He Said She Said - The morning after the night before

 

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?" she yelled.

"Wha--?" he rolled over in bed.

"You better get out of bed before I KILL YOU!"  

"I'm right here," he mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen.

"What happened?"  She stood, hands on hips, surveying the explosion of dirty dishes, pots, cheese grater, and a block of cheese left out overnight.

"I made baked potato chips.  Don't you remember?"

"What the hell?"

"Oh just you hang on a minute," he said.  "You asked me what I was eating and then you fell asleep!  You know what you're like after drinking!  This is you: 'What are you eating?  Oh that's nice... gnhrrrt!  Gnhrrrrrrrt!' "  He imitated her snoring.

"Oh, very funny.  What did you watch on TV?" she asked, as they walked through to the lounge.

"Old episodes of Angel.  I watched the puppet one."

"Oh, no!  Come on!  I love the puppet one!" she whined.

"That's exactly what you said when it came on.  Then you went GNHRRRRT! GNHRRRRRT!"

"Aw, you made me tea last night," she said, looking at a full cup on the coffee table and changing the subject.

"Yes, you asked me to.  I gave it to you and you went---"

"OK!" she snapped.  "I get the point!  Doesn't give you any excuse to leave the kitchen looking like Dresden after the bombing!"

"Well I was three sheets to the wind too," he said, sheepishly.

"AHA! So you admit it!"

"Honey, that's the first time we've been crazy like that in weeks."

"I know," she said, giggling.  Then, suddenly, she got serious.  "Oh shit!"

"What?" he said.

"Do you think there's anything silly I did at the party that I don't remember?"

"Don't worry, Honey," he said.  "No-one else that was there will remember either."

"Except for the lady who was pregnant and not drinking!" she wailed.

"Yeah, but she leaves to go home to Hawaii tomorrow."

"Oh yeah.  Good."

To read more in the He Said She Said series, click here. 

Dogs will be Dogs - 7 Doggie Superpowers

 

7 Doggie Superpowers 

1. In the morning, when they get up on the bed, at least one paw will land smack bang on your full bladder
2. No matter where they are in the house or yard, they'll hear you if you step even one foot into the kitchen (and come running)
3. When you're not looking, they can fly (how else would you explain them getting to that chicken that you left at the VERY BACK of the kitchen counter?)
4. They can shed half their fur coat every day
5. Their tongues can morph (how else could you explain them being able to close their mouths and contain that massive thing that can hang two inches over their teeth?)
6. Their tails are swords in disguise (nothing else could explain how that wine glass on the coffee table got shattered?)
7. Their pores exude hair conditioner (it's the only way their fur could be that damn soft)

 To read more in the Dogs Will be Dogs series, click here.

Divided by a Common Language - Eurovision 2010 Semi Final 1

 

Watching the first semi final of the 2010 (55th) Eurovision Song Contest.

Hosted this year by Norway, from Oslo, there are 39 countries competing.  There are two semi-finals.

This year they have combined telephone votes with a Jury, presumably to avoid the completely racist voting to date.  Basically, every country votes for a) another country that they have emigrants from, b) another country they are close to or c) a country they have political ties to.

So Germany - with a large Turkish expat population - votes for Turkey.

And Ireland and the UK always vote for each other.

And, of course, Malta and Greece vote for the UK to say thanks for saving us in WW2.

I'm not kidding.

If you want to see any of these, check YouTube or Eurovision.tv.

As we go through I'll include quotes of the British commentators.  They will be bitchy, beware.

Moldova

The lead singer is an outfit which is hybrid Lady Gaga and Britney Spears.  The trumpet soloist is jutting his pelvis as he plays.  The male lead singer has a mullet.  The beat is Europop, the accents make the English words unintelligible.  The musicians are dressed like bad 80s throwbacks.

It's camp, tacky and so very, very delightfully Eurovision.

Russia

Commentator: "This isn't so much a pop song, it's three minutes of misery."

FBear:  "This is turgid shite!"

FBear:  "This is like you're watching a bad musical Act 1, halfway through the story, when the hero is down, facing issues."

Oh my holy God, this song necessitates a wind machine.  That about sums up how shit it is.

Estonia

Commentator: "This is a very interesting act from Estonia.  Kind of the anti-Eurovision song. The band is called Malcolm Lincoln, named after the wrong answer in a Who Wants to Be a Millionaire question when the person should have said Abraham Lincoln."

The lead singer is skinny and has tight pants on.  He's jumping around the stage like one of those pictures in children's Christmas books where there are "Seven Lords a Leaping".  He's wearing a pink scarf with a black velvet jacket.  If he was in a bar in Michigan, he'd be beaten up.

OK it looks like one of the backup singers fainted at the end of the song.  Trying to steal the limelight from the lead singer.  Nice try, buddy.

Slovakia

FBear: "What is she WEARING?"

OK they are dressed like tree nymph people in a bad high school production of some fantasy play.  Basically this is a rehash of the winning song, Dum Tek Tek, from a few years ago.

It's got one of those Eastern European drumming beats, 'cos dey bringin' de ethnik, man.  

Now the male dancers are dancing around the leader singing lady with ribbons.   She has leaves on her dress, in her hair, on her wrists.  Seriously.

Commentator:  "Well, she's organic Enya."

Finland

Two blonde Finnish women.  Now there's a shock.

One has a white accordion, prompting the commentator to say that "she just gave us a whiff of her squeezebox."

Ah, more ethnic drumbeats.  Clap!  Clap! Clap along, peasants!

Aw, they are barefoot.  How very virginal.  Nice try, ladies, but we all know what you Scandinavian lassies are like.

Now we have two male backing singers/dancers, wearing beige vests (waistcoasts), inadvisedly.

And what are they singing in Finnish, we ask?

What tune should I strike up now feeling glad inside?

How to best adorn it not to make this mood subside?

With some puffy clouds and sunlight beaming in the skies,

some of that to market vendors and their laughing eyes.

Hear me singing/And I sing:

Let the Sun shine, glide away my Moon

I labour for a living, soon commerce fills my purse.

  

 

Latvia

 

Apparently the singer's dad is a big rock star in Latvia. 

 

Oh dear, she didn't inherit an ability to carry a tune - not for the first line, anyway.

I asked my Unlcle Joe but he can't speak

Why does the wind still blow and blood still leaks

So many questions now

What for do people live until they die?

For God's sake, why do they sing in English if they can't make sense in it?

 

Oh, brother, her voice is as flat as her chest.

 

And she appears to be wearing a satin sheet.

 

Commentator: "It's like deep root canal, the musical"

 

 

Serbia

 

Commentator: "He's dressed like a toothpaste tube."

 

Oh my GAWD it's a POLKA song!

 

He's a skinny androgenous blonde wearing white pants with a belt so low on his hips that it must be brushing his family jewels through the pants.

 

One of the backing dancers (male) is wearing a fingerless pink leather glove.

 

I WISH I was kidding.

 

He has pink socks and blue flat shoes.  

 

OK, this is BEYOND crap.  Even the choreography is bad.  Seriously!

 

OK, just make it stop.

 

Commentator: "I am going to make a hair appointment tomorrow morning.  I want that hairdo."  I don't think she was serious.

 

 

 

Bosnia Herzegovina

 

Why are all these men so damn skinny?  This is a rockish song, apparently the only one in the competition.  The electric guitar and real Western drums make a nice change.

 

FBear on the backing singers: "Well, THEY'RE very short skirts!"

 

Oh dear, in spite of the rock beat, this is pretty boring stuff.  Like a Bryan Adams album filler.

 

Like many Eurovision songs, this one has a message.  "This is the time to overcome our past," in this case.  Clearly Bosnia is still healing.

 

 

 

Poland

 

Oh dear, girls in ethnic costume.  The main singer's bodice is so low there is a major nipple danger.

 

OK, this is the kind of song you would hear at the icecapades.

 

Me: "OK, it's just been pure unadulterated shit so far."

 

FBear: "Isn't that the point, Baby?" 

 

WTH?  The male lead singer has the female lead singer in a headlock, then a backing dancer pulls her top off revealing a white boob tube bra top.  Is this abuse on stage?  What IS this?

 

 

  

Belgium

 

OK, blue pants, blue waistcoat (vest), light blue shirt and a blue and white acoustic guitar.

 

Um... what?  Is this actually OK?

 

Well, he sounds a little like a street busker, but at least his English lyrics make sense, and he can actually play guitar and sing.  As Simon Cowell would say, though, it's no better than good karaoke.

 

Yawn.

 

HAH!  He came second in the Belgian X Factor.

 

  

Malta

 

Commentator: "They often send strong women from Malta."  Too true.

 

Poor Malta.  They take this competition so seriously and try and try and try so HARD to win every year.  But they never quite make it, which is a pity, because at least Malta is a nice place to go to for the competition.  

 

OK, it's a ballad from a young girl with a big voice, bigger than her 21 years.  You could find this girl in any church choir or Glee club in America.  

 

OH MY GOD!  There is a man hiding behind her dress flapping big angel wings as if she is an angel...  It's disturbing!

 

She finished on a big soprano note... surprise, surprise, surprise. 

 

Commentator:  "Good grief!  That Maltese bird man!"

 

  

Albania

 

A good old fashioned pop song!  At last!  Ooh, 80s shoulder pads on the female lead singer!  YAY!  A happy, clubby, summer song!  Easy lyrics, a chorus you can sing along to... NOW we're talkin'!  Happy drivel, that's what we want from Eurovision!

 

They are trying to bring in some class and seriousness by having a guy on a fiddle (everybody always copies what the last winner did, and there was a violinist last year), but it's just bubble gum through and through, Baby.

 

All it's missing is cheesy backing dancers.  Damn!  Where are they?  She should have shirtless men gyrating, not an ugly violinist!

 

Commentator reading a viewer email: "If this song doesn't qualify, I'll declare myself straight!"

 

 

 

Greece

 

The song is called OPA!  Pass me a plate, dear, I need to smash it.

 

Ah yes, I smell kebabs, kleftiko and dolmades.

 

Disturbingly, the male singer and his dancers are hot, with open shirts.  I was expecting a Zorba type.

 

The men keep going "oof!" in the background - a good, sexy sound.  Or constipation, depending on how you look at it.

 

Fantastic!  Lots of yelling "HEY!" and "OPA!"

 

Seriously, where's my waiter?  I need some more olives, taramoussalata and hummus.  And some ouzo!

 

OK I am LOVING THIS!  They men are throwing big drums around and there's some guy with a vertical fiddle thingy.  And the backing singer/dancers are so hot/camp!  FAB. U.  LOUS!

 

 

 

Portugal

 

Oh, bugger.  Back to a young girl with a big voice in an even bigger dress.  18 years old, making lots of zsh sounds, so you are in no doubt that it's Portugese.

 

Yawn.

 

Her boobs are so flat, her bodice is so tiny and her skirt is so huge she looks like a doll cake.  

 

Clearly Portugal doesn't want to win.  They couldn't afford to host this anyway.  Sometimes countries lose on purpose, because hosting the contest the next year can be draining on the coffers.

 

 

Oh my holy God the commentator is in the Green Room and went up to one of the women and her skirt was made of BUBBLE WRAP and he popped some of it!  Seriously, kids, only Eurovision.

 

 

 

FYR Macedonia

 

Well this sounds 80s, right off, until the guy starts crooning in a foreign language.

 

They are trying to pep this up by having three female backup dancers gyrating in leather bikinis. 

 

FBear: "Dancing is a loose term for what those girls are doing, because dancing usually means being in time with the music."

 

OH SHIT!  Now we have a guy in silver suit with trainers rapping in Macedonian!  

 

Now we have a rocker guitarist going electric on our asses.  WTF?

 

Commentator: "There's something disturbing about that.  That's a song about heartache and it's an old guy getting pawed by a woman half his age.  That's not much heartache now is it?"

 

 

 

Belarus

 

I've just been blinded by the gold and silver and bronze sequins of the women's dresses!  

 

There are five singers in a row, two men and three women, trying - and failing - to harmonize. 

 

Kinda like Il Divo, but more El Shitto.

 

If my life was this song, I'd jump off a bridge.

 

You'll have to take my word for it, because you can't hear me, but I am moaning audibly, in pain.  Find this on YouTube and suffer with me.  Then again, don't.  I like you.  You came to my blog.  You read this far into a very long post.  Don't torture yourself.

 

OH NO I DON'T BELIEVE THIS.  THE WOMEN NOW ALL HAVE BUTTERFLY WINGS!

 

 

 

Iceland

 

Ah here we go - the obligatory large lady.  She's the last song of the night and as they say, it's not over till...

 

Ah, a rave beat in the background.

 

"I am standing strong..." she starts to sing.  "Unlike your economy, Love!" quips Fluffy Bear.

 

Why are Iceland singing in English and French?  Pandering to the voters, that's why.

 

Good Lord there is a lot of swishing fabric in this woman's dress.  I envy her.  If you want a bosom for a  pillow, Mate, she's the one you need.

 

Jesus, didn't the techno backbeat go out over ten years ago?  That's why you gotta love Europe.  They are always a decade behind the UK in music, poor little possums.

 

Interestingly, the backing singers are all curvy women too.  Kinda refreshing.

 

 

Well, that was the last song for tonight.

 

The three presenters are back.  An older lady, a young blonde guy and a Black lady.  Do you thing Norway is desperate to promote it's "diversity"?

 

Commentator: "Here's a shout out to the kids at the University of Sheffield.  A whole living block is watching.  That's cos you don't have the money to go out, that's why!"

 

Commentator: "After the winner last year, many countries have jumped on the folk song band wagon."  Told you so, didn't I?  They all copy the last year's winner, like we all want the same damn thing again.

 

And now a preview of the next semi-final...

 

The Dutch song is written by Grandfather Abraham, inventor of the Smurfs!  Is this a joke?  It's called Sha la lie Sha la la.  I can't wait for the next semi final!

 

To read more in the Divided by a Common Language series, click here.  

He Said She Said - Lickalicious

 

"That chicken was amazing," she said, washing her hands, "but I'm struggling to get the oil off my hands."

"I'm using Natures's Oil Remover," he said.

"What?"  

She looked down and saw him standing, hand stretched out, letting Puppy Dog lick and lick and lick and lick his fingers.  

She started to laugh.

To read more in the He Said She Said series, click here. 

I am Woman - Stress Management

 

It's taken till I'm in my 40's, but I think I am starting to understand my personal patterns with stress.  

Infection

Why does my stress build to an unmanageable level?

Well, there are people who run every day and get rid of all the stress they have pent up.  If they've had a bad day, they run more miles.  I admire them, but I'm not like that. 

Exercise works for me to a certain extent, but not all the way.

My theory is this...

When we are kids and we  fall down, or something upsets or frustrates us, we cry.  We let it out, there and then.  Two minutes of bawling at high volume, a hug from Mommy or Daddy, and it's all over.

First, as adults, we can't just burst into tears when we're frustrated in a meeting (more's the pity).  And so all the minor frustrations, humiliations and real hurt we sometimes feel at what someone says or does are stored inside.  

For me, this builds.

Second, as adults, there is no mommy to hug us.  Yes, you have your spouse or partner or friends, but it's not the same.  When you are a child, your adult hugging you is a big force - both physical and emotional.  The adults take care of everything.  

Now that you are an adult, a hug is comforting, but temporary.  There's comfort, but no solution.  When that person pulls away from you, the problem remains yours to solve.

Third, there's physical fatigue.  Busy weekends, lots of gym sessions or yoga classes, long walks with the dogs, lots of socializing.  I get tired, plain and simple.  But I have to keep going, because work is still there, the dogs don't walk themselves, and I have to burn those calories.

And so, slowly but surely, I get infected.  Stress and fatigue build inside me to a poisonous level.

The molten rock builds inside the volcano, increasing the pressure, and the physical fatigue weakens the lid on the volcano until finally, it all has to come out...

Catharsis

If I recognize it in time, I take time out to allow a Catharsis.

I have let it out, and it's very helpful if I cry.

Hence the Chick Flick Crying Trick.  

There's nothing like a night alone at home with the dogs and a DVD that my husband wouldn't be able to sit through.  The lamer the tug at the heartstrings, the better.  

Postcards from the Edge, Beaches, The Hours, Away from Her, Marley and Me, The Notebook - all excellent Catharsis movies.

But, sadly, I don't always feel the seismic movements in the volcano...

Mis-Diagnosis

In my busy life - as busy as any normal person's - I often don't realize how stressed or tired I am.

Sometimes I am too deep in Mis-diagnosis to force Catharsis.

I am an intelligent, capable, energetic woman, and I believe that I can handle anything that's thrown at me, and I do.

I forget: 

• Being at a networking meeting where you don't know anyone is stressful
• Going to brunch with new friends, and not being sure if they'll like you and your spouse as much as you like them, is stressful
• Presenting in a meeting is stressful
• Questioning the decisions made on a project that you think is heading in the wrong direction, without demotivating your colleagues, is stressful
• The weekend packed with activities, parties, chores, is stressful
• Hell, even meeting the CIO in the elevator and making intelligent small talk is stressful.

And so, as the molten rock in the volcano starts to move and flex, I don't feel it, and now we're headed to an unplanned eruption...

Paralysis

It all comes to a head when, because my brain won't stop, my body stops for me.

Simply put, I get sick.

A cold, usually, or a migraine.

In this, I now realize, I am my father's daughter.

As a child, I remember his car coming up the driveway earlier than scheduled on a weekday.  The tension in the house would be palpable:  Daddy was home with a migraine.  

Mess was hurriedly cleared so that nothing would annoy him on his direct trip from the back door to my parent's bedroom.  There had to be quiet in the house for the evening.  Thank God the TV room was the other side of the house, or it would have been a real downer.

Now that I go through what he did, I wonder if he, too, had to cry.

After the eruption, there's that eerie silence, as the ash falls, and now it's time to...

Healing

As pathetic as it is, it takes all this to make me actually take time to really stop.  Stop moving, stop thinking, stop doing.  

To just sit, to not think, to not plan or write lists, to not do laundry or housework, to not go shopping or to the gym or have lunch with a friend.

To just rest.  To heal.

Di-section

Let me share an example of how this might play out.

Stress had been building in my new job.  Not nearly as badly as in my old one but, this will give you a sense of what's been getting to me.

So yesterday I start to get a headache.  It's a perfect storm of four hours in a windowless training room under neon lights, not having enough to eat at lunch, and my post nasal drip running like a tap because I can't afford to buy the most effective hay fever medicine with my new healthcare plan.

Training is supposed to end at 5pm, and I have to leave at 4:30.  I make some lame excuse about a meeting and head out.  At the bus stop, it takes at least 15 minutes for the bus to arrive.  I get on, and there's a child on the bus.  He is crying, wailing ("Honeeeee, use your wooooords!" his ineffectual mother whined), then nasally conversing with her, describing everything he sees.  

His talking is not the problem.  He's a child, after all.  It's the volume.  The child's voice is so loud and piercing, classical music on my iPod can't drown him out.  By this stage, the light is starting to hurt my eyes.  I get three quarters of the way home and have to get off the bus.  

My husband comes to get me and I'm starting to get nauseous.  As I put my head back against the headrest in the car, I feel light-headed.

Back home, I take pills and try to sleep.  The dogs are amazing, cuddling, licking and spooning me - the perfect cure to any illness.

Paralysis sets in - I am in bed, lying still, forced to stop.

This morning I wake up and I've had a dream where I was at a wedding.  It was the wedding of my childhood BFF, Ellen's little sister.  The reception is huge and I recognize all sorts of people I went to school with - random people who are not really friends.

As the wedding ends, I stop to talk to Ellen and ask how her mom is doing with such a huge wedding.  I realize I have hardly spent any time with Ellen at the wedding and I feel bad.

When I wake up, I remember that Ellen is dead, and that I had to speak at her funeral.

And that is when Catharsis comes, and I cry and cry and cry.

Then the puppies come and lick my face and I feel better.

And so we move to Healing through rest, which today will involve cuddling my dogs, sitting on the couch and watching bad comedies.  

It's going to be a good day. 

To read more in the I am Woman Series, click here. 

My week in tweets - 25 May 2010

Goddamn sunshine making me feel guilty. Bugger off hotgasball! I'm staying on the couch!

No semi naked Uglies in Hot Yoga today, thank God. Been told Hot Yoga is a pick up deal. Not if you see the men at mine! 

Based on the ad, I wouldn't want to be friends with the pretentious bastards who are “Michelob Ultra people”

Heh heh heh! http://reflectionof.me/steve-jobs-and-bill-gates-jokes

Margaritaville Frozen Concoction Maker #crapyoureallydontneed

Hubby is about to roast veggies http://tweetphoto.com/23717003

The view from the loo http://tweetphoto.com/23716306

"Your knickers headed South so fast you'd have thought they had their own rail card!" Gene Hunt, Ashes to Ashes

"What's that?" "It’s cocktail hour!" "Can I get a drink that doesn't look like it's minced its way over from Mayfair?" Gene Hunt

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/bp-calls-in-costners-26m-vacuum-cleaners-to-mop-up-huge-oil-spill-1979976.html

I swear to God the MINUTE I (finally!) hit the couch, the dogs ask to go out to pee. Flashback to my mother snapping: "I JUST sat down!"

At coffee shop 2 http://tweetphoto.com/23527510

At coffee shop. Baby crying cos she wants to keep walking http://tweetphoto.com/23527362

Young Yeller #LesserBooks

The Mediocre Gadsby #LesserBooks

Gulliver's Gardening #LesserBooks

Sybwell #LesserBooks

Oliver Straight #LesserBooks

Realistic Expectations #lesserbooks

As a South African I feel justified in saying that this insidious thinly veiled Racism rampant in US (Rand Paul, Tea Parties) is repulsive

Macaroni cheese with no cheese is just baked macaroni, even if it's free, Cafeteria!

Prostitution would be legalized and controlled #ifiruledtheworld

Hummers would be banned #ifiruledtheworld

Birth Control would be free #ifiruledtheworld

Gay Marriage would be legal #ifiruledtheworld

Dammit! Someone's in MY toilet stall at work! WTF? Oh great. I sit down in another stall and NOW she flushes/finishes. Typical!

Bus conversation: "Did you know that in some European countries you just put yr garbage bag out in the street and in the morning it's gone?"

Bus conversation: "What day is today? Is it.... wait..."

Bus conversation: "His dad caught him out and asked him what he was doing." "Dude, what IS that?" "Yeah, he went on his Facebook!"

Note to self: Being late means you get to ride on the bus with kids who talk so loud you can hear them over yr iPod. Tomorrow, be on time!

Sooooooo late for work it's not even funny. Sheeee-yeeeet.

3D TV #crapyoureallydontneed

Goddammit Calorie Counter! I want a Baby Ruth bar! Shut up! Just shhhh! Zip it! Zzzzzzip it! Sh! Sh! Sh!

When FBear talks about Twilight New Moon he never says the name he just says "Mope. Mope. Mope."

Oh God they're already advertising the next Twilight movie. We saw the last one @ adult cinema and I had to drink 4 cocktails to get thru it

There are 5.5 million American citizens whose parents don't have papers.

Hey politicians who tout family values, why support an Immigration Policy that breaks families up?

5th Grader asks Michelle Obama if her mom is going to be taken away cos she doesn't have papers

Stop spellchecking me iPhone! I WANT to type "caca poopoo" because THAT is what the weather IS

Did you know what the month of May is? http://tweetphoto.com/23066329

More badly raised pitbulls on Kiro 7 news giving the breed a bad name. Pitts can be such lovely dogs

Heads roll at Fox 13 News for refusing to run Police abuse footage that was offered to them 1st by a person who was under contract to them

FBear: Did Jaden Smith drop the Pinkett because he saw his mother's career wasn't going anywhere?

Dear Hollywood: tell good stories, make good movies. Fuck 3D

My BFF and I had the whole Rocky Horror Picture Show memorized and sang it daily at Varsity

OMG! I did a Safety Dance Flash Mob in a Mall! And I've done a #Glee Flash Mob. Now there's a Safety Dance Flash Mob ON Glee! Woooo

Note to self: Yelling "Expedite the process!" at your puppy from the back door doesn't make her pee any faster

STILL can't see the telly. http://tweetphoto.com/23023267

I can't see #Glee! http://tweetphoto.com/23022918

#Glee. Am I the only one who wants to see Neil Patrick Harris and Will kiss?

#Glee quotes: "Then... I was introduced to Jesus. He was my Honduran social worker."

My doctor friend on #House: "Vicadin? Really? That's a crappy drug. There are much better ones available..."

Dramatic episode of #House trying to win Emmy is annoying. Haven't laughed once.

Nobody retweets me! I'm going to go and sit in the garden now, and eat worms

Computer Acronyms for Old People @ http://crabbyoldfart.wordpress.com/2010/05/17/computer-acronyms-for-old%c2%a0people

I know I've shared this before but indulge a proud mama http://tweetphoto.com/22955002

Note to self: Never. Delete. Anything.

iPhone shuffle just threw up A Tender Moment by Billy Joel. Never knew this song existed. It's sweet.

Ex-ca-hu-hu-hu-huse ME, Seattle weather! I had AN OUTFIT PLANNED for today. WTF with this rain?

My Barista on being single in Seattle: "Craigslist Close Encounters? Yeah, OF THE THIRD KIND"

"When do U evacuate yr bowels?" "When I have to." "I'm sorry I don't rent to hippies." Sheldon showing Leonard the apartment. #Big Bang Theory

How prostitutes are made early. http://tweetphoto.com/22898666

God save me from Lycra clad suburbanite WASPS http://tweetphoto.com/22898556

The best hand drier in the multiverse http://tweetphoto.com/22898492

"Thor, could you give this lady a tour of the vending machines?" "Of course. They're lovely this time of year. The Skittles are in bloom." #Nurse Jackie

"We're all Arizonans now!" Sarah Palin. Hope you're carrying your papers then, Sarah

"It is Gods finger which wrote the Constitution!" Glenn Beck. I could counter with something about giving U the finger but I can't be arsed

FBear on Sarah Palin: "She's like a high pitched version of the teacher from Charlie Brown."

My gay friends can't put their childbirth on Mummy 2's health insurance because they aren't recognized as a couple. Pisses me off

It's 10:30 and I am eating my lunch sandwich. Yep, it's gonna be a three latte kinda day...

Dear BP: Now that you're not using the Top Hat, could you fly it to Iceland and drop it over the volcano?

There's no way Barney is a guy. Look at those hips for chrissake!

Dear Pale Skinny Jogger Dude: Put your shirt on. It's not that hot, and neither are you

Women are angels. Take our wings and we still fly... On broomsticks. We're flexible that way.

Dear Diary - Last night I had the strangest dream

 

Dear Diary

I had a very vivid dream this morning.

I was at the house of a former lover. 

I have never been to this man’s house in real life, and the relationship with him was over a very, very, very long time ago.  So, although I thought, at first, that the dream was about me and him, it wasn’t. 

All you misguided romantics out there who think that there is some kind of love that should be rekindled… chill.  That's not what's going on here.

Anyway.

Let’s call him Bob.

Bob’s wife was there.

She knew about us and she was furious that I was in their home.  I totally got where she was coming from.  In her shoes, I wouldn’t have liked it much, either.

A young, single mistress is not what you need in your face at dinner time.

What the wife represented was a sense of threat. 

I kept waiting for her to explode, to attack me.  At one point, she was holding a dominatrix whip, which I thought was simultaneously scary and amusing, because of what it said about their sex life.

Their children were also in the house. 

I remember a little girl looking at us, trying to understand.  I felt sorry for her, but she wasn’t really my concern and, if the wife would just let me talk to Bob for five minutes like I wanted to, I’d leave and it would all be over and the kid wouldn’t have to see any of it.  The very fact that the wife was MAKING a scene had involved the child, which irritated me.

There were three African American boys in the house.  Stoic and quiet, they were foster children and they just sat at the dining room table, ignoring the fracas, eating their dinner.  I felt sorry for them too.  They seemed to be grateful to have a nice home to live in, and would put up with anything, holding their tongues, not causing any trouble.

Meanwhile I was trying to talk to Bob, to say goodbye.

This was the end of our relationship and I was never going to see him again.  I just want to talk to him for five minutes alone to end it, once and for all.

The wife kept asking me to leave, so I walked out of the house without being able to talk to Bob.

As I left, I looked back, and he was wearing a soccer shirt.  Soccer is something we used to share and, by doing this, he was telling me that there was hope that our relationship will continue.

So I walked away, with closure unresolved.  

It didn't feel good.  I wanted it to end... or did I?

What does this all mean?

Well, I thought about it on my journey to work today and, sadly, it’s not a romantic thing.  It’s not even a personal drama thing.

It’s a work thing.

This is about getting a promotion. 

The young daughter, trying to understand what is going on, represents my colleagues.  My boss solicited their opinions on my potential promotion without asking or telling me, and so brought them into the drama in a way that was, I feel, in appropriate.

My boss is the wife, yelling at me. 

She told me that I can throw my hat into the ring for the promotion, but there are no guarantees.  In fact, she has expressed some doubts about me.  Mostly she talked about the way I express myself… that I’m too direct and use phrases that aren’t PC enough. 

Unfortunately, looking and sounding like a WASP doesn’t help me in America.  People forget that I am foreign, and they don’t make allowances.  Where I come from, the way I speak is the way everybody speaks.  I lived there for the first 28 years of my life.  I try to moderate my expressions, adapt my style, but it’s hard.  I’m still working on it.

Also, my directness, openness and sense of humor are a big part of who I am.  By asking me to moderate my self-expression, there is a part of me that fears that my personality will be stifled completely.  THAT is what Bob represents.

He represents a time in my life when I was young, way down the corporate totem pole, footloose and fancy-free, crazy without consequences, embracing emotion with abandon. 

And I have to say goodbye to Bob.

I have to stop making jokes, asking questions in a challenging way, expressing my opinion strongly.

The foster children are what I am afraid of becoming.  Sitting quietly while everything goes on around them, not saying a word, just grateful to be safe, to have a home.  Part of me wonders if I should capitulate.  Be grateful to have a job.

But then there’s Bob, wearing the soccer shirt, standing in the window.

Because I can’t say goodbye to who I am.

I am funny.  I am sarcastic.  I am witty. 

I am warm.  I am open.  I care about people I work with, in a personal way.

I am intelligent and brave.  If something isn't right, and it's affecting our business in a negative way, I not only see it, I ask questions about it... I expose it.

So how do I walk away from Bob – this presence in my life that is inappropriate, that is causing trouble for me, that has the woman of the house (my boss) yelling at me and is part of creating a whole situation scaring the children (my colleagues)?

I don’t know.

To read more in the Dear Diary series, click here.  

Divided by a Common Language - Eurovision 2010 No. 1

 

These are my first impressions of the Eurovision Song Contest entries.  This is in reply to Everywhereventually’s posts, which you can find here.

For more on what Eurovision is, click here. 

MOLDOVA

EIGHTIES FLASHBACK!

This is like Adam Ant meets Madness meets Debbie Harry meets Spandau - except their love child turned out a little retarded.

Not sure if I like it or not. 

RUSSIA

My computer refused to stream the YouTube of this song... bad sign straight away.

Yawn.

...

Did he just say "Lord of Mercy?"

...

Yawn

OK. Enough.

My verdict: Crapsticks, deep fried. 

ESTONIA

Does this lead singer have Tourettes? Epilepsy?

Why does he keep lifting his mic to his left ear?

OK, Sweetheart, don't dance.

He needs some MAJOR stage presence coaching. From someone who isn't high.

This song will be good if and when someone does a dance remix.

For now, not good enough. 

SLOVAKIA

This lady dresses funny.

Is this another Dum Tek Tek?

Then again, I found myself turning the volume up.

Ah perfect Eurovision fodder - a dancey beat for rhythm and a little ethnic sound overlay for some supposed credibility.

Still, it doesn't stand out.

FINLAND

Well, this should be fun. Those crazy Fins usually are.

Oh dear, they're going the blonde in a ballgown route.

Ethnic Abba meets celtic fusion!

Oh shame. the men singers are too ugly to be allowed up front.  Oh but look, they get to dance in that Russianey kicking way.

It's all Agnetha and Anna.

I feel like I'm at a Greek restaurant and there's a wedding party in the back.

Whatever

LATVIA

Oh boy, another song with God in it. He gets everywhere, that bugger.

"Why are the skies so blue and mountains high?"

"I asked my Uncle Joe but he can't speak"

The singer really is a dumb blonde, then.

Ah an accordionist and women washing clothes in bowls. How ethnic.

Chorus: "What for how we living what for how we crying what for how we losing only Mr God knows why."

Well, I just had a revelation in bad grammar.

To read more in the Divided by a Common Language series, click here. 

Divided by a Common Language - Devaluing the Special

 

I am really happy living in the US of A, but that doesn't mean that there aren't things here that irritate the living shit outta me.

And one of those things is the devaluing of the special over here.

Clap Clap Woo Woo

Holy Mother of the Christ, people clap their hands for ANYTHING here!

I was at a Flash Mob dance rehearsal a few months ago and every time the dance teachers showed us a few steps everyone would applaud and yell "Woooooo!"

Then, after we learned a few steps, they'd put the music on and we'd dance.  After getting 12 steps correct in sequence, everyone would applaud and yell "Woooooo!"

What the FUCK?

Why do we have to clap all the time?

We are at a TWO HOUR DANCE REHEARSAL, people!  Conserve your energy!

At our monthly meetings at work, people who have won awards are called out.  Everyone claps when their name is read out, everyone claps as they come up to the stage, everyone claps when they get their handshake.  And this for up to ten people.

Read ALL the names out, get them all up at once and let's clap once!

Applause is a sign of appreciation, admiration, respect.  Making a sound like "Wooooo!" is a sign of excitement, of real enthusiasm.  

Why devalue it?

You want me to clap, earn it, or my hands stay right by my side.  I am not a fucking trained seal.

Everybody UP!

 Everyone here gets a standing ovation.  

No acting is too lame, no singing is too offkey, no dancing too out-of-time to not warrant everyone jumping up like the spawn of a synchronized swim team and a colony of prairie dogs.

If you get a standing ovation in a London theater, it means one of two things: you did an incredible job, or the audience is loaded with American tourists.

If locals have packed the seats that night, the only way you're getting them to stand is to do something exceptional.

So if you want me to stand up, earn it, or I'm keeping my fat ass right where it is.  I am not a fucking jack-in-the-box.

Say what?

Words are completely devalued in the USA.

Everything is "awesome."

Some dive next to the old highway claims to offer "Fine Dining."

And, worst of all, everyone "loves" everyone else.

The most important word in the world gets bandied about like it's a box of matches...  

As Shannon Osbourne leaves the Boardroom in Celebrity Apprentice, she and Holly exchange "I love yous" as if they are going to be BFFs for life.

Love is not something that is found every day in every situation.  It takes time and work and patience and kindness and all those things that they talk about in that Bible reading you have to sit through at every fucking wedding you go to.

If you use the most extreme words for everything, what vocabulary do you have left to describe something that is truly amazing, a restaurant experience that is silver service or a feeling that is true and deep and meaningful?

Or is the average person's life here so bland that these mediocre things inspire awe and are, therefore, truly awesome?

If the latter is true, how sad, and how utterly tedious.

Words are important.  

Save them, treasure them, look after them.

So if you want me to describe what you did as incredible, earn it, or I will choose words that match the few notches above mediocrity that your deeds deserve.  I am not a fucking cheerleader.

To see more Divided by a Common Language, click here.

My week in tweets - 16 May 2010

http://twitter.com/ittybittycrazy

Dear Pale Skinny Jogger Dude: Put your shirt on. It's not that hot, and neither are you

Women are angels. Take our wings and we still fly... On broomsticks. We're flexible that way.

They were watching a movie. Her: You don't get storms like that in London. Him: You do... in movies

If you put a box of 12 chocolate donuts in front of me right now, I'd eat them all

Kurt's Dad: "Look, I don't know what that song was about, but fine don't sing like you just sung." Glee

Sue Sylvester: "I checked out of this conversation about a minute ago so good luck with your troubles and I'm gonna remember never to stop and talk to students again because this has been a colossal waste of my time."  Glee

Seriously, do cheerleaders in the US really walk around school in their skimpy uniforms? In the UK that would just make you lame

Dentist didn't numb me enough today. While getting a new crown I felt like the princess who slept on the pea

Marshall: "Goodbye" Mary: "You owe me $9 from lunch last week, so don't get shot."  In Plain Sight

You can't choose your family. You have some choice over yr Facebook friends. But yr tweeps are ALL people you choose to like

Overheard: So... Tell me about you... Where are you from?#flirtingatwork

Tell me what I'm being measured on, and I'll tell you what I'll do#workplacerealities

This meeting would be a lot more interesting if the window washer swinging back and forth outside took his shirt off #meetingmadness

Whiteboarding duel in progress! #meetingmadness

Met 13 month old baby whose parents have taught her basic sign language. Babies can communicate that way B4 they can speak. Fascinating

Fluffy Bear, wanting to describe a guy on TV as superhuman, just called him an "ubermunch" :-)

Shit. I am staring at a blank screen with "140" in the corner with nothing funny to write. Tweeter's block!

Ittybittycrazy is particularly proud that she bought a shirt for a gay friend's birthday present and he liked it! My taste was good enough for a gay guy!

Him: Was that Guy Pierce? Wow, he's not trading off his looks anymore. Her: Yes, unfortunately...

Dear loud, sneezing, snorting and laughing lady two cubes over: I am going to chop you up and feed you to my dogs. That is all.

Have to attend a political Benefit tonight. Sigh. It's of no bloody benefit to me.

If I am with a man who's had an erection for 4 hours, there is no WAY I'm letting him seek medical help

Me: These flowers in everyone's yards are so pretty. I love Spring. FBear: Yes, it's all very Pandora. Me: You just ruined it!

I am dreaming my dog is made of Baby Ruths and I can take huge bites and his bits grow back and I can eat more the next day

Nothing can match the righteous indignation of a hormonally-fuelled teenage boy.

The dogs have been play fighting all day and are covered in each others' spit. They are literally slimeballs

Happy Town (ABC) is the new Twin Peaks. Except I miss Kyle McLaughlan

1 in 5 relationships now begins on an online dating site. I met Fluffy Bear in a chat room in 1998. Yep, we're early adopters

"Hey, I shot people I like more for less." Marshall R Gibbons, Justified, FX Channel

Bought a blouse even though we are poor as churchmice. On sale! It's not about what I spent, people! It's about what I SAVED!

"I know I don't seem like a warm and understanding guy, but this is my warm and understanding face." The Good Wife

"For God's sake, Wilson! You really do span the chasm from wishy to washy." House

iPod shuffle can really wake you up. Sade followed by a Bollywood groove! Hey Brain! SURPRISE!

Sigh. Woke up tired again this morning. The espresso machine at the office BETTER be working today or SOMEONE is going down! Grrrr

Our two dogs are literally chewing two ends of the same bone and growling at each other

If Kagan gets confirmed that will take the historical % of men on the Supreme Court from 97% to 96%.

Amazing what the bus can pull up next to and improve your day http://tweetphoto.com/21883232

Oh, bollocks! I've suddenly become one of those people who desperately wants a Twitter Celebrity to retweet them

Bedtime. To sleep, perchance to dream... Of calorie free donuts, good hair days & my boss actually managing to see what I'm capable of

I need some retail therapy. Sadly, my wallet will not comply.

He Said She Said - Sarcastic Fantastic

 

"Look!" he said.

"What?" she said.

"Didn't you notice?"  He waved his hand, dramatically.

"Um, what am I supposed to be looking at?"  She was bemused.

"I took out the trash!  See?  New bags in the bin, no recycling outside the back door..."  He grinned, triumphant.

"Oh, boy," she said, heaving a very big sigh.

"What?" he asked, worried that, in spite of all this, he had managed to do something wrong.

"Now I have to do all that paperwork," she said, sighing again.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you know what the Swedes are like..."

"Honey.  WHAT.  ARE.  YOU.  TALKING.  ABOUT?"

"I have to nominate you now, and the nomination take a lot of paperwork.  They don't just give the Nobel prize for House Cleaning out without proper evidence!"

"Watch this," he said, turning away from her, "and tell me what you see."  He stalked out of the kitchen, head held high.

"I see you, and I see you ignoring me!" she laughed, very familiar with this game they'd played since before they were even married.  

There was no reply.

For more He Said She Said, click here. 

He Said She Said - Happy Fucking Mother's Day, Bitch

 

He was cooking at traditional English breakfast - scrambled eggs, bacon, baked beans...

"Can you help me and make the toast," he asked, "or I'll muck up the scrambled eggs."

"Errm..." she wavered, having just got out of bed and not particularly wanting to help, "No."

"Come on!" he said, exasperated, "It's really hard to coordinate it all!"

"OK," she sighed, capitulating.

Then... CRASH!  

While picking dry tupperware off the drainer next to the sink to put it away in the cupboard, she knocked a wine glass onto the floor, which shattered.

"Aw, honey!" he snapped, clearly annoyed!

"WHAT?" she snapped.

"Breakfast is ready to serve!"

"Well, serve it then, so it doesn't get cold!"

"Yes but - we have to deal with this, first."

"I'LL deal with it.  You serve."

Brother-in-law, visiting from the UK, looked on, bemused.

"But--" he began.

"What?" she interrupted.

"Why were you putting things away?"

"Because!" she said, offering a mature explanation.

"Why?" he sighed.

"I was trying to HELP YOU.  You ASKED me to help you!"

"Putting the tupperware away isn't helping!  All I needed was the toast!"

"I CAN'T WORK IN A MESSY KITCHEN!" she yelled.  "While I'm in here, I HAVE to clear it up!  That's how women are!  We've DISCUSSED this!"

"But--"

"Just SERVE THE BREAKFAST!  I'll clean this up!"

Silent annoyance filled the air, punctuated by the crinkle sounds of glass being swept up.  Brother-in-law took his breakfast plate without comment and retreated to the couch.

She plugged in the Dyson and violently vacuumed the remaining small bits of glass off the floor, with malice.

He came into the kitchen and hugged her.

"You didn't even notice my injury!" she whined, pointing to her bleeding foot.

"Aw, honey!" he said, hugging her harder.  

"Happy fucking Mother's Day," she pouted.

"Aw!" he said, and offered to maker her a latte.

She smiled.

For the rest of the day, she owned him.

Workplace Personalities - The Party Planner

 

There's one in every office.  

A woman who loves to arrange parties.

Birthdays, Baby Showers, Bridal Showers, Halloween, Christmas.

Hell, she'd celebrate the summer solstice, Chinese New Year, Seder and the International Day of Fart Appreciation if she could.

She is the one who keeps the list of birthdays, who makes sure she downloads the national holiday add-in for Outlook, who keeps a stash of paper plates, plastic table cloths and decorations in the supply closet.

She's always at your desk, asking you to sign a card, pony up for a gift and make time to come to a meeting room where garish helium balloons bob, adorned with whatever words describe the celebration of the day.

But it doesn't stop there.

Oh, no.

She bakes.

No last minute stop at the grocery store for stale cupcakes for this lady.

There's a lemon poppy seed loaf wrapped in foil, cupcakes iced with colored sprinkles on a pink plastic platter or a special Tupperware container that has a base and a domed lid (something you never even know you could buy), prised open to reveal a perfect apple pie.

And then there are the times when special attention is required, like a wedding shower.

These call for flowers from her garden, beautifully arranged in vases, with yellow or pink ribbons tied around them.

Sometimes, you get sick of the Party Planner asking you contribute to yet another gift for someone you hardly know and, let's face it, annoyed the living shit out of you the last time you were in a meeting together.

Sometimes, you sigh as you try, yet again, to think of something witty and amusing - yet still workplace appropriate - to write in another bland greeting card.

Sometimes, you wonder how the Party Planner ever gets any work done.

But then, your birthday comes around and, as you bite into fresh, home-made chocolate bund cake, you're glad she's on your team.

Key signs:

• Baking
• A stash of party accoutrements in a cabinet drawer, available at the drop of a hat
• Faffiness

Catch phrase: We should celebrate!

Your Strategy:  Let her arrange the damn party.  She enjoys it, and you get to eat cake.

Their comeuppance:

 Well, they aren't really that respected playing, as they do, such a very cliched female role.  So they might get canned in a reorganization.  But, other than that, they're safe.  People like their home baked muffins. 

For more Workplace Personalities, click here.

You might like:

• The Mother Hen
• The Triple S

Health is Wealth - Hot Yoga

 

This week I went to Hot Yoga (Bikram) for the first time.

It was a fascinating experience.

My left calf is now as tight as a innocent man's bum at his first prison shower but, overall, I think it did me good.

As we filed into the room I was struck by a thick, soupy smell.  The previous class was filing out and it was like walking into a steam room that had just been vacated by a very smelly football team.  It wasn't pleasant.

There were rows painted on the side of the room, numbered Zones 1 through 5.  They have more heat at the front of the room.  I guess you have to build up slowly.  

One thing I have learnt - the hard way - about Yoga is not to push yourself too far too fast.  I once tried to contort myself too much in an advanced Yoga class (which I shouldn't have been in, in the first place) couldn't walk (I'm not kidding) for two days.  I set myself up in the back row, against the frosted windows, in the coolest "Zone".  

Around me people set up their mats, towels, water bottles... Hot Yoga means you bring a bunch of crap with you.

And then I saw them.

The yoga geeks.  The teacher's pets.  The A team.

One man, one woman.

Front row.  Practically naked.

This was not a good thing.

He was wearing that rectangular underwear that's currently en vogue with gay men... there's a store near me that sells just those, in various colors and patterns.  It's like they have a rectangle on their butt - like someone tried to airbrush over one of those squares that cover nipples in censored nudie pics.

His were blue, with a white waistband.  

I have to admit, they made his butt look hot.  Well, his butt was hot.

Naturally he had a few tattoos here and there - nothing crazy - just black ones.  You know, the kinda tatts that portray a suburbanite who dreams of being wild, not someone who actually chooses to live outside mainstream society.

His body was good or, at least, it had been.

Sadly, nature is cruel to us, even those of us in good shape.

The muscles may be strong, the body fat may be non-existent, but the skin sags.  Just a little.  Losing tone, losing shine, losing suppleness.

Middle age was written across this man's chest in a slight dip of the pecs, a minuscule slackness pulling the nipples down and a tiny loss to gravity at his belly. 

And then there was the woman.  

I have no idea where she found them, but she was wearing bikini bottoms the shape of Bridget Jones' no-sex pants.  They were HUGE, spreading across her tiny torso.

Time's cruelty hadn't passed her by either.  She was thin, but had that butt and boob shape that has lost it's perk.  Sometimes I think that, as a large woman, I get away with the disguise of the sag.  My sag is covered in a layer of fat, my curves go out as well as down.  For thin women, their small butts and boobs have no curve, no softness, just a downward orientation.  Nature is a Bitch.

I'd glance across at the Supple Couple periodically during the class because, that way, I could see where I was heading, what I MIGHT be able to do in three, or four, or five year's time.

I was sitting with my knees in front of me, my feet next to my hips, leaning back, trying to get my butt to meet the floor between my feet.  The Awesome Twosome had legs absolutely flat and were all the way back, lying down on the floor.

I was wobbling in a basic Tree Pose, falling left, getting back into the pose, falling right, getting back into the pose.  The Dynamic Duo were standing strong on one leg, other leg held up up straight in front of them, holding onto the big toe.

Ah well.

I reminded myself that Yoga is a process.  They call it a "practice" for a reason.  You're always a pupil, always learning.  There's no point at which you get a black belt.

Apart from the entertaining distraction of the Double-jointed Duet, the class was interesting in that was very different from any Yoga I'd done before.  

Even though I was in the coolest zone, I felt like the heat did actually make it all a little easier.  My muscles were a little slacker than normal, resisting the stretches less.  

The teacher did combinations of two poses, all repeated twice.  The second time around, knowing what I was trying to do (having seen more experienced people around me get it right), I was able to actually really try to do to the pose as best I could.  Get into it, feel it, work for strength through it.

The pace was reasonably slow, and there was a whole sequence where we rested briefly lying on the floor between poses.  The class was 90 minutes, and so it seemed to me I had more time to think, to breathe, to get the poses right.

I am not sure that hot Yoga will replace the classes I normally do at my gym.  I think it'll just be something new, something different, that I add to my repertoire.

And how can I resist going to a place where there are practically naked men?

Maybe, next time, there'll be a guy who's a little younger.

Hey - I might even move closer to the front of the room.

Closer to the REALLY hot zone.