We had a power outage last night. All the lights in the area went out. Very exciting. And we had another one today-no phone, no internet, no nothing. Bummer.
So-this is later than I wanted. Sorry! I did get a chance to have a look at the Google Doodle-I love those, I always click to see the graphics, and to read any useful information on people I didn't know existed. Google is great that way.
Naturally, the Guardian had something to say about the doodle: it isn't Happy Holidays, they said, it is Happy Christmas. They said that most Americans don't like the Christmas bit, so we make good holiday wishes very politically correct. This is coming from a lowly rag (I would never call it a newspaper-that's an insult to the real papers!!) filled with revisionist, xenophobic, racist bullcrap. And that is just the staff!
So-excuse ME!!!! Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Happy Chanukah (late). Happy Anything and Everything I missed. And, most of all, Happy New Year!!! I think we can all agree to that one.
I decided that, in the interests of Christian forgiveness and all that, I would send holiday greetings to the three cripplers: Sofia Grigoriadou, Phillip (not very) Bright, and Hilary Longhurst. I would even resist the urge - strong as it may be- to ask how many more patients they've crippled up to now. Forgiveness...hmmmm...
BUT- I couldn't find a card that said "Season's Greetings, thanks for not killing me. Better luck next time!!" Someone really should start making cards that say what people think, not just polite ones.
I really should start doing greeting cards myself. For instance, one could say "Merry Christmas, you rat bastard, I want a divorce!". Or, another one could say "Happy Easter, you lying, miserable cheat. I hope she gave you a hideously painful flesh-eating disease and it falls off into your soup". Then there is "You are a boring, tedious cretin, who would have you anyway?"
And there is my personal favorite: "Thanks for the one night stand. Until I met you, I never knew an adult male could be so very, very tiny." That fits a lot of people I used to know..( the tiny. Not the one night stand).
I'll bet there is a market somewhere for truth cards-especially the last one, which could be printed on an oversized postcard so everyone could see it.
Of course, I could always put these on YouTube. What do you think? I will have to sit down and think of more, of course. But that is a good start. All in the name of politically correct forgiveness, of course.
I had to call the police about my noisy, insane neighbour from Hell upstairs. He has been doing his business in my garden, and screaming threats at me. So two nice, young (they look so young these days. They don't even look old enough to shave, let alone arrest people). The baby police are going to look into it (meaning: do nothing until he attacks me, and then only do something if there are witnesses. Typical). So I said I am going to carry something noxious, just in case. One said, no, I would get into serious trouble. So I said I would carry a can of Raid bug spray. They were very clear about not doing anything like that. Of course, I did NOT tell them that the can of Raid would actually be a can of mace. I did ask if I could buy a taser and use that. After all, if it's good enough for the police, it's good enough for me.
The younger, baby-faced one said that if I have something in the house, naturally the police wouldn't want to see it-or know about it. What about a Stanley knife? I asked. I gave up after that-they were starting to become alarmed. I will keep my options open...
And-there is a glass of wine with my name on it. I've been waiting all day for a glass of wine. Yay. Merry Wednesday.
Oh-by the way-what do you get when you cross a Jack Russell terrier with a Shih Tzu?
A Jackshit, of course!
Now we all need some wine...
Tuesday 24 December 2013
Sunday 22 December 2013
Tits Away - Tis the Season to Be Grumpy
Have I got news for you? Yes, I have! But let me start at the beginning...
On Friday, December 13th (eek. Friday the 13th!) there was supposed to be a meteor shower. I set my alarm for four o'clock so I could have a look. I saw-nothing, and it was bloody cold, too. But I remembered the film Night of the Triffids, for some reason. I was just as glad I didn't see anything.
I love those old B-movie science fiction films, made before I was born. This was great, and I recommend renting the original, if you can find it. The remakes are crap. Why do they bother remaking classics, and then they wreck them? Might as well call them Attack of the Celluloid Turkeys and be done with it.
Well-I have been everywhere, I have seen everyone, been poked, prodded, blood-letted, sampled and examined within an inch of my life-just so I can be alive after New Year's Day, I suppose. And what was I told? I am in really good health-for my age. I had to reply that the least people could do is just leave it at the fact that I'm in good health, and forget the last bit-if they want to reach my age, that is!
So I went to see Heidi, the vestibular physiotherapist, and she gave me a list of things she wants me to do before she sees me in January. Heidi is going on maternity leave, so that will be the end of vestibular physio. What she told me was that I might-and she meant "might"-get 80% of the ability to do the things I used to do, not 80% of complete balance (as in, a normal person) back. And it will take time, given the year that I have had. She wants me to leave the eye exercises alone and start going out and doing all the things I would ordinarily do: go to the museum, go to the theatre, and so on. I am to walk uphill, downhill, in the daylight, dusk and dark. And I am to get on the underground, too. Heidi said that the only way my brain will make new neural pathways is if I challenge it relentlessly, by doing everything I have been unable (and unwilling) to do since the gentamicin thing happened.
On Sunday, I decided to delete LinkedIn. I thought about all this since the invitation arrived from the Spawn of Satan, aka Bob Dimmack, my miserable ex-husband. I've been wanting to unsubscribe from LinkedIn for months, since I see no point in having it. I don't even use Facebook, because I keep forgetting the password. And here is where the news comes in.
I got onto LinkedIn- and there it was, a photograph of a very nice looking sports car. Who was standing in front of it, but Bob himself. Not only that, but he shares the account with-his wife. I could have screamed, I was that upset and angry.
Now, I left him because I got sick of his manipulative bullying, his constant putting me down, his tendency to put me down, threaten me and call me the "c" word. Bob was an emotional terrorist-and, because I cared about him (and was clearly insecure, as he was), I stayed. After awhile I began to believe him. That was the way he controlled me, as he did (I believe) his previous wives. And when I finally had enough and filed for a divorce, he swore he would be penniless out on the street before he would give me a penny. By the way, we worked together throughout the marriage-so I was entitled to half of everything. I loathed him so much by that time, I told him to shove everything and I left. With nothing. So - I would never, ever back to him. So why was I so upset?
I had to think seriously about this. And-after a few days, I realized that he had only sent the LinkedIn invitation to rub in my face the fact that he has a sports car and a new life. Even eight years later, he still wants to upset me. He succeeded-but only briefly.
It isn't like I want him to get run over by a bus. Well, maybe if it runs over his legs. Four or five times.
What has happened to Christian forgiveness? It's Christmas, and all that-and who cares? Screw forgiveness. I finally felt nothing but pity-and then total indifference-but, really, the man treated me like something you step in, and-I certainly am not mystified as to why he wanted to get in touch. He wanted to gloat. Sad, really.
So do I wish him a happy life? No. Hell, no! I wish him years of the kind of misery he inflicted on me. I wish him Irritable Bowel. Acid reflux. Insomnia. Arthritis. Gout. Impotence. Hemorrhoids. Genital herpes, and shingles. And if there is such a condition as "old geezer's boils and acne", I wish him that, too.
Vindictive, me?? Now I feel better. And with the passing of a week and some serious thinking and regaining of perspective, I can see how pathetic he is to contact me at all. There is clearly a good reason I call him the Spawn of Satan!
I said "perspective"-and that is really true. I have better things to think about than a nasty, pathetic, pitiful bully. The time since I walked out on him might have been difficult (it was, very), and the last four years (gentamicin, etc.) were dire and horrific, but I realized how strong, powerful and resilient I really am. I got through it.
And this is the end of the year, and I am glad to see the back of it. Roll on, 2014. I can deal with anything now. I've dealt with worse than emails from a total asshole!!
On Friday, December 13th (eek. Friday the 13th!) there was supposed to be a meteor shower. I set my alarm for four o'clock so I could have a look. I saw-nothing, and it was bloody cold, too. But I remembered the film Night of the Triffids, for some reason. I was just as glad I didn't see anything.
I love those old B-movie science fiction films, made before I was born. This was great, and I recommend renting the original, if you can find it. The remakes are crap. Why do they bother remaking classics, and then they wreck them? Might as well call them Attack of the Celluloid Turkeys and be done with it.
Well-I have been everywhere, I have seen everyone, been poked, prodded, blood-letted, sampled and examined within an inch of my life-just so I can be alive after New Year's Day, I suppose. And what was I told? I am in really good health-for my age. I had to reply that the least people could do is just leave it at the fact that I'm in good health, and forget the last bit-if they want to reach my age, that is!
So I went to see Heidi, the vestibular physiotherapist, and she gave me a list of things she wants me to do before she sees me in January. Heidi is going on maternity leave, so that will be the end of vestibular physio. What she told me was that I might-and she meant "might"-get 80% of the ability to do the things I used to do, not 80% of complete balance (as in, a normal person) back. And it will take time, given the year that I have had. She wants me to leave the eye exercises alone and start going out and doing all the things I would ordinarily do: go to the museum, go to the theatre, and so on. I am to walk uphill, downhill, in the daylight, dusk and dark. And I am to get on the underground, too. Heidi said that the only way my brain will make new neural pathways is if I challenge it relentlessly, by doing everything I have been unable (and unwilling) to do since the gentamicin thing happened.
On Sunday, I decided to delete LinkedIn. I thought about all this since the invitation arrived from the Spawn of Satan, aka Bob Dimmack, my miserable ex-husband. I've been wanting to unsubscribe from LinkedIn for months, since I see no point in having it. I don't even use Facebook, because I keep forgetting the password. And here is where the news comes in.
I got onto LinkedIn- and there it was, a photograph of a very nice looking sports car. Who was standing in front of it, but Bob himself. Not only that, but he shares the account with-his wife. I could have screamed, I was that upset and angry.
Now, I left him because I got sick of his manipulative bullying, his constant putting me down, his tendency to put me down, threaten me and call me the "c" word. Bob was an emotional terrorist-and, because I cared about him (and was clearly insecure, as he was), I stayed. After awhile I began to believe him. That was the way he controlled me, as he did (I believe) his previous wives. And when I finally had enough and filed for a divorce, he swore he would be penniless out on the street before he would give me a penny. By the way, we worked together throughout the marriage-so I was entitled to half of everything. I loathed him so much by that time, I told him to shove everything and I left. With nothing. So - I would never, ever back to him. So why was I so upset?
I had to think seriously about this. And-after a few days, I realized that he had only sent the LinkedIn invitation to rub in my face the fact that he has a sports car and a new life. Even eight years later, he still wants to upset me. He succeeded-but only briefly.
It isn't like I want him to get run over by a bus. Well, maybe if it runs over his legs. Four or five times.
What has happened to Christian forgiveness? It's Christmas, and all that-and who cares? Screw forgiveness. I finally felt nothing but pity-and then total indifference-but, really, the man treated me like something you step in, and-I certainly am not mystified as to why he wanted to get in touch. He wanted to gloat. Sad, really.
So do I wish him a happy life? No. Hell, no! I wish him years of the kind of misery he inflicted on me. I wish him Irritable Bowel. Acid reflux. Insomnia. Arthritis. Gout. Impotence. Hemorrhoids. Genital herpes, and shingles. And if there is such a condition as "old geezer's boils and acne", I wish him that, too.
Vindictive, me?? Now I feel better. And with the passing of a week and some serious thinking and regaining of perspective, I can see how pathetic he is to contact me at all. There is clearly a good reason I call him the Spawn of Satan!
I said "perspective"-and that is really true. I have better things to think about than a nasty, pathetic, pitiful bully. The time since I walked out on him might have been difficult (it was, very), and the last four years (gentamicin, etc.) were dire and horrific, but I realized how strong, powerful and resilient I really am. I got through it.
And this is the end of the year, and I am glad to see the back of it. Roll on, 2014. I can deal with anything now. I've dealt with worse than emails from a total asshole!!
Thursday 12 December 2013
'Tis the season not to be poultry
I've done my due diligence since the last time I posted. I went everywhere, saw everyone, got poked, prodded, blood letted, scrutinized like a bug under a microscope-and decided that I would take a bit of time and think about reasons to be grateful.
I'm grateful that I am not a turkey-or a guinea fowl, chicken, pig, goose, or anything that can be roasted, stuffed, sautéed, fried, boiled or microwaved. I'm grateful that I'm not an animal that can be sliced and diced and served on a platter with sprouts, sweet potatoes, beans, and whatever everyone has for Christmas dinner!
Oh, the way the poor animals are treated-it's almost enough to make me a vegetarian.
Years ago, there was an outbreak of foot in mouth disease, and the BBC showed graphic footage of cattle being slaughtered by the thousands. All over Britain cows and pigs were being killed. You could see piles and piles of dead animals. I wanted to cry. And then-this is a true story, by the way!- the government stated that it was okay to sell the slaughtered animals for human consumption as long as the diseased bits were cut out first.
I can truly say that I have not eaten red meat in this country since then-and that must be 20 years ago. What a way to take care of overpopulation: just poison everybody.
Having given you such cheerful news - especially if you are red meat lovers!!-I actually do have some good news. Fantastic news will be when I am no longer using crutches, canes, or anything resembling a walking stick. Fantastic news will be when I can jump up and down and tell you that I have at least 80% balance. But-not yet, although you bloggees know by now that I refuse to give up, no matter what happens or how many times I am tempted. No quitting for me!
The good news? It probably doesn't sound important to anyone else, although-I need to say at this point that I do not do any kind of needlework. No knitting, or crochet, or any of that stuff. I don't sew. Period. Especially now-there would be a great deal of swearing and blood loss, because I still have trouble focusing on where I want needles to go (out the window, usually).
That is why we have tailors, and cleaners with people who mend your clothes if that is what's needed.
But-I had a button that needed to be sewn back on, and I felt that I couldn't wear this shirt outside without the button, or I would look like a bag lady. I didn't want to bring it to my cleaners-it's only a button, not something earthshaking! So-I found my needle and thread, and decided to do it myself.
This needle was tiny. I do mean, tiny. I could barely see the eye, let alone thread it. And at home you could buy a needle threader, but no such things can be found in this country. Can't see it? Tough, is the mindset. So I sat and worked at it for about five minutes-and, sure enough, my perseverance paid off. I managed to thread the needle, sew the button on without stabbing myself anywhere, and, as the saying goes, Bob's your uncle (I don't know where that expression comes from, but it fits just about any situation, so there you go. Bob's your uncle.). Job done, although I managed to drop the needle and can't find it anywhere. No doubt I'll find it by stepping on it-then you'll be able to hear me swear in Minneapolis.
All in all, the last few weeks-and months-have been very tiring, and extremely traumatic. But I got through it all. I'm either very strong or completely crazy, because I just keep going. The alternative leaves a great deal to be desired.
I'm just about finished with all the doctors and physiotherapists for this year. Everything closes down over Christmas, I'm glad to say! I will have free time-what a very weird feeling, I can actually sit and think about what to do to amuse myself. I must admit I would like to shove an axe in the head of the deranged, obnoxious, psychopathic (and noisy as hell) cretin who lives upstairs. But-that is a nice fantasy. Everyone I know has shared that with me at some point or another. Noisy, rotten neighbours-is that an epidemic or what? I've heard horrible neighbor stories from other people-this nutter seems almost tame in comparison. So that is another reason to be grateful . Ish.
I don't have an IPad, or an IPod, or a Kindle, or a nice widescreen television, or any of that other stuff that so many people have and so many people covet. If you don't either, don't worry. It could be worse. You could be a turkey.
I'm grateful that I am not a turkey-or a guinea fowl, chicken, pig, goose, or anything that can be roasted, stuffed, sautéed, fried, boiled or microwaved. I'm grateful that I'm not an animal that can be sliced and diced and served on a platter with sprouts, sweet potatoes, beans, and whatever everyone has for Christmas dinner!
Oh, the way the poor animals are treated-it's almost enough to make me a vegetarian.
Years ago, there was an outbreak of foot in mouth disease, and the BBC showed graphic footage of cattle being slaughtered by the thousands. All over Britain cows and pigs were being killed. You could see piles and piles of dead animals. I wanted to cry. And then-this is a true story, by the way!- the government stated that it was okay to sell the slaughtered animals for human consumption as long as the diseased bits were cut out first.
I can truly say that I have not eaten red meat in this country since then-and that must be 20 years ago. What a way to take care of overpopulation: just poison everybody.
Having given you such cheerful news - especially if you are red meat lovers!!-I actually do have some good news. Fantastic news will be when I am no longer using crutches, canes, or anything resembling a walking stick. Fantastic news will be when I can jump up and down and tell you that I have at least 80% balance. But-not yet, although you bloggees know by now that I refuse to give up, no matter what happens or how many times I am tempted. No quitting for me!
The good news? It probably doesn't sound important to anyone else, although-I need to say at this point that I do not do any kind of needlework. No knitting, or crochet, or any of that stuff. I don't sew. Period. Especially now-there would be a great deal of swearing and blood loss, because I still have trouble focusing on where I want needles to go (out the window, usually).
That is why we have tailors, and cleaners with people who mend your clothes if that is what's needed.
But-I had a button that needed to be sewn back on, and I felt that I couldn't wear this shirt outside without the button, or I would look like a bag lady. I didn't want to bring it to my cleaners-it's only a button, not something earthshaking! So-I found my needle and thread, and decided to do it myself.
This needle was tiny. I do mean, tiny. I could barely see the eye, let alone thread it. And at home you could buy a needle threader, but no such things can be found in this country. Can't see it? Tough, is the mindset. So I sat and worked at it for about five minutes-and, sure enough, my perseverance paid off. I managed to thread the needle, sew the button on without stabbing myself anywhere, and, as the saying goes, Bob's your uncle (I don't know where that expression comes from, but it fits just about any situation, so there you go. Bob's your uncle.). Job done, although I managed to drop the needle and can't find it anywhere. No doubt I'll find it by stepping on it-then you'll be able to hear me swear in Minneapolis.
All in all, the last few weeks-and months-have been very tiring, and extremely traumatic. But I got through it all. I'm either very strong or completely crazy, because I just keep going. The alternative leaves a great deal to be desired.
I'm just about finished with all the doctors and physiotherapists for this year. Everything closes down over Christmas, I'm glad to say! I will have free time-what a very weird feeling, I can actually sit and think about what to do to amuse myself. I must admit I would like to shove an axe in the head of the deranged, obnoxious, psychopathic (and noisy as hell) cretin who lives upstairs. But-that is a nice fantasy. Everyone I know has shared that with me at some point or another. Noisy, rotten neighbours-is that an epidemic or what? I've heard horrible neighbor stories from other people-this nutter seems almost tame in comparison. So that is another reason to be grateful . Ish.
I don't have an IPad, or an IPod, or a Kindle, or a nice widescreen television, or any of that other stuff that so many people have and so many people covet. If you don't either, don't worry. It could be worse. You could be a turkey.
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