Blog Links Just some of the great blogs I keep stumbling on. Go for an explore, and if you see any really good ones, let me know...
- the hottest blogger I know. - I hate knitting. However, I love this blog. Who'd have thought? - If you ask me, it's perpetual brilliance! - 'nuff said. Inspired - inspiring.
- ...into light. Xenouveau - Her from Sadisticland. All Geek To Me - Fun from Scout Finch.
Elven Sarah - Witty and weird, a bit like me (but witty). Sedgefield - A nice blog, which may have died from meme deficiency... - A great lady had a great blog. Hopefully it returns...
superphase - A stick hero for the masses...
Sadly, we have been given the cold Shoulder. - a great blog from the continent, nice and warm there. - Not indulgent any more.
She Speaks - The star-crossed lover is now silent.
Organic Feminism - A tremendous blog. Even though she calls me Scoots *shudder*
You can no longer get your soup fix from souplover.
Rant! Seethe! Bloody Trains! I won't bore you with another tirade hurled at Virgin Train managers. Instead I'll talk about that strangest of beasts, online romance. I have had two fairly long internet relationships, by which I mean longer than a month; such is their transitory nature, as I understand.
The first was with Andi. She was in the same situation as I; a loveless marriage, a need to escape. We started off as friends, flirting and so on, and before I knew it we were making plans for her to immigrate so we could be together. It was great, she was sweet and sexy, and we spent most of the time chatting, online or on the phone. I don't know why, perhaps I was afraid of committing after the mess with Kate (you remember, that wife I changed the name of), or it just got too serious too soon, or even the logistics of but I started to get depressed about the relationship. I handled it badly - I seem to handle most things badly when it comes to relationships - and I hurt her deeply, just like I hurt Kate.
I hated myself, I felt so wretched about it. Surely this wasn't me? Some swine who treads on the feelings of others?
And then I met Penny. It seemed everything was working out. It was in a 3D chat environment called Worlds, an easy place to immerse yourself. She wanted to take things slowly, and this appealed to me, as a relief from my headstrong ways (Being Taurus, born in the year of the bull, I am a danger to china-shops everywhere). But there was a problem. Friends in Worlds would make allegations about her indulging in digital infidelity, my new-found friends disapproved of her, and she was reluctant to interact with me in real life, to the extent that I only ever saw a single photo, and she would only rarely answer the phone, never calling me once. I should have seen the signs, I probably did, but ignored them, like Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr in The Man With Two Brains. Until she disappeared, logging out when I logged in, avoiding me completely, and then I knew. I already thought things were going wrong. We'd talk, but there was only ever one topic, and it wasn't current affairs. When she finally returned, she told me that she was going back to her ex, who I suspect she'd never split with. Afterwards her friends told me about certain aspects of her personality, which matched her behaviour. I am relieved to be out of it, knowing what I know now.
So, here I am, wondering what it is about online relationships. I suspect it's like speed dating, except in the dark, and with earplugs in. The odds of bumping into the right person are low, and you won't know until you see them in daylight...
I learnt something interesting on Friday. I have a season ticket.
Now I know what you're thinking. "And?"
But if someone had told me that my 7 day train ticket was a season ticket three weeks ago, I would have saved enough blood, sweat and tears to craft a new person. I did not need to acquire 22 bike reservation tickets, which are worthless anyway. I was highly amused when I found out, now I'm just relieved, and not at all inclined to rip someone's head off their body.
But back to thongs...
A thong is a cyclist's friend. I had a bad day yesterday. The PC users I encountered were monumentally selfish, stupid and rude. I had to drop off a cable at 4pm, unfortunately, everyone in the building left at five to. By the time I had figured this out, and stowed the cable where it will most likely be stolen, I was very short of time to reach the station. If I had missed the 4:30 train, I would have had a half hour wait to look forward to. So I pedalled pell mell and got there in time.
However, it was raining. Hard. Very hard indeed. In fact, as I cycled down the road, I was passed by the Royal Yacht Britannia, which I thought was quite odd at the time. There is no mudguard on the bike, and so the rain from the front combined with the spray from the back, to ensure I was soaked completely. And this is where the thong efficacy paid off. Had I been wearing boxers or jockey shorts, I would have been uncomfortably wet until I got home to change. With the thong, however, the tiny fabric triangles dried significantly faster than my skin, and so I was slightly less uncomfortable, and completely dry when I had to change trains. I love my thong!
I typed it out, read it, had a cup of tea, re-read it, and deleted it.
Why deprive the world of the FANTASTIC blog?
Well, partly because it wasn't FANTASTIC at all, and partly because some of its content was posting for posting's sake.
I've decided that instead of posting the FANTASTIC blog (or blog as I've come to call it), I'll talk about it, include some of the good bits, and try to squeeze it into some kind of topical context. Tricky, and it might not work, but, hey! What the heck!
I have this annoying personality trait. I develop crushes all too easily, usually instantly, and against all logic and reason. But then again, this is the nature of the crush:
Crush: (n) - The feeling of total and abject love for someone, without any reasonable basis in reality. The recipient of this (usually unwanted) attention is believed to be the perfect match for the person having the crush, although it is unlikely that there is any evidence for this. A crush is usually harmless, unless it develops into a psychosis (see Stalker).
(Winston Inglish Dictionary)
There seems to be a malfunction with my heart. It skips a beat so often, or rises to my throat, or aches, that I wonder if I'm having one long arrest. It's stretched and distended, as I fall in love over and over again.
So there you have it. I develop crushes all the time. I really thought that I'd be over that kind of thing by now, particularly at my age. I think I've been getting my water out of the wrong tap or something. Why does this always happen to me?! I don't want a crush, and I definitely don't need one!
I'm in a state of perpetual confusion, my life seems to be whirling by as I grind to a complete halt.
Women beware. I am damaged goods.
WAR IS PEACE FREEDOM IS SLAVERY IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH(Who is Winston Smith?)
I suppose I should elaborate on the previous statement.
I haven't kept it a secret, but by the same token, I haven't mentioned it earlier. In 1995 I made a dreadful mistake. I met a woman in January, and married her in September. My family held their tongues, and everything seemed fine. Except I had an indistinct nagging in the back of my mind, like a cough you can't clear. This persistent feeling in my mind caused me to withdraw into myself, and I found it harder and harder to express my feelings.
She has a few neuroses, which she tries to kill with alcohol, but sadly they thrive on that particular toxin. She would become a moody drunk, and occasionally lash out. Mainly at me. We both drank quite heavily, and it took me a long time to notice, but when I did, things gradually deteriorated.
It got to the point where she lashed out at me during my sister's housewarming party. I stormed off, and wandered the streets for an hour. I decided to return after that, but I'd become hopelessly lost, and it took another hour after that to get back. When I did, the mood of the party was different. My sister was in a foul mood, and my wife (who I shall call Kate) was crying for me to come back.
It wasn't until a few months ago till I found out what had actually happened. After I left, my sister had been told that Kate was sat in a drunken moaning heap in the bathroom. She went to help, and Kate tried to attack her. Now, my sister is a gym teacher, so she had no trouble restraining her, but the incident was enough to convince her that Kate was bad news.
Eventually, after she'd tried to smother me with a pillow, I realised I couldn't control myself for much longer. I spent more and more time on the PC, looking for distractions, and it wasn't long till she accused me of having an affair. I gave up. I told her I'd had enough, and I wanted a divorce.
Until the house is sold, however, we're stuck with each other. Neither of us can afford to buy it from the other, and we need to clear off a fair bit of joint debt. Of course, this makes every day like Assault on Precinct 13; tense, dangerous, and a little tacky. Occasionally, since the breakup, we've had blazing rows, such as the time she tried to stab herself with the breadknife, but nothing I hadn't resigned myself to. She lives her life downstairs, in the room with the winebottles, and I live mine upstairs, in the room with the broadband connection.
We have a buyer, so with a little luck, we'll be free of each other in a month or so. It won't come soon enough for me, for at the moment I feel like I have no home.
This week some fun with free association and then some. What is free association? It's a "I say ____, you think _____" sort of thing. You can list the first word, phrase or idea that comes to your mind.
First, as a warm up, using the letters M-I-N-D reveal four things about yourself.
M - Mentallist. The most used description of me by others...
I - Intellect. I have a great one, I exercise it now and again, in the park
N - Nitwit. I can be a tremendous nitwit at times.
D - Dangerous. I am dangerous to pretty much all electronic equipment. Terminator wouldn't stand a chance against me!
1. with the still. Oasis fruit drink (the advertising slogan).
2. That joke. When it rains cats and dogs, don't step in a poodle.
3. skin tissue.
5. nightclubs in Ibiza (never been to one though).
8. scizophrenic. I've an innie that wants to be an outie.
9. Tigger. Obviously.
10. John Travolta.
I found this online today, thought I'd add some amusing links...
My #1 result for the SelectSmart.com selector, The Discworld Character Selector, is Lord Havelock Vetinari - Machiavellian and nearly-benevolent ruler of Ankh-Morpork. A worryingly cool-headed scholar of human nature.
I don't know how accurate it is:
My #2 result for the SelectSmart.com selector, The Discworld Character Selector, is Esme "Granny" Weatherwax - Unofficial leader of the Lancre coven. An independant and intelligent woman with a powerful code of morals and a will of iron.
This week we ask the musical question...What's in a Name? Take the letters of your first name and see what song titles can come from your name...or band names....or hey do it twice and do it with both..
Hmm...tricky. Moreso because this is my third attempt to do it without interruption.
World in my eyes - I sing like Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode(in my mind) I believe in a thing called love - I sing like Justin Hawkins of the Darkness(in your nightmares) Never gonna give you up - I also sing like Rick Astley(in my nightmares) Stranger on the Shore - My clarinet lies gathering dust. Acker Bilk is safe for now. Time - Dave Gilmour keeps asking me to join the tour. No really... Anyway, no list of anything would be complete without a Pink Floyd reference... Oliver's army - I sing like Elvis Costello (In my dreams) Naked in the Rain - I sing like Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers (in your dreams)
Actually, I sing a tiny bit like all of them, but it depends on the strength of my medicatioin...
I'd forgotten what it was like, sitting in the back of the car, whilst mum and dad argued over every little thing.
"You should have gone that way." "Well, why didn't you say so?" I've been listening to a constant stream of disagreement, exacerbated, no doubt, by my father's insistence that I need a replacement tube of rubber cement (for bike punctures), and me asking them whether we could stop somewhere to get a cat scratching post.
I have decided to give this cat-training one last ditch attempt. When I move to my sister's I'll have to part with my beloved Spartacus, unless he can be rehabilitated as safe for furniture, stair carpets and wooden doorframes.
I chose an intriguingly entitled "carpet scratch post" from the plethora of Feline Entertainment Centres, eschewing the dubious delights of the £100 Feline Pioneer and the £80 Feline Ranger for something I could carry to the car. Mind you, I am wondering whether I might have been better buying the cat Pyramid, wherein he could have slumbered for a thousand years without ageing, and continuing the tradition between cats and the egyptians.
I have some training spray from the last abortive attempt at taming the wild beast, which I like to call "Cat B Gone". It smells of lemon, but it's very bitter to the taste, which can be annoying if you've just sprayed everywhere, and then forgotten to scrub your hands several times with caustic soda or the like. With luck (a lot of it), I'll persuade Spartacus to mend his scratching ways in a month, or kill us both trying!
I need to speak to my father. he forgets that motorway sliproads are not pitlanes. Sadly, both he and my mother are from racedriving stock, my dad used to do the Liverpool Fleetwood challenge - 50 miles in 50 minutes, bearing in mind that this was before the advent of motorways, not to mention ABS. Oh well, you may think. Your mum must be more sedate. No, She learnt to drive in a Healey Sprite, a tiny little sportscar with a great big engine. So naturally, I am a crazy driver, except I seem to crash more...
I'd best stop now. The car is weaving like a thing possessed, and it's making me quite ill...
Welcome to my fortress of solitude, my inner sanctum.
It is here, languishing between satin sheets, clad only in exotic oils and incense, that I write my posts.
Well, not exactly.
I'm in my pyjamas, sitting in my parents' house, in my old bedroom. Laptop in hand, lulled by snoring from the next room, and farting mightily.
There's something unworldly about visiting your parents, it's akin to travelling back through time, to a simpler age, when all you had to worry about was homework and bullying. It is the closest some of us will ever get to returning to the warmth and safety of the womb.
It is strange, though. Once you leave, although you feel comfortable when you visit, there's a nagging feeling inside, telling you that you're precisely that. Visiting. My home is elsewhere. In fact, as the eagerly FANTASTIC blog will tell you, I am psychologically homeless.
So, I'm here for Easter. This made me wonder something, as an outside observer. Which event should christians celebrate more; Jesus's birth, bringing the saviour into the world, or his death, sacrificing himself that we (excluding heathens like myself) might be saved?
It's something to ponder as you munch on your chocolate egg. I got a toblerone one this year, so I'm happy.
(since writing this, it's now daytime, and I'm still not dressed yet. I love holidays!)