Tag Archives: health

I’ll just be a minute….

Picture this…

You’re disabled, badly. In Queensland you qualify for a disabled parking sticker,  but in New South Wales you’re told, as that useless leg is still attached, you won’t get it. If you were enormously fat, says the doctor, acknowledging how bloody unfair it is, no problem. It’s a pity, he adds, that you’re such a fit cripple, and haven’t let yourself go, or eaten yourself into diabetes.

Women with children get close parking. You don’t. Okay, so you cope. You walk despite being crippled. You pull up outside the chemist, on your way in for your heavy duty painkillers and nerve blockers. Someone parks beside you, so close you can’t get out. Even an able  bodied person couldn’t slide out. You wind your window down.

Mate, you say, you’re too close, you’re blocking me in the car. I won’t be a minute, says the man, dashing past you. So naturally, you back out, re-park a few spaces away, and get out. You limp back to the car that was blocking you in. With your good leg, you kick the door in. Then you limp away.

****

You’re about to use the self-serve checkout at the supermarket. It’s evening, when you shop because there are less crowds, as it’s easier for you to deal with a trolley, something you find very hard with your bad leg. You can also get parking close by, which as you don’t qualify for a disability sticker, makes a huge difference.

A woman and her partner are blocking three self-serve checkouts. One with their two trolleys of soft drink, frozen food, and chips, then the one they’re using, and another with their giant pram.

Excuse me, you say politely, would you mind moving the pram so i can use the checkout? We’ll just be a minute, says the woman.  Five minutes later, they’re still feeding different cards into the reader, trying to find one that’s not maxed out. Your pain levels are rising, you don’t do standing well.

Rather than offering to kill them if they don’t get out of the bloody way making a scene, you go to the one manned checkout and queue for a while. You see the couple at the self service checkouts are now getting the staff to remove items from their bill, then going through the rigmarole of feeding through their twenty cards again. You notice there’s no baby food in their two overflowing trolleys. No nappies either. (Diapers.)

As you leave, fifteen minutes later, they’re still there, still looking for a card that works, apparently too stupid to walk twenty metres (about that in yards) to the nearest cash machine, and find out which, if any, of the cards has any money on it at all. You’re poor, you have sympathy for those in the same boat, but there are limits. You hope they choke on their bloody chips.

****

Up in Queensland, when you did have a disabled permit, you’re pulling into the bank parking area, when someone in a large 4WD cuts you up, and parks across two disabled parking spaces. Oi, you say. I won’t be a minute, says the man, hurrying to get into the bank.

So you stop right there, get out of your car, and even with your leg brace on,  something in your eyes warns the man,  he doesn’t pass you, and runs back to his car, which he moves into a non-disabled space.

****

You’re walking with a severely disabled friend. She’s had a stroke, only one side of her body moves. She can move at a shuffle thanks to her braces and cane. People keep barging into her, to the point where you are hyper-alert, watching ahead, behind, and to each side, ready to say oi!

There’s plenty of space around you, no need for people to come so close, but they don’t look, intent on their own lives, and insist on pushing past, in so much of a hurry that a two-step detour is impossible. You’re not in some central city area, this is at a quiet suburban shopping centre. It isn’t some once-off freakery, it happens every time she goes out.

****

You’re at the shops with your disabled friend. He’s walking with a stick, slowly. It’s Christmas time, heavy crowds.  Even so, as the woman nearly knocks him flying, and hits him (on his bad knee, which stands out, it being held together with a large metal leg brace) with her shopping, several people around see, and join in with your “Oi! Look out!”

The woman looks back,  and you shout angrily (over the noise of xmas carols) that she nearly knocked him over. She humphs, and says she’s in a hurry, like that’s a good enough reason to knock over a disabled person – or anyone.

The other people giving sympathy and offering help are very much appreciated, and make you both feel better, but you feel like chasing the woman down and cracking her on the knee with a shopping bag full of electrical appliances, just to see how she likes it.

****

You’re having a bad day. Along with the leg brace, you’re using your walking stick. You see some people walking towards you. They are spread out over the 4 metres of open space (12+ feet) that’s the walkway next to the shops, completely blocking it to anyone else. You stop, next to a shop window, close to it, waiting for the people to both see you, and move to one side.

They keep walking, looking everywhere but dead ahead, until one of them actually barges straight into you. It doesn’t knock you over, you were ready for it. They get stroppy with you and complain that you’ve hurt them when they bounced off your titanium leg brace. (Stroppy is angry.)

You point out they had plenty of space to walk through, they could see you clearly, you weren’t hiding, and point to your leg brace and stick. Some of us, you say, can’t get out of the way easily.  I’ve been standing here since you were over there, you say, and point some fifteen metres away (45+ feet) They seem surprised, both at where you appeared from (you being such a sprightly and fast-moving person), and that you didn’t get out their way if you saw them.

****

You’re waiting for a taxi you phoned for. You’re outside the shops, leaning on your walker. You have many problems, including being unable to walk unaided. The taxi driver pulls up behind you, and starts calling to you.

He gets out of his car and comes up, shouting and yelling. “What are you, deaf?” You hear him, finally. There are people all standing staring. “Yes,” you say, mortified, fighting back tears, “yes, I am. My hearing aid broke this morning.” The taxi driver looks embarrassed, mumbles something that might be an apology, and helps you into the car, folding your walker to go in the boot.

You want to tell him to sod off, but instead you decide getting home is more important. Your small revenge will be not tipping, and complaining to the taxi company. When you get home, with the door shut, then you let yourself cry.

****

What is it with humans? Can’t you put yourself in the other person’s shoes? Or in their orthotic brace? Have a bloody care – when something happens to you, and you’re not able to move as fast, or as surely, is that the only time you realise, gee, it’s a bit rough trying to get around with the other humans who think their needs take precedence over everyone else’s?

Can you imagine how fucking frustrating it is, when your body doesn’t do things as quickly or as well as you want it to?

I suppose not. However, you might want to remember, not all of us are crippled so badly that we can’t push you back when you shove us. Some of us studied martial arts, and can do things to you with our walking sticks you won’t believe.

So don’t mind me, and don’t be surprised when your car door gets dented if you park so i can’t get out of my car, and then expect me to wait while you go off and do your shopping.

This militant cripple has had enough.

NB – i don’t look crippled. Like most disabled people, i do my damnedest to hide how hard it is for me to look normal.
The above examples are all ones i witnessed or were related to me by the disabled people involved.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

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This is normal….

I had very little sleep last night, trying to blog may be pointless, but i am overdue something here, so ….

Let’s anchor ourselves in the world, shall we? I am not anchored, i barely know what day it is. As you’re all on different days, we won’t start the great timezone debate again. Well, we could. You see, unless you’re somewhere in the Pacific west of Hawaii, or in New Zealand, I AM IN YOUR FUTURE.

Unfortunately BP is still pissing oil all over the US coast. British Petroleum. Who reckons it’s a subtle revenge for you guys winning that one little war against them? Well, that’s far-fetched even as far as political conspiracy theories go, but I’m tired enough not to care. I care about the oil leaking, not about who did it and what kind of stupidity led to it.

Humans are full of stupid. It’s why we have legislation, to protect the rest of us from the stupid. I never understood why people think that’s a bad idea. After all, you only have to look at the history of the Industrial Revolution to know, if you rely on industry to police itself, you end up with oil slicks and dead people.

Seeing the US is very anti any government interference, so BP is free to do as they like, I think the way they’re about to kill all the board is cool . *whispers* Oh? One of the voices-outside-my-head said they’re not. The ‘top kill’ they’re going on about is not a boardroom cull. It’s a way to stop some of the pollution. Pfft. I am so disappointed. (At time of writing, the top-kill plan hadn’t worked.)

In other news, i have flu. Again, still, ad nauseum. All the fucktards ‘soldiering on’ – and incapable of covering their filthy germ-ridden faces when they cough or sneeze –  give it back to me every time i leave the house.

I though it was just me and Mr Whatsit, in the perpetual flu cycle, but spoke to a young friend who lives locally, discovered he and partner (young fit people) are also catching it over and over. He complained even his young friends who caught it kept coming over, despite being so ill they could barely walk. A health worker i know said that nearly everyone admitted to the local hospital has it, or rather, has complications from trying to soldier on.

Like us, my friend hasn’t been able to even get his flu shot this year. He works with the public, so is in ‘at risk’ area, but has no sick pay, thanks to being forced onto casual work, so he must soldier on, which he knows is wrong, but he can’t get the shot, thanks to not being well enough since bloody March.

The people at his work who are on full time (with sick pay) boast about having a full year’s sick leave available to them (accrued from LAST year), but won’t take a day off. Then they cough on him. *sighs* Thanks to the hysteria over the anti vaccination morons, people seem to be thinking catching flu, polio, whooping cough, or measles beats getting a shot.

Did i mention, i hate fucktards? So much i want to stamp them into pulp. Stamp! Stamp! Stamp!

Ahhhh.

****

In a lovely bit of related news – the corrupt medico who started the whole anti vaccination movement has been struck off in the UK – he’s hiding in the US, of course. This was the best explanation of both his crimes (not an exaggeration) and the lack of science (and the hunt for profit for his own vaccination shot).

It’s also the funniest, and written in cartoon format – i recommend a read, it contained a lot of good background that was news to me. To see the other side’s science (lol) i suggest this wiki link. It’s about the Australian campaign to eradicate measles. Scroll down to “criticism”.

I’d like the power to arrest anyone who sneezes in public without their hand in front of their face, and to shoot anyone who coughs on me in the supermarket, but i’m guessing they’re not going to let me. Bastards. I’ll have to be satisfied with saying, “Excuse me, but before i break your nose so nothing else can escape, back off!” It’s worked well so far.

Well, so far i’ve only thought it at a few people, who seemed to get what i meant. Must be the look in my eyes.

****

Now, the interesting stuff – oh yeah – ME. So, aside from flu, how am i? How’s The Thing Mark II going? Well, still plotting to escape the horrors of New South Wales (double the rainfall of London, for those who think this place sounds like a great place to live – sure, if you have webbed feet).

I have plans, schemes, and nefarious strategies even… but no money, so the Queensland Invasion ’09 ’10 ® is waiting for funds. For some reason, my begging for dollars isn’t going well – donations to the Buy Me A Tank Help Me Get Out of Here Fund have been noticeable by their absence.

You lot are slackers! What are you? *listens for the shout* Yes, so long as you know. Anyway, it’s alright, i wasn’t relying on my Minions. Ahem. I mean, Beloved Visitors, of course. You only have to read the blog and check me out on Twitter. If i ever finish The Thing, if it is ever published, then yes, i will force you to buy it. Emotional blackmail, probably, i will look pitiful and beg a lot.

Twitter is still my main line into the outside world. Enjoyable, informative, and a place to rant. *sound of whispering* As i am reminded, another place to rant. So, i’ve covered not feeling well… that wanker ex-doctor… BP pretending to kill their board… what else? I said, i’m sick, i can’t remember a thing. Oh yeah, The Thing!

By some mad miracle, i’ve managed to keep writing. I’ve been working on this one since I Killed The Thing back in late April. Currently, i’m on an average of 1,949 words a day, over 39 days. Some days i barely touch 300, others i manage 3,000 or more. Two thousand words a day is the target. If i keep going, i’ll be done with a first draft in three weeks.

Assuming,that is, i don’t get part way through and discover i’ve broken the plot, or that i just don’t like it. Which happened with the Original Thing. It’s painful to have to admit it’s crap, especially since it was supposed to be to draft stage by the end of February.

Fortunately, it’s only crap in parts, and i keep coming to bits in The Current Thing where i can either put in chunks of text (suitably edited) from The Old Thing, or the research i did for it means i don’t have to spend hours doing it now.

My span of attention (twitterised as it is) can’t focus here any more.

So you’re free! Fly away!

I plan to, just as soon as the drugs kick in.

****

lolz – first time i published this, i realised too late, it had no title.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Only 7 months until my birthday…

I was surprised by the positive reactions to the last post on professional victims – i was sure some emo would give me a hard time, but instead, a bunch of people who’ve been manipulated by emos stood up to say, “Oh God! I know someone like that!” A lot contacted me on Twitter too, and a number contacted me privately to check they knew who i was talking about.

The post was inspired by several professional victims i’ve had the misfortune to run into, in the last 12 months or so in particular, though i also have some i’ve known all my life, but it was amazing how many people were right on the button. Personally, I know way too many of them. I know of even more, as being emo doesn’t preclude being famous. Many celebrities love playing the victim.

But anyway, that was last week. Or the week before, i’ve had flu,  I don’t know what week it is. This week, i’ve decided the attention whores of the world have had enough attention, let’s talk about something nice. Like food. Or good sheets. Hmm. Or i could just rant about whatever’s on my mind.

We could talk about you, but that would mean you’d have to stop lurking, say what’s on your mind, and while we’re waiting, the rest of us might wander off. We’re known for it. Short spans of attention, that’s what the world has now. You’re as good as your last blog post. Most people won’t read back further, those who do earn my undying lurve.

Nothing is as flattering to us egomaniacal anarchist monarchists as reading back. I have some wonderful posts back there. Why should i be the only one who reads them? You don’t read back over your own blog? Not even to laugh at your own jokes? *gasps* And people think I’m weird. Who else do you write for, if not yourself?

Oh, i remember what i was going to do a blog post about. I missed my own blog anniversary. On the 10th March, 2010, this blog turned one. (My Twitter account also turned one, i missed that too, on 14th March 2010.) I’d been blogging on a private site for a while, and had decided i’d had enough of the emos who’d apparently taken it over.

While i was figuring out what to do, i was doing a humorous post on fascism, or trying to, and wanted a pic. I googled funny fascism, found Jenny the Bloggess and thought woo. Once i’d stopped laughing, i figured if she can do that, i don’t have to hide myself behind an adults-only firewall because i swear and discuss adult themes on occasion.

The Australian Prime Minister disagrees with me on that, he thinks Australians are too immature to cope with anything adult on the net, and he’s trying to ban me, ignoring the fact that protecting the children is only possible if their parents pitch in. Yes, that means you. Don’t shut your child into their room with a computer, unless you want to set them out as predator-meat. I’ve blogged on that before in “Toaster Sex Will Rot Your Brain“.

Anyway, we were talking about me. Remember? *looks over bifocals at you* Yes, turning fifty this year, might i remind you. You have until October 31st 2010 to buy me a present, and i suggest you all chip in and get me something from the site that sells the Hello Kitty Kalashnikovs – the Mother Teresa Rocket Launcher is always a fave.

Hey, one thing i don’t do, is sit back, simper, and hope people get me what i want. I’ve learned, it’s best to be clear, to ask outright, and to remind people – yeah, don’t sweat it, i’ll remind you in plenty of time. Mr Whatsit can’t even remember his own birthday, it would be asking for trouble to expect him to remember mine. (Seriously, he needs reminding, and never knows how old he is, we have to work it out.)

Wait… hold the presses. I’ve seen just the thing.

A Hello Kitty armoured personnel carrier – perfect for the Invasion of Queensland ’09 ’10 – we’ll put it down as “donations to the Office Chair and Tank Business Vehicle Fund” officially, as we can’t mention tanks, APC’s, and invasion costs to the Tax Office. Why Hello Kitty? Well, nobody suspects her. As the man in charge of Hello Kitty Hell says, she’s taking over the world, and nobody is noticing. Ooh – there is a Hello Kitty Gatling Gun out – if the APC is too pricey, i’ll settle for that.

According to the Accountant of Doom, invading Queensland, or even parts of New South Wales, isn’t tax deductible. War isn’t tax-deductible? What kind of country is this? And i’m not allowed to kill any more public servants, something about murder being actually illegal.

Speaking of murder, I haven’t killed anyone in The Thing lately, (my work-that-was-in-progress). I had one of those bubble of knowledge moments – where my knowledge suddenly all meshed, and i realised I’d waffled on way too much in my initial draft, to the point where whilst trying to read it over quickly, I ended up lost in my explanations.

So i am chopping out the ones that can be chopped, reducing others, and replacing some with conversations or the actual events, instead of reported ones. I’ve also realised i must have been frisky when i did the sex scenes, they’re a bit too explicit and lengthy for a fantasy sci fi epic, so they’re gone. All jolly good fun, and if i just had a Hello Kitty Kalashnikov to shoot the neighbours with, life would be sweet.

Life is pretty good, despite having flu (or some kind of virus), which i was just getting over when we found a boat. I’ve mentioned we live on a lake. One of our neighbours seemed to have acquired a boat. Before we realised it was abandoned and rang the cops about it, unfortunately some people stripped the engine off it, but what’s left, we have salvage rights on.

I told Mr Whatsit it was just like Whiskey Galore (a book then a film, released under “Tight Little Island” in the USA), but without the whiskey, obviously, and the Customs and Excise men, but he didn’t get it, not having read as many old books and watched as many old movies as i have. (He’s not fifty this year, so he gets no attention at all.)

I had to explain, it was a ship that ran aground on an island in the north of Scotland, and the islanders tried to salvage the whiskey it was carrying. You see, to our surprise, the police, instead of just checking to see if they had a stolen boat reported, told us we had salvage rights. Yes, we are like pirates.

We’ve ‘recovered the vessel’. We tied a rope to it, Mr Whatsit went all Boy Scout – he’s actually a Queen’s Scout, the highest scout you can be, and from back when scouts weren’t terribly politically correct, dressed in red tees (that’s nice for the red-headed kids, eh?), and worshipping celebrities like they do today – ffs, they’ve made Bear Grylls, notorious for faking his survival program, their Chief Scout – Mr Whatsit is disgusted.

So, with our salvage operation, Mr Whatsit tied the Tank to the boat, (ah, the joys of the sheepshank and the bowline – not just handy for fun in the bedroom), then hauled it up the beach, and we are now holding it for a while, until we’re legally allowed to dispose of it, unless the owner turns up. It had fake registration on it, so we’re quite hopeful they won’t.

Of course, standing out in the rain while Mr Whatsit backed the Tank across the foreshore, watching the ropes, checking the boat wasn’t breaking in half, all of this contributed to the bug i had last week (or maybe the week before) coming back. *coughs in pathetic fashion* It’s not that bad, really, as since i stopped smoking nicotine i don’t tend to get coughs like i used to.

Funny that. Giving up tobacco was part of my hysteria over turning 47. I couldn’t still be smoking at 47. Not when an uncle died of heart disease at 48, and they discovered he had lung cancer. He also had cirrhosis, as alcoholism runs in the family.

I stopped drinking much at all quite young, so at least my liver’s survived, (the rest of me is kinda stuffed) and astonishingly, the cardiac specialist who checked me out was so happy to find a healthy heart, i thought he was going to cry. I gather most of his patients are terminally obese, alcoholics, drug addicts, or all three.

Back to me! I’m going to turn 50, so i’m getting the hysteria over early. I mean, i like to enjoy my birthdays when they come, not be angst-ridden and crying into my beer (if i drank beer) over my age. I do like being older, by the way, us older women don’t take crap from others like too many of the younger ones do.

We’ve learned the hard way, that’s the road to unhappiness.

*******

And at last, i’m over the bloody flu. It’s like being reborn – i’m not living on antihistamines, sinus meds, and painkillers. I have managed to clean the house, which is great, the floors were getting crunchy.

Now if i need to get my head back into The Thing. Aside from the edit, it’s been shamefully neglected, and i haven’t added much to the narrative since i crippled his mother. I pushed her off a tower. Well, i didn’t, it was the evil half-brother.

I’m thinking of doing horror for my next work, as i quite like being evil, and @RayGarton, who’s a real horror writer, and published and everything, freaked out when i showed him a topless pic of Donatella Versace, so i’m thinking it might be my future.

Donatella Versace with her clothes on

After all, if i can stand that, i can do anything.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Die Already, Emo

To be clear, when i say emo, i’m not necessarily talking about moody teens following a musical fashion, with long fringes and too small tshirts. That’s pretty normal teen behaviour, wanting to be different by dressing exactly the same and writing very bad poetry.

My emos are those who exist to milk your pity, otherwise known as the professional victims.

I am NOT talking about the genuinely depressed.

Here’s a therapist’s account of dealing with professional victims. As she says, The victim posture is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. By wallowing in the passivity and supposed powerlessness of the victim, one becomes blind to all opportunities and outlooks that do not conform to the supine posture of the victim.

One might call it “self-victimization,” but the point is that it is voluntary.”

I quite often (just by law of averages, not intentionally) read emo blogs or Twitter profiles written by professional victims. I’ve found that emos come in all ages, and that men are just as happy to use misery to manipulate as women are.

There’s a fair number looking for money for nothing, others pretend to sell you something.  A pity purchase. Others are hoping for a pity fuck, or even a pity relationship. Many are hoping you will take pity action and donate to them or their cause, or write to the government on their behalf. I even had one saying “buy my book, help me help myself, instead of just handing your money straight to me like i was a charity case.” Um, yeah. But your book is crap.

They may be partnered, or not, the pro victim doesn’t stop whining because they find a partner, (especially if the old partner starts to realise they’ve been suckered, or the new partner is actually an emo too), and they’re happy to move on to a new sucker any time they find one.

Some of them whine on behalf of others “the poor [insert disadvantaged group/animal here] – feel sorry for them!!!!” and some run charities – some even do so without taking a wage and when they’re in need of charity themselves. Even when helping others, they have to be victims. It’s how they get off. It’s what gets those emo juices flowing. Mmmm….  suffering. Woo hoo!

Oops, did emo just lose their home because they weren’t paying attention to real life? No problem, they can write a blog about it, and garner lots of attention. Of course, using their (poor homeless) kids to manipulate your emotions is part of the deal. Münchhausen’s Syndrome, where people deliberately make themselves ill for medical attention, is classic professional victim. Münchhausen’s by Proxy, where they harm their children to get attention, is too.

Emos are addicted to trying to manipulate emotions by exposing their suffering. However, you are not getting the whole story. That they made themselves homeless, ill, or poor, is never mentioned, except to show you how it’s never their fault. A lot of people stay a little wary, thinking there’s something not quite right, but others fall in head-first to the emo trap.

Once someone is sucked in by the pro victim, it’s like the sucker is in love. There is nothing you can do to make them see the truth. Even if you provide documentary evidence that their emo is actually a manipulative piece of pond-life, you will often be accused of lying to discredit the poor victim. Victim is the operative word – they must always be the victim, even when bravely speaking out on behalf of other people suffering in similar ways.

Ever told someone that the person they love is cheating on them? That their self-help guru stole all his/her ideas from Norman Vincent Peale (one of the first ‘self help gurus’)? If you haven’t, let’s just say that hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but burst someone’s sucker bubble and you’ll find out what real hell is. The suckered may come to hate the one who suckered them, but they’ll hate you more. You will earn the enmity of both people. I know this from real life experience, more than once. It never works out well. For anyone.

I think that secretly, like the cuckolded do, suckers know when they’re being played – the signs are there. However, the suckers deliberately blind themselves to what the pro victim is doing – milking their pity and manipulating their emotions. Eventually, the sucker should come to their senses, usually when they notice something about the pro victim. Emos don’t want healing or practical help. If you leave a sympathetic note on their site, saying how they can get real help in their area, they will delete your post. If they followed your advice, they would have to pull their head out of their arse and stop whining.

The more they whinge, the more people pay attention. Pro victims have their metaphorical (and sometimes actual) hands down their pants over this – it’s better than sex or kink play, because they don’t have to give anything, they just whine and bitch and moan, and everyone pays attention! It’s something for nothing, which is exactly what they’re looking for. If you offer real help, especially the kind where they have to do something for themselves, you’re trying to stop their performance, and that makes you something to be destroyed.

Even if someone physically rescues them, the pro victim will be back in their chosen forum (Twitter, their blog, a chat room, MSN, the cafeteria), inside a week, complaining about how the place they’re in now has weird-coloured walls and they have to clean their own room. Not only that, their rescuer is being mean, because they say the pro victim should stop wallowing in self-pity.

So the emo complains and whinges some more, about how awful their current circumstances are. It’s so good, they may even cut themselves.  Someone comes along, says, “Oh, how dreadful, don’t you have anywhere else to go?” And emo has hooked another sucker.

I have this to say to emos…

You want to play the victim? Don’t come to me. I don’t tolerate you in real life, and I won’t online. I’m not interested in being a sucker for you. I’ve been there, done that, and consequently have a low threshold for bullshit. You want to cut yourself? Go ahead, sweetie, and can i help you find the vein so you do it properly? Emos are experts at not harming themselves when they cut – it’s not to kill themselves, it’s purely to get attention and to look tragic.

I knew one (in his 40’s, true emos are all ages), who would drive to the Emergency Department at his local hospital, and park within sight of it – so there would be no risk of him bleeding to death if he slipped with his sterile scalpels. He had dressings too. His mobile phone was right there, charged up, emergency services on speed dial, in case he couldn’t walk the 20m (20 yds) to the door. After a couple of hours in the A&E, getting all the attention he craved, he would come online, asking people if they wanted to see his cuts on webcam. Hysterically, (laugh or cry, your choice), he was on a kink dating site, advertising himself as a dominant male.

The best thing to do with emos – like all attention whores – is deny them the oxygen of attention. Yep, just ignore them. Occasionally remind others that if someone wants to stay miserable, it’s best to leave them that way. You see emos a lot on Twitter – people saying, “So and so was mean to me, everybody hate them on my behalf. i can has mai victimhood nao? kthxbai”

Some people even attract emos. If you feel you should help the helpless, watch out, you might just be on a hiding to nothing, trying to help someone whose idea of heaven is whining about all the reasons no one can help them. It’s very tempting to be mean when they turn on you for daring to say, “Well, happiness is a choice.” It’s not a choice to them, one doesn’t get attention for being happy. What are you, nuts?

That scent in the air is the scent of burning martyr, so a person being mean (or someone an emo can represent to others as being mean), is fodder for the pyre of their victimhood.

Still, sometimes, I just can’t help myself. I snap back.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Welcome to Junkie Country!

I was reading (the funny and thoughtful) Bern Morley’s blog So Now What? When i googled her to check her website address later, this Tweet of hers popped up…

Bern_Morley I think Dr Phil fails to realise this woman is probably menopausal. Give her some fucking hormones and she’ll be AOK.

Sort of sums up her appeal for me – she speaks her mind, and she’s funny – she doesn’t swear much, usually, but she’s a mum, so under extreme stress at all times  – and yes, i recommend you follow her on Twitter. (I recommend you follow me too – though at the moment i’m focused on my book, so not tweeting or blogging much.)

I was reading Bern’s blog post  where she talked about people smoking round kids in 80’s Queensland and how she still sees people lighting up around children. I was surprised people were still smoking with kids in the car then – my parents used to, but that was in the 1960’s and 1970’s.

However, i reminded myself that only a couple of years ago, a very pregnant 25 yr old neighbour nearly made me fall off my chair when she lit up a cigarette. Her 45 yr old mother, who was there, seemed to think it was alright, because she rolled her daughter the cigarette. Two days later, out popped her (underweight, chesty) baby.

I admit, i’m stunned anyone is still pretending it’s okay. Even if you can’t give up, you can’t pretend it’s good for you. You can’t be that stupid, and you can’t be that ill-informed (in a Western country, that is – sadly the tobacco companies are still making lots of money and it’s rising every year in Asia and Africa).

You couldn’t pretend otherwise after about the mid-70’s even in Western Australia, which was a bit like the US in the 50’s, but during the 60’s & 70’s. Suddenly they admitted the cig companies were lying, having told us for years there was no proof it did cause cancer – I was already addicted by then.

The first time i tried to stop, and then realised i couldn’t – I was 14ish. I was probably addicted to secondary smoke before i left the womb, although my mother stopped smoking during all her pregnancies, my father didn’t, (he even smoked in bed) and no man went outside to smoke in 1960.

It actually took me, despite knowing all those years, another 30 or so to give up. This is what being an addict means. Your will to stop isn’t necessarily going to get you there. (It will if you keep at it, but most smokers retreat to “well, i tried, and everyone said for god’s sake, smoke, you’re horrible without them” – yeah, like that’s a reason to stop trying, junkie.)

I tried several times, managed up to six months a couple of them, didn’t last the week more often. In 2002, my father died of lung cancer. I still smoked. I didn’t even try to give up.

Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, there were lots of cigarettes marketed to women, and advertised on television and in magazines. Smoking was cool, sophisticated, and an easy way to be older – adults who didn’t smoke were a tiny minority, remember – and it also became a way to show teen rebellion.

I bet it’s even cooler for teens now, seeing as everyone’s trying to stop you, even the government has stopped pretending they believe the tobacco companies any more, (woo hoo, a taste of nicotine-soaked teen rebellion, anyone?) and you know it’s at least a 50% chance it will kill you. Gosh, even driving drunk doesn’t have that kind of attrition rate and smouldering bad boy/grrl danger.

Smoking does kill that many smokers, and it will stunt your children’s growth and lead to problems for them, mentally and physically – whether in the womb or in the room.

However, I do wish they wouldn’t pretend it ages you as much as they do in those ads on the television – those awful haggard toothless women aren’t that way from just smoking. That’s a lifetime of misery, alcoholism, &/or heavy drug addiction written on those faces.

Alcoholism is just frequent binge drinking, btw – and that’s the clue, if you can’t stop once you open a bottle, unless you pass out first – maybe google ‘signs of alcoholism’.

Booze is a drug, like cigs, one the government also makes megabucks out of while it destroys families, relationships, and lives. They do the same with other addictions like gambling.

With booze, they’ll happily tax it, and send you to gaol if you break the law under the influence, despite them saying, alcohol fucks with your brain, you can’t tell how messed up you are, so don’t drink and drive – but it’s alright for you to drink at home, lose all your usual morals, and bash your family.  People are destroyed by booze.

Smoking, on the other hand, kills you in several horrible ways. Heart Disease? Lung cancer? Something slower? Emphysema?  Take your pick, they’re all fun. Of course, it also costs a fortune, and causes you to crawl in abject subjugation to a legal drug, the whole of your (shorter than average) life.

That’s what got me in the end. Getting older meant every year took me closer to the diagnosis of lung cancer. One of my uncles gave up for 20 years and still died of it, one was diagnosed at my age, so i know my own chances still aren’t good.

This drug, nicotine, is one the government keeps legal, but taxes higher, and higher – despite most people who now smoke being poor, and cost being negligible when one is addicted to a drug – or why would heroin/crack/meth addicts steal to fuel their habits?

People already buy their cigs and booze, then pay their bills, and buy food for their families. They go gambling and spend the rent money, while the government rakes in the money- maybe think about that, next time you vote.

The huge joke about my dad dying of lung cancer is, he’d given up a couple of months before they discovered the cancer, (having smoked for 50+ years) because of his heart condition, which needed surgery. He thought it was funny, anyway.

Oh yes, i’m doomed, both sides of the family have heart trouble – my father’s two brothers also died of either lung cancer or heart problems, while they also had lung cancer/heart problems. It extends into the grandparents.

So, there i was, tired of being scared every time i breathed in that smoke i craved, that didn’t really satisfy, and so tired of being Nicotine’s bitch. Tired of collecting adequate  supplies plus a spare lighter every time i moved position in the living room, let alone went on a whole day’s journey somewhere.

I gave up for seven months. Cold turkey, with no drug assistance, and no help from the biggest lie of all – therapeutic nicotine. It’s a poison, don’t keep taking it – i don’t know anyone who’s given up using therapeutic nicotine – i know lots who tried.

So there I was – completely clean, scary or what? I discovered my breaking point – i thought the end of the world had come.

We were flooded in for 4 days one midwinter, with no power, no food, and a dwindling supply of tea candles (the tiny ones you use for meditation) to warm water enough for tepid cupasoups.

We couldn’t heat any food, though we had a fair bit, as there was sewage in the floodwaters and we couldn’t get anything hot enough to stop food poisoning.

This was an extra worry as Mr Whatsit was just out of hospital after spinal surgery, confined to a stiff neck brace. He kept going outside (on the veranda, well above the water)  to survey the flood and have a smoke. He seemed much happier than me. On the third day, i said, give me one!

I was hooked again.

It took me six weeks to break the habit again. I used marijuana to break it that time, after having trouble with insane cravings. I’d go have a puff on a water pipe whenever the cravings hit insane levels. I have smoked grass for 20 yrs on and off, and it’s not addictive, sugar puffs – this junkie knows addictive.

I have a dear friend who has struggled since she was about 14 with addiction to heroin. She says giving up heroin was a walk in the park compared to giving up smoking.

Since I gave up the last time it’s been two years. Two years yesterday. I’m quite surprised, and only last week had an out-of-the-blue craving for tobacco, under stress. (Yes, i still smoke marijuana – if you have a problem with that, you’re on the wrong blog.)

As the cigarette craving hit last week, I reminded myself that i wasn’t flooded in with no freaking food or heat, my partner only four weeks out of surgery, so having a cigarette wasn’t a rational response.

Mistress Nicotine was still crooning her siren song, telling me i’d feel better, and didn’t i deserve a little treat? Hadn’t i missed her, didn’t i still sometimes think, ah, a cig would be nice right now?

I hit her over the head with a mallet. Fucking cow. I distracted myself, I lied and said i could have one tomorrow if i still felt that way. I had a bong, I cleaned my teeth with a mint flavoured toothpick, I chopped veggies for dinner and ate some raw- in short, everything i could think of to stop myself doing it.

When it comes down to it, it’s really going to have to be the end of the world, before i have another cigarette. With my family’s predilections for dying of heart disease or lung cancer, (which are smoking-related diseases, lest we forget), continuing to smoke was suicidal – and i’m not suicidal.

I was suicidal when i realised i was hooked. i remember thinking how awful it was, being an addict, what a failure i was – at only 14. I’ve no doubt it had a negative effect on my life and my behaviour.

So, if you’re trying to give up, and getting depressed, instead of smoking again, Google for help in your area, and call or visit the sites for support.

In Australia, there’s the Quit Line, 13 78 48 – specifically for those trying to give up.

If it’s making you feel like death’s better (or any time you’re down, depressed, suicidal), you can call Lifeline 131 114, Mensline 1300 789 978, and the BeyondBlue info line 1300 22 4636  -with thanks to the friend who supplied those.

Everyone i know well who has tried to or has given up has suffered the most awful welling up of psychological debris, much of it problems they thought they’d dealt with.

Many of them couldn’t stand it, and went back to smoking. I remember my father trying to give up back in the 70’s. If he’d done it, he might still be alive, which would annoy my mother in a most satisfying way.

If you’re one of the lucky ones, who stops, has no problems, and never looks back – you were smoking why? *rolls eyes* I cannot understand why anyone who could stop wouldn’t just do it.

My mother did that. After smoking for about fifty years most days, but not a lot every day, except in social situations, she had a heart attack, and because her doctor said it would be a good idea, she stopped.

Without any cravings at all. Gawd.

*****

For those of you only born yesterday (any time since the 70’s i spose) the title is a pun on the old Marlboro™ cigarette  commercials,
“Welcome to Marlboro Country”

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


The sounds of a switchblade and a motorbike…

You’re going to need a coffee for this post… or your choice of beverage – as we’d say in Australia, a packed lunch and a waterbag. It’s a trifle long. What’s 2,000 words between friends?

After my spate of good deeds in the last post, i continued helping people. The awful last few months, of illness and injury, seem to be fading, and though i’m a bit lacking in stamina, have some use of my body back, and life isn’t half as hard as it has been.

We also had good news about Mr Whatsit yesterday (see In Other News at the end of this post) so i was in a seriously happy-happy-joy-joy kind of mood last night.

I was followed by someone called @Tweetblockerapp on Twitter. It’s a program for Twitter, supposed to help you spot the spammers in your Followers – a great idea. So i Followed back, and logged into their application. It looked very smart.

The page processed, and it showed my followers all listed neatly with grades next to them (A B C etc). Okay, i thought, what’s going on here? There was no Help, so i tried to figure it out. (I’ve been using computers since ’84 and programming since about ’86 – though i gave it up after about 10 yrs – but i do have some skills.)

I had one A+ Follower showing at the top of my list. I assumed that meant he was great, not bad.  (I discovered you can sort the list by Grade, so i do have more A+ Tweeps.) I didn’t recognise him, because they used his Name, not his Twitter Nick – the latter heads his Tweets.

However, by moving mouse over things, i found his Nick – aha, i thought, he’s a spammer, and i blocked him, so rated A+ means they think he’s a super-spammer. There was a Details button. I clicked that, got taken to a page that told me the follower tweeted and engaged with followers, and seemed to be a genuine Tweep. Which was funny.

I’d blocked him only that day, so thought it was understandable he might still be showing up as a follower.   There was no way off the page, so i backed on the browser. Which meant the processing of my 500+ followers all started again.

Once it finished, I looked at the F’s – to find that they were the people  likely to be spammers. Oh. (And discovered the A+ rating person’s page not popping up was a glitch, as now i got a pop-up which i could just close – shame i never got to explain that part to my new follower.)

A browse through the first couple of pages revealed more people who weren’t actually in my followers on Twitter any more . There were some i’d actually blocked for spamming who got a B or C rating, saying they were probably real people and not spammers, so i wasn’t impressed thus far. Same with the D’s – people i knew were real but just new rated badly.

For instance, @AlexanderOlivia is a fake profile, spouting generated gibberish, and then spam about teeth whitening. I had also blocked her some time ago, but she’s showing and getting a D (Grades go A B C D then F) …

  • This is a fairly new user
  • This user does not have a balanced ratio of friends and followers
  • This is an active user

Their ratio of friends to followers is 62 to 762 – so we’re talking extreme inbalance, not just a bit off. I rate at C – only been on since March this year.

I checked my friend @DirkJohnson in CA, who talks, RT’s, is a good Tweep to follow, genuine, and had been on Twitter for exactly a year according to WhenDidYouJoinTwitter – he scored a C and it said…

  • This is a fairly new user
  • This user has a balanced ratio of friends and followers
  • This is an active user

The app listed everyone by their names as i said, (it did show pics, but lots of my friends change theirs every week) and not by their Twitter nicks.

I’m Sheila there, but my Twitter nick is stinginthetail, and if you look for Sheila in the Search function, i don’t show up – or i didn’t last i looked. This is because I cut off the Bastard part of Sheila Bastard so i could be moderately safe for work, which i think upset Twitter Search.)

To explain briefly, while i was an expat in London…  Sheila Bastard is “… a joke, on being Australian –  ’sheila’ means ‘woman’ in Aussie slang, and ‘bastard’ is both an epithet and a term of endearment. So Sheila Bastard I became. Sheila’s a convenient nickname for those who need a first name…”

You can read the whole post that quote is from here. For how i got the nick Queen of Darkness, i gave it to myself accidentally – the full story is here, but the short version is that many vicious bigots claim to be on the side of Light, and i once snapped that if that was Light, i was the Queen of Darkness, and it stuck – i was in a band at the time.

laugh at my jokes, or die

laugh at my jokes, or die

So, meanwhile, i’d messed around with Tweetblocker a bit. Right, i thought, enough. I’ll let them know what i think. It had to be brief, Twitter only gives 140 characters, but i sent several tweets in order to give more info.

I was thinking they’d be thrilled to get such in-depth, thought-out, intelligent feedback from someone who was not a net newbie and could explain her thoughts.

But i was to learn differently….  now remember, unless you were following both of us, looking at my profile page, or searching for him or me, you wouldn’t have seen this, so it’s semi-private.

giving your app a go…. unfortunately it seems to have picked up loads of spammers i’ve already blocked – other probs …

prob when click on details – no way out of page, have to back on browser, which makes it all start processing again…

… and no explanation of what the grades mean or how it works *shrugs* nice idea

and, listing people by their names is useless – i need their twitter nicks, or i don’t know who they are

There, i thought, another good deed done. I was expecting them to take it on board, ask questions about what system i was using, maybe even chat a bit in an email. To my surprise, i got this back…

tweetblockerapp @stinginthetail thx for the feedback. if you have any spare time can you please put 1 consolidated recommendation here: [and they gave a link]

So naturally, i said…

why would i recommend you? i told you i wasn’t impressed – nice idea, but doesn’t work – and where’s the help?

They had a very strange reaction…

tweetblockerapp @stinginthetail nevermind

Ah, but they couldn’t leave it there. I also got a DM (private message)…

tweetblockerapp: it’s not a recommendation. uservoice is place we backlog info like what you gave us. btw..you’re the first person not impressed. cheers

Aside from the atrocious English – “like what you gave us” – i found myself thinking, huh? What do you mean, not a recommendation? Hmm – so why did you say “please put 1 consolidated recommendation here”? I was thinking sheesh, talk about bad tempered app developers. Did i dare to criticise your precious baby? Oh noes!

Would like to say here i often take the time to beta-test for people – they usually LOVE the way i will take time out of my life to give them genuine feedback. I’m also happy to promote them on Twitter and on this blog if i like the program – i’m a good person to have in your corner.

They unfollowed me so i couldn’t reply (oh, so mature), and (i think) blocked me so i couldn’t see their tweets. I thought fine, be like that (i too can be mature!) and blocked them too, just in case they were still showing in my Followers. I  block spammers (or flamers), i don’t want people thinking i am condoning their behaviour or that they might be safe to leave in your Follower list.

We both reckoned without Twitter’s search function, which when i got curious to see if anyone else had actually been negative, showed me this Tweet in the main tweet stream (not sure of exact timing of these posts, they are all marked 11 hrs ago, but this is the order i read them in – the ones above, then this one).

tweetblockerapp @stinginthetail just being honest. we will take any sort of criticism, however, yours was just plain negative. *shrug* look at your bio.

My bio on Twitter? Hmm… “writer, blogger, muso, 48, possibly evil, even the antichrist, see my blog for more”.  Good Lord… so, you’re that gullible eh? *makes sudden move and watches as they all jump* Ha ha!

How simply perfect. *snigger* I can imagine the boys at Tweetblocker…

OMG, she’s the ANTICHRIST! Don’t listen to her. Run! Shut your eyes! Find a fucking crucifix! Quickly! Block her! Before she makes our testicles shrivel!

Or ovaries, if there were any women there panicking too. Of course, the Antichrist would tell you she wasn’t, wouldn’t she? *raises one eyebrow*

laugh at my jokes or die, it's a simple choice

Excuse me while Her Majesty falls off her throne laughing. Soon, my rep will spread – beta versions of software will no longer be offered to me, because nobody wants the Queen of Darkness being mean to them.

Seriously, i was trying to be very constructive – i know from experience that good constructive feedback is worth its weight in gold. You want someone who will find the glitches or bits that don’t make sense and tell you, not someone who says, ooh, lovely.

It’s the same with writing – everyone will tell you how wonderful you are – everyone who likes you personally. “This is fabulous. I adore your writing.” So, how could i make it better – especially seeing it’s been rejected by 23 publishers? “Oh no, it’s great,” they say, “i love it.”

Do you think the characters are well enough developed, you might ask, is the storyline too predictable? And they won’t give an honest answer, even if secretly, they think your characters are made of formica and that your plot has all the surprises of a plot usually contained in an episode of Dharma & Greg. They like you, they don’t want to hurt your feelings.

Go to someone who isn’t emotionally involved, (or is trained to be capable of disengaging) and you can get proper feedback, like, “claiming you are the Antichrist will become a reason for people to stop asking you to try their software.”

When i received the DM, i do confess, I lost it a little on Twitter, and unable to reply  privately, said

honestly, why would you ask for feedback, then say ‘yr the only one who was negative’? great customer relations, fucktards

and a bit later…

beware if tweetblockerapp asks u for opinion- they only want people to say how wonderful they are. They will call u negative & evil. LOL

To someone who’d also said they didn’t rate the program

watch out, don’t be negative about that app, lol, they will send snarky emails saying yr only one who’s ever said it’s not perfect

This was over 12 hours, not all at once, but i’m including it so you get the whole story, and not just carefully-edited highlights. I probably shouldn’t have called them fucktards, that was rude of me, and lowered me to their level. Maybe rude twats would have been better.

I also posted that actually, anyone wanting a good app to sort their followers with should use Dossy’s Twitter Karma, as it actually works. However, because i really am a nice person, here’s a link to Tweetblocker which i still think is a great idea with lots of potential. If you’d like to see if you can follow them on Twitter without incurring app developer spazz attacks, they’re at @tweetblockerapp.

I went back, gave it another go this morning, and naturally, found it easier to navigate the 2nd time around, but unfortunately, i still can’t recommend it – maybe in the next version?

It’s possible that the F rating could be useful if you’re incapable of clicking on a profile and seeing that they’ve never tweeted, have 1000 people they’re following, and only 4 are following them back.

Joy to the world. The bitch is back.

you will respect my authoritay

you will respect my authoritay

**************************

In other news (i did add this on the end of last post as an edit, but it deserves repeating) Mr Whatsit’s latest scans reveal problems which will require surgery, but the most recent op site, where he got an artificial disk, is still showing as fine. The disk is stable – there were worries it had shifted, with obvious dangers to his spinal cord with a metal hinge moving around. It’s a huge relief.

**************************

I’m actually in a really good mood.
Doesn’t mean i’lll take crap from anyone, though.

**************************

NB: post title from “Saturday night’s alright” by Elton John & Bernie Taupin. © 1973 Dick James Music Limited

I was looking at his lyrics in case The Bitch is Back (another of his) had a nice lyric for a title. But i really couldn’t go past…

“A couple of the sounds that i really like,
are the sounds of a switchblade and a motorbike


© stinginthetail.wordpress.com



You never write…

Yeah, i have been thinking of you. It’s just that when i said back in March we wanted to move, i didn’t expect it to take so long. Just deleted the fourth new post i’ve tried to write lately. They didn’t sound right. I’m not a journo, or a paid blogger, forced to churn out copy, and my blog hopefully doesn’t sound like it, but those posts did.

Anyway, back in early May, Mr Whatsit (whilst organising a possible source of moving-house funds, in the form of a forgotten part-year tax refund from 8 years ago) tried to get old paperwork out of a medical insurance company.

Here in Australia, if you don’t have medical insurance when you can afford it, (he was high up in a telecom company then, and could), you get a nasty tax penalty – which would be the whole amount of the refund. So to get his tax back, he has to prove he paid for insurance.

The company was scarily inept on the phone, (they let slip that Mr Whatsit’s ex still has the same postal address, for instance, plus other indiscretions), but they decided to be extra-careful of releasing any info, and said it had to go to legal.

Mr Whatsit was told at least 6-8 weeks, waited patiently, then was ill, so didn’t call back at 8 weeks. When he did call, at 11 weeks, was told, “Why hasn’t this been sent to you? It’s just sitting in the stack.” Nice lady put it in the post, it was here in one working day – by the end of July.

So now we can fill in some forms, and start waiting again. Which is one reason why i’ve not been into blogging. What’s the point? Absolutely nothing is happening.

In case you’re not clued up, it’s the bleak midwinter, southern hemispheric-ally speaking. That is, in the Land of Oz, it’s cold and drear… oh, but the sun is shining today.

And i’m tired of whining about being sick, so can only imagine how you lot feel. The flu is finally starting to let go a bit, but after one major relapse with it, i’m not going to tempt Fate, and say i’m over it.

Unfortunately, Mr Whatsit’s become very ill, and may need spinal surgery – nothing to do with the flu, except that coughing and sneezing may have set the whole thing off.

His doctor is being a prick, refusing to give us a referral back to Mr Whatsit’s neurosurgeon, (who operated where the pain is, so should be consulted), and saying we should wait for A FUCKING YEAR to get into a clinic in pain management up in Newcastle.

He doesn’t need freaking management from some hippy with Certificate II & III in Chronic Pain Management in a year, he needs to see his neurosurgeon NOW, or (without unfortunately, any exaggeration whatsoever), he’ll be on morphine in a week or so and in a fucking wheelchair before fucking Christmas!

Ahem – Mr Whatsit has had around 8 major spinal operations – amateurs do not get near him. Just touching him wrong could cripple him – his spine is fucked.  So we go back to doc, (and the government pays his fucking fee again) and this time, tell him to sign a freaking referral – no more asking nicely – or we will find someone else who will.

****************

I’ve tried to get into some other subjects – fashion, for one – but nothing worked. I nearly got a blog post out of the latest no-eyebrows look, (as seen in Balenciaga & Givenchy collections) but it went blah.

Yes, they look like the Vulcan/Klingon crosses on Star Trek, or maybe emos with Neanderthal tendencies, but I am lacking patience – trying to do a light, funny post on the idiocies of fashion victims wasn’t a good move.

Promoting death for fashion designers who make women look fugly probably isn’t legal. When it comes down to it, though i can still reach Zen, it’s been a rough winter.

So that’s why, though i can happily lock in for hours on my novel or dip for a few minutes in the happy splashfest of Twitter, writing a blog has been so hard.

Sorry, nothing left to be amusing with.

*******************

This blog’s never been particularly about my life on a day-to-day level, so it feels weird to be putting this here, but i am honest in these posts. (Hard to tell with the mad parts, but i am.)

But i guess you need to know why i’m not writing.

I’m too fucking worried.

***************

In other news, i may have found the funniest thing ever. Srsly. Extreme sheeps and the men who love them. (That’s a video link, which i don’t do usually, but it’s only just over 2 mins long.) The wonder of what happens when men are left alone with sheep.

Totally safe for ewe to put onscreen at work, and worth watching all the way to the end. I just love it – humans – so amazing.

(I didn’t actually find it – @Froosh posted it on Twitter.)

*******

Oh – and i’m completely undrugged…. which is shocking and accounts for part of my inability to show tolerance and kindness. I did sneak around Twitter doing good deeds and helping people this week. Nothing like a bit of voluntary work to help you forget your own problems.

How does one sneak? I was looking for things, and spotted people I wasn’t following who weren’t following me, asking questions or having problems, and helped them. I know, i know – it’s some kind of weird compulsion. White_wave even said

@stinginthetail OMG You are NOT the Antichrist! You are the first person to offer me honest-to-god roadside help that isn’t more exploitation!
3:55 PM Jul 26th
from web in reply to stinginthetail

That was so sweet. Sprung! Yes, we have become co-Tweeple.

**************

Well, i’m drug-free except the prescription ones that keep me alive – the mould in the house doesn’t agree with my heart, apparently, along with putting my body into a permanent state of extreme allergic reaction.

Straight sucks. How do people live like this?

The voices outside-my-head say we can endure.

So, we endure.

EDIT : some good news, the latest scans today (28th July 09) show Mr Whatsit’s spine is crap, but where he has the artificial disk (a piece of metal nestling rather close to his spinal cord) is apparently all fine. This is an incredible relief, as if it went wrong, a fused neck would be a good outcome, and a bad one was quadriplegia. He may still need surgery, but having been through 4 fusions and a disk replacement, pfft – this is something we can deal with.

NOTE: in case anyone thinks my drugfree state is me coming off some hard drugs, it’s not – i just have no painkillers – otherwise known as marijuana. Without it i have to rely on pharmaceutical painkillers – which don’t actually work half as well and are poisonous to my body –  for my own rather fucked up back.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Take it like a man, son…

Rosellas (a small local parrot) look like God (or the lumpen-angel in charge of small birds for Australasia) thought budgies weren’t bright enough, so daubed their heads and chest with red, then decided the rest of the spectrum of their feathers had to be ramped up – bring on the electric yellow and acid green, oh yeah, baby!

How many shades of blue can i use? And let’s put a white spot near their eyes, to make them really stand out. I’ve got some red left over, it can go under the tail. Oh yes!

The black speckles on their backs, let’s make them out of a kind of black velour, that makes them look like they’re part-velvet painting. What was God on when he invented the Eastern Rosella? Whatever it was, it made something pretty.

Eastern Rosella  - Wikipedia Commons Image

Eastern Rosella - Wikipedia Commons Image

The reference is a joke – God, contrary to the edicts of the morally-corrupt minority, has a sense of humour, and i’m sure will not mind – seriously, please don’t pray for me any more, or i’ll have used up my prayers when i really need one.

Talking to God does not imply the owner of this blog completely believes in God, Satan, Heaven, Hell, etc etc, blah blah…. except in States where such a lottery is illegal. It’s just not as funny if i say “What was evolution thinking about?”

Especially because some ornithologist  – who happens to be passing this blog post, probably accidentally, looking for rosellas. The weird ornithologist says they evolved like that mostly for sexual reasons. And we’re back there again.

It’s mating season outside the window.  I feel like a parrot pervert, watching parrots make out. They’re so cute, and loving. And colourful. Rosellas are a minority, most of them are lorikeets, which are like a rainbow exploded.

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3360/3224868366_c8dfac3e09_o.jpg

from OzJulian at Flickr

Down on the lake’s beach, a kind of Australian robin, with a speckled red breast, skim around insect-catching over the shallows . If you get close, like robins in the northern hemisphere, they come to see what you’re up to, hovering like honeyeaters at head-height.

Serene and so pretty, and the wankers who decided to run round the lakes several times on their hovercraft over the weekend were not welcome. I bet they think they’re so freaking green.

They were leaving a decent bow wave, only a metre or two from the shore, (that’s shore erosion right there), and were charging through shallows, in an area that’s a haven for birds and fish, usually never entered by boats (unless they run aground, in which case it’s great to watch.

We’re not being mean, just watching – anyone in serious trouble, we’d help, but the deepest part in front is only waist deep, they can walk to shore. It’s also full of diving birds, there for the fish that get trapped in the pools as the tide goes out.

Apparently hovercraft are driven only by complete wankers don’t have to obey normal regs, like keeping to the watercraft channels or speed limits, and they have petrol engines making enough noise to wake the freaking dead.

Though Mr Whatsit only grunted, because he had his earplugs in, it being the weekend, and round here they like to celebrate the weekend with Powertool Party Saturday, which nearly always ends up going into Mower Mardi Gras Sunday.

Once again, the longing for a decent sniper rifle overwhelms me. Put Kalashnikov in as a search word at the top of the page, and you’ll see how many times i was also longing for just a weapon, damn it! I curse Australia’s nambypamby gun laws, that mean i can’t just shoot people going past because they annoy me.

They wouldn’t do this to me in Texas! The Queen of Darkness would be allowed her Kalashnikov in a choice of colours. Of course, in the USA you need weapons to protect yourself from everyone else who also has weapons. I don’t actually want to be where everyone else has weapons,  I’m just looking for a clean kill, and am too lazy to learn to use a bow.

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Anyway, aside from that, this is my first ever “Poor Bastard of the Week Award.”  Logan Campbell, a New Zealand martial artist, who’s an Olympian in Taekwondo, has turned to prostitution to support his career, saying he’s tired of his parents supporting him – it cost them over 100k to send him to the last Olympics.

He competed in Beijing, did very well, (lost against the guy who won bronze, and was in top 16) and is preparing for London in 2011. He’s started a gentlemen’s escort service – legal in NZ – and you’d think well, that’s enough, isn’t it? Nobody goes into prostitution without thinking about it hard. But no.

“Taekwondo New Zealand (TNZ) was unenthusiastic about the move, saying it would be taken into account when considering him for international selection.

“Selection takes into account not just performance but also the athlete’s ability to serve as an example to the youth of the country,” TNZ funding manager John Scholfield told the newspaper.” Quote from Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Read it and weep. There he is, trying to be a man, starting a legal business and he’s now being judged as not fit to be around children. They say ‘an example’ but we all know what Mr Scholfield means. It’s well-known that all sex workers are dangerous paedophiles, usually armed with axes  and bags of sweets, so this is a good thing.

(I couldn’t find a pic of a prostitute with an axe, but i looked for one.)

Wait, the voices outside-my-head say that this is not true! Apparently, most sex workers do it just as a freaking job! Phew! They aren’t actually sexually abusive to children! OMG.

Someone should tell Taekwondo New Zealand – who were happy to hang this guy out to dry and let him find his own funding – that not relying on his parents to pay for his life choices is actually a fine example for young people.

I’m not sure who’s in control of this post – it’s not me, i’m too drugged and overloaded with hormones to know which way is up. I’ve had two periods in just under three weeks. I thought i was both stressed and sick, (getting over the never-ending gastric flu and waiting until we can move house), but now i realise i’ve been also struggling under a hormone overload.

Lovely. And you wonder why i want a gun? Pfft. Of course it would be safe. I’m very safety-conscious. Besides, i wouldn’t be shooting at anyone, just suggesting targets, Mr Whatsit’s already a crack shot, makes sense to use him. Maybe we won’t have to kill them. If we wing a few, the others will try harder.

In the absence of guns, i’ll have to blow a giant raspberry across the Tasman to NZ, to John Scholfield and the rest of the nice people at Taekwondo New Zealand. I was going to make poor Logan Campbell some kind of prize, but fuck it, he’s making more than i am – 150k savings a year? Nice one, son. Even if it is only NZ dollars.

So, he’s making a good living, but he’s probably destroyed his chance of selection on the team, despite being able to be fitter, more prepared, less stressed, and more able to capitalise on his Olympic experience in Beijing. And they won’t pick him because he’s a man-whore. So, everyone together,  “You poor bastard!”

Interesting thought: a woman in same boat would also be denied a place on a team unless from somewhere very enlightened like maybe Denmark. It’s  not just New Zealand which gives mixed messages to its citizens. Legal but frowned upon.

Glad i don’t have kids to explain the hypocrisy to, because as an adult, all i can think of is well, don’t ever think that if you work in the sex industry you’re going to be able to tell most people what you do, and not be judged as less for it.

It’s not fair, or right, but it’s sure how it is.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Too Cranky To Blog…

don’t ask me how i am, we’ll be here all day – i have two words for you – gastric flu. Enough said. I am just over worst *touch wood* and on bright side, think i’ve lost the 3kg/7 lb that had sneaked onto my stomach while winter set in. Have been so bad tempered i wasn’t fit company for anyone.

Being the Queen of Darkness and the Antichrist, I’m used to being a little scathing, but I was just Crankiness Incarnate and anything that got towards Ground Zero was toast. I couldn’t even talk on Twitter, i kept taking everything the wrong way.

Mind you, i feel like getting cranky over not having lost more weight, i mean, ffs, i was so ill. Still am, and any effort, even if it’s just having a shower, leaves me weak as a kitten, so of course, have religiously showered every day, just to show this thing it can’t beat me. I am weak but clean.

A friend told me last night they had same bug a month ago (night fevers, loss of appetite, upset stomach, nausea, sinus problems/ coughs, headaches/ migraines, aches/ pains, feeling weak and dizzy), and are still having resurgences.

Two more words. Arrgh. Fuck. Both good words to describe both this bug and how i feel about winter in New South Wales, the dampest place on the planet.

Mind you, could be worse, i could be in our nation’s capital, Canberra (in the Australian Capital Territory, which is on the NSW border), you can actually watch the mould grow on the walls.

My plot to take over Queensland continues, though at the moment we’re too sick to pack more, but it’s okay, we’re still inside budget and time constraints, so we just have to get over this bug. We’ve doubled the multivit’s.

World Domination™ is of course dependent on the domino effect. As Queen of Darkness, I pick the nice places i want to live, they surrender, and so it goes.

It’s good to be queen.

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In other news, the sci fi fantasy epic is going so excellently i could explode.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Zen and the Art of Enforced Inactivity

Let’s face it, the easiest way to deal with sudden inability to function is to take lots of drugs and zone out. I did that for the first three days. Then i realised it had actually been a week, so i tried reality again. It sucked so much that i went back to the drugs.

Happy to report they still work. Still have thumb strapped, which – as i was already wearing wrist supports for any typing – is just the icing on my cake. However, i can still type, just not well enough for me to waste the little time i have doing long blogs when i need to be getting on with the novel.

It’s going rather well, *touch wood* so i also don’t want to shift my focus too much, or i’ll lose where i am. And when. Yeah, i live in my head, so? Someone has to.

I do go outside. I’ve fortunately managed to control all my massive neuroses little foibles so i can still leave the house, i’m not actually terminally obese, (though have been there, so do not think i’m some kind of body fascist), and i still drive a car. I’ve managed to give up smoking tobacco, which after two years (nearly) still astonishes me.

Allowing our minds to take our lives over on the outside is like me doing a retro-tech futuristic novel means i should be skipping about ‘in costume’ in real life and only answering to the name of the heroine of my book.

Actually, i could start tweeting in character, maybe? No no no. Thrice no, i say! (Bit of drama there, for those who like that kind of thing. me arguing with the voices inside my head is always entertaining.)

Our minds influence life to astonishing degrees. We smoke or eat or drink ourselves to death, we hide indoors, we stop driving, we stop going to the supermarket and start only going as far as the corner shop, then try to stop going there too. We justify it all to ourselves. And for no real reason. We know that. It’s just something in our mind.

I once thought i had agoraphobia, as i didn’t like going outside when i first went to London. Then i realised that every time i stepped outside, i could see someone else, (it’s a crowded place), whereas inside the house there was more space around me. I had claustrophobia, you see? The reverse of what it looked like.

Mr Whatsit has been having a rough time, finally got some drugs that work from the doctor, and has been sleeping joyfully, zombie-boy catching up on maybe four months of not much sleep.

That’s my news – we’re both in pain but drugged enough to cope. Lol – and compared to many of my friends at the moment, we’re not doing too badly.

There seems to have been a rash of sudden illness, cancer diagnoses, of mid-winter depression, of bullying and depression, and of course, people have been going green in support of Iran. I haven’t, i’d only just gone red on Twitter to cheer myself up, with it being two days away from the mid-winter solstice here.

I feel sympathy and empathy for the Iranians – but i don’t think some unquantifiable number of people on Twitter dyeing their avatars green will help. I mean, does the head of the Iranian Secret Police say….

Zomg,  all mah Tweeples haz gone green!
Can haz democrasee! Stop teh beetingz!

Somehow, i don’t think so.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com