General stuff
I’m going to Canada, I’m going to Canada…!
*does a little happy dance*
Booked the tickets last night – going to be out there from 6th April to 11th of April. Not as long either of us would have liked, but better than not being there at all.
*does a little happy dance again*
:clap_tb: :clap_tb: :clap_tb:
I would like to talk, once again, about my breasts. I am female, as I am sure most of you have realised by now, and I have large(ish) breasts. These are two inescapable facts about me, and two facts I have, over the years, come to terms with. As mentioned before I like my breasts. Other people have expressed favorable opinions of them as well. At times I would wish them smaller, but on the whole I am just fine with them the way that they are.
Time was, they were ‘stealth breasts’, hidden under polo necks and baggy shirts. Now I am proud of them. Well, I don’t try to hide them at least. But nor do I flaunt them. They are an “asset” and I wouldn’t be female if I didn’t (every now and then) play them up (so to speak). I also have a nice smile, so I’ve been told a time or two, and if the combination of the two makes someone that little bit more wiling to help, then I’m not gonna complain. I’m not exactly a supermodel here guys, and a gal has got to catch all the breaks she can!
I like to dress nice for work, where the dress code is smart/casual. As I never know if I’m gonna be called out on a roadshow to face the rampaging hordes in their quest for concessionary bus travel, I tend to go for the smarter end of the spectrum, but mixed always with my own blend of style. We’re usually talking knee length (or longer) skirt, a cute top, and boots. Slightly sassy, but perfectly respectable. The Boss commented only yesterday how pretty I always look, so I’m not concerned that I dress inappropriately.
On Monday I got a comment that has, quite simply, made my week. I got called a shameless hussy by a little old lady! I quote:
“I had a Marilyn Monroe figure when I was younger too, dear, but I never flaunted it like the shameless hussy you are”.
(So I paraphrase slightly, but that was the gist).
Now, laying aside for now that I don’t quite have a Marilyn Monroe figure (if wishing would make it so), I found this absolutely hysterical. Almost as funny was watching the Boy Temps’ face and his repeated denials – he was really rather sweet in trying to make sure I knew he didn’t think I was dressed as a shameless hussy.
Now, before you wonder why I didn’t tell the old dear to take a running jump and to stop insulting me, I have this to say:
1) I was there as a representative of my employer. As such, I wasn’t really at liberty to be rude.
2) The lady was clearly several screws short of a hardware store, and lonely to boot. She just wanted conversation and, on top of that, quite clearly wasn’t totally aware of what she was saying.
3) I do have cleavage. Anything short of a polo neck will expose some of what god gave me – there is no escaping this. And I was sitting down at a low table verifying forms at the time. So sure, dirty old men could have, if they wanted to, got an eyeful. It costs me nothing and if they get some pleasure from looking, who am I to deny them that? Going by the moral standards of her pre-WW2 day, perhaps I was being a bit of a hussy.
I’ve always had a reputation as a bit of a flirt online. This is clearly starting to move over into my real life as well, which isn’t altogether a bad thing. I’m happy in my body now. I am me, my breasts are an inescapable part of that identity, and I’m not going to go around dressed in sackcloth and ashes on the off chance people might get offended by that.
(The top, by the way, wasn’t even that low-cut. Nor was it one of my see-through ones. The woman was clearly just jealous 😀 )
Yes, she shouldn’t have said anything, but it amused me far more than it offended me. It gave me something to blog about if nothing else. Just don’t get me started on her opinions of the Italians and a woman’s place (though that might have been part of the problem – I am mid twenties and not chained to a kitchen sink).
I do so love my job. The potential for completely random and hilarious occurrences is just huge! That, and I got to play with firemen today 😉 I already have a rep as the happy one. The one who sees the bright side and humour in every situation. Dr Temp mentioned to me the other day how I was always willing to laugh at myself. Of course I laugh at myself. It’s only when you appreciate the ridiculous in yourself that you can truly appreciate the sublime in everyone else.
Anyway, I’m going to stop now before I give you all the impression I am a incurable tart. This is the Shameless Hussy saying goodnight and happy browsing 😉
Endnotes:
This post was written first in longhand, with a proper fountain pen on real paper! Blame Josh and his ideas of breaking free of the tyranny of the computer. That, and I had this urge to write at gone midnight last night and couldn’t be arsed to boot up the Pocket Calculator. And no, I am not going to be making a habit of it. Notes and drafts will be being kept on the computer. It just takes too damn long to type it all up and make it look pretty.
Opposable thumbs are one of the most underrated things in our daily lives, something that has been brought home to me over the past 24 hours. It’s amazing what you can’t do when one thumb is out of action: pulling up tights; washing your hair easily; opening a pack of polos; doing up a pair of trousers; typing properly. Even doing up my bra this morning turned into more of a palaver than I had counted on.
How did I injure said digit? For reasons best known to myself, I decided that what my Spaghetti Bolognese really needed last night was “Hint of Cas” in the shape of a chunk of my left thumb. Instead of onion, I chopped me. Not pleasant, for me, or for Moose who was very speedy with the band-aids. (Thank you Moose 🙂 )
Now, what I should of done, when curious as to the taste of human flesh, was take myself off to EatHuFu.com. HufuTM is the Healthy Human Flesh Alternative. The tofu based product was created for those anthropology students curious about cannibalism, but who weren’t too keen on chowing down on their dorm-mates after lights out. However, and I quote:
We also found that HufuTM is a great product for cannibals who want to quit. HufuTM is also a great cannibal convenience food — no more Friday night hunting raids!
Now, if I was a cannibal, I think I’d find those hunting raids part of the fun. Free range always tastes so much better than battery-farmed, don’t you think? Then again, you might fancy a burger but not fancy going out and roping a steer before you can have supper. I’m all for equal opportunities. Why shouldn’t cannibals have fast-food as well?
I am indebted to the “Head Temp” for finding out about HufuTM for me. It says something for how odd I really am: I’ve not been in the job a month and she stumbles across fake human flesh and the first thing she thinks is “Hmmmm, Cas would love that!” Anyway, I would like to proclaim her as the latest Blog Minion.
That’s not to say I give the impression I would like fake human flesh. Rather, I obviously give the impression that the weird and the bizarre on the ‘Net float my boat.
Everybody say hello to “the Head Temp” and make her welcome around Bright Meadow 🙂
(The “Head Temp” is only a temporary blog-name for this individual. I’m currently all uninspired, and I do like to give people the option of choosing their own blog-names if at all possible. One notable exception being the Cute Canadian. Well, it would have given the game away a lot sooner if he’d chosen the name under which he was being blogged about, wouldn’t it? Much less fun 😉 )
(Please forgive the emotional brain-dump that is about to happen. I don’t want or expect your sympathy, and I would have written this anyway to get it sorted in my brain, so if you feel uncomfortable reading the gory personal stuff, I will fully understand and think no less of you if you look away now and give this post a miss 🙂 If you do read, please excuse the fragmentary and contradictory splurge that this post resembles. I write to try and get things to make sense. I never pretended to have succeed in my missions.)
Never underestimate the power of your family to screw you over so completely you resemble a pretzel, twisted to hell and back. And not the good kind of pretzel, all yoghurt covered and yummy. The bad kind of pretzel, all salty and doughy and icky from that street vendor with suspect personal hygiene.
I think every family is the same. We present a facade of normalcy and ‘happy families’ to the outside world, but get on the inside and you see it is all a sham. I’m not saying I had a bad childhood – I didn’t, I had a great childhood. I was loved, I was happy, and I wouldn’t change any of it. Nor am I saying I am special in that my family is so completely screwed up. I expect every family is just as screwed as we are, if not more so. Family dynamics are, let’s face it, incomprehensible to those on the outside. Why doesn’t Aunty Jane speak to Cousin Bob? Why shouldn’t you mention Essex to Grandpa Jim? Why are one branch of the family considered black sheep whilst another branch, seemingly identical, is treated like royalty?
In my family, it’s mainly my mothers side that causes the most fun and frolics, which isn’t to say Dad’s side is any saner, they just work through things differently. Today, all that history has come round to bite me and mine in the ass.
I came out of the cinema to find I had a couple of answer phone messages from my father, telling me to ring him because something was wrong with Diana. Now Diana is my mother’s mother, my maternal grandmother if you will, though she is not the woman I grew up calling “Gran”. It’s a long story involving divorce, step-families, and alcoholism that, quite frankly, I don’t think is exactly suited to this kind of forum. When I rang Dad back, it was to discover that Diana is, in fact, seriously ill in hospital and not expected to live much longer.
As I said, I never knew Diana as my ‘Gran’. That post was filled by another woman who, though now gone very much to the dark side, I used to love totally and unconditionally. There was also a dear, dear friend of the family who we called “Nobby” who was like a second Gran to me. I only remember meeting Diana twice, the last time in the aftermath of my aunt’s funeral when I was 12, an event at which she was barely aware it was her youngest daughter we were burying. As a child you just can’t grow attached to a person who 1) you never see and 2) doesn’t recognize you the few times when you do. So when Dad told me, the cold hard sensible part of my brain kicked into action first. I wanted the details of the situation, the plan of action, what was going to happen next… My emotions were only touched in so much as thinking how it must be affecting my Mum.
I don’t feel loss in the way I felt loss when Granddad died. I don’t feel sad, or that the world is less of a place without her in it. I feel anger. Anger at this woman I don’t know, angry that she still has the power to hurt us all so completely. Anger that, as my grandmother, it is expected that she has our love even though any sane person would agree she had forfeited the rights to that love a long time ago. To us has fallen the burden of caring for her. She doesn’t recognize any of us, yet still we visit her. Things will be easier with her gone, but I can’t wish her gone because she is still my grandmother. She is Blood. She is my mother’s mother and, in that, responsible for my very existence and worthy of my respect if not my love.
This week was a good week. I got a job interview for the dream job. I officially passed my course and am now an MSc. I’ve had a great time at work. It’s selfish, I know, but all I can think now is how this woman who I don’t know, can still hold my emotions hostage and make me feel anger, pain, frustration, and, yes, loss. How can you miss someone you’ve never met? It shouldn’t be possible, but it is.
It might be because it reminds me of all the other loses. My aunt, Mop, and Granddad. Nobby and Aunt Nance. Lily. The people who were my real grandparents. My step-gran. She’s not dead, but I mourn for the person she was before my grandfather died. Diana has always been there in my life as this hole where a grandparent should be. I was 10 or 12 before I knew that hole existed, but as soon as I became aware of it, I knew it had always been there. With the death of my grandfather, it was like I lost a whole branch of my family. Suddenly my cousins, aunts, and uncles who I’d grown up thinking were blood relations stopped communicating. We weren’t blood, so we didn’t matter. My Gran drifted away. She has real grandchildren to worry about.
My fathers side of the family is huge, rambling, close, and supportive. My mothers side was always smaller and now… It’s like it just doesn’t exist.
Diana has to all intents and purposes been dead for many a year, but now she really is dying it is like one more door is closing.
I don’t know what my mother will do. She doesn’t talk about her feelings much (some things actually do run in families). But I can imagine what she is thinking, feeling, and it has got to be ten hundred times worse that what I am thinking and feeling.
I’ve been pretending for a long while that I don’t hate this woman for what she did to my family, all those years ago. In truth, I most often don’t think of her at all. But now? When I’m forced to face up to it? I can’t say I hate her, because I don’t know her, and how can you hate what you don’t know? I hate what she did, I hate her actions, at the same time I won’t say she deserves what happened to her. No one deserves that. It would be nice to think it is a kind of poetic justice, that she probably doesn’t know what’s happening to her, but that makes me feel even worse. She must be so scared, surrounded by people she doesn’t recognize or remember, as she dies. That is a fate I would, could, wish on no one.
She had love in her life, she was happy, yet she caused so much pain, and she has no quality of life now. So why does it make me cry when I find out she is dying? Why do I want her to keep living?
Anyway, that’s my brain-dump over with. Normal service will resume shortly after I’ve got some sleep and assembled the Sunday Roast for you. 🙂
(And if you’re curious, the title of this post is taken straight from Philip Larkin).
Because he’s been banging on about it for an age now, the silly hat picture on the ‘About’ page has been restored.
*sigh*
The things I do for my Minions.
Liz is a gem. Not only does she give me things to think about and stretch my brain, she also gives me things that appeal to my sense of the silly.
I’ve been tagged! As it’s been a while since something like this found its way to me, I would feel mean abandoning it on the doorstep (so to speak).
Four Jobs I’ve Had:
1. Office cleaner.
2. Sales assistant for Whittard of Chelsea.
3. Kennel girl.
4. Office admin assistant.
Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over:
1. Robin Hood Prince of Thieves
2. Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl
3. Alien and Alien 3 (I also love Alien 2 and 4, but 1 and 3 are my favourites)
4. X-Men 1 and 2
Four TV Shows I Love To Watch:
1. Lost
2. West Wing (series 6 isn’t quite as good as the first few, but still great)
3. Desperate Housewives
4. ER
(And isn’t it pathetic that all of them are US shows?)
Four Places I’ve Been on Vacation:
1. New York
2. Borneo
3. Singapore
4. Vast portions of Britain, Scotland, and Wales throughout my childhood
Four Tunes That Play In My Head:
1. That Rick Astley song (damn the Boy Temp!)
2. Matchbox, Twenty “Unwell”
3. Jimmy Eat World, “Hear You Me”
4. John Mayer, “Wonderland”
Four Favourite Dishes:
1. My Mum’s Beef and Macaroni Pie
2. Crab cakes
3. Thai green coconut curry
4. Salmon in any form
Four Websites I Visit Daily:
Ouch! This is hard, seeing as how Vienna gets me around 200 sites a day…
I’m going to wimp out on this one, and just direct you to my bloglines page so you can read for yourself.
Four Books I Really Love:
1. Neal Stephenson, “Cryptonomicon”
2. Stella Gibbons, “Cold Comfort Farm”
3. Charlotte Bronte, “Jane Eyre”
4. Jane Austen, “Pride and Prejudice”
Four Places I’d Rather Be:
1. Kingston, Ontario
2. Edinburgh
3. Glastonbury
4. That one little beach somewhere on the north east tip of Borneo (I never did learn its name) near Bavangaso.
Four Bloggers I’m Tagging:
Let’s take this opportunity to get to know some of the newer people shall we?
1. Josh
2. Dewayne
3. Crazy
and for good measure, because… ah, just because
4. the Cute Canadian
I said recently how spambots were getting all nice. These two today are just too much!