Sometimes

Sometimes I look at you and only recognise a tiny part of you.

Sometimes I look at you and all I see is a stranger.

Sometimes I talk to you and I feel like I'm speaking Croatian.

Sometimes you look at me and all you can see is a woman you don't know, sitting in your room, drinking your alcohol and gibbering at you in a language you don't understand.

Sometimes I turn to you only to find you are suddenly gone and in your place is an apparition.

Sometimes I can't find you no matter how hard I look.

Sometimes I reach for you and all I feel is the warmth where you just were.

Sometimes I long for you with no absolute certainty that you even exist.

Sometimes I reach for you and all I feel is air.

Scary day tomorrow.

Hoo-ha.

And now the pathetic person who posts here calling himself 'smiler' has tired of abusing me about my writing and has instead ventured into the murky depths of personal comment about my physical appearance. Bingo Wings? Pah. Them are muscles. Oh yes they are.

Suggestion or Premonition?

So I'm doing the recycling and I climb up the big metal stairs and I get this sudden picture in my head of me dropping my car keys into the big skip for cardboard which is about 2 metres high.

Then I drop my car keys into the big skip for cardboard which is about 2 metres high.

I can see them. Nestling in the crumpled corner of a wet cardboard box. So I tell the recycling man and he laughs at me, and I ask if I can climb in and get them and he says yes.

So I do. And for a second I have an "It puts the lotion in the basket" moment when I think I can't get out, but then I pile some boxes up and climb out, with keys.

And on the way home, I think this: "Did I drop the keys in because I'd given myself the suggestion that I was going to? Or did I have a premonition that I was going to drop them?"

On Obsessive Archery Type Behaviour, Part One.

So the beautiful man and I have been doing archery with Puck as you know. And we like it so much we've finally bought our own bows, arrows, quivers, target and all the other gubbins you need to shoot.

Interestingly, it takes two and a half hours to fit a beginner with their own bow because they're tailored to your height, the poundage you can pull, the length of the arrow, the width of the arrow - so much detail, it's amazing.

So anyway. Now we're real archers (officially, although we have much to learn) and here are the pictures to prove it.

My latest war wound which resulted from the bow string hitting my arm:




My custom made arrows which are length, width and weight fitted for me, (and obviously with pink and white fletches, Darling):




My Bow and the new target:




The beautiful man and his new bow:



Oh, and you might be relieved to know, I've now got an armguard, so no more bruises.

Interesting fact: The reason I hit my arm with the string is because women often hyper-extend their elbow. The reason this happens is simple Physiology: a man stands with his arms down and because his hips are narrow, his arms hang straight. But a woman's hips are wider so her arms hang slightly outward, hence the hyper-extension, hence the bruises.

There, see? You tell me you don't learn anything here...

On Labour not representing what I think it does.

I (along with everyone else who has taken the test on my Live Journal friends list) appear to have got the Libdem result. Either this test is clever Libdem marketing, or I appear to think Labour is a different animal to that which it actually is.

Who should I vote for?

Your expected outcome:

Labour

Your actual outcome:

Labour -42
Conservative -53
	Liberal Democrat 74
	UK Independence Party 15
	Green 43

You should vote: Liberal Democrat

The LibDems take a strong stand against tax cuts and a strong one in favour of public services: they would make long-term residential care for the elderly free across the UK, and scrap university tuition fees. They are in favour of a ban on smoking in public places, but would relax laws on cannabis. They propose to change vehicle taxation to be based on usage rather than ownership.

Take the test at Who Should You Vote For

On the fact that Canada doesn't seem to know that Thailand exists.

Via my good friend Suzy who lives in Thailand, a conversation one of her friends Mothers had with Purolater (like Fed Ex) whilst trying to send a package to Thailand.

"Do you purolate to Thailand?"

"Yup"

"Good. I need to purolate this to Bangkok."

"Ok. Where is that?"

"It’s in Thailand"

"Where is that?’

"It’s in Asia"

"Is that in South America?"

"No. It’s in Asia"

"Where is that near?"

"The tsunami. It’s where the tsunami hit."

"South America then?"

"No. Look, it’s important that we get this right.
It’s important that this gets to Thailand, not South
America. South America is in the Americas, on this
side but south. Thailand is near Indonesia where the
tsunami hit, in Asia."

"Ok. We have this code chart here. Europe is #1. Is
it in Europe?"

"No. It’s code 4, see? Right there where it says
Asia"

"Japan is code #2. Is it close to Japan?"

"No".

"Code #3 is North America, so it can’t be that."

"It’s code 4. Trust me Just write that."

"Are you sure that it isn’t in South America?"

"Look, is there someone you can ask?"

"Yes, I can call the office in Toronto......"

From another room.......

"Hello? I have a lady here who needs to send a
package to Singapore. Can you give me the code for
Singapore?".

Yelling into the next room: "NO WAIT! NO IT’S
BANGKOK!! BANGKOK IN THAILAND!! NOT SINGAPORE!!".

"What?"

"BANGKOK!!! BANGKOK!! TELL THEM BANGKOK!!"

"She says its Bangkok. Yes. OK Thank you"

Entering the room..."That’s Bangkok. Code #4".

"Yeah. OK. Thanks."

"So where is that in Bangkok?"

"Bangplat." (Sensing trouble here)

"What?"

"Bang....plat, Bang...kok"

"Bangsplat?"

"Yeah, Bangsplat. They call it that because of all
the earthquakes. Whenever there is an earthquake,
everyone yells Bangsplat."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Letters To The Other Side, Part One.


Dear .............................. (insert appropriate Godform)

Further to my recent prayers, which have so far gone unanswered, please may I have the solution now?

I have thought hard, meditated, focused, performed random acts of good, donated to charity, read lots, then read some more. I don't pick my nose (much) or fart in public, I wash, I work hard, I don't consider money to be the meaning of life, I practice yoga and my mind is always open.

I have prayed and pleaded, been zen in my calm certainty, acknowledged my anxiety, and I am aware of my faults and am trying to fix them. I laugh. I am kind. I don't kick the dog, I don't kick anyone.

I love like we were built to do. I adore my child and my lover and my mother, my friends and family. My heart is full but not full-up.

I don't hate. I am not bigoted or intolerant.

I make tea for people other than my boss and I smile at strangers, even when they are rude to me. I don't beep my horn (much) and I promise, I would give anyone my last Rolo if they were sitting next to me and eyeing it hungrily.

I don't sideline the talents I have been given, and when people destroy plants it makes me cry. I try not to watch too much television, I whistle to the birds, and throw spiders gently out of the house.

I am a third through my life and I have asked you for very little up till now. But I'm 32. I really think I must have a few questions in lieu and there is one problem pending which could really, really do with solving.

I know you're busy and all that.

But still.



Love always,

Olulabelle.

Fuck, fuck and fucking ARSE.

And fuck it some more for good measure.

I really, REALLY don't want my head ninety percent of the time.

Swap?

The photogenic myth and other tall tales.

The beautiful man's friend has taken a beautiful picture of him which I am not going to post here due to the publicness of it.

However, it is, of course, lovely.

Which is more proof of my point; this photogenic thing - it's just rubbish. If you look nice in real life then you'll photograph well. I just don't believe that a person can look OK face to face, but shit in photographs. All the lovely looking people I know also photograph well too. I think the unphotogenic myth is propaganda put about by people like me, purely to slightly mollify ourselves.

*Sigh.*

It's like the coolest guy in school going out with the fat stupid one. Despite what everyone says you just know it's for a bet and somehow, someway she's going to get laughed out of the playground sooner or later. And what's worse is, you know she knows that too, but the here and now is worth the ridicule for being so foolish when it inevitably comes.

More of this please...

absolute genius via b3ta.