Yearly Archives: 2009
This evening I made Sausages in Wine-maker’s Sauce:
Plonk sausages (I chose pork and venison with red wine) into an oven-proof dish and fill with approximately 400ml of Beaujolais until the wine is half way up the side of the sausages. Drizzle with olive oil or butter and then shove in an oven that’s at 200C for one hour. Baste occasionally. Serve with mash and steamed cabbage.
Lazy food at it’s finest, and rather tasty too – Though I did add some balsamic vinegar and a stock cube to the sauce just to take the edge off (I think the wine needed longer).
I have passed a pleasant evening of an easy dinner, accompanied with hot Frenchmen and well-written dialogue on Spiral before doing lots of washing-up, cleaning the shower and de-furring the showerhead. Efficient. Lots of mess everywhere else of course :)
I’m tired and a bit glum; the mass in my boob feels very strange indeed at the moment- extra hard and nodular, I guess from where the samples were taken. C’est bizarre. I feel like making a big nest and curling up for quite a while, preferably with a purveyor of warm manfur within arm’s reach. Sigh.
ALWAYS listen to your Art Teacher- When we tell you not to do something, DON’T:
Girl loses fingers in school art lesson
The pupil in question did not follow the instructions given and was pretty fucking stupid to do what she did; the school is at fault however because whomever was supposed to be monitoring her appears not to have noticed for ten minutes what this foolish individual was doing. In a busy class I can see it happening- I’ve had a pupil tip molten wax used in batik over the back of the hand of a peer because she was totally fucking inconsiderate and didn’t give a shit about the subject… There for the grace… etcetera…
There’s just over a month ’til I turn twenty-nine years of age; as is usual my thoughts have turned to what has happened over the course of the year and of course what I would like giftage-wise.
Re-reading last years pre-birthday wish list it seems that nothing much on it has changed, I mean I took myself and MW#1 to Hawksmoor but that doesn’t count as I paid (a lot!) for the large amount of pleasure I got.
I’m still shit-out-of-luck on “the sixty minutes of massage” “red-tipped black petticoat and polka dot circle skirt from Fairy Gothmother” “weekend away somewhere pretty with someone who cares for me” “bouquet of richly scented, non-red roses” and “a birthday kiss”. Yes, I went to Berlin with MW#1 but I paid my half and there is absolutely no way our time away could be classed as romantic; the massage I had on Leia Ewok Village’s birthday spa trip was again paid by myself and was only a half hour (though good).
Thinking back to my birthday outings last year – one with MW#1 in Lahndahn Tahn and one with Leia Ewok Village locally – it’s super clear which one I enjoyed more: The outing with Leia Ewok Village. So as I remember back I recall the disgraceful “Got your passport…?” comments from MW#1, the unwillingness to hold me and his detachment for the majority of the evening. *Such* great memories.
Then of course I remember taking him out for his birthday this year, how he wouldn’t hold my hand, would walk ahead of me and didn’t want to give me anything more than a peck kiss-wise. Total bullshit on the behaviour front but divine steaks. Is that enough compensation…? I think not.
So on “event” outings I seem to have less of an enjoyable time with the person I supposedly want in my life than I do with my friends. Surely they should be equal in enjoyment- different, yes but enjoyable nonetheless. But no, it seems not… What’s the betting that MW#1 doesn’t arrange a meet up until say November, which will be three months since we last saw each other…?
I critique away here but i’ll admit that when I was feeling sore and rather glum throughout Wednesday I wished I could curl up next to MW#1 and feel warm and fuzzy and safe in his arms. Sigh.
Anyway, i’m tired and need a shower as aside from a trip to Tesco i’ve spent the entire weekend in my pyjamas. I am nothing if not klassy.
Things I really should get off my arse and see:
21st Sept – 31st Jan 10 – Turner and the Masters
13th Oct – 10th Jan 10 – John Baldessari: Pure Beauty
1st Oct – 17th Jan 10 – Pop Life
6th Oct – 3rd Jan 10 – Turner Prize
21st Oct – 24th Jan 10 – The Sacred Made Real
24th Sept – 24th Jan 10 – Moctezuma
14th Oct – 10th Jan 10 – Ed Ruscha: Fifty Years of Painting
26th Sept – 11th Dec – Anish Kapoor
30th July – 18th Oct – Exquisite Bodies
These exhibitions are all supremely interesting and I should try and get back in the swing of exhibition-going as i’ve rather fallen off that wagon… Perhaps half term will provide some time to indulge…
Why am I texting people about food that I found particularly tasty? Why am I soberly texting people about food that I found particularly tasty?
It was good admittedly: Half a grapefruit sprinkled with brown sugar, splashed with rum and then grilled for a few minutes until the top bubbles. Simple yet awesome. MMMmmmm…
Could I not be drunkenly telling people that I love them? Or waxing lyrical about the soporific qualities of hugging? Noooo… I have to text people about food that excites me. Fortheloveofgod…
Today went well in that:
Within the space of four hours I had a fine needle aspiration of my lump, an ultrasound of both breasts, a mammogram of both breasts and a core biopsy of my lump along with an aspiration of an over-excitable lymph node under my arm. Everyone was nice and interestingly, female and I didn’t have to wait terribly long between appointments, passing the time happily collecting acorns in Animal Crossing (it’s the Acorn Festival this week).
It also went well in that the fine needle aspiration of the lump revealed nothing obviously nasty. Huzzah. However, the words “Ooh… I’m not quite sure what this is” are words you really don’t want to hear from the Doctor as she slides the ultrasound probe around your breast. So although it’s *far* from bad news further information is required and so I have to go back next week to collect the results of the biopsy.
Whatever it turns out to be I will probably have it taken out; it’s over three centimetres in size and so they recommend that anything over this size is removed for safety’s sake. As I am young hopefully the tissue in my breast will slide back into the space that’s left from the removal of the lump so I shouldn’t be left with too much deformity of the surface of the breast; again i’ll find out more about this next Wednesday.
I’ve a fair few holes in my breast and one in my armpit; i’m a bit tender but not overly so. I found the whole experience good- Care taken, appointments well-organised; of course all the technology was super exciting and interesting to me- Oooh- I can see inside me! Look, there’s the needle poking in! I be dork. There did however seem to be a fair amount of miscommunication between what the Doctor told me and what went in the report the Nurse Practitioner read back to me; things were kept rather vague when the Nurse was explaining to me what they’d found and what it all might mean. Not so good.
Anyway, it could be one of the following things:
A Fibroadenoma (the mouse)
General hormonal hardening of the tissues
A Phyllodes tumour
Due to my Mum’s history – oddly, she had problems with her right breast too – I was given the choice whether or not to move myself into the “Moderate Risk” category and so attend screenings every year; I opted to keep an eye on myself and bring forward the beginning of regular mammograms i.e. start from the age of 40.
The medical people are going to discuss me at their meeting next week – fun! – and then i’ll have some hopefully more solid information so I can make whatever decisions I need to. I’m tired and a bit sore and I need a shower; my poor breast is swollen and interestingly coloured so I have to sleep with a bit of support tonight so I don’t crush the poor wee thing.
I must take some photos, then shower then bed. YAWN…
Tomorrow I am off to the breast clinic, or more precisely Outpatients 1 for a poke about my parts; the letter informing me of my appointment only arrived yesterday so today I had to scramble to arrange school stuff and some time off. The letter says that although my appointment is first thing in the morning it may take until the afternoon; I am going to bring a book and the DS. Fun times.
My Dad is out of hospital and is apparently sore but well; my brother ended up having to fly over there so that he could bring back my Dad and the car – It’s going to be quite a drive for the guy- stuck in a confined space with a very grumpy Dad. Ugh. Good Luck to him.
I am officially out from under the radar and attempting poached eggs B3ta-style.
In the ad breaks for The Ultimate Fighter: Heavyweights they trail the UFC Undisputed game and from this I have been made aware that after what, thirty or so years of game evolution, we have now reached a point where the ring girls’ breasts gently bounce as they walk around the octagon. Clearly a pinnacle of simulation programming.
[image internet find]
TUF is rather interesting in that they have the fabulously named Kimbo Slice on one of the teams; he is more of a hard bastard and street fighter than mixed martial artist, so although he clearly means business, he was beaten by an awesomely slobby opponent with far more finesse on the skills side of things (Roy Nelson).
I haven’t watched any UFC for a long time so it’s nice to be able to take in the series. I was supposed to be reading and correcting several essays from my students but shopping, lounging and yes, McDonalds (comfort food) got in the way. Sunday brings lunch with a group of people who I have not seen in a very long time indeed; I am looking forward to it greatly.
My Dad came through his operation fine with many gallstones found when they took his gallbladder out. Ick. I’m still waiting on the clinic referral front and there are only a few days left of being invisible to radar. I wonder what comes next…?
Friday night and I am relaxing with my second glass of Viognier (recommended by the far too appealing wine specialist at Waitrose) and some surprisingly tasty spinach gnocchi with tomato sauce and mozzarella; the gnocchi are pleasingly malformed due their construction by my own cackhanded self. Score.
I had meant to eat a few hours earlier than I ended up doing but a Family Crisis intervened in my dining schedule: My Parents are en France at the moment and whilst there my Dad was taken to hospital after experiencing severe abdominal pain; it turns out that he has got an inflamed gallbladder and will be having surgery tomorrow morning to get it taken out.
My Mum is the fluent one when it comes to the language; it seems my Dad is comfortable and has been told he needs to lose weight – quelle suprise – and that he also has a heart condition. SIGH. Anyway, my Mum is going to stay with my Dad for a few days before coming back to the UK; the big problem is that their car is still over there and my Mum is not a confident driver, so getting it back in the country will probably involve either my Dad bringing it back once he’s recovered or my brother flying over there and then somehow making his way to the village where my Parent’s house is. Problematic.
My Mum sounds fine over the phone, more than anything she sounds a little exasperated over it all, given that it is another self-inflicted problem. Much as I have my differences with my Dad, I can’t help but contemplate his mortality. I hope all goes well tomorrow…
Super-creepy pictures of gallbladders filled with gallstones ahoy
Three or so months ago I noticed that the lumpiness I felt in my breasts associated with menstruation was not dissipating as it usually did when I went back on the pill; in one breast there was a noticeable unevenness and hardening to the structure of it whereas the other stayed pliable and well, breast-tissue-y. There was no change to the skin or nipple. I kept feeling to see what it did, if it grew or moved or went on holiday, and after waiting a couple of cycles to see if it resolved itself today I took myself and my boobs to the GP for a good old feel.
After getting topless for my Doctor she checked out how my breasts looked overall – equal with no outer variation – and got me to rest my arm on hers before she poked around my upper chest near the collarbone and underneath each armpit. Feeling nothing of note there she got me to lie back and sort of pancaked each breast with the flat of her hands whilst poking about with her fingers. She seemed unable to find anything on the left side but when she moved on to the right and started to move her fingers closer around my nipple I knew she’d struck gold, so to speak.
I felt relieved she’d confirmed what I felt, that I was believed and didn’t have to persuade the medical system to work for me as I have had to do in the past. The mass is definitely isolated to the right breast and is around 4cm or so in size but it has been increasing; it is mobile (not fixed to my skeleton or muscle – it sort of slides about) which my GP says is a good thing in terms of possible diagnoses.
My Mum had “pre-cancerous breast cancer” as she calls it – I think Ductal Carcinoma In Situ – around six years ago which resulted in her having a small portion of her breast surgically removed with a five year course of Tamoxifen as follow-up. I believe that her Mum had breast cancer of some sorts many years back and although I was quite unsure about dates etcetera, because of this history and the fact that it has been there for a few months and is not going anywhere I have been referred under the “Urgent” two week time limit to the breast clinic at my nearest hospital.
I have to admit it was fairly weird to be sat there as the Doctor read through the (conflicting!) NHS Trust and NICE guidelines on “Referral For Suspected Cancer” to check whether or not I should be referred as an urgent case; although it is very unlikely I have anything malign going on, there is still a small part of me that thought “Shit” as I smiled through talk of boobs and waiting lists.
Nine out of every ten lumpy breasted women turn out to have benign growths in their breasts- In all likelihood I have something benign that is called a Fibroadenoma, also known as the all kinds of awesome “breast mouse” (!) due to the hard mass sliding about under the skin. I may be nursing a breast mouse. How very odd.
A Fibroadenoma won’t turn cancerous and treatment can consist of either leaving it alone or surgically excising the lump; I am of course hoping it is this “mouse” that I have rather than anything else. The letter for referral is being sent off tomorrow so within two weeks I will probably have been x-rayed, ultrasounded and stuck so that I can find out what the little blighter is.
I teared up a little this evening as I learnt about breast problems benign and malignant, but then I teared up in the car this morning listening to Etta James belt out “At Last”. Sigh…
Image: “Fibroadenoma, Fine Needle Aspiration Biopsy (Papanicolou stain). The image shows a sheet of epithelial cells in the typical antler pattern.” [source]
Super quick before I hit the shower and then bed: I had an excellent night out on Friday for Bobby Convey’s birthday, however the aftermath was of a viciousness that I have not experienced in many a year: Sunglasses had to be worn inside as the rather dim light of a grey day turned out to be too challenging for my alcohol obliterated eyeballs. Fucking hell.
More to follow.
One year ago today the Dubai Bombshell was dropped; subsequently and rather perversely me and MW#1 became much closer as a light seemed to be set dinging in MW#1’s head that I would be a good thing to have around. Drama and confessions ensued – I realised how much I mean to MW#1 but simultaneously how little – and look where we are today… Of all the crap he’s put me through and of all that I have put up with, this past year has been the most challenging (for a variety of reasons), which really is saying something considering…
I could recap, I could expand on my thoughts, but i’m tired and my carrot cake is unsatisfying… DS then bed…
Net-A-Porter: Balmain – Pailette mini dress
This dress is all kinds of awesome, but somehow I don’t think my budget stretches to the supremely eye-watering amount of £7,070…
Over the weekend I had an unexplained hankering for a pair of black sequined leggings – yes, really – and upon finally finding a typically horribly overpriced pair at Topshop I was unfortunately unable to get them any further up my leg than my calf.
Yes, I wasn’t struggling to get them past my thighs, as I have encountered many a time with tight trousers, it was my not-exactly-huge calves that put the kibosh on the whole idea.
Fucking Topshop and their catering to fifteen-year-olds with more money than me and barely-there calves.
Anyway, hopefully i’ll be out again this weekend for Bobby Convey’s birthday and i’ll get to put on something short and bright that clings in all the right places and gracefully skims the padding; I have not had a proper girly night out with Bobby et al for a very long time indeed- It will be good to scare the locals…
So how is my break from MW#1 going? Well… sort of.
For the first two weeks I was all, “Oh, I feel *nothing*” “I’m glad not to have to think about that all the time” “It’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders…” When I took him off MSN I felt relieved, as I wouldn’t have to endure the game of “Is he going to talk to me today?” that had been the norm of late. I didn’t spend weekends moping because I knew he wasn’t going to contact me about going out and I kept myself busy by meeting up with Doctor Shrunk, Caversham Princess, Bobby Convey, Leia Ewok Village and Flambé. Occasionally he popped up in my thoughts, but it was more in a pondering the future way without conjuring much upset. I made it through the usual hormonal angst when I would usually be feeling sad and pine most terribly; generally time passed uneventfully and I pondered on…
… until the weekend of week two when I began to feel the twinges of missing him. Quelle horreur! I thought, and ever since then his existence and the non-consensual arrangement have been floating far more prominently in my mind. UGH. Whereas a couple of weeks before I went to bed alone and rather content, now I lie awake post-DS wishing I could feel his warm fuzzyness against my back or that I could curl up against him and feel small and looked-after. I miss his easy company, his manfur, the smell of his skin, however…
…at the same time as I lie there, I think of the reasons that led me to decide to have a break in the first place and the *myriad* problems with both his behaviour and the non-consensual arrangement; I am reminded just how deeply frustrated and unfulfilled I feel and how this reaches across so very many aspects of our interactions. I could go on but I won’t. Anyway, a few more weeks to go; I have no idea what will happen when I become visible to radar again…
I’d like very much to talk to him and share my thoughts but so far he has been resolutely appalling at commenting- My letting him know about my time away was met with no reply and a similar response was meted out to my texts about him letting me know if anything major happens. Much sighing and eye rolling all round…
Freshly made scones are SCRUMPTIOUS, and are even better with clotted cream piled on them… MMmmmmmm… Eating more healthily my undoubtedly widening arse… :D
I heard this on the mighty WFMU the other day
and was reminded of its AWESOMENESS
You’re Gonna Miss Me
The 13th Floor Elevators
The weekend: I had a very enjoyable meal avec ma Meré in Lahndahn tahn at a rather lovely establishment where the young French Maître d’ wore Yves San Laurent-style glasses – he remembered me from my last visit (it’s the hair); I had home cured Bresaola, rib-eye and fries with Béarnaise and white chocolate cheesecake with raspberry sauce with a kir royale to start and Fleurie to accompany. It was scrummy.
Although our time together was delightful as is usual, some sad news was imparted in that my “eel with whiskers” Twisty the Weather Loach died last week. My bro came down to feed him one morning to find him grey and lifeless; nothing had been wrong with him as far as i’m aware so I figure that due to him being fifteen or so years old that he perhaps died of old age? I shed a few tears when my Mum told me; I shall miss his rooting around/slug-like awesomeness. He was a Good Fish.
Anyway, after lunch we wandered from Covent Garden to Trafalgar Square where on the way to the National Gallery I got waylaid like a moth to a flame by a bunch of religious nuts telling us that we were all sinners and must repent. I engaged one of them in conversation for around twenty minutes; unsurprisingly I was unsuccessful in using “science” and “facts” to make my case that gays really aren’t sinners and adultery is indeed a lesser “crime” than mass murder. Yes, really.
The same man also told me that the earth is 6000 years old and questioned why if evolution existed us humans have “left behind” other creatures; my attempts to explain that the lizards stay lizards because they fill a niche they are “comfortable in” at the moment were not accepted and I was challenged on my assertion that there is quite strong evidence for in utero sexual orientation- Apparently there are many Christian “scientific” (my emphasis) papers telling me the opposite. Really?
Take a gander at their site to see what I may have come up against when trying to use fact and not “truth” or belief in an argument: Zion Tabernacle
Here is a passage on this years Pride in London:
“Sarah Brown, the Prime Minister’s wife, was at the front of the procession. She was carrying the pink version of the Union Jack. Instead of blue pink has been inserted. She also appeared to have a whistle round her neck. It is a sodomite tactic to try and drown out what people are saying by blowing their whistles in unison. She was left in no doubt as to what God’s people thought of her presence there.”and from their Sermon Audio page:
“In addition, we stand outside abortion clinics and Brook Clinics which channel people to abortion clinics and who hand out contraceptives like sweets to youngsters. We set up a table with pro-life literature in town centres around the area. We find this method to be very effective in reaching young people.”You can see why these people got my rage on. Free speech or hate speech? It was ridiculous that down by Nelsons Column were these fucks whilst up near the gallery were Iranian women protesting for their right to be able to be free, wear what they want, take a job- Of all people they have a pretty fucking good idea of what it’s like to live under the religious fundamentalism being touted by the Zion Tabernacle. They’re a charity by the way.
Eventually I had to give up as my Mum had abandoned me to the pigeons as art was calling; it was encouraging to have quite a few strangers thank me or shake my hand for giving it a go- Hope!
After Lahndahn I met up with Doctor Shrunk of whom I had seen hide nor hair of in around four or five years. I was very sad indeed to see and hear that life had kicked the motherloving crap out of him over the last few years; he’s still the same personality-wise but he has a fragility that I don’t remember and is physically much thinner- It was a bit of a shock to be honest, especially as he’s six foot plus. I wanted to feed him up and give him hugs, but I settled for buying him dinner and booze. It was awesome to shoot-the-shit after so long (and spend a bit of time in the company of a nice tall man!), however it’s not so good that he’s back in town as he’s unemployed and is being driven crazy by his parents. Not good. At all.
As part of my weekend entertainment I made a cake as planned- A lemon & Greek yoghurt cake. I combined two recipes together and aside from two slices presented to my Mum – “Look what I made Mum!” (I am five) – I ate the entire thing in the space of twelve hours. I had cake for late night post-booze snack, cake for breakfast and lunch and cake for dessert. Economical, and healthy, ‘cos if you ignore the sugar and butter there’s the juice and zest of one whole lemon- *totally* Five-A-Day.
I have spent this evening bathing chicken in lemony juices and am now drinking the recipe’s leftover half glass of white directly from the bottle, which happens to be quite on the tasty side, even if it is Gallo Chardonnay. Klassy.
I’m now on to week two of my attempt to get more variety into my diet; aside from spending vast amounts of cash on equipment things are going well (so far) with most of my dinners providing me with leftovers for the next day or for lunch to take to work. Last week I had lamb, mint and feta meatballs with spaghetti, lamb bolognaise, chicken Milanese salad and pea and chicken pasta with red pepper vinaigrette.
The meatballs were *all* kinds of *awesome* but the pea pasta was a bit of a let down with the dressing turning out to be far too tart so in order to rescue it I had to stick a load of tomato in it and make it into a sauce; it was still good but not what I was hoping. The chicken Milanese salad was bad due to the ridiculous amounts of smoke produced, which when you live in one room is not really so good.
This evening I made enough chilli to last me two days of lunch and dinners; it would be nice to freeze some of my leftovers but i’ve noticed that my food in the communal freezer gets pretty fucked up what with the amount of other tenants food stuffed in there and the delightfully unsanitary loose food that escapes from peoples’ freezer bags. Niiice. I hope to bake myself something resembling a cake at some point over the weekend (woo!) but otherwise I shall be doing my best to take it easy, meeting up with my Mum for our usual four hour lunch in Lahndahn tahn before having dinner and drinks with a very long time no see friend, both of which I am looking forward to immensely.
Today at work I hope to experiment a bit more with something I am inexplicably proud of: My marvellously shoddy pinhole camera made from an ice cream tub. I’ve done none of the mathematics nor taken the measurements you’re suppose to take, I just covered the inside of the tub with black sugar paper and poked a hole in one end with a drawing pin; the images i’ve produced so far on the paper could not really be classed as “good” but I still can’t get over the fun of my big white box of a camera. Eeee.
smitten kitchen – summer pea and roasted red pepper pasta salad
smitten kitchen – chicken Milanese
Delicious – Lamb and feta meatballs with tomato sauce
This evening I received the following missive in my generic nopoke site email:
Ermm… Obviously some cunt with a lot of issues. Aww, such a waste of human life really. So I gather that your parents never considered abortion ? because they’re obviously full of regret.Yes, I’ve received My First hate mail. Wooo!
Grow the FUCK up douchebag and sort your head out mongoloid. :-)
I do not know this person and thanks to his hushmail account i’m unable to see where he sent it from; I assume it’s a he in that the language is sufficiently misogynistic and crude. I am left a little confused by this absolute master work. Who is the cunt here? And who are the douchebag and the mongoloid? Are they all one and the same i.e. me, or is this internet ire directed at someone other than myself i.e. MW#1?
Is the douchebag one person and the mongoloid another? I find the FUCK amusing, as I imagine some rather pathetic individual mumbling the “Grow the…” part then shouting the “FUCK” before mumbling again. Also, I would hope that it would be my Mother who would consider abortion rather than my “Parents”. Indeed.
Upon searching for some info about this individual I was led to pantagruel who had been a target of a similarly odd screed. I am shall we say, intrigued. Someone found my site and took the time to write me a little message complaining. Interesting.
pantagruel – grading the hate mail
As from tomorrow i’ve decided to spend a little time flying under the radar when it comes to all things MW#1 related. I’m going to stay off MSN and refrain from contacting him via text or email; i’ve been thinking about doing this for a while now and I guess now seemed as good a time as any to give it a go.
What am I trying to fly from? I suppose I could describe it as the tyranny of desire, the weekends spent wishing I could have a hug or spend time with him, wake up next to him. I text him and he doesn’t reply or he’s “busy” but is clearly trying to dodge my company; i’m fed up of many things but feeling bad when I think of seeing him or when I get in contact with him is something i’d like to avoid.
I’ve been feeling really unsatisfied with the way things are ever since we got back from Berlin and these last few weeks of barely any communication have done much to reinforce those feelings. I’ve lost that warm fuzzy feeling I used to get when I thought of him; I don’t know whether this is a temporary loss or something more permanent, but I figure some time away from everything might help my heart either grow fonder or become decidedly on the frosty side.
I’ve spent three years putting up with things, dealing with problems and being there for him emotionally and physically with not much in the way of reciprocation; I need a break. As much as i’d like to textually talk through my feelings on here, the whole point is that i’m not supposed to be communicating, plus i’m not sure that there’s anything left to say that hasn’t already been said at some point in the last few years. It’s far from rocket science.
I know i’ll still think about him and wish he was kissing my nose or cupping his hand over my stomach, but i’ll at least know he’s not going to see me because i’m not available, so to speak. The break will probably do nothing because the problems of our “non-consensual arrangement” are not going to be solved and therefore my feelings of unhappiness will still remain. I’ve got to at least give it a try and see how things go.
I still love him and care for his well-being, and I do still want him in my life, so I hope that he’ll get in touch if anything major happens; I was going to say I hope he gets in touch if he needs me, but in any case i’m not entirely convinced he knows whether or not he needs me. Maybe my absence will help him on that front.
My thoughts are super organised about this so it’s proving very easy to write about, but it would be against the spirit of what i’m trying to do. It may all end in failure with me getting in contact or everything falling apart when my sojourn away ends, but I must try.
As the clouds glower and the rain falls and falls…
Keep An Eye On Summer
The Beach Boys
A fair few things have happened over the last couple of weeks or so – The trip to the spa with the shoddy service, Leia Ewok Village’s birthday outing and the ocean of alcohol consumed, my new attempt to try and eat more healthily by planning what I eat, my new DS obsessions, the return to the chalkface with new classes and a new room- But i’m tired, and feeling lazy and need to linger under a hot shower, so there we go…
I’ve been wondering if the whole MW#1 “thing” has quietly keeled over when I wasn’t looking, whilst I was doing the washing up or having a small snooze; at first I was decidedly not bothered about the lack of our usual conversing but as I listen to The Beach Boys singing about Keeping An Eye On The Summer I feel glum.
At least it’s only a couple of days to the weekend…
Being refused entry to a venue because according to the doorman you “could do with a coffee”… Maturity or drunkenness??? Congratulations to Leia Ewok Village on outdoing herself woooooooooooo!
This evening I watched The Lives of Others; it was deeply sad and weep-inducing with the performances of all involved excellent, particularly that of the lead. Contained within was the following beautiful poem by Brecht:
Memory of Marie A.
Translated by Knut W. Barde
On that day in the blue moon of September
Quietly under a young plum tree
Is where I held her, the still pale love
In my arm like a lovely dream.
And above us in the beautiful summer sky
was a cloud, which I saw for a long time
It was very white and immensely high
And when I looked up, it was never more.
Since that day many, many moons have
Quietly swum down and past.
The plum trees probably have been chopped off
And you ask me, how is it with the love?
So I tell you: I cannot remember.
And yet, sure, I do know what you mean
But her face, I really do not know it anymore
I only still know: I once kissed it.
Even the kiss, I would have forgotten it long ago
had the cloud not been there
That I still know and will I always know
Very white it was and came from above.
Perhaps the plum trees are still flowering
And that woman now perhaps has her seventh child
But that cloud blossomed only for minutes
And when I looked up, it already was disappearing in the wind.
For a variety of reasons my trip to Bang Face with Nitram and Leia Ewok Village has been put off for the moment being so I am now going to have a nice, mission-free Friday night (I admit I am a little relieved). In Bang Face’s place comes a Saturday evening full of good food and lots of drinking in honour of Leia’s birthday; I have not been “properly” out for what seems like *such* a long time, so I am really looking forward to putting on some heels and going overboard on the makeup. Hurrah.
I’ve been feeling decidedly unsexy over the last two or three months; to me sexy and hot is when I dress up and put the war paint, outfit and heels on, whereas attractiveness is more of an everyday thing? Anyway, i’ve become rather frustrated with this situation so the chance to get out and pass some enjoyable time with excellent people is highly appealing.
I’m not going to wear the rubber dress but I am going to have many cocktails and will probably try out the Russian Red; disaster may ensue. Nae bother, I will be out having I am sure a fabulous time…
Back from an “entertaining for all the wrong reasons” spa and relaxation stay; I’ve made a few changes style-wise to the site so please contact me if things are not displaying well in your particular browser/OS combination, or if you just think it looks shoddy.
A summary of our spectacular stay will follow…
“To do this correctly requires deep packet sniffing or at least, per application filtering. The problem is, if people’s connections are monitored for bandwidth usage then some games and some programmers will appear to be “file sharing” when in fact they are behaving quite legitimately.salparadyse – Guardian – Internet cut-off threat for illegal downloaders
Since the Government will not do this properly (if they don’t care enough to sort out our troops gear then forget this), it will be given to some awful little fascistic private company who will proceed to act like the Gestapo.
The default mentality these days is one of two reactions to public enjoyment – monitor and control it (which means tax it) or ban it outright.
Want to destroy your life and those around you via drink?
State permitted sale of ultra cheap alcohol from thousands of outlets.
Want to get relaxed and smoke a spliff?
Off to prison you go.
Want to make bazillions in profit off the UK market and then walk away paying no tax? Fine – no problem.
Want to download a dodgy copy of a film before you go out and buy it (or because you can’t afford to buy it)?
Fines, criminality and maybe imprisonment await you.
Can we have a similar rule for the rich please?
Here’s how it will go – Anyone caught avoiding tax, taking the piss, breaking the rules or generally trying to rig the system in their own favour has all their money taken off them. It seem to me that the principle’s the same – you take off me anything I misuse, so we apply the principle in the other direction.”
Bad Science – Home taping didn’t kill music
Thanks to the Euros left over from Berlin I am newly equipped with primer, liner and Russian Red lipstick along with a new file for school which I am going to decorate with glittery skull stickers. Hurrah.
I tested out the primer/liner/lipstick combo on a glass of red and a bowl of Coco Pops and it seemed to fair pretty well; the red does look rather odd on me, not because it’s the wrong shade but just because it’s super super red. I guess it’s the equivalent of wearing Stripper Shoes but in a supposedly more wearable way.
I’ve not worn the Stripper shoes in a very long time indeed, well over a year; i’ve not worn my rubber dress in a long time either, but I am hopeful that come Friday evening I might have an excuse to dust it off and wriggle into it: (sound ahoy) Bang Face 69. The theme is “Lords and Ladies, Pimps and ‘Hos”, so I should fit in rather well. Unfortunately I missed out on getting on the guest list so i’m resigned to queuing for at least a couple of hours… I really hope it’s not raining. Ugh.
Tomorrow i’m off to the exotic location of twenty minutes down the road for two days of spa-ing and generally doing bugger all to celebrate Leia Ewok Village’s turning thirty; I’ve looked out the bikini and the swimsuit and will be giving myself a very good old scrub and shave before I go. I hope to be able to get a facial as well as my pre-booked massage but the place has not inspired a huge amount of confidence as when I called to add one no-one picked up the phone. Hmmm.
Anyway, even if things don’t quite go to plan, there’ll be plenty of eating, boozing and gossiping and home is but twenty minutes away if things go really tits up. I’m sure all will be fine, and i’ll end up falling asleep on the massage table. Good times…
Creepy… yet awesome… Cerrone – Supernature
Look how amazingly awesome this hosiery is…
NSFW The Fashion Time – Übersinnlich: Cato Van Ee in Vogue Germany September 2009
They’re by the German company Wolford, who often produce interesting legwear; alas I cannot find them on their site but i’m sure it’s not only the shoes, peachy skin and pert perfect arse I lack to pull this off (never mind the palace to parade around), as they undoubtedly cost a ri-dic-u-lous amount…
So, Berlin and a week in the company of MW#1, the first time we had spent more than twenty-four hours together…
The week got off to a seriously early start as after around two hours sleep I arrived up at the station at 4.30am; MW#1 was outfitted with a backpack and holdall, I was dragging a big suitcase. I always over-pack- I plan for all sorts of weathers and dinners at fancy establishments I never actually go to. Sensible.
On the bus to Heathrow MW#1 fought giant snakes and oversized golden scorpions on World of Warcraft whilst I dozed and stared out at the dimly lit motorway; Terminal 5 was interesting, even in my super tired state- I didn’t get to see any art but the whole place is very nice, spacious, full of good places to eat. Unfortunately our planned breakfast at Giraffe was nixed by the length of time they took to serve and our deadline for being at the gate, so off we went into the air minus anything nutritionally substantial. Boo… I was looking forward to a fry up too.
Anyway, the flight went well and I actually got to have a pre-budget cut sandwich; we landed at Tegel ahead of schedule and after a fair bit of tired faffing about with transportation found ourself in the flavoursome delights of our Mitte neighbourhood and our hotel. The street we were on was really great with an excellent mix of restaurants and cafés offering a wide variety of tastes and experiences. As previously stated, I booked the place due to its location and nice design – I rarely get to go anywhere so when I do so it’s nice to go somewhere nice – so when I opened the door to our room I was disappointed to find it fell far short of what I was expecting.
Sure, the room was nicely furnished, but where was the “floor to ceiling and wall to wall window”? The “All-glass front with street-scene view”? The room had a small window looking out onto an internal courtyard and did not come with the fun wet-room/open bathroom combination found in many other rooms. I did not pay for 4* facilities but for the location and design of the place, but even so I did not feel like the room matched up to my expectations for the price. Sigh.
Anyways, after a sort-of-nap off we went out into a very warm city; we wandered down Unten den Linden towards the Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag – still haven’t made it up the dome (fucking queue) – and walked along the Spree to park ourselves at a riverside bar for a couple of uber-relaxing hours. Relaxing in that MW#1 had around a litre of beer whilst I had two large caipirinhas; I was rather warm and fuzzy by the time we sloped off back to the hotel for meat and cheese, goulash and a couple of glasses of wine. Mmm fuzzy…
Whilst I felt disappointed by our room, at least I thought the internal courtyard would give us some peace and quiet, enable us to relax more fully, get away from street noise. Oh, but it was *really* not to be… The hotel was right next door to sort of a giant art squat/cultural centre that started the music going around 4pm and didn’t give up until ooh, 6am or so? Then commenced the banging and dragging noises as they cleaned up. UGH. So as much as I felt exhausted due to my very long day I was kept awake for hours and hours by hip-hop, jazz and pop pounding through the walls and into the courtyard. THOSE FUCKS.
I assumed it was a one-off event, but oh no… EVERY night we were there the same thing happened… I also had to contend with the snoring emanating from MW#1, but at least with that I can do something about it, i.e. poke him and get him to turn over. Unfortunately, the earplugs didn’t work against either die disco or the snoring, so I dragged my duvet and my pillows around the corner of the room and onto the floor and tried to sleep in an alcove. Four star indeed…
That is one thing I like very much – your own individual duvet. This means you can make a break for it whilst leaving your sleeping beloved warm and blissfully unaware under their own duvet. Heh… Also, it means that you don’t have a duvet monster stealing all the duvet and that if you do steal you end up with two duvets, which brings a greater sense of thieving achievement.
The next two days proved excellent on the budgetary-side as we managed to skip both breakfast and lunch only dragging ourselves out of our hotel room late into the evening. In our dark little den we watched DVDs and slept a lot; I *finally* got round to watching The Godfather Parts I, II and III, which I am ashamed to say I had not managed to do. When we did venture out we wandered along looking for food that caught our eye; we went for pizza and (Engrish ahoy) German food on each evening, MW#1 delighting in a rather monstrous plate of pig knuckle, along with more Berliner Weisse. Throughout our stay in Berlin the portion sizes were just ridiculously large so that I could barely finish what i’d ordered- wait staff were always asking if I wanted to take it away, to which I shamefacedly apologised and turned them down. I never thought I would complain about there being too much food. I must be getting old…
As far as I am aware prostitution is legal in Berlin and so our street was dotted with sex workers, about one every twenty-five metres or so. They weren’t hanging out of their clothes and were discreet in a “Hey!! Look at meee!!” sort of way with their platform boots, ruffled mini-skirts and corsets – accessorised with a bum bag – and push-up bras; they didn’t show a huge amount of skin. It was a little disturbing how they all looked so similar, as if they were wearing a uniform of sorts, and I suppose the fake tan and long blonde hair is a part of that. They all appeared healthy and with it; my attempts to catch their eye and smile a hello failed miserably. Well done me.
We spent one evening in the hotel bar knocking back €70′ worth of cocktails; they were pretty and mostly tasty but my accompanying booze critic professed himself rather let down. We kept drinking however and by the time we weaved our way back to our room I was warm, fuzzy and giggly and wanted to rub my face in some manfur and MW#1 was completely unable to love me long time. Result.
On our last full day we watched Summer ski jumping on TV – who knew? – and had a disastrous lunch at the Hamburger Bahnhof gallery, where we fought against an onslaught of wasps that were determined to crash into our food, which when it arrived was not what we thought we’d ordered. I decided to eat the creepy fish that had been delivered to us – it was creepy but tasty – MW#1 doesn’t eat fish so whilst I picked through mine he waited for a re-delivery of the wild boar we actually wanted. The food was good but the wasps ruined our lunch, and anyway I was slightly grumpy at the fact that I had missed the amazing breakfast by fifteen goddamn minutes. Grrr.
The gallery itself was a real let down, especially as last time it had been so exciting; a large section of it was closed off and the work on show was nothing particularly interesting. The best piece was the garden at the front of the building- A circular area left to go wild, so instead of carefully composed bedding there were just lots of weeds clashing with the topiary around the edge. It was called something like The Right to be Lazy, but for the life of me I can’t find the artist.
MW#1 came round the gallery with me and was suitably unimpressed by everything; he only started to complain when I tried to get him to think- Too much effort… He seemed to take much enjoyment from criticising the work, which is something I can empathise with; his proclamation that Cy Twombly should actually be called “Mister Scribbles” provided great amusement (even now) along with his professed disgust that I had taken him “to see poopy” on viewing Marc Quinn’s Shit Head (yes, a head made from shit, frozen).
After the bad art we walked over to the Berlin Wall Memorial and we spent some time reading, watching and pondering the division of Germany and its effect on people’s lives; I felt fairly glum afterwards and so the ice cream from the café across from the hotel was greatly appreciated. Dinner was curry and noodles five metres across the road with suspiciously salty satay… Mmmm…? Afterwards we listened to a lot of Snoop before I began my nightly raging against the noise.
After vacating our room and parking our luggage we walked to the “nearby” Berlin Zoo & Aquarium; nearby turned out to be four and a half kilometres away… by the time we got there I was very glad to have my bratwurst and fries. The aquarium was small but interestingly stocked with a speciality being the breeding of jellyfish; the zoo was much more exciting and we passed quite a few hours wandering about peering in at the wide variety of creatures on display.
MW#1 took my ability to orientate myself to where the monkeys were kept as some sort of confirmation that I am in fact an actual monkey, or at least related; I pointed out his clear heritage to the various bears as they furrily lounged around their enclosures. Upon seeing a Sloth Bear lying on its back in the sun comments like “Ooooh, come see your friends!” and the like were sure to be uttered by myself. Good times. Actually, I think the male silverbacked Gorilla was probably the best match for MW#1; it sat calmly surveying its territory, scratching itself and eating whilst giving out “don’t even think about fucking with me”-type vibes. It’s the muscular shoulders and arms combined with the rounded furry belly.
I enjoyed the big cats, Elephants taking a shower, amazingly armoured Rhinos (their skin is awesome), the nocturnal animals – again, I am related to these apparently – and the bears were quite cool too, although I didn’t think much of Knut, whichever one he was. The monkeys probably provided the most interest, the highlights being the Macaque with a hard on being groomed by another – hello flippy-up penis – and the amazingly long ginger dreads of the huge male Orangutans; I didn’t know they were so large nor their fur (hair?) so long.
Post zoo it was the airport and home, arriving back late in the evening to rain and general chilliness boo. I was certainly glad to get home to Patrick and my bed that evening…
Overall, I had a really enjoyable time; it was great to spend time in MW#1’s easy company and spend that time relaxing and just being. Berlin is still an incredibly interesting place to be and even though the hotel let me down I would still go back there, on the proviso that I get a room at the fucking front next time, and away from the goddamned art squat. THOSE FUCKS.
I think we got on very well together, him mocking my map-reading abilities – fuck off – irregular stride – it’s the pavement – and “scruffy” appearance; in return I mocked his map-reading, his lack of planning, general bear-like qualities and intelligence. We successfully mangled the language together. I also tried to poke him whenever possible however I didn’t succeed terribly frequently in my attempts at annoyance. Must try harder.