is the first time I take my lapdog to a public place to write to you.
I am currently sitting in the Watershed with a beer, surrounded by couples and families out and about. Well... you know, at least here I SEE some other people. I am going stir crazy in the flat. Nobody to talk to but the tv, simple as that.
I had a very uneventful week: workshop on Monday, looked after baby J. on Tuesday, dinner with N. on Tuesday evening (very pleasant), forgot about Wednesday because nothing probably happened - ah yes, I made curtains for ExBoy's mum until my sewing machine packed in, Thursday looked after the baby again and saw my friend M. to talk about house costs, Friday and Saturday in the gallery with no customers as the weather was probably too nice and now it's Sunday.... And I'm lonely , and bored, ... and I can't go on ringing up people I barely know for company, what?
God, I hate being on my own.
I'm someones child and someones sister and even several peoples' friend but I'm no body's special one; you know what I'm saying? (grumbles)
And it's very hard and I'm fed up and really really really evily pissed off with ExBoy for doing this to me. Bastard!
I did go and see some Cuban hip hoppers followed by a Salsa band yesterday but I was home before I turned into a pumpkin. The only persons to actually talk to me were the barmaid and the taxi driver not quite Ms. Popular then eh?
Talk about being lonely in a crowd. Hell! Why is it so difficult to meet new people?
Current mood: frustrated
Sweeties,
't Is the first time I take my lapdog to a public place to write to you.
I am currently sitting in the Watershed with a beer, surrounded by couples and families out and about. Well... you know, at least here I SEE some other people. I am going stir crazy in the flat. Nobody to talk to but the tv, simple as that.
I had a very uneventful week: workshop on Monday, looked after baby J. on Tuesday, dinner with N. on Tuesday evening (very pleasant), forgot about Wednesday because nothing probably happened - ah yes, I made curtains for ExBoy's mum until my sewing machine packed in, Thursday looked after the baby again and saw my friend M. to talk about house costs, Friday and Saturday in the gallery with no customers as the weather was probably too nice and now it's Sunday.... And I'm lonely , and bored, ... and I can't go on ringing up people I barely know for company, what?
God, I hate being on my own.
I'm someones child and someones sister and even several peoples' friend but I'm no body's special one; you know what I'm saying? (grumbles)
And it's very hard and I'm fed up and really really really evily pissed off with ExBoy for doing this to me. Bastard!
I did go and see some Cuban hip hoppers followed by a Salsa band yesterday but I was home before I turned into a pumpkin. The only persons to actually talk to me were the barmaid and the taxi driver not quite Ms. Popular then eh?
Talk about being lonely in a crowd. Hell! Why is it so difficult to meet new people?
Tuesday, 15 September 2009
Culture
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Current mood: contemplative
Insomnia made me grab my new lapdog and log on: Good night, my readers!
I hope you are well.
I have had a very cultural week so far: went to see "Othello" at the Tobacco Factory on Wednesday and yesterday saw "Special" by Fecund at the Wickham.
Last time I was seen in a theatre it was the Rocky Horror Show in full (un)dress... not that I don't think that's not cultural but you get what I'm trying to say. Oh, and guess what was a recurring theme again? Yez...
I was well impressed by Othello, the cast was just superb and I felt quite emotional at the end. I should have tripped up that snake Iago when I had the chance! He came dashing in, passed me within inches... But then we wouldn't have had the play now, would we? It was a bit difficult to follow all for Janette Foreigner here (desperate for subtitles) but was reassured that the natives struggle with Shakespearean lingo as well; now there's a relief.
And yesterday I was really bowled over by "Special" by the Fecund Company.
Our local "what's on" guide announced this single performance as a cutting edge play about the ins and outs of modern sexuality with a spot of BDSM.
Now that sentence has several words in it that normally make me run a mile (and I absolutely loath running), "cutting edge" not the least of them. The term has been misused so many times to describe overblown arrogant arty wank it makes my hair stand on end. In this case it was a completely correct description and my guess an unintentional pun.
The set, the 2 actors, the music, everything gelled into this story of Extreme Love (and some was rather extreme believe me) and however odd it may seem, tenderness between the couple. It was all brought very chaste, there being no nudity at all. The female dominating character described now and again what she was fictitiously wearing; male equipment was represented by rubber specialist toys. This made it sort of childishly innocent as it worked it's way around the pitfalls of being regarded as caricature pornography. The audience was 80% students; my guess performing arts ones... you know the type, take themselves very serious. With berets and wispy beards. (The boys... of course). The student girl usher next to me laughed in all the wrong places which was really terribly annoying in a Beavis and Butthead way!
Afterwards there was a discussion between the director (John Keates), the 2 actors and the public. The students were very eager to ask all sorts of clever questions about the set up, the research, the music, the psychology,...
It made one thing clear: the Young Ones had completely missed the point of the play. But then they know nothing and everything, don't they?
I found it strangely touching and beautifully delivered and I'd go and see it again if it was on.
There! That's something I thought I would never say about modern theatre!
Now, tonight I'm going to the Louisiana for a spot of easier entertainment.
Countryside (a local band) is gigging and I'm taking my new pal Ian along. I do hope we don't bump into the Slapper as it seems to be one of her haunts...
Could prove interesting, waddaya think?
Time for another snooze now, my dearest public. It is still very early in the morning. Speak again very soon.
Current mood: contemplative
Insomnia made me grab my new lapdog and log on: Good night, my readers!
I hope you are well.
I have had a very cultural week so far: went to see "Othello" at the Tobacco Factory on Wednesday and yesterday saw "Special" by Fecund at the Wickham.
Last time I was seen in a theatre it was the Rocky Horror Show in full (un)dress... not that I don't think that's not cultural but you get what I'm trying to say. Oh, and guess what was a recurring theme again? Yez...
I was well impressed by Othello, the cast was just superb and I felt quite emotional at the end. I should have tripped up that snake Iago when I had the chance! He came dashing in, passed me within inches... But then we wouldn't have had the play now, would we? It was a bit difficult to follow all for Janette Foreigner here (desperate for subtitles) but was reassured that the natives struggle with Shakespearean lingo as well; now there's a relief.
And yesterday I was really bowled over by "Special" by the Fecund Company.
Our local "what's on" guide announced this single performance as a cutting edge play about the ins and outs of modern sexuality with a spot of BDSM.
Now that sentence has several words in it that normally make me run a mile (and I absolutely loath running), "cutting edge" not the least of them. The term has been misused so many times to describe overblown arrogant arty wank it makes my hair stand on end. In this case it was a completely correct description and my guess an unintentional pun.
The set, the 2 actors, the music, everything gelled into this story of Extreme Love (and some was rather extreme believe me) and however odd it may seem, tenderness between the couple. It was all brought very chaste, there being no nudity at all. The female dominating character described now and again what she was fictitiously wearing; male equipment was represented by rubber specialist toys. This made it sort of childishly innocent as it worked it's way around the pitfalls of being regarded as caricature pornography. The audience was 80% students; my guess performing arts ones... you know the type, take themselves very serious. With berets and wispy beards. (The boys... of course). The student girl usher next to me laughed in all the wrong places which was really terribly annoying in a Beavis and Butthead way!
Afterwards there was a discussion between the director (John Keates), the 2 actors and the public. The students were very eager to ask all sorts of clever questions about the set up, the research, the music, the psychology,...
It made one thing clear: the Young Ones had completely missed the point of the play. But then they know nothing and everything, don't they?
I found it strangely touching and beautifully delivered and I'd go and see it again if it was on.
There! That's something I thought I would never say about modern theatre!
Now, tonight I'm going to the Louisiana for a spot of easier entertainment.
Countryside (a local band) is gigging and I'm taking my new pal Ian along. I do hope we don't bump into the Slapper as it seems to be one of her haunts...
Could prove interesting, waddaya think?
Time for another snooze now, my dearest public. It is still very early in the morning. Speak again very soon.
Monday, 14 September 2009
Tragic Love Stories and Shortage of Kleenex
Friday, March 02, 2007
mood: lonely
I am in a mood!
I hear you scream... What's new, oh Wondrous One?
Well, I find myself watching these films and the recurring theme seems to be very tragic love stories; in fact extremely tragic ones! And then I'm in floods needing loads of kleenex. Should I go on like this DuckTowers might submerge like a mini Atlantis and tissue prices will definitely rise, so buy yours now. You've been warned.
The other evening I watched "37,2 degrees le matin", better known as Betty Blue, one of my all time favourite films. So beautiful: the colours, the cinematography, the melancholy of the music, the story...
It is very funny in places as well but desperately tragic. My inner Betty definitely needs a Zorg!
Bring on that tequilla rapido. (slammers for those of you who haven't seen it).
Need to go to work now. This Blog To Be Continued Shortly...
mood: lonely
I am in a mood!I hear you scream... What's new, oh Wondrous One?
Well, I find myself watching these films and the recurring theme seems to be very tragic love stories; in fact extremely tragic ones! And then I'm in floods needing loads of kleenex. Should I go on like this DuckTowers might submerge like a mini Atlantis and tissue prices will definitely rise, so buy yours now. You've been warned.
The other evening I watched "37,2 degrees le matin", better known as Betty Blue, one of my all time favourite films. So beautiful: the colours, the cinematography, the melancholy of the music, the story...
It is very funny in places as well but desperately tragic. My inner Betty definitely needs a Zorg!
Bring on that tequilla rapido. (slammers for those of you who haven't seen it).Need to go to work now. This Blog To Be Continued Shortly...
currently listening: Betty Blue (Soundtrack) - Gabriel Yared
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Valentine's Day - take II
Thursday, February 15, 2007
mood: frustrated
Me hearties!
Comment ca va? Restaurant Owners, Shopkeepers and Flower Sellers all over the world are counting their cash today.
You wanna know about my V-day? Apart from having the little rant earlier to all loved up couples, because I'm flaming envious as hell...!
The night before, ExBoy prepared to go out probably with the Slapper, all dressed up in his new All Saints gear complete with gothic cross around his neck... Aaaaaaaargh! I tell you now it is the equivalent of a man in his late fifties treasuring a ponytail: very few can pull it off, if any!
Now listen to this: he left here around 7pm. I was then in my room on the bed, faffing around with my new laptop. Hah, forgot to tell you that one as well! That was my present from Exie for my birthday. Bloody amazing what a guilty conscience can provoke. Bring it on, Dahling! Mind you, he did buy me a Ducati (baby) Monster once, many moons ago when I was still considered shagable! But I seriously digress.
I could hear his van leaving only to return 15 minutes later. Anyway, I heared his car door slam.
"Oh effing great, he's back!"
Footsteps to the front door and a half hearted attempt at ringing the bell.
"Bloody great, probably forgot his keys!"
Now, I was in no hurry to go and open the door and by the time I did I heared the van leaving already. Guess what? A small bouquet of 5 yellow roses (from the garage forecourt) and a card are left in the entrance... I open the card which shows a sailor and his girl engaged in extreme snogging, card says "X?"
Lovely touch, eh?
Don't leave your ex-lover out on Valentine's Day just before you go and party with the brand new one! Can any of the male readers explain this to me? Because I don't get it; it just sends me in orbits of screaming murderous anger !!!! Wait! It gets even better...
Now, I had a plan for Valentine's Night itself the next day; no way was I going to stay at home with ExBoy around, no siree bob! Joe Public's announced a Valentine's Night for singles ages ago so I was hitting the tiles that night, dressed to kill. Anyway, showered and shaved, put my most recent little black dress (LBD) on which is very decent but also ever so slightly kinky and a UK size 8 (I know, dahlings...), very nice black tights (with an oversized fishnet pattern, you get the picture) and black satin high heeled pumps with ankle strap. By then my food was ready, so I sat - very civilized- at the dinning table with a nice glass of wine, to eat.
ExBoy comes home.
Remember readers, atmosphere = rather frosty.
"Hello, how are you? You look very nice? Nice tights."
Not much response, I was eating after all. He disappeared in his room only to return with a present (looked like a book) and very jolly said "Happy Valentines'" whilst he handed it to me.
I very nearly choked on my food!
I could NOT believe he just said what he did and just sat there, shaking. And then I felt the tears coming pricking.
"you contemptuous bastard!" I managed and got up, put my plate in the kitchen and disappeared in my room where I could have a good cry in private.
His penny then dropped how lovely and sensitive his gesture was. Talk about putting the knife in and twisting it a bit!
There I was, dabbing my weepy face with a cold wet flanel. High time to put the make up on! And full on it was too. Not bad at all but I really felt like taking everything off and go to bed. But no way, I wasn't going to give in. I put my little vintage Gaultier jeans jacket on which looks like a corset type thingy, my furry red scarf, grey coat and red leather gloves. Handbag, mobile, keys... yes, ready to go. He did come out to apologize and comment on how good I looked.
"Good" I thought "you can think I have a hot date!" and left, cursing him under my breath.
I took a taxi to JP's as these shoes are no walking shoes. Christ, I have higher ones that are far more comfortable than these but they work the look, you know?
Taxi dropped me off. And here the embarrasment really started. Oh, I am not going to go into extensive detail, it's too excruciating.
I shared a bit of a joke with the door men before descending and realized upon entering that the place was empty apart from the staff. Right, someone has to be the first one, I kept telling myself before ordering half a Staro and quickly disappearing into the corner of one of the boot type seating arrangements. Beer went far too quick.
"I know, I'll go and get 2 beers this time; pretend to be with a friend who is about to arrive."
Which I did. And bantered to the staff there were more of them than guests...haha. How we laughed.
Back to my little corner, two beers on the table. Hey, I had this sussed. At least it would save me another excruciating walk up to the bar when my beer was finished again.
Next, I'm watching the bleedin' football on the entertainment system! Now, I have to be bored out of my skull to do that.
Things were not looking good. Oh my God, and I had to stay there because I was wearing the wrong shoes for a wander.
And going back home was not an option; he could think I got stood up.
People started to arrive in little groups. Now I really feel self conscious...
Mobile phone! Saviour of many an embarrassing moment.
Pretend to ring your friends. Switch off the ring tone, so it doesn't do so in the middle of your pretended conversation (yes, remember this rather important one!!!!)
Text your friends. Who?
Previous date you were here with, he would understand. Maybe.
So I did in my usual exaggerated style.
"Now this is fun! Gone 2 singles nite on VD & only 1 there! Ppl strt 2 arrive in grps jst as u r about 2 drink all 5 beers u ordered - so staff wudn't think u r a lonely saddo... Pls tell m it gets bttr or shall I hang mself now? x "
And then things got really weird.
The four people sitting together next to me; 2 women, 2 blokes, started to introduce themselves to each other. But ... they came in together and sat there chatting for 15 minutes already?!?
Duo's of really out of place men were standing around looking shifty,.. What was going on here? Speed dating group on the loose in the real world?
I had to get out of there.
So I grabbed my stuff and made a dash for the exit. I walked home slowly, to kill time. And because of the shoes of course. By 11pm I very quietly sneaked in, ExBoy never heared me as he had gone to his bed in the spare bedroom and that was that.
I did get a text message back from the lovely N. informing me he was in Barcelona (the swine) and advising me to drink all the beer at once and misbehave promptly. By then I was nicely tucked up in bed.
Right, that's it then.
No more going out to save myself from excruciating situations like this.
It'll be shouting at the tv next!
mood: frustrated
Me hearties!
Comment ca va? Restaurant Owners, Shopkeepers and Flower Sellers all over the world are counting their cash today.
You wanna know about my V-day? Apart from having the little rant earlier to all loved up couples, because I'm flaming envious as hell...!
The night before, ExBoy prepared to go out probably with the Slapper, all dressed up in his new All Saints gear complete with gothic cross around his neck... Aaaaaaaargh! I tell you now it is the equivalent of a man in his late fifties treasuring a ponytail: very few can pull it off, if any!
Now listen to this: he left here around 7pm. I was then in my room on the bed, faffing around with my new laptop. Hah, forgot to tell you that one as well! That was my present from Exie for my birthday. Bloody amazing what a guilty conscience can provoke. Bring it on, Dahling! Mind you, he did buy me a Ducati (baby) Monster once, many moons ago when I was still considered shagable! But I seriously digress.
I could hear his van leaving only to return 15 minutes later. Anyway, I heared his car door slam.
"Oh effing great, he's back!"
Footsteps to the front door and a half hearted attempt at ringing the bell.
"Bloody great, probably forgot his keys!"
Now, I was in no hurry to go and open the door and by the time I did I heared the van leaving already. Guess what? A small bouquet of 5 yellow roses (from the garage forecourt) and a card are left in the entrance... I open the card which shows a sailor and his girl engaged in extreme snogging, card says "X?"
Lovely touch, eh?
Don't leave your ex-lover out on Valentine's Day just before you go and party with the brand new one! Can any of the male readers explain this to me? Because I don't get it; it just sends me in orbits of screaming murderous anger !!!! Wait! It gets even better...
Now, I had a plan for Valentine's Night itself the next day; no way was I going to stay at home with ExBoy around, no siree bob! Joe Public's announced a Valentine's Night for singles ages ago so I was hitting the tiles that night, dressed to kill. Anyway, showered and shaved, put my most recent little black dress (LBD) on which is very decent but also ever so slightly kinky and a UK size 8 (I know, dahlings...), very nice black tights (with an oversized fishnet pattern, you get the picture) and black satin high heeled pumps with ankle strap. By then my food was ready, so I sat - very civilized- at the dinning table with a nice glass of wine, to eat.
ExBoy comes home.
Remember readers, atmosphere = rather frosty.
"Hello, how are you? You look very nice? Nice tights."
Not much response, I was eating after all. He disappeared in his room only to return with a present (looked like a book) and very jolly said "Happy Valentines'" whilst he handed it to me.
I very nearly choked on my food!
I could NOT believe he just said what he did and just sat there, shaking. And then I felt the tears coming pricking.
"you contemptuous bastard!" I managed and got up, put my plate in the kitchen and disappeared in my room where I could have a good cry in private.
His penny then dropped how lovely and sensitive his gesture was. Talk about putting the knife in and twisting it a bit!
There I was, dabbing my weepy face with a cold wet flanel. High time to put the make up on! And full on it was too. Not bad at all but I really felt like taking everything off and go to bed. But no way, I wasn't going to give in. I put my little vintage Gaultier jeans jacket on which looks like a corset type thingy, my furry red scarf, grey coat and red leather gloves. Handbag, mobile, keys... yes, ready to go. He did come out to apologize and comment on how good I looked.
"Good" I thought "you can think I have a hot date!" and left, cursing him under my breath.
I took a taxi to JP's as these shoes are no walking shoes. Christ, I have higher ones that are far more comfortable than these but they work the look, you know?
Taxi dropped me off. And here the embarrasment really started. Oh, I am not going to go into extensive detail, it's too excruciating.
I shared a bit of a joke with the door men before descending and realized upon entering that the place was empty apart from the staff. Right, someone has to be the first one, I kept telling myself before ordering half a Staro and quickly disappearing into the corner of one of the boot type seating arrangements. Beer went far too quick.
"I know, I'll go and get 2 beers this time; pretend to be with a friend who is about to arrive."
Which I did. And bantered to the staff there were more of them than guests...haha. How we laughed.
Back to my little corner, two beers on the table. Hey, I had this sussed. At least it would save me another excruciating walk up to the bar when my beer was finished again.
Next, I'm watching the bleedin' football on the entertainment system! Now, I have to be bored out of my skull to do that.
Things were not looking good. Oh my God, and I had to stay there because I was wearing the wrong shoes for a wander.
And going back home was not an option; he could think I got stood up.
People started to arrive in little groups. Now I really feel self conscious...
Mobile phone! Saviour of many an embarrassing moment.
Pretend to ring your friends. Switch off the ring tone, so it doesn't do so in the middle of your pretended conversation (yes, remember this rather important one!!!!)
Text your friends. Who?
Previous date you were here with, he would understand. Maybe.
So I did in my usual exaggerated style.
"Now this is fun! Gone 2 singles nite on VD & only 1 there! Ppl strt 2 arrive in grps jst as u r about 2 drink all 5 beers u ordered - so staff wudn't think u r a lonely saddo... Pls tell m it gets bttr or shall I hang mself now? x "
And then things got really weird.
The four people sitting together next to me; 2 women, 2 blokes, started to introduce themselves to each other. But ... they came in together and sat there chatting for 15 minutes already?!?
Duo's of really out of place men were standing around looking shifty,.. What was going on here? Speed dating group on the loose in the real world?
I had to get out of there.
So I grabbed my stuff and made a dash for the exit. I walked home slowly, to kill time. And because of the shoes of course. By 11pm I very quietly sneaked in, ExBoy never heared me as he had gone to his bed in the spare bedroom and that was that.
I did get a text message back from the lovely N. informing me he was in Barcelona (the swine) and advising me to drink all the beer at once and misbehave promptly. By then I was nicely tucked up in bed.
Right, that's it then.
No more going out to save myself from excruciating situations like this.
It'll be shouting at the tv next!
Valentine's Day
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
mood: bitchy
Hello all you nauseating sweethearts out there!
Today I hate your guts, smooching and holding hands, giving each other presents, going for a meal, living and loving in your little bubble...
Just hope the day never comes that the one you want doesn't want you anymore. That the one you want wants someone else. Whoever said "to have loved and lost is better than to have never loved at all" was talking through their sorry arse! Full on rejection? I wouldn't even wish it upon my worst enemy as it eats your heart, your brain, your whole being.
Correction, I wish it upon the two that gave me this poisonous present. Maybe then they would understand "l'Enfer, c'est les autres".
Happy fucking Valentine's Day!
currently listening: Black Holes and Revelations - Muse
mood: bitchy
Hello all you nauseating sweethearts out there!
Today I hate your guts, smooching and holding hands, giving each other presents, going for a meal, living and loving in your little bubble...
Just hope the day never comes that the one you want doesn't want you anymore. That the one you want wants someone else. Whoever said "to have loved and lost is better than to have never loved at all" was talking through their sorry arse! Full on rejection? I wouldn't even wish it upon my worst enemy as it eats your heart, your brain, your whole being.
Correction, I wish it upon the two that gave me this poisonous present. Maybe then they would understand "l'Enfer, c'est les autres".
Happy fucking Valentine's Day!
currently listening: Black Holes and Revelations - Muse
Thursday, 10 September 2009
countdown
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Current mood: crushed
hi there? anyone?
7 days till my 44th birthday... I am so dreading this!!!
For the first time in very long there will be no loved one to make me a cup of tea in the morning, no birthday kisses, hopefully some cards from family and friends, no presents or flowers - unless I go and buy for myself, no one that takes me out for a slap up meal - unless, yes you get the gist,... But I just found the silver lining on the cloud: I can drink the whole bottle of champagne all by myself!
Things to do before my birthday:
1. make voodoo doll with her hair found during cleaning up the flat. Stick loads of pins in very painful places, then stamp on it, quarter and draw. And spit on what is left. Leave to slowly disintegrate. With maggots!
2. book expensive hairdresser for glam haircut on Exie's credit card - if I can find it
3. be picked up & snogged by a boy half my age , then send him home to mummy because he's too boring to play with
4. find an attractive, funny, tender and mature man (note to self: affluent preferably) who takes me to Thornbury Castle for birthday dinner and I wouldn't mind breakfast either - but that's pushing my luck, any non chain restaurant worth it's foie gras will do... OK, he can cook it himself (knowing my luck that will be beans on toast then,..) Don't care, as long as I don't have to wash the dishes. I'll even bring the champagne myself! (bottle nr 2 by then, I suspect)... Christ, I better stop here as my standards are getting so low I'll be booking an escort next...
5. find religion and retreat out of this love forlorn world? if only I didn't hate sandals that much, and robes,... and extreme religion for that matter. Maybe start my own? Too short notice, I think.
6. win lottery, throw ginormous party then swan off to New York to buy new shoes and then to Paris for a dirty weekend with excellent food and some lingerie shopping
This is perking me up no end. I am a woman of small pleasures, me...
currently listening: Hank Williams - 40 Greatest Hits by Hank Williams
Current mood: crushed
hi there? anyone?
7 days till my 44th birthday... I am so dreading this!!!
For the first time in very long there will be no loved one to make me a cup of tea in the morning, no birthday kisses, hopefully some cards from family and friends, no presents or flowers - unless I go and buy for myself, no one that takes me out for a slap up meal - unless, yes you get the gist,... But I just found the silver lining on the cloud: I can drink the whole bottle of champagne all by myself!
Things to do before my birthday:
1. make voodoo doll with her hair found during cleaning up the flat. Stick loads of pins in very painful places, then stamp on it, quarter and draw. And spit on what is left. Leave to slowly disintegrate. With maggots!
2. book expensive hairdresser for glam haircut on Exie's credit card - if I can find it
3. be picked up & snogged by a boy half my age , then send him home to mummy because he's too boring to play with
4. find an attractive, funny, tender and mature man (note to self: affluent preferably) who takes me to Thornbury Castle for birthday dinner and I wouldn't mind breakfast either - but that's pushing my luck, any non chain restaurant worth it's foie gras will do... OK, he can cook it himself (knowing my luck that will be beans on toast then,..) Don't care, as long as I don't have to wash the dishes. I'll even bring the champagne myself! (bottle nr 2 by then, I suspect)... Christ, I better stop here as my standards are getting so low I'll be booking an escort next...
5. find religion and retreat out of this love forlorn world? if only I didn't hate sandals that much, and robes,... and extreme religion for that matter. Maybe start my own? Too short notice, I think.
6. win lottery, throw ginormous party then swan off to New York to buy new shoes and then to Paris for a dirty weekend with excellent food and some lingerie shopping
This is perking me up no end. I am a woman of small pleasures, me...
currently listening: Hank Williams - 40 Greatest Hits by Hank Williams
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Internet dating - take 1
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Now, me hartees....
I know that you can't contain your curiosity any longer... but remember: it killed the cat, skinned it and served it up as rabbit.
Back in Bristol and I do like it here apart from having to live half of the week with Ex Boy around (or not as it might be as his social life seems to be quite busy, thank god). Now I can say a lot about his new bit of stuff but a scrubber she's not, and I mean that as in "cleaning" of course. What DID you think? 3 months of absence means 3 months of undisplaced dust and accumulated dirt.
Oh and guess what? Exie picked up smoking again, preferably big fat Havana's when I walk in. Think he's trying to make a point? - Excuse me for breathing, dahling! -
Enough ranting... I know what you really want to know: HOW DID THAT DATE GO?
Well... (drum roll)... very uncomplicated, thank you.
That's a bit of a come down, isn't it? Le coup de foudre it was not! He was very lovely and whoever snatches him up has a good one. I will say more: whoever messes with this boy has me to answer to as he is of that rare breed: sensitive, thoughtful, very funny and won't crack a mirror either. I hear you ask: but why not snaffle him up for yourself, oh wondrous one? One word, dear audience, R.E.S.P.E.C.T.
Now let me take you through the events of that evening: shower and shave (it's called grooming in lady talk) pondering what to wear. Decided on understated casual chic: skinny jeans, little black leather Gucci jacket (fake but made to measure) and my new pink booties finished with a dash of Jean Paul Gaultier perfume. I did wear my rather nice new undies - one never knows how lucky one might get, and if not lucky, one should have been, hah! - Time to apply the proverbial war paint whilst sipping a small glass of red.
Now, readers, I'm not very good at this make up malark and should stay well away of applying it in the company of some red vino but as it happens the lucky stars were upon me and I looked rather passable. I think.
Hair was given that "just out of bed" look and slowly the nerves started creeping up on me. What had I gotten myself into? A couple of weeks of emailing and I set out to meet this man. I must be bleeding bonkers! I did establish him not being an axe murderer or spotty yoof but forgot the possibility of a Hannibal Lecter and he did write he liked food... oh God...
Whilst I was putting on a scarf, to match the booties and ward off the cold, Exie peeked around the corner "Where you going? And who with?" I'll spare you the plethora of expletive 4 letter words that I wanted to vent and as a polite girl left the premises with a cool "none of your business". Bloody cheek!
Anyway, there I am strutting my stuff along Whiteladies Road towards Joe Public's to the tunes of Novastar (check him out!) on the iPod which sounded rather appropriate.
I love Joe Public's, it's a top place and one a girl is not too self conscious of entering on her own. Quick glance in the mirrors as I descended the stairs - yup, definitely passable - and I pushed open the doors, heart beating in my throat. Off with the pod.
Why, oh why do I put myself in excruciating situations like this?...Nobody there but the barmaid! Great, I'm early!
No, he's late!
Bloody great indeed; how to look cool when you're eagerly waiting for a man? Ordered half of Staro whilst halfhearted chatting to the girl. Better to go and powder my nose (not Pulp Fiction style, thank you), kill another 30 seconds. Back to pick up my drink from the bar only to see my date appear from around the corner... He was already there! Sitting down in the first little boothlike space like the good boy he is. Smiles all around for my dizziness.
Anyway we dropped ourselves in the aircraft seats and very pleasant conversation ensued. He was very softly spoken which was a bit hard with the music blasting out. I probably was too loud as usual, a habit from living with a half deaf man for 9 years.
And no, lightning did not hit, sadly.
Not that anything was wrong, I tell you! Au contraire, mes amis: here was a fine specimen of male hood, the one those magazines rave about, but I already told you that. Now why is that I ask you? Can it just be lack of pheromones? Are we as shallow as that?
We moved to another place on the Triangle and went on chatting happily and suddenly it was time to go home. There was a bit of an awkward moment at the street corner as to how to say our goodbyes - nooooo, you cheeky monkeys, no kissing! Although it's a very continental thing to do, peck on the cheek, quoi... and we both went our lonely ways.
Now, for me, I would be sad to loose all contact as he's a decent guy and the emailing made me smile. And there might be that odd occasion (private view sort of thing) where a girl is supposed to show up with someone. Maybe he can be convinced to playing a bit of gratuitous arm candy? Then again probably not...
Voila, c'est tout! Au revoir, mes choux!
Currently listening: Best Is Yet to Come/Wrong by Novastar
Now, me hartees....
I know that you can't contain your curiosity any longer... but remember: it killed the cat, skinned it and served it up as rabbit.
Back in Bristol and I do like it here apart from having to live half of the week with Ex Boy around (or not as it might be as his social life seems to be quite busy, thank god). Now I can say a lot about his new bit of stuff but a scrubber she's not, and I mean that as in "cleaning" of course. What DID you think? 3 months of absence means 3 months of undisplaced dust and accumulated dirt.
Oh and guess what? Exie picked up smoking again, preferably big fat Havana's when I walk in. Think he's trying to make a point? - Excuse me for breathing, dahling! -
Enough ranting... I know what you really want to know: HOW DID THAT DATE GO?
Well... (drum roll)... very uncomplicated, thank you.
That's a bit of a come down, isn't it? Le coup de foudre it was not! He was very lovely and whoever snatches him up has a good one. I will say more: whoever messes with this boy has me to answer to as he is of that rare breed: sensitive, thoughtful, very funny and won't crack a mirror either. I hear you ask: but why not snaffle him up for yourself, oh wondrous one? One word, dear audience, R.E.S.P.E.C.T.
Now let me take you through the events of that evening: shower and shave (it's called grooming in lady talk) pondering what to wear. Decided on understated casual chic: skinny jeans, little black leather Gucci jacket (fake but made to measure) and my new pink booties finished with a dash of Jean Paul Gaultier perfume. I did wear my rather nice new undies - one never knows how lucky one might get, and if not lucky, one should have been, hah! - Time to apply the proverbial war paint whilst sipping a small glass of red.
Now, readers, I'm not very good at this make up malark and should stay well away of applying it in the company of some red vino but as it happens the lucky stars were upon me and I looked rather passable. I think.
Hair was given that "just out of bed" look and slowly the nerves started creeping up on me. What had I gotten myself into? A couple of weeks of emailing and I set out to meet this man. I must be bleeding bonkers! I did establish him not being an axe murderer or spotty yoof but forgot the possibility of a Hannibal Lecter and he did write he liked food... oh God...
Whilst I was putting on a scarf, to match the booties and ward off the cold, Exie peeked around the corner "Where you going? And who with?" I'll spare you the plethora of expletive 4 letter words that I wanted to vent and as a polite girl left the premises with a cool "none of your business". Bloody cheek!
Anyway, there I am strutting my stuff along Whiteladies Road towards Joe Public's to the tunes of Novastar (check him out!) on the iPod which sounded rather appropriate.
I love Joe Public's, it's a top place and one a girl is not too self conscious of entering on her own. Quick glance in the mirrors as I descended the stairs - yup, definitely passable - and I pushed open the doors, heart beating in my throat. Off with the pod.
Why, oh why do I put myself in excruciating situations like this?...Nobody there but the barmaid! Great, I'm early!
No, he's late!
Bloody great indeed; how to look cool when you're eagerly waiting for a man? Ordered half of Staro whilst halfhearted chatting to the girl. Better to go and powder my nose (not Pulp Fiction style, thank you), kill another 30 seconds. Back to pick up my drink from the bar only to see my date appear from around the corner... He was already there! Sitting down in the first little boothlike space like the good boy he is. Smiles all around for my dizziness.
Anyway we dropped ourselves in the aircraft seats and very pleasant conversation ensued. He was very softly spoken which was a bit hard with the music blasting out. I probably was too loud as usual, a habit from living with a half deaf man for 9 years.
And no, lightning did not hit, sadly.
Not that anything was wrong, I tell you! Au contraire, mes amis: here was a fine specimen of male hood, the one those magazines rave about, but I already told you that. Now why is that I ask you? Can it just be lack of pheromones? Are we as shallow as that?
We moved to another place on the Triangle and went on chatting happily and suddenly it was time to go home. There was a bit of an awkward moment at the street corner as to how to say our goodbyes - nooooo, you cheeky monkeys, no kissing! Although it's a very continental thing to do, peck on the cheek, quoi... and we both went our lonely ways.
Now, for me, I would be sad to loose all contact as he's a decent guy and the emailing made me smile. And there might be that odd occasion (private view sort of thing) where a girl is supposed to show up with someone. Maybe he can be convinced to playing a bit of gratuitous arm candy? Then again probably not...
Voila, c'est tout! Au revoir, mes choux!
Currently listening: Best Is Yet to Come/Wrong by Novastar
Monday, 7 September 2009
New shoes and things
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Current mood: flirty
Hello my lovelies,
It is I, your favourite ranting Belgian.
Life's on the up I think. I will return to Bristol on the 5th of January and people are queuing up to come and collect me from the airport. Isn't that nice?
I even have a date lined up... I haven't stopped grinning!
I probably will start work as soon as possible as unfortunately I did not win the lottery during my 3 months off sick. That myth of "unlucky in gambling, must be lucky in love and the reverse"?
NOT TRUE!!!
Now, Christmas has come and gone. I hope you all had a good one.
Mine was slightly subdued as can be expected but the food on Christmas eve was superb thanks to Mum. Unfortunately she seems to be allergic to Christmas decorations, there wasn't a pine needle in sight let alone an inch of tinsel... Frankly, it could have been any old night with the family.
My dad was his impeccable Sommelier self, bringing out bottles of champagne, red wine etc... from his cave. Yum.
My sis and her hubby were there as well, without the girls as they had to go to their dad. And I got completely sozzled on the calvados by the coffee... wearing my new T shirt sis thoughtfully bought me, in black with gold letters: "If your rich, I'm single."
Mum thought the joke in very bad taste, I loved it, but then I'm warped.
I also got the most luscious pink mock crock high heeled booties, very pointy and silver lined... Thank you, oh Divine Santa! Under a pair of skinny jeans? Very very gorgeous. (I love that word!)
I might wear them on my date, now there's a thought...
And... I also found myself in the "olde undie shoppe" browsing for frilly knickers, lacy bras and corsets. Now either spring is early, or life is definitely on the up... haha.
So, mes amis, tonight we're gonna drown that 2006 in champagne, eat loads of politically not correct food like foie gras, toast the new year in and be very merry.
Unfortunately there will be no snogging...
One cannot have everything! SANTE! xxx
Currently listening: Boots By Nancy Sinatra
Current mood: flirty
Hello my lovelies,
It is I, your favourite ranting Belgian.
Life's on the up I think. I will return to Bristol on the 5th of January and people are queuing up to come and collect me from the airport. Isn't that nice?
I even have a date lined up... I haven't stopped grinning!
I probably will start work as soon as possible as unfortunately I did not win the lottery during my 3 months off sick. That myth of "unlucky in gambling, must be lucky in love and the reverse"?
NOT TRUE!!!
Now, Christmas has come and gone. I hope you all had a good one.
Mine was slightly subdued as can be expected but the food on Christmas eve was superb thanks to Mum. Unfortunately she seems to be allergic to Christmas decorations, there wasn't a pine needle in sight let alone an inch of tinsel... Frankly, it could have been any old night with the family.
My dad was his impeccable Sommelier self, bringing out bottles of champagne, red wine etc... from his cave. Yum.
My sis and her hubby were there as well, without the girls as they had to go to their dad. And I got completely sozzled on the calvados by the coffee... wearing my new T shirt sis thoughtfully bought me, in black with gold letters: "If your rich, I'm single."
Mum thought the joke in very bad taste, I loved it, but then I'm warped.
I also got the most luscious pink mock crock high heeled booties, very pointy and silver lined... Thank you, oh Divine Santa! Under a pair of skinny jeans? Very very gorgeous. (I love that word!)
I might wear them on my date, now there's a thought...
And... I also found myself in the "olde undie shoppe" browsing for frilly knickers, lacy bras and corsets. Now either spring is early, or life is definitely on the up... haha.
So, mes amis, tonight we're gonna drown that 2006 in champagne, eat loads of politically not correct food like foie gras, toast the new year in and be very merry.
Unfortunately there will be no snogging...
One cannot have everything! SANTE! xxx
Currently listening: Boots By Nancy Sinatra
oh dear...
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Hi there young & old fogeys,
Christmas is upon us; it's not good from where I'm sitting!
Too many memories, too much melancholy spiced with hints of bitterness like top class chocolate & ginger. Wouldn't mind if I had been to Vegas and lost it all on my own account but to have it taken away by the Other One; only to see it being given to someone else... "murderous" is not the spirit of the season. In stead I will contemplate the bottom side of the stone I have been banished back under to.
Zen rules!
Now bloody bring that champagne & a better mood... Veuve Cliquot rules!
... pfffffffff.... that's better; all I need now is a new pair of shoes.
currently listening: Breakfast in Vegas By Praga Kahn
Hi there young & old fogeys,
Christmas is upon us; it's not good from where I'm sitting!
Too many memories, too much melancholy spiced with hints of bitterness like top class chocolate & ginger. Wouldn't mind if I had been to Vegas and lost it all on my own account but to have it taken away by the Other One; only to see it being given to someone else... "murderous" is not the spirit of the season. In stead I will contemplate the bottom side of the stone I have been banished back under to.
Zen rules!
Now bloody bring that champagne & a better mood... Veuve Cliquot rules!
... pfffffffff.... that's better; all I need now is a new pair of shoes.
currently listening: Breakfast in Vegas By Praga Kahn
't Is the Merry Season, no shit!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Mmmm, hello...? Yup, I guessed... nobody...
Never mind; means I can vent my spleen without holding back.
Things are a lot better health wise, thank you very much. SheDoc has declared me fit for life again, scarred but perfectly formed (huh). I can return to Old Blighty to reboot my life early 2007.
Tonight is the 1st anniversary of the fact that Bloke of My Life felt the need to get passionate with a 20 year younger scrawny slut (well, frankly, what would you call someone who did it to you? The scrawny bit is just a fact.)
Why, I hear you ask? Well, his father died that day and "things just happened". He then quietly carried on with his "affair" until I found out (of course) after 6 months by finding her sordid (and frankly, weird) little texts on his mobile (and don't come telling me that YOU wouldn't check when suspecting shit upcreek... oh yes, you bloody do!!!).
After which he declared this to be "love" since there was "no passion left" between us, but (he) would "love me forever".
EXCUSE ME?
I beg your fucking pardon?
What part of LOVE do I not get here?
Am I wrong in assuming that in his middle aged male vanity, he has not grasped the difference between love and a pants full of lust?
I so would like to write on his card which I'm sending from abroad: "BALLS FOR CHRISTMAS" (picture of pink Xmas balls on the front)!
Unfortunately, I'm a nice person. I shall wish upon him an unbearable itch and a very short arm instead. He'd better start looking for that doll now...
Suggestions for bittersweet and hilarious revenge are happily accepted.
Voodoo rules!
I am going to drown this anniversary in some appropriately named Veuve Cliquot. Oh, and by the way, if you are male, rich and funny; I'm single!
Merry Christmas to you all! xxx
PS: I'm sorry for swearing.
currently listening : Herniated Jingle Balls By John Valby
Mmmm, hello...? Yup, I guessed... nobody...
Never mind; means I can vent my spleen without holding back.
Things are a lot better health wise, thank you very much. SheDoc has declared me fit for life again, scarred but perfectly formed (huh). I can return to Old Blighty to reboot my life early 2007.
Tonight is the 1st anniversary of the fact that Bloke of My Life felt the need to get passionate with a 20 year younger scrawny slut (well, frankly, what would you call someone who did it to you? The scrawny bit is just a fact.)
Why, I hear you ask? Well, his father died that day and "things just happened". He then quietly carried on with his "affair" until I found out (of course) after 6 months by finding her sordid (and frankly, weird) little texts on his mobile (and don't come telling me that YOU wouldn't check when suspecting shit upcreek... oh yes, you bloody do!!!).
After which he declared this to be "love" since there was "no passion left" between us, but (he) would "love me forever".
EXCUSE ME?
I beg your fucking pardon?
What part of LOVE do I not get here?
Am I wrong in assuming that in his middle aged male vanity, he has not grasped the difference between love and a pants full of lust?
I so would like to write on his card which I'm sending from abroad: "BALLS FOR CHRISTMAS" (picture of pink Xmas balls on the front)!
Unfortunately, I'm a nice person. I shall wish upon him an unbearable itch and a very short arm instead. He'd better start looking for that doll now...
Suggestions for bittersweet and hilarious revenge are happily accepted.
Voodoo rules!
I am going to drown this anniversary in some appropriately named Veuve Cliquot. Oh, and by the way, if you are male, rich and funny; I'm single!
Merry Christmas to you all! xxx
PS: I'm sorry for swearing.
currently listening : Herniated Jingle Balls By John Valby
As I went a-visiting..
Monday, December 04, 2006
Hi all.
First a big thanks to all of you who sent me a card, it was quite overwhelming... and some caused very painful chuckles! Thank you for that! Anyway, back from the pitts, boys and girls!
As we say in Belgium "nothing as hard to kill as weeds".
Almost 2 months ago I departed from Blighty for a 6 day visit to the old home country (la Belgique) with a stinking cold I couldn't shed. Same night I was shoved in a scanner, X-rayed until I lit up in the dark, attached to several drips and stuffed in a most uncomfortable bed after a home visiting doc sent me to A&E. Under utmost protests: "I'm only here for 6 days and not planning to spend them in a bleeding hospital" I met my torturers of the coming weeks, the pneumothorax specialists. (diagnose: pneumonia with extreme complications or empyema for short).
One of them promptly wanted to put a drain in my back to syphon off the fluid (painful!…) with no result. Two days of extreme antibiotics later, the delectable doctor tried again, same result.
Scans, X-rays, prodding and poking for a week and the learned buggers (they multiplied, I was interestingly rare) started mentioning "operation". By then my resistance had melted away as I was too far gone for protests.
The morning of the 25th of October 2006 I got my dashing outfit: a half-open gown with my bottom hanging out (when I still had a bottom!) and a pair of lovely white self upholding stockings (against thrombosis…) – Gwen Stefani, eat your heart out! I was wheeled off in my bed, waving to the grinning nurses on the department; the swine! They knew, oh yes, they knew...
Then it all went rather fast.
Into theatre; introduction to the anaesthetist – aha, I remember thinking: the drug dealer, and about bloody time as well – administering of epidural (ouch, flippin' ouch) and after that… oblivion.
That afternoon, I woke in a morphine daze only to mention utmost rubbish to my loving family visiting me in intensive care - it was the drugs talking, your honour, good stuff too!
Now when I say I'm squeamish, I MEAN squeamish!
And there I was, attached to a gazillion gadgets, drips and drains. All quietly bleeping away; until I moved and then there was always one thing that went off in an alarmingly ear piercing ( and migraine inducing) tweet. AAAAAAAAArgh! Surely I was going to see that light at the end of that tunnel at any minute shortly........
But no, 6 days of intensive care and 2 projectile vomit inducing migraines later, they removed one of my lung drains (and some other attachments you don't want to know about) and prepared me to go back to my normal room on the thoracic ward.
Hi all.
First a big thanks to all of you who sent me a card, it was quite overwhelming... and some caused very painful chuckles! Thank you for that! Anyway, back from the pitts, boys and girls!
As we say in Belgium "nothing as hard to kill as weeds".
Almost 2 months ago I departed from Blighty for a 6 day visit to the old home country (la Belgique) with a stinking cold I couldn't shed. Same night I was shoved in a scanner, X-rayed until I lit up in the dark, attached to several drips and stuffed in a most uncomfortable bed after a home visiting doc sent me to A&E. Under utmost protests: "I'm only here for 6 days and not planning to spend them in a bleeding hospital" I met my torturers of the coming weeks, the pneumothorax specialists. (diagnose: pneumonia with extreme complications or empyema for short).
One of them promptly wanted to put a drain in my back to syphon off the fluid (painful!…) with no result. Two days of extreme antibiotics later, the delectable doctor tried again, same result.
Scans, X-rays, prodding and poking for a week and the learned buggers (they multiplied, I was interestingly rare) started mentioning "operation". By then my resistance had melted away as I was too far gone for protests.
The morning of the 25th of October 2006 I got my dashing outfit: a half-open gown with my bottom hanging out (when I still had a bottom!) and a pair of lovely white self upholding stockings (against thrombosis…) – Gwen Stefani, eat your heart out! I was wheeled off in my bed, waving to the grinning nurses on the department; the swine! They knew, oh yes, they knew...
Then it all went rather fast.
Into theatre; introduction to the anaesthetist – aha, I remember thinking: the drug dealer, and about bloody time as well – administering of epidural (ouch, flippin' ouch) and after that… oblivion.
That afternoon, I woke in a morphine daze only to mention utmost rubbish to my loving family visiting me in intensive care - it was the drugs talking, your honour, good stuff too!
Now when I say I'm squeamish, I MEAN squeamish!And there I was, attached to a gazillion gadgets, drips and drains. All quietly bleeping away; until I moved and then there was always one thing that went off in an alarmingly ear piercing ( and migraine inducing) tweet. AAAAAAAAArgh! Surely I was going to see that light at the end of that tunnel at any minute shortly........
But no, 6 days of intensive care and 2 projectile vomit inducing migraines later, they removed one of my lung drains (and some other attachments you don't want to know about) and prepared me to go back to my normal room on the thoracic ward.
Once back there, the whole nursing staff were taking the mickey "Not bad for one who was going to leave after 1 day" and "Can we see your scar? BLOODY HELL!" Told you they were swine!
More about the scar later, I promise.
Bit by bit, I was freed from my attachments (second lung drain, epidural, central line) - I was very sorry to let go of the self administering drug pump when the epidural was removed but, hey, the fun had to end somewhere...
I was also allowed to ditch the lovely white stockings. Then, half of the staples were removed and the wires of the drain holes, and a day later the other half of the staples. That day I walked out in great style, size zero (skeletal) on high heeled black fuck me boots; terribly slowly and breathless.
Now let me tell you, I feel extremely cheated!
There wasn't a handsome nurse in sight, let alone a bachelor doctor. Where is that bloody George Clooney when you need a bed bath ...
And to top it all, I now HAVE SEEN MY SCAR!!!
I kid you not: 30 cm ( a foot, for you non-metric people) around my left side!!!!!!
Yes, I know, it will be hidden by a nice bra but what about that romantic moment in future?
No more lights on for this girl, as I look like the magic trick gone wrong (you know: delectable assistant, box, big saw…)!
And what about my gorgeous dresses with bare back?
Charity shop or cardigan? Now there's a question I ask you!
More about the scar later, I promise.
Bit by bit, I was freed from my attachments (second lung drain, epidural, central line) - I was very sorry to let go of the self administering drug pump when the epidural was removed but, hey, the fun had to end somewhere...
I was also allowed to ditch the lovely white stockings. Then, half of the staples were removed and the wires of the drain holes, and a day later the other half of the staples. That day I walked out in great style, size zero (skeletal) on high heeled black fuck me boots; terribly slowly and breathless.
Now let me tell you, I feel extremely cheated!
There wasn't a handsome nurse in sight, let alone a bachelor doctor. Where is that bloody George Clooney when you need a bed bath ...
And to top it all, I now HAVE SEEN MY SCAR!!!
I kid you not: 30 cm ( a foot, for you non-metric people) around my left side!!!!!!
Yes, I know, it will be hidden by a nice bra but what about that romantic moment in future?
No more lights on for this girl, as I look like the magic trick gone wrong (you know: delectable assistant, box, big saw…)!
And what about my gorgeous dresses with bare back?
Charity shop or cardigan? Now there's a question I ask you!
How it started
Three years ago I was dying, literally.
I developed a rare lung condition after my own emotional Hiroshima. My body was shutting up shop, slowly but surely.
Three months I went fetal in solitude and cried my guts out on the floor of what was once known as home. Sleeping stopped. Eating stopped. En publique I learned to function on automatic. Only a handful of people knew what happened as I had to explain my zombielike behaviour.
I wished in the morning that it was evening already and vice versa. The emptiness was soul destroying.
I tried to make sense of it; it didn't.
I tried to make it right again; I failed.
This is not an account of a love gone wrong. That's the tedious, boring cliché. This is an account of what happened after, when I had to reconnect with the world.
Dying would have been the easy option.
(The following blog posts appeared in sequence on MySpace from December 2006 on)
I developed a rare lung condition after my own emotional Hiroshima. My body was shutting up shop, slowly but surely.
Three months I went fetal in solitude and cried my guts out on the floor of what was once known as home. Sleeping stopped. Eating stopped. En publique I learned to function on automatic. Only a handful of people knew what happened as I had to explain my zombielike behaviour.
I wished in the morning that it was evening already and vice versa. The emptiness was soul destroying.
I tried to make sense of it; it didn't.
I tried to make it right again; I failed.
This is not an account of a love gone wrong. That's the tedious, boring cliché. This is an account of what happened after, when I had to reconnect with the world.
Dying would have been the easy option.
(The following blog posts appeared in sequence on MySpace from December 2006 on)
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