Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Observations. Unanchored.

When i was about 18/19 my grandparents, whom I adored, acquired the latest in the traditional family line of golden retrievers. It must have been around easter time I think, i was home (because i always considered their house to be my home) during college break. I dumped down my bags and picked up the small wriggly thing

Me: Well hello there (scrunching my face into soft fur) where's my gorgeous little puppy?
Grandma: Oh for heaven's sake, dodo, why have you always got to own everything!

Yesterday at work:

My Boss: Dodo, I have to go out for the rest of the week, I need you to take ownership of X, Y and Z (very high profile) projects for me

22.30 this evening. I get home from work. I dumped down my bags and picked up the small wriggly yellow thing

Me: Well hello there (scrunching my face into soft fur) where's my gorgeous little puppy?
S: (pretending to wag tail) Here I am!

Monday, April 23, 2007

I just saw this from yesterdays fresh batch on Postsecret. I don't know how to email a response to the site. I want to tell her that she must ask. That although we are taught to tell our parents about our problems and fears, there is no guarantee that they will prove worthy of our trust or confession. That does not mean our problems and fears are not real. that they no not have genuine, tangible, destructive and bloody outcomes. That does not mean that nobody will ever believe you. It means you have to summon your courage again one day, and never give up hope of release into the ears and heart of someone with the emotional and practical tools to guide you to relief.

Yin and Yang. Yak and Yap.

I realised I was about to start my week with a yrrrrrrr through gritted teeth, so, instead, here's a picture of some lovely legs
Fuzzy on account of it being an evening last week and being taken with my phone, however, the finely turned ankles in the foreground are those of Maj
The hairy, but no less well turned are those of S - he with whom i share all the trappings of adulthood - debt, damp, dog, disappearing waistline. Oh, and P.

But now for my grrrrrrrrrrrr.

We recently bought a pair of new sofas. being the kind of people who have priorities other than filling their home with swanky (however lovely and aspirational) designer items, we shopped around until we found a bargainishous deal at a little independent shop near S parent's home. A lady, Mrs G, who has a deal with big name stores to take the 'seconds', furniture used in photoshoots, tv ads, tv shows, showrooms, etc etc. not used, but not new. It's a hit and miss kind of place, and we went several times before we saw a pair that suited us. I'm really pleased with them and their feather cushionyness. I'm even more pleased since i discovered that in the store they were designed for, their brothers and sisters are selling for upwards of £1000 ($2000 USD) each.

Now. S has a Big Shot big brother with a Big Shot wife. Both directors of a Big Shot firm. They have 2 young sons. They have a big new house which is currently undergoing major renovation work (because, really, the first thing anybody would do on buying a beautiful 1930's detached house with all the original features miraculously intact, would be to gut that puppy, strip out all its character and fill it with white, sharp edged, modern everything. goes without saying)

And I'm finally getting to my point here, honestly.

This weekend we've had S's Dad staying with us. He had seen BSB the previous week and mentioned to him that we'd got some new sofas and where they'd come from

BSB: "Ha Ha, I'm spending so much money on my house that I'll end up getting all my furniture from Mrs G, too, if I'm not careful!"


*this term may well be TM'd and is used here without owner's express permission

Friday, April 20, 2007

Tip of the iceberg

So there’s this man. Husband of my friend. Father of my daughter’s friend. My neighbour of six months. Who I barely know. Who stands in my kitchen on a sunny day and says

“isn’t it amazing how often you meet your partner’s friends, or the friends of your partner, and find you can’t stand them?”

And then

“Me and L, we’ve got enough friends. We’re not looking to make any new friends. You’ll get invited round for a bbq in the summer, but we don’t need any more friends.”

The next day I wait til he’s gone out. In one of their two large cars. Neither of which she drives. I ring the bell on the pretext of returning something. She takes an age to come downstairs. She looks awful. She’s been playing with her son in his bedroom. Her husband doesn’t like to see toys all over the house, so that’s mostly where the little guy hangs out. It’s 11am. It’s been a difficult morning after a difficult night. She knows the centuries thin wall between our homes was not designed with privacy in mind. She has a migraine. She’s visibly fading in and out. Turns out she hasn’t had so much as a glass of water that morning because she’s been entirely preoccupied with keeping the noise level of her son at bare minimum. I go downstairs to make her some tea. There’s no milk in the house. There’s barely anything in the fridge. I go to the store, get milk, juice, bread. Give her tea, apple juice and drugs. I scoop up her son and his shoes and creep away as she slides down the armchair in his room.

“P mummy go see wack wacks?” asks the 22 month voice

“Yes J, we’ll go and see the quack quacks.”

“Mummy sad.”

Monday, April 16, 2007

Fun Monday the Thirteenth
  1. What is your favorite word? Choice
  2. What is your least favorite word? Inevitable
  3. What turns you on (creatively, spiritually or emotionally)? big brave ideas
  4. What turns you off? Small mindedness, bullies
  5. What is your favorite curse word? Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck
  6. What sound or noise do you love? gentle waves, rain on canvass
  7. What sound or noise do you hate? whining, whinging
  8. What profession, other than your own, would you like to attempt? broadway star
  9. What profession would you not like to attempt? computery things
  10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? it wasn't you, it was them

Friday, April 13, 2007

Two things - only one of them is poopy.

First - all you bloggy doggy people - what's with the alternating 'nice' firmish turds that are easy to pluck from the lawn with the sloppy all reddish gravy round the edges ones? I'm assuming it's to do with how much garden she's managed to nibble in any given hour?

(sorry - i realise it wasn't really necessary to appropriate the word gravy there, but I wanted you to get a proper idea of the consistency I'm talking about)

We're seeing the vet at the weekend for her next shot, so we can check it out.

Second thing - a good, kid enjoying its fruit type messy. An 'I had a great day in this shirt' kind of messy. And who could not have a great day in a top class shirt like this one??

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Knuckletail. A pupfest.

Wimbledon is right around the corner. Rose may be UK's only genuine contender.
If anyone asks, this is "working from home" (those are actual real live client thingies on the table)
In the footwell. Slept the whole 3 hour drive to my little brother's house at the weekend.
Stick tutorial

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Hello Anxiety Attack, My old Fiend!

What brought you back this fine sunny weekend? Hello to your stomach cramps and gastric gymnastics. Good Evening to the chest pains and the lung daggers. Good Morning to the subsequent cotton brain and zero attention span. Ah - there you are - the pins and needles in the face we've not seen these many a long month.

Sister Depression loves it so when you call in. It's company for her. She's been feeling a little neglected lately. Not as front and centre as she'd like. Is that why you dropped by? Your good deed for a friend in times of need?

You should be congratulated, you've perked her right up. She welcomes you with open arms.

Much as I hate to be inhospitable to such a long held acquaintance, and with full acknowledgement of all we've meant to each other in the past, you can fuck right off.

Monday, April 02, 2007

Meet Rose.

It's hard to photograph something this scooty.

We've been trying for a while to get a rescue puppy, but none of those places would give a dog to a family with children under five. Which I guess is a good general rule. Rose has come from a long and distinguished line of highly trained working gun dogs. We've met her parents and her brothers and sisters. We spent a long time with them all on Saturday morning while we were seeing if there was one that suited us.

She's 8 weeks. Noon yesterday she'd never had a ball. Now she knows that if you push it, it rolls. And you can chase it. And you can make people roll it for you.

She's been very busy this morning. I left the back door open while i was in the kitchen. I now have nine sticks and a large snail.

The only time she's cried so far is when P went off to nursery this morning. She became instantly devoted, following her around the house and garden, stopping when she stopped, running when she ran, trying to get on the trampoline when while she bounced. (She also got slightly upset when the big old cat snuk onto her blanket in the sunny spot in the garden yesterday afternoon. She barked about two inches from his nose but was ignored, so went to hide under the table for a bit)

She is also a most discerning collector of things. Tissues, shoes, soft toys, plastic play food from the fisher price kitchen - all found in her bed this morning. Next to her hot water bottle.

We have yet to work out the optimum system for babygates/cat access to cat food etc. All tips welcome. Will try to take some better pictures - maybe even with the camera rather than my phone.

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