Tales from the Dark

Well, dear reader.

The last time I adressed you directly I was bona fide Professional Girlfriend. But now the tables have turned, and technically I am now Unemployed Single Mum (On benefits). BUT… I am keeping the nickname because it has a nice ring to it – And it is a perfect representation of the perch I will swing back onto soon.

2009 has been a wayward bitch of  a year, but a real eye opener in so many respects. In a previous post I made mention to the insane treatment of mothers attempting to return to the workforce, on the side of someone who was not then relying on social welfare of any kind. MAN, the tables have turned… I have woken up and smelt the coffee. It smells of rotten old socks filled with shit.

So I have another perspective to put forward on this blog, which is one I hope will be interesting and useful to people who find themselves in my position and bring awareness to some who have not. BUUUUUUUUTTTT… Don’t worry. I am not going to force feed you my angry political regurgitations(well, not too much).

To give you example of my good faith, I’m cracking out the jokes.

Are you ready?

Good, good.

Here goes:

What do you call a reindeer with no eyes????

NO IDEA!  

(boom-tish!)

An Anonymous Poem Written on a Cemetery Wall in Spain

I read a translation of the above at my father’s funeral the other day. It’s a poem that came to my attention completely randomly, and I thought it said some very meaningful things about life and death. It was found in Gaucin, Spain, and as far as I am aware it is completely anonymous.

I’ve translated it as best as I could.

“Death is nothing. It is merely as if one went to sleep in the adjacent room.

I go on being me, and you go on being you, and we go on being the same to one another.

Follow me calling as you once did, and follow me speaking as you did before.

Go on smiling as if I were still here. Think of me, pray for me and ensure my name is always spoken in a natural manner, without shadows surrounding it.

Death is a natural process and I still go on in your heart, even when you do not see me, I will always be by your side.

Life goes on and all is well.”

Grief is Pathetic Pain

Removes all eloquence.

Has no known cure.

Has no known use.

Just hurts, helplessly, pathetically.

Bites you on the bum when you least expect it to.

When lulled into a false sense of security, the memory of the awful truth seeps through like sharp poison.

Like rotten, rabid sharp teeth.

Isolates you in your own despair.

The emptiness hurts like hunger but you still can’t swallow.

Dead and reduced to nothing but ash.

It cannot be because it is implausible, unthinkable, unbelievable.

You were sitting just opposite me at the dinner table.

And now I will never see you again.

It can’t be true but it is.

Only When the Goal is Unattainable

A dear friend sent me the link to this video and I’m kinda hooked. Funny how much I’ve been drawing from Youtube lately, it is unintentional! At the same time that I don’t want this to become some kind of personal guide into online videos, I love it when I am introduced to new music that touches me, and this definitely does. Voice like dripping honey on a warm sunny afternoon.

(Bitch)

 

:p

When We Pretend That We’re Dead

Don’t you just love television?

 

Such a broad medium. Can capitalise on anything! Death, in particular, for the subject of this conversation, is quite striking.

Dude dies.

 

Suddenly, Kill Bill 1 & 2 is gracing my screen.

 

I *feign outrage*.

 

Truth is, I rather like it. I Love It In Fact.

All these years of action heroism being the domain of Arnie; Beefy; What’s-His-Face-O’Farrell; Ludicrously-Named-Vin Diesel. I bet all these men have hands as soft as 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, but it just seems right that they get these really ridiculously OTT action roles, where they massacre millions, and we never even stop to consider how outlandish it is because they are strong, hard men.

 

So, despite the obvious cash cow mooing in the fields of my televisual incarceration tonight, I rather enjoy seeing those same outlandish roles applied to women. Uma Thurman, Lucy Liu, Daryl Hannah, Vivica A. Fox, I SALUTE YOU. You are HARD AS!

 

The suspension of disbelief necessary to make female roles such as this believable requires a bit of art; but we are so used to Mel Gibson or Bruce Willis playing characters way outside the scope of their reality that we don’t even question it as being fantasy! So tonight, mysterious death in Bangkok or not, I’m indulging in a hardcore motherfucker woman fantasy of my own.

 

Ahhhh… That’s why boys like these films so much… And who says women don’t get hit just as hard in real life!

UNSTOPPABLE!!!!!!!!

I’ve been away, folks.

 

BUT NOW I’M BACK!

 

And this is how I feel…

 

PJ Harvey, 50ft Queenie:

Hey I’m one big queen no one can stop me
Red light red green smack back and watch it
I’m your new one second to no one
No sweat, I’m clean, nothing can touch me

I’ll tell you my name F U and C K
50ft queenie force ten hurricanes
Biggest woman I could have ten sons
Ten daughters ten queens
Ten foot and rising

Hey I’m the king of the world
You ought to hear my song
You come and measure me
I’m twenty inches long

Glory glory lay it all on me
50ft queenie 50 and rising
You bend over, Casanova
No sweat, I’m clean
Nothing can touch me

Hey I’m the king of the world
You ought to hear my song
You come and measure me
I’m twenty inches long
Hey I’m king of the world
You ought to hear my song
You come and measure me
I’m thirty inches long
Hey I’m king of the world
You ought to hear my song
You come and measure me
I’m forty inches long
Hey I’m king of the world
You ought to hear my song
You come and and measure me
I’m fifty inches long
50ft queenie

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Whoop! Whoop!

Roughly 36 hours left until I make my way to Rio. I’ve been in such disbelief that I haven’t even given my itinerary much thought, other than making sure I visit the Vila Mimosa(which is a slightly scary prospect). In fact, all I’ve been doing is wasting my energy thinking pointless, annoying drivel about the girth of my hips and how there is nowhere to hide when you’re wearing two minuscule swatches of lycra. Why oh why do we do it to ourselves?!

 

Anyway, I came across an old video from 1953 of the previous incarnation of the Vila Mimosa, before it was moved to its current location. I would recommend watching it to anyone interested in the subject, and even those who might admire this vintage recording’s eery, unsettling quality on a cinematographic level. The current Vila is  still eery and unsettling, yet in a way the cinematographer did not capture in this video. You can watch it here.

Happy Easter Everyone!

Well we had Dame Judi Dench talking on the radio this am, and she mentioned how somehow Easter is another one of those big family occasions, and yet it is not half as stressful as Christmas. Funny that, isn’t it?  Must be because most of us aren’t quite as poor as we would be at the end of December. And the days are longer, too.

Anyway, I have had a pretty grim beginning to Easter, because I’ve seen FOUR bunnies lose their lives today, which is probably more than I ever have in one go.

 

One: Death By Fox; Two: Agony by getting leg massacred in rat trap and subsequent mercy death by rifle; Third: Death by shotgun; Fourth: Whole Baby rabbit getting half-swallowed by Golden Retriever on post-lunch countryside walk.

 

I’d much rather think of bunnies hopping on Easter. Like this:

Acrobatic vs. Pornographic?

Why is it that when I mention to anyone I would love to learn to poledance I get this stifled snigger? I swear the boyf would take the mickey out of me for years if I dared to take a lesson. Either that or dump me.

I almost did once, because I thought it would be a fun way to look after my figure. And then I found out I was 4 months pregnant. And pregnancy+poledancing seems like a bit of a dangerous sport, so I gave up on the idea.  No drinking, smoking or pole dancing allowed when you’re up the duff.

 

And then I came across this video and it really made me wish I could do it:

It’s a wonder I never ran away with the circus in my youth. I think this is amazing. And not in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge way either! I think I have a complex about being born in the jungle and not having opposable toes.

Things To Do When I’m in Brazil(In No Particular Order)

* Visit the Vila Mimosa again and write some more

* Have highlights put in hair

*Have a manicure and pedicure once a week (Luxury!!!!!!!)

*Eat lots of sushi and barbecue

*See Nana and Grandad

*Get a nice tan

*Buy a pair of nice cheap perky bum jeans

*Try to see as many of my nearest and dearest as I can

*Spend some time stretched out on a beach like an overweight albino lizard

*Forget my worries and put life back in order

 

 

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!