Fifteen Things I do not like, in no particular order and just because I feel some bile coming up
The anxious feeling I get when, sat on the top deck of the bus, I hear a gaggle/herd of screeching teenagers come up the stairs. It's a mixture of intense, armpit-moistening annoyance, and fear; I'm not impressed with myself about the fear aspect.
2. Blue mascara. On other people, since I would not touch the stuff unless they paid me. Sometimes My Own Mother wears it and this feels me with Horror. Ensues a Serious Talk (from me to her) reminding her of all the people we don't like who also wear it and why we don't want to be like them.
3. Waking up every morning, unfailingly, at 4.40. Then waking up again at 5.011, which is too close to 6 for me to fall back to sleep properly.
4. Not getting over what my dentist once said to me: today, you've had more work done that I ever had in my entire life. I had to make him repeat to make sure I'd heard it right. What??
5. Scrabble.
6.Beige. Navy blue. Bottle green. Maroon. As well as pastel colours on adults.
7. People who don't return what I lent them. Books, DVDs, socks. I just don't understand.
8. Seeing children, especially girls, wearing uncomfortable clothes. Frilly pink frocks. To me, it only confirms that some parents have the worst reasons for having children in the first place.
9. Parents screaming at their offsprings in public. Because when they do it in private, I'm not there to see it. Clearly.
10. Loud little boys with hair shaved down to a 1 wearing football shirts. It makes me very very sad.
11. Yappy little dogs and usually their owners. Which is unfair. It's not the dogs' fault if they look like retarded rats owned by bipeds who really want fluffy toys.
12. The fact that Spam and corned beef did not disappear after the end of Rationing. And the fact that it's all that some people can afford to eat.
13. Trifle, cucumber sandwiches, fish paste for sandwiches, cheese and onion crisps – those monuments of British culinary tradition.
14. Being patronised. Being told something I already know.
15. Long nails on hands or even worse, on feet.
Shrinking, in more ways than one
Blogfolks, it feels like I'm disappearing, and not just because yesterday I bought a skirt one size smaller than I usually need. In so many ways I'm disappearing: because I was tempted to lie and write 'trousers' because skirts are what my job requires and I can't condone that and that is swallowing me. I'm disappearing because for the past month I haven't been eating my normal amount, hence the dropping a size. In a perverse way, I celebrate this by looking in the mirror several times a day. Hello, size 10 ass, I hadn't seen you in a few years. I'm disappearing on this blog, because all I post about is not eating and the odd comments are about how good mash is. What? Perhaps disappearing too the same way i am with this therapist I have, trying to break up but he won't let me, saying I am not taking responsibility for ending this process, and I get annoyed because it's true, and just not going anymore will be disappearing, too. I'm disappearing from friends' lives because I don't want to do what they do or have fun and they don't want to know about that. I'm disappearing from my relationship with my girlfriend because she's busy and rightly so, and I'm not very good at being her girlfriend anyway, because I'm shrinking.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself, just looking at things and realising what's happening: spending time vicariously – Ugly Betty is really very good, I saw all 16 episodes- and I had to put down 'Traité d'athéologie' because I feel dumb. Today I listened to a friend tell me about her sex stories, and asking for advice, and I couldn't admit I didn't care. I like to blame it on winter but perhaps there is in me a mechanism, do you know? I've come to care very little about what is not little.
I don't know why, blogfolks, but i'm interestingly hight tonight, and I can't explain that by the mash potato diet I've been on for the past three weeks. Oh no.
Still.
I just wanted to say:
I love my favourite J, housemate and best friend extraordinaire, because when watches Question Time on TV, he feels empathy for the Members Of The Public (the ones on the panel which is meant to throw questions at politicians) who can't get a sentence right and end up embarrassiong themselves. Yup, empathy;instead of feeling superior and confident that he would do a better job.
I love my Special Lady Friend because when I suggest she comes over tomorrow night, she always says yes like she means it. Yay!
I love the vet, because the new flea product she sold me (for which I'll have to sell my first new born, I think) got the cat high, which is always entertaining; and killed off the fleas, too. I've been busy picking them off my bed.
That's all I wanted to say. Look at me, all full of love. And mash potato. Be well, don't let February get you down.
This should really be an Ode to my blender
1. Ah, blogfolks, do you kow what I have been doing with my time? I do. I have been devising creative ways of producing healthy, yet tasty meals that I won't have to chew, because chew I cannot do without feeling like I've been hit in the teeth with a sack full of pebbles. At this moment in time, there are four categories of foodstuff in my world: 1. edible because liquid 2 edible because puréed or mashed, but who in their right mind would want a cup of fish? 3. edible with a copious amount of work and an interesting element of pain 4. torturous or impossible. Most foodstuff including the Best Things in the world fall neatly into category 4 and will remain there for a while, methinks.
When I'm not planning, swallowing or digesting mash, or maybe also when I'm doing all of those things, I am becoming addicted to a Spanish TV series that, should it be in English or French, I would never dream of watching sober. Looks like my brain as well as my chewing ability are on standby. I have watched two episodes today and all this vicarious living is starting to make me hungry.
Other plans include taking my Special lady Friend to France for a day, mostly so that she can have a nice lunch and perhaps stock up on pâtisseries, whilst I can order for her then mostly watch her eat.
Tonight, I let the cat out at night for the first time ever. I feel like an anxious parent whose 15 year old daughter has gone out on her first date. Yes, I'll be waiting up. There are foxes around, and they're not wearing braces.
Be well!
J's infallible guide to getting a free dinner, tip #1
Book table for two in restaurant on Valentine's night. Turn up with one rose and a watch. Place rose on table, check watch at regular intervals and sigh. Sigh some more. After a sufficient amount of time, shake head in resignation and order meal. With some luck and in an ideal world,* they shouldn't charge you for the meal. Or pour you a glass of wine on the house. Or at the very least feel sorry for you.
*being reasonably attractive might help, too.
Gloop
Potatomashwithoniongravytomatosoupporridgepotatomashwithmeltedcheesecarrotsoupporridge.
And repeat.
I can't eat solids. At lunch, my workmates look at me funny. I'm turning into a grumpy cow. I'm constantly, constantly thinking about food, because I'm constantly, constantly hungry. Gloop digests too quickly.
Thankfully, I have something left to see me through these hard times.
Riojagewurtztraminnerbrandybeerroséd'anjoumartinamarettobourgognechianticôesdurhône.
And repeat.
Train tracks
Woah, yesterday was a day and a half. As horizon-widening as it is, I don't spend all my time using soaked earphones, you know, I also go places, do things, and getting ridiculously lost. Yesterday's things involved walking around a strange northern city in a concentric way until I found myself back at my exact starting point; yesterday's people involved a very friendly, very dykey policewoman who put me in a good mood for the rest of the day, and a very brisk brazilian orthondontist who just knew what to do to sabotage that mood- I'm not a wuss, lady, it's just that hitting my teeth with pliers does hurt a wee bit.
Now I can't eat and I look like a 15 year old. And not in a good way. Did I mention that I can't eat? Sweet Jesus, help me, but more importantly, help my friends who are going to have to put up with me.
