Visa card versus 1500 miles

1. Since my mother can’t eat for the next two weeks or so, I thought I would send her something to smell instead; so, some random bunch of colourful flowers is on its way to her. I don’t think they smell of anything, because that doesn’t come into the description, but it looks pretty on the interflora site.

2. Do you know, blogfolks, that out of the bouquets and plants and flowers out there, the priciest ones are for funerals? I suppose people would feel too stingy and guilty not to shell out for a funeral. And it’s not like after the ceremony you feel like taking them home with you and use them as a centrepiece at dinner, or anything.

3. I’m finding that fact rather wrong, somehow. But then again; I’m feeling rather fragile at the moment, and I burst into tears typing the little note that gets stapled to the bouquet.

Blogpeople, do not think I have fallen asleep. Nevermind tangoing, I’ve been busy ..

…worrying about my mother, who’s had her jaw sawed up and rearranged in a different way. That was yesterday. It’s as scary as it sounds, but it’s a good thing. I think. Although I can’t see her, because she’s 2000 kilometres away and I’m here and it’s utterly useless being here when your mother is there having her face cut up, even if it’s by someone with a piece of paper that says he’s a qualified surgeon.

…hoping that she likes soup and compote and baby food, as she won’t be able to eat solids for the next three weeks.

…. churning things over and over in my mind, and not sleeping enough. Mostly.

Thank you for stopping by. Have you noticed it’s finally Spring? Hurrah. Be well.

Barely 70 % cocoa

Every year around the end of January, J sits me down for a serious chat – mostly to remind me that

1. Easter is just round the corner.
2. When it comes to chocolate, it’s not Quality, it’s Quantity.
3. to make sure he gets to live his Easter Experience to the fullest, he needs, in chronological order:

a. a practice egg about three (3) weeks prior to the actual event.
b. Another practice egg purchased by me to show my support.
c. The Proper Easter Egg (hint: quantity, not quality)
d. Any other egg I might be receiving in the course of my professional activity
e. The post- Easter egg(s), on sale at Woolworth’s.

The yearly Easter experience has now begun in the House of Y.

I’m here, under the tarpaulin

1. Blogpeople, I had a quasi-autistic weekend – ask my Special Lady Friend, she witnessed some of it, pobrecita. All I did was to sit on the sofa and stare straight ahead. At my book, mostly.
2. Today was bleak; it’s officially the last day of winter, I should be poised to step out of my wintery layers, like a butterfly out of its chrysalis! But I’m not; are you? It’s too goddamn cold. And bleak, did I mention bleak?
3. Also I believe I’m over informed. Perhaps I should stop listening to news reports in the morning; sometimes I have to sit down on the edge of the bath and cry some, you know. That can’t be a good way to start the day.
4. Therefore, This my new news source. Fakegaynews.com. Because real gay news is too damn depressing.

Christian Meteorologists Declare War on Rainbows
At a press conference following a White House luncheon with President Bush, lead scientist Bret Banger told reporters that his organization, Climatologists For Christ, had declared open season on the multi-colored spectrums of light as part of their commitment to eradicating “the homosexual lifestyle and all weather patterns that reflect it.”

iCrisis

1. The iPod pack includes those stretchy little foam covers that take about an hour to fit onto the ear pieces, but protection of my delicate ear canals deserves effort, and patience, a lot of patience. Yes! Got it. Lovely.
2. It takes Pancho the kitten under two seconds to remove the stretchy little foam cover, and to eat it. It’s obviously very tasty, if slightly chewy.
3. I have one left. Precious, precious stretchy little foam thing.
4. itunes won’t let me purchase tracks from the French store; the UK store doesn’t have what I want. Idiots. And then they wonder why people download music illegally? Should I be an Internet Highway(wo)man?
5. i'm annoyed.

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A is for aargh

1. A few years ago Charlie gave me a tshirt with the phrase ‘I have issues’ on the front. Even though that was before I started therapy, that was nothing new, therefore I wasn’t offended. I don’t wear it anymore, partly because my mother’s nicked it (I ‘m not 100% sure she gets the meaning of it, but it’s soft) and partly because it attracted the wrong kind of lesbians. The wrong kind for me, that is. I’m not into crisis seekers. Nope.

2. Still….Blogpeople, do you know what my problem is? I have a list of blogposts this long, all starting with ‘Blogpeople, do you know what my problem is?’ Ad infinitum.

In the series, ‘blogpeople, do you know what my problem is?’, tonight’s is: I’m competitive and I don’t like it. It’s a poison.

3. For example, let me tell you about my Spanish class. It’s my blog anyway, I can do whatever I want. I love my Spanish class! Especially since the only contender I had for top of the class has dropped out three weeks ago (and I have had no hand in that disappearance whatsoever.) Anyway, I have my final exam next week, until then I’ll be getting a rash, and if I don’t get ‘sobresaliente 2’, I’ll probably vomit.


4. In my first year of primary school, I carefully selected the boy from my class that I could spend the rest of the year having a crush on. The (unspoken) criteria were: a) he had to have cute hair b) but not as cute as mine c) he had to run the fastest d) but I had to run faster e) he had to have the best grades in the year group f) but not as good as mine.
I must have been a right pain in the ass; and the boy with the cutest hair turned out to be the class dunce anyway.

5. What’s the antidote for competitiveness? A nunnery? I’d probably find something. Who’d have the best hair shirt, perhaps.

6. I’m having a crap week. I blame it on Mercury, which is doing something retro that planets do, and which sucks, apparently.

R.I.P

Oh shit.
Ivor Cutler is dead. I’m sad.
That’s all.

Play, record

1. Blogpeople, today I felt like being ignored, so I went to Dixons, that emporium of all things technological. I urgently needed a camcorder tape, if you need to know, and that is strictly for professional use. (I haven’t broached that topic with my Special Lady Friend yet.) I love going to Dixons; the inevitable bunch of young guys with half a GCSE between them who stand around chatting always make me feel so welcome! (I’m a girl, girls have no business in Dixons, didn’t you know?) I try to take it as an exercise in self-assertion. Yes. I mentally gave myself 50 points for getting a shop assistant to the till under 3 minutes, with just a raised eyebrow and an insisting glare.
Then this afternoon, after being patronised by the bloke who lent me the camcorder, I gave myself another 50 points for not biting his head off and/or shoving his tripod up his ass, then I made a little movie with my brand new tape; that didn’t feel like the beginning of a new, more glamorous career, but it was fun nevertheless. I've always liked that word.

2. Now I am wondering what’s up with my Special lady friend; she’s not returning my random emails and she’s been sounding a bit.. a bit… something, recently. I hope it’s not me. Maybe there was no point in keeping that camcorder for the weekend after all. Better call her. Be well, all.