I cast my glance across the gleaming sea across the coast and there is no trout to catch, a desolation so bleak that i weep no tears….my my one how far have you ventured to quench your tryst leaving a whimpering ghost behind.

Love, the words of a sensible lout break into shreds whence you leave me behind. An ache for the your presence, a wake for your appearance are all i see. The seas have to part for i have no crawl the continents and trawl the oceans to be beneath your eyes, the ones that bewitch beguile this hapless soul. The restless hours of light and the night tether me on the brink of a ledge that levitates over a bottomless bowl of soup. A soup for the lifeless soul. The humdrum are nothing more than a ho-hum, an emptiness whose presence is inevitable.The emptiness is a sapping parasite growing on me as the hours dour their way through the time continuum, pillaging everything i cherish every moment i would cherish. Muster the courage i could not, for the spine has just collapsed in a tremor of loneliness. 

Come hither once again…..make ur galling rescue…belittle my ego for i have never acknowledged the rescues all these years but yet the depths i have seen are in the past coz of your timely chop sticked ladder in the turmoil soup….

Oh my God, how long has it been since I’ve last updated my blog. Hm, must be I have a whole lot of things to do in life than updating blogs.

Talking about life, people always tell someone to ‘get a life’ and sometimes the respond is  ‘I already have a life’ then the conversation just ends there. Well, it shouldn’t end there because you can tell them to get a BETTER life. Bam.

I heard they got discounts

Anyway,  incase you haven’t read the original post and you won’t be able to, this is an update. I went to Astroyboy yesterday. Let me tell you, that movie is E-MO!

Meh, watdya’ expect, it was originally from Japan but less gruesome. Why gruesome, as I remembered it, the boy robot, Astroyboy, was made from limbs of a real human boy. Then again, I could be wrong because it might be Inspector Gadget.

I wanted to watch New Moon today but the local cinema isn’t showing it until next week. I don’t know why I want to watch but it may be the fact that it’s been on EVERY DAMN YOUTUBE AND TV!

Brainwash you to like something you didn’t like. OH MY GOD, New Moon, is totally here! Vampires~!

 
 
 
 
 
WEDNESDAY 18th NOVEMBER

 
 
 
 
I’m a lion, apparently. I’m taking a journey on the yellow brick road. Let’s hope the Wizard of Oz can cure this problem I supposedly have.
 
*****
 
A clarification.
 
I wasn’t describing people who play computer games as “utter sad twats” in the blog last week – it was aimed at those who queued at midnight when the new ‘Call of Duty’ game was released in the shops.
 
Couldn’t you wait until lunchtime the next day? Or the next week? Or wait to get it as a Christmas present? Did you really have to have it there and then, race home and get playing at 1am in the morning?
 
Well it appears that many people did. I personally find that extremely sad – just my opinion.

*****

That said, I suppose all these people acting out their solo fantasies in front of a computer screen is not dissimilar to my favourite hobby before going to bed…
 
*****
 
I had to laugh at this from the BBC website last week:
 
“Thousands of gamers may have been cut off from Microsoft’s online gaming service Xbox Live for modifying their consoles to play pirated games.”
 
I’m struggling to find any sympathy.

*****
 
This is what happened on Wednesday 11th November 2009:
 
Geoff Peters, aka Mr DJ Wanker, described X Factor in his blog as “karaoke for a thick generation.”
 
Gordon Sumner, aka the singer Sting, described X Factor in a newspaper as “cynical televised karaoke.”

*****

Another clarification.
 
I mentioned last week that I thought it was a bit sad that so many people update their Facebook status, expressing real anger, when the X Factor results come in on a Sunday night.
 
I like people expressing an opinion although I prefer it when they make it reasonably constructive. Then again, I don’t really expect constructive criticism from the primarily young Facebook generation.
 
*****
 
Facebook status:
 
<name removed> “is starten 2 realise alot of fings right now… “
 
That she needs a dictionary for Christmas?

*****
 
Some guy called Ian offering some girl called Katie advice on blokes via Facebook:
 
“dnt try looking 4 a relationship cz u rush in2 fings wiv sum1 dat u really dnt want so sit bk,relax n i bet u dat mr right wil cum 2u”

*****
 
Even more from Facebook this week:

Belinda “grrrr y do ppl fukin interfear all da bastard tym, get on wit ya own lives n let ppl b fukin appy”

Craig “dont worry about it baby…as long as u r happy then we’ll be fine init”

Belinda “yea i am appy but y do ppl av 2 interfear all da tym.. fuk um 2bh u no who ur friends r.. cnt ova ppl b appy”
 
Craig “well there u go we’re happy so take no notice babe let them say wot they want i know ur not doin it and so do u so we’re fine aint we”

Carly-ann “beathe lol”
 
Katie “Some ppl r only happy when there stirin with other ppl aslong as u 2 know the truth just ignore every1 else”

Belinda “i no thxs it jus fuks me off wen ppl av 2 try n make fings difficult 4 ya, but if dey wana bull shit up 2 dem.. n oh C apparently i messed J n A around lyk fuk did i… mre lyk otha way around. i ay fukin laughin.  if it carries on am jus deletin face book cnt b arsed gotta beta fings 2 do den let ppl gossip bwt me fukin lyf”

 
Okay, we’ll leave you guys to it.
   
*****
 
I was getting jiggy with a fat girl once, many years ago.
 
She said: “You know what I want, don’t you?”
 
I replied: “Yes, the whole fucking bed!”
 
She might not have been the best looking woman but beauty is only a light switch away.

*****
 
So how was Dr Who for you then?
 
I think the ‘Waters of Mars’ special on Sunday was one of the best since the show returned in 2005. They could, perhaps, have trimmed it down to 50 minutes to make it tighter but that would be the only tiny criticism.
 
I was sat on my sofa transfixed by a thrilling plot and cracking dialogue, not knowing how they’d get to the end and set up David Tennant’s final two shows.
 
It was a real shock to the system when The Doctor turned into a megalomaniac which certainly didn’t sit comfortably with how he’d operated before. I thought Adelaide was going to shoot him. Then it twisted back again as she killed herself and Tennant produced a couple of minutes of inspired acting, facing the Ood, fearing his song was going to end there and then.
 
I like Dr Who because it combines drama, comedy, emotion, underlying subtexts, plot arcs which stretch over different series, subtle nods to the past and there is that quintessentially English feel about it.
 
You can probably tell that I’m quite looking forward to the Christmas and New Year episodes…
 
*****

Full credit to Sammy Dolan from Telford who is doing rather well with his own clothing label. You can check out his fine range of gear at www.letthekidsdance.co.uk – it’s way too cool for someone like me who shops at Asda, Tesco, Sainsbury’s, BHS, Primark and Burton et al.
 
The company has been featured in the Sunday Express as well as Front magazine and FHM.com.
 
PS. Some of the men’s t-shirts are fantastic and not expensive either. Sam has promised a discount for blog readers so message me if you’re interested.

*****

The big chests were out in force at Pussycats last weekend. I even had customers saying they wanted me to take photos of their bouncing bazookas for my website. See for yourself in the gallery at www.djwanker.com – I’m liking this new trend and long may it continue.
 
That said, I prefer a woman to have a cute ass rather than great breasts. I accept I’m in a minority of men with regard to that. Although a man of my age and average looks has to be grateful for any offer these days.
 
*****
 
On the subject of enormous jugs, I see that Katie Price – erm I mean Jordan, erm I mean Katie, erm I mean Jordan… okay, that talentless oxygen thief – has gone into the jungle on ‘I’m A Celebrity’. You can’t blame her – she’s getting the thick end of half a million quid if the tabloids are to be believed.
 
The money is not her inspiration, of course. She’s gone there after a difficult year to “get closure.” Let’s hope she gets closure. Stay there you terrible woman and we’ll close the door behind you.
 
Peter can keep the kids as he seems like a decent bloke.
 
*****

Thanks to everyone for their feedback about the blog last week especially with regard to ‘The Sperminator’ aka the shag-happy Telford internet love-rat. Most people agreed with my assertion that while he was obviously a reckless twat, the gullible women involved also lacked responsibility.
 
The Princess Diana joke raised an eyebrow or two (come on, it’s 12 years since she died, let’s get over it, none of us knew her personally…) and this was my favourite message: “Bad taste about Diana – but I nearly pissed myself laughing.”

*****

There were a couple of army guys in Cats on Saturday in full military uniform. They’d been to a wedding, I think. One had ginger hair and I pointed him out via the microphone.
 
“Ladies and gentleman, Prince Harry is here.”
 
I probably shouldn’t have followed up with: “How’s your mum? Oh shit, sorry.”

*****

Men vs Women – Part 4 of 6

SUCCESS

A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

MARRIAGE

A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn’t.

A man marries a woman expecting that she won’t change, but she does.

 
Part five in this series next week.

*****

A friend of mine is trying to raise funds for the Neuroblastoma society after a nine-year-old boy she knew died from this rare cancer. For more information go to www.nsoc.co.uk and www.justgiving.com/stephanie-poole.

*****
 
Plucking fantastic.
 
I think Trudy at Tantalize really enjoyed ripping out my eyebrows last week. I’m in for a back wax this week. I think they take pleasure in seeing a grown man wince and groan. It’s okay though; I take a sadistic pleasure from having it done!

*****
 
From the letters page at Viz magazine: “A woman whose daughter was hospitalised in a US tornado told ITV News that ‘God would make her better.’ Presumably that’s a different God to the one that almost killed her with a tornado.”
 
*****

And finally… news on Jimmy Carr’s new diet book. He’s calling it: “Put that down, fatty, you’ve had enough.”

 
  
 
 
 
Cheers for now,
Geoff / DJ Wanker

Leave a comment here or send feedback via Facebook or email

www.djwanker.com  
www.facebook.com/djgeoffpeters  
www.twitter.com/djwanker
 
 
The DJW blog is brought to you in association with:
 
Tantalize Beauty Salon, Madeley 01952 585853
http://tantalizesalon.blogspot.com
 
Silver Fish Chippy, Wellington 01952 254627
 
DW Sports Fitness Gym (formerly JJB), Telford 01952 201113
www.dwsportsfitness.co.uk  
 
Shropshire’s finest clothing line
www.letthekidsdance.co.uk

For the best, sexiest bedroom furniture, check out…
www.slideandhide.co.uk  
 
Sophie’s Choice Cleaning, Telford 01352 779099 / 07816 519627
www.sophieschoicecleaning.co.uk  

Central Taxis 01952 50 10 50
www.501050.co.uk   

 
 
To add your company here, please get in touch!

HV71 – LHC

6-4

Det var bara det jag ville säga.

* Japp, så tråkigt har jag, verkligen!

And I am going to do just that.

Off on an adventure. Stay tuned.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

:  :  :  :  :  :  :  :  :  :  : 

 
 
 
 
 
 
WEDNESDAY 11th NOVEMBER

 
 
 
 
What an exciting week!
 
Queued for hours outside Asda for the midnight release on Monday of the new ‘Call of Duty’ computer game just so I could be one of the first to play it.
 
Oh hang on – no I didn’t. I’m a sensible grown up. I’ll leave that geeky bollocks for the utter sad twats. Get a life.
 
FAIL.
 
*****
 
Things I would like to see…
 
People talking about X Factor on their Facebook status updates on a Sunday evening. Why do people not mention it?
 
That is obviously another piece of sarcasm. X Factor has the Facebook world in a vice-like grip.
 
* “Fukin Simon Cowell wadda prik.”
 
* “I h8 dem twinz.”
 
* “Not watchin dat shit agen til da twins r out.”
 
* “Dat show makes me fukin angry.”
 
* “Twins shud get a lyf and Cowel to.”
 
Yawn. It’s karaoke for a thick generation. Get over it.
 
*****
 
Do not disturb me this Sunday night between 7 and 8. My phone will be switched off. Got to give Dr Who my full attention.
 
I, of course, reserve the right to update my Facebook status with my views on that particular programme. And I imagine I’ll write about it here next week.
 
Yes, yes, yes – I am a Dr Who geek… but I wouldn’t queue outside a shop for the midnight release of a Dr Who DVD/Dalek helmet/computer game etc.
 
*****
 
Facebook status update of the week (1):
 
“Guna stick d fire on, b4 goin bk t work at 3! Early nyt tnyt me finks!”
 
Yeh me finks dats da best fing 4 u 2 do innit.
 
 
Facebook status update of the week (2):
 
Kayleigh wrote: “Had A Gud Nyt Last Nyt Talken Bwt Shit Lyk Ghosts Scaren Da Crap Owt Ov Ourselves Ha! Shud B A Nuva Gd Nyt Cumen On”
 
I replied: “I’m sending a ghost to your house tonight, Kayleigh. You’ll recognise which ghost I’m sending… it’ll be the one with a dictionary.”
 
Kayleigh subsequently pointed out that she’s “shit at spelling” as if there’s nothing she can do about it. I imagine it must be hard for some people to spell such difficult words as…
 
* Good
* Night
* Talking
* About
* Like
* Scaring
* The
* Out
* Should
* Another
* Coming
 
Well it must be hard to spell those words… if you’re SEVEN YEARS OLD !
 
I don’t mind a bit of ‘text talk’ to save some time but when you spell ‘out’ as ‘owt’ it’s the same bloody length!
 
 
Facebook status update of the week (3):
 
Katie Jarvis wrote: “What goes around comes around Sooo u need to watch out u Fat fuckin bitch u Think its fuckin funny lieing about somethink that was never true ur just sick and twisted and ur defo no fuckin mother of mine as far as im concerened u can go rot in fuckin hell!!”
 
Ooooh, get you!
 
*****
 
Here is a ‘conversation’ I had with some dork called Ryan Campbell: (who I have subsequently deleted as a friend) on my Facebook wall last week…
 
RC: Saf
Me: What ??
 
RC: Saf m8
Me: Apologies for my ignorance… I only speak English
 
RC: Yes saf m8
Me: What does ’saf’ mean though?
 
RC: Muf w fu M8. Saf m8
Me:  Give me a minute while I consult the ‘chav dictionary’
 
RC: Ha ha saf
Me: The ‘chav dictionary’ doesn’t recognise the word ’saf’ or ‘muf’ or ‘w fu’
 
RC: No at u r saf m8
Me: Ah right – I should’ve looked in the ‘Telford Dictionary’
 
RC: Saf gud ida m8 saf
Me: The ‘Telford Dictionary’ suggests ’saf’ might mean ’safe’ – am I right ?
 
RC: On u mud. Dot oud saf m8
 
* DELETE *
 
*****
 
The big story of the week was this belter from the News of the World…
 
http://www.newsoftheworld.co.uk/news/586565/The-Sperminator-Facebook-cheater-Dominic-Baronet-gets-12-girls-pregnant.html
 
“Love rat Dominic Baronet from Telford has been branded The Sperminator for getting TWELVE girls pregnant after wooing them on the social networking site – two of them on the SAME DAY. Five women are now raising his KIDS, five were talked into ABORTIONS and two are EXPECTING. For years the laptop lust hunter has secretly preyed on women with his smooth internet patter.”
 
I think my favourite tabloid phrase in that is: laptop lust hunter.
 
Having been in the Sunday papers myself – I was ‘romantically linked’ with the girlfriend of a football manager back in 2001, it made the front page of the Sunday People and was in the NOTW and others, I may tell you the full story one day if the lawyers allow – I never believe every cough and splutter of these stories.
 
I bet he hasn’t really impregnated twelve women but clearly he is a bit of a lad. As someone who doesn’t like hypocrites, I must be honest that there have been occasions when I was much younger where I may have spun a line to impress a woman. Now I just say what I think and people have to like it or lump it.
 
There’s part of me who salutes the cheek of this bloke (what they saw in him, I don’t know) although cheating in relationships is reprehensible.
 
However, these gullible women have to take some responsibility. If they’d shown a bit more respect for themselves – keeping their legs shut or insisting he wore a condom etc – then they would have less to complain about.
 
One of the girls who went to the newspaper with the story is a Facebook friend of mine. I know her because she comes into Pussycats. I doubt she’ll be in for a while in her state – although there are plenty of women around Telford who look like they might be pregnant.
 
*****
 
Here were some of the comments posted about the story on the NOTW website:
 
* “If ugly girls weren’t allowed to use Facebook, they couldn’t be seduced by desperate losers.”
 
* “Looking at those photos, I think the ’slappernator’ would be more appropriate.”
 
* “What a pair of trollops, no wonder he didn’t hang around!!”
 
* “If I was him I’d be well embarrassed … these two are ugly!!”
 
* “I admire the guy for getting 12 girls pregnant, and he isn’t even good-looking. Wish I had his charm.”
 
* “CHAV-TASTIC!”
 
 I think we need to get Jeremy Kyle involved.
 
*****
 
The final word on the subject goes to Dee Austin who sarcastically suggested: “At least the kids will have a big family network.”
 
*****
 
We had another wonderfully busy weekend at Pussycats. Yet again the honeys with the big bazookas happily posed for some photos and you can see them for yourself in the gallery at www.djwanker.com – I’m always quite happy to appeal to the lowest common denominator of society if it means extra hits on my website!
 
I was thrilled that Phil, my best mate (in the world… ever!), popped into Cats after work on Saturday. He’s never been to Telford to see me DJ (it’ll be seven years next April since I started) because he’s also a DJ and, being very good at his job, is always in demand.
 
He was spinning the tunes in Vox Bar in the town centre last Saturday and absolutely loved it. You really should go and check him out – before heading to Cats afterwards, obviously! Welcome to the team, Phil. I hope the customers and management appreciate him as much as I do.
 
But TMDAIKY… <private joke>
 
PS. Add him on Facebook – Phil Mansfield – he’s on my friends list.
 
*****
 
Notice of an event at Pussycats – on Friday 20th November we’ll be raising money for Children In Need with a themed night called: “Sexy Pajama Party.”
 
That is not a spelling mistake from me. Obviously it should be ‘pyjama’ as we’re English and not American but the man at the helm of our slick PR machine (who I mustn’t name because I’ll get untold grief) says it was a deliberate cock-up “to attract attention.”
 
I did point out to him that, judging by Facebook, most people in Telford can’t spell anyway.
 
*****

Men vs Women – Part 3 of 6

ARGUMENTS

A woman has the last word in any argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

FUTURE

A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.

A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

 
Part four in this series next week.
 
*****
 
From the Daily Telegraph: “The number of jobless university leavers is predicted to have reached the 100,000 mark, up from 70,000 last year, when the latest unemployment figures are released.”
 
I can think of one who can’t be arsed to get a job after university because they’re a complete and utter… [edited]
 
*****
 
Telly news.
 
Benidorm has completed its run and every single hour-long episode was sheer brilliance. Whether they can manufacture another series looks unlikely but you never know.
 
I loved it last weekend when Madge was being ferried about in the back of the vehicle, just as the Pope would, with Gregorian chanting on the show’s soundtrack, and the local Catholics started waving and worshipping… Madge, smoking a fag, flicked them the V-sign.
 
Much funnier to see than for me to try and explain. Yes, you had to be there. Sort of.
 
The best visual gag of the whole series for me was in the first episode where Mel was promoting a mobility scooter for people with, erm, a tendency to poo at the wrong time. The advert on the back was this:
 
“COMING SOON

Don’t get caught between two stools !”
 
Blink and you miss it. Genius.
 
*****
 
Have I mentioned how much I’m looking forward to Dr Who this Sunday?
 
*****
 
From the letters page at Viz magazine: “My granddad keeps forgetting where his allotment is. I think he’s lost the plot.”
 
*****
 
I’m probably the last person to stick up for Gordon Brown but he’s had a lot of unfair criticism this week about an error he made in a letter to the mother of a soldier killed in action. Yes, it’s extremely sad when anyone dies in the line of armed duty and we all have great sympathy for parents who lose their children but if I’d lost someone, I’d have bigger things to worry about than a slight grammatical error.
 
Let’s retain a sense of perspective.
 
He took the time to send a handwritten letter to a bereaved mother. She went to the papers to complain and he apologised. He might be an utter useless gimp for everything else but to clout him with a big stick over this is just unnecessary.
 
*****
 
Don’t worry – the usual Brown-bashing will return again soon.
 
*****
 
And finally… a very, very, very bad taste joke.
 
The Queen Mother bumps into Princess Diana up in Heaven and says: “Hello dear, I see you’ve been rewarded for all the important charity work you did while you were on Earth. Would it be possible for me to get a Halo just like yours?”
 
Diana replies: “Fuck off nan, it’s a steering wheel!”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Cheers for now,
Geoff / DJ Wanker

Leave a comment here or send feedback via Facebook or email

www.djwanker.com
www.facebook.com/djgeoffpeters
www.twitter.com/djwanker
 
 
The DJW blog is brought to you in association with:
 
Tantalize Beauty Salon, Madeley 01952 585853
http://tantalizesalon.blogspot.com
 
Silver Fish Chippy, Wellington 01952 254627
 
JJB Gym, Telford 01952 201113
www.jjbfitness.co.uk
 
Central Taxis 01952 50 10 50
www.501050.co.uk
 
For the best, sexiest bedroom furniture, check out…
www.slideandhide.co.uk
 
Sophie’s Choice Cleaning, Telford 01352 779099 / 07816 519627
www.sophieschoicecleaning.co.uk
 
 
To add your company here, please get in touch!

…is a blissful thing.

The problem is, you don’t want to re-engage. Stepping back into your own reality can be incredibly frustrating — even tragic. You know exactly what you’re walking into, and you do it, willingly, fighting every urge to run, every single step of the way. Your instinct is to bolt — to another country, one that requires a visa. At least that was my experience. After 10 days in Vietnam with little contact to the demented world, I felt normal — happy, yes happy. Content. Light. I was funny. I tasted pho and freedom. I was wooed by this place, the people, and one charming American. I felt like myself. I could talk endlessly about life, travel, politics, movies, family, and I don’t even remember what else. I drank beer. I laughed. A LOT. Lots of laughing. I never shut up and I was always laughing. The colors were so vivid. The people so lovely. The culture so rich. It was inspiring. Nothing was haunting me… not my mother, not my past in New York. I was truly free.

Thing is, it was a vacation. But for me, it was more than just a mini-break, it was way outside the realm of my everyday reality. A plane ride to a place called SANE.

<<<Me. Resting. Relaxing. Feeling normal. Normal me.

<<<Ah, beach, book, sand.

<<<No mom. no calls. no worries.

<<<Sun. Life. I love you.

Fast forward 10 days.

I didn’t want to see my mom. I was tempted to move into the Seoul Airport, just so I wouldn’t have to go home. Then came the awful thoughts: if she weren’t here, if she weren’t sick, I could leave and do whatever I wanted. I sometimes feel like my entire life has been ruled by someone else — someone else’s desires, dreams, hopes… and now this stage of my life now belongs to my demented mom. It’s not a prison sentence by any means. Logically, I know this. I could leave. I could run. But that would be the wrong action.

FACT: I sometimes suffer from the-grass-is-greener-syndrome. There is no known cure for this when living in an emotional apocalypse — except to smile through it… words, I live by (thanks Gay Talese).

Still, Vietnam was my time. It was my choice. My move. I was in control.

My friends say that I seem different now. That I’m not myself since my vacation in ‘Nam. They’re right of course. I know myself well enough to feel a shift in my own mood. Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever feel settled, calm or content in this role of daughter. I don’t understand the phrase, “Life is Good,” as uttered by the charming American in Vietnam. The thing is, life would be good if she weren’t here, or at least easier. How do you reconcile that fact? It’s true. If she were not here or not sick, our lives would be better.  How can someone have such vile thoughts? What kind of daughter am I? The nefarious side of me thinks, if only… if only…

…it would all stop.

Hit the pause button. I have to pee.

Vietnam was my pause.

Now, here I am. Taking her calls. Listening to her complain about the live-in, how she needs to go to a doctor… again. How she wants to invite Dr. (she means Father) Andres for fruit and why the fruit for her fruit on her letter and the money someone owes her because the fruit said so… Her new thing: she wants me to buy her a car. Nothing fancy. Something small. OK. she makes me laugh. Life ain’t great, but it has it’s moments with my demented mom.

Now who’s the demented one?

Here is the deal: I’m a realist. And this is my reality. Yes, I’m still bent out of shape about the ordeal, and yes, it may take me longer to find my balance after stepping outside the realm of MY reality, but it is what it is. Dementia is a constant fight… a fight with yourself, because you do want to give up. I’ve been doing this for a while now and yes, I would like to throw in the towel. I am 32 and I think about who would want to marry me with a burden like this? How can I start a family when I’m still struggling and coping with my own family of origin?

Worse yet, for many of caregivers, it’s literally one or two against the beast. How many people dealing with disease have family members who do absolutely nothing to help. Only children fighting this disease alone — with no parent or family. Siblings who sit back and only offer criticisms? You should do this, you should do that… Or my personal favorite: the friends and relatives who “think of you,” but do little to actually make your life or your demented parent’s life easier. Really?  “I’m thinking of you,” that’s all you got?

I’m thinking you can suck it.

I mean that nice.

So here I am. Back in it. Caregivers, no matter your role, are the warriors in this fight. Just make sure whenever you can, no matter how you do it… STEP OUTSIDE THE REALM OF REALITY. Often. Yes, you’ll have to come back and play in the demented sandbox (believe me, I don’t want to play anymore either… this game is bunk, I will throw sand at anyone who gets in my way of giving her a good life), but TAKE CARE of YOU.

My travel pick: Vietnam. It’s far away, e-mail is slow, so you can’t feel to bad if you don’t connect with family, and phones, well, much too costly after a while, especially when you start thinking in Vietnamese dong. Best of all… the people are incredibly lovely and humble… Sin chow (that means “hi”… I forgot how to say goodbye.)

“The same procedure as every year” Am 22.Oktober war es mal wieder soweit. Die E.O.F.T gastierte in Tuttlingen, Karten waren schon lange bestellt und diesmal hat es mit den Reservierungen bestens geklappt. Hier der Trailer: Also das übergeniale Lied im Trailer ist von KEN “Get A Life” und kommt demnächst erst heraus…

Mein persönliches Highlight am Filmabend war der Film über Markus Bendler “Reality Check”. Super Klasse! Der Typ ist der helle Wanhsinn! Sympathie 200%!

Auf die Expeditionsdoku “Ausgesetzt” habe ich mich ebenfalls im Vorfeld schon gefreut. Geniale Eindrücke Mega Landschaft, Sensationelle Bilder!

Positiv überrascht hat mich “The Longest Way” (auch lässige Ska Musik)

und dann der Film
mit Danny MacAskill und einem weiteren “Wahninns Song”:

Es war ein perfekter Filmabend! Danke an Jones: “Du hast trotz des Nebels und dem besserwissendem Beifahrer nicht den Verstand verloren!! Respekt!”

I wrote this a while ago………. Took it out of an email I was writing at the time, and made it stand up on it’s own. Go on……… tell me I’m wrong. )

Women make it complicated

That’s the one thing that worries me about getting the love of my life………. women have a gift for making things real complicated……… for example, you fancy something to eat, and they start insisting you heat your beans in a saucepan, transfer them to a clean plate, add lettuce, cabbage, cucumber and stuff like that, and lord knows what else. Most of it has to be bloody opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans, casserole dishes, you-name-it, too.

Then you gotta make up some gravy / sauces / dressings and things called ‘garnishes’; I ask you, what’s a bleddy garnish? All this makes a helluva mess, and so then you’ve gotta wipe up all the clutter, clean the damn chopping board(s) (just the one will never do!), and all the stuff you used to mutilate, sorry ‘prepare’ the food.

Even though you’ve been up to your elbows in soap and water for half the day, you have to wash your hands for the tenth time, get out knives / forks / spoons / chopsticks and other things you never knew existed before you met her, and lay the damn table, using a nice white Irish linen cloth. That’s the one that has to be washed every time you as much as look at it, and not to mention ironed as well afterwards.

I mean…… IRONING a table cloth??? Jees!

Then, because it’s now fast becoming a ‘romantic’ meal, when you thought it was just ‘fancy something to eat’ you gotta turn the telly off, find the candles, fix them in the holder, and light the soddin’ things. Bugger, burnt your fingers. Now you gotta run your hand under the cold tap, and suffer the indignity of being told you’re “such a baby” into the bargain, and not to make a fuss ‘cos it can’t hurt THAT much, (It bleddy well DID!) as she holds your hand under the tap with all the grip of a hairy-assed Sumo wrestler. Strength mysteriously absent when she didn’t have the strength to carry the four-tons of shopping she made you bloody buy yesterday, and on your day off too.

Then you gotta dry your hand in a clean towel, get told off for getting garage grease and stuff under your nails, then get a real bollicking for being vulgar, when you nuzzle up close to her scented long neck and suggest to her that dipping them in some fresh, warm, Pussy Juice would get it off it real easy. Her sensitivity is pretty rich considering she spent half of last night with her legs over your shoulders, shouting “FUCK ME!! FUCK ME!!” to the neighbours.

There were you, thinking that it was what you were doing all along, surprised and dismayed that she hadn’t noticed you were doing your bloody best! She shouted “DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP!”, so you’d tried to get a few more revs up, without falling out and missing a stroke, despite the cramp in your left calf and splitting a couple of toenails scrabbling for some grip with the other leg on the damn slippery black silk sheets. The ones she suggestively mentioned would be soooo sexy. The ones you knew bloody well were going to be trouble the second you looked at the price tag, as you coolly flourished the plastic to impress her with your New Man Spares No Expense style.

Anyway, by the time she’s got the Burneeze cream out, and struggled with the plasters that won’t stick because of the overzealous application of the cream plastered on your fingers, everything has gone all to pot, quite literally. The gravy’s gone all weird, the stuff you opened / peeled / washed/ cracked / prised / sliced / diced / grated / mashed / tossed / whipped / stirred / folded / buttered / oiled/ fried/ boiled/ blanched/ grilled and heated in many other weird ways, and in several other saucepans/ casserole dishes/ you-name-it, has gone all to hell too, and the candles have dripped wax all over the bloody Irish linen white thing you’d been forced to spread on the table.

She’s started to knock up something else, to replace the burnt stuff, and for sure-certain you can feel a good few more laps of kitchen-based domesticity coming up. You resign yourself, and start to scrape the burnt pans, after being told not to “just-stand-there-looking-at-it-if-you-hadn’t-made-all-that-fuss-and-been-more-careful-in-the-first-place-it-wouldn’t-have-burnt”. Your helpful suggestion that maybe if you could “sort-of-just-stir-it-all-together-and-see-what-it-tastes-like, babe”, meets with a disgusted “Don’t be stupid; you can’t do that!”.

“Actually you can”, you think to yourself, but know full well that such thoughts won’t overwhelm her powerful Girl-Logic software systems, and so you strategically keep the thought secreted well away from the Brain-to-Mouth short circuit, that has dropped you right in it so often before.
At long last, after a repeat of the whole performance, you finally sit down to eat. You find yourself thinking “What a bleddy price to pay for a regular shag”, and just in time shut the thought down in blind panic, only too aware of her sensitive telepathic and intuitive skills. The ones have seen right into your thoughts so many times in the past. HOW does she do that?
Then there’s trying to see what you’re doing in the soft, dimpsy candlelight, whilst attempting to look into her eyes romantically, and not spoil it by being a wuss, and wincing at the pain of the damn fork pressing into your burnt fingers. When you see how she is looking back at you, you realise, with the fixed grin that you desperately try to warm up, that lovemaking that night is going to call on every ounce of proficiency you have at your disposal.

Too late, she’s triggered your simple and hair-triggered Primary Man Circuits. The Member for Bathpool is stirring, albeit pretty half heartedly like mortally wounded old soldier making one last effort to rise up and salute the distant call of the Bugle; loyal to a fault, and willing to fling himself into the breech one last time for Honour and Valour. You find yourself wishing, not for the first time, that you’d avoided introducing the Ferret again that morning, close thing though it was, after climbing aboard twice last night. Doesn’t she realise the damn Well isn’t bottomless? “Not really” is the obvious answer, by that look of “You’re going to be a Lucky Boy tonight!” in her Make-Sure-He-Notices furtive glances at you.

Then she goes and reaches up and does that thing with her hair. The thing she does without knowing how it leaves you helpless, and at her mercy every single time. With an inward sigh of contented resignation you smile at her, knowing she’s always going to have her way without even trying.

Still, you remembered dreaming of one day meeting a gorgeous nymphomaniac just like her, but sometimes realise it’s resulted in life being much more complicated, and an awfully long way off the simple life you once enjoyed. For instance; Getting up out of the armchair when the adverts start, opening a tin of beans, shoving a spoon into the tin, and back to sit down again before the film kicks in again.

Food.

Done in a jiffy,………..and if you lick the spoon clean, absolutely no washing up.

Simple.

Quick.

No Wucking Forries!

© Kevin Udy.

Lately I am indulging in the practice of Envy. I hesitate to call it a sin as it’s not quite fun enough. In any case, it ranks pretty low on my list of the Seven Deadly, way behind my personal dynamic duo of Anger and Lust. Maybe it’s the dreary weather or season or just the fact that I’m stuck in Philadelphia after living in the glorious solar paradise of the American Southwest for so long (and yet not enough). Also underemployed, underutilized, ass-deep in bad debt, unable to find a way out. In short, I want to be elsewhere and elsewise, and since I’m a little tired of banging my head against that rough-hewn stone wall of frustration, I find it a lot easier to get pissed at someone else who’s so obviously not in my situation for being so.

The main targets of my recent exercises in Going Green Not in a Good Way are the author Michael Chabon and some guy named Barack Obama. I’m sure there are a few dozen or million equally fair candidates for my envy, but those two are both on my radar, around my age, and living a hell of a lot better than I am – good enough for me. Which probably means I’m also working on a side project with Sloth.

Chabon, possibly one of my Favorite favorite writers, just published Manhood for Amateurs, a collection of his short nonfiction, mostly from his Details magazine column over the past few years. Most of the pieces cover his own experiences and takes on life as a male functioning in the world: fatherhood, brotherhood, husbandry, sondom, and all the other pleasantries that accompany life as an owner-operator of a penis. So while Chabon’s wailing away at the keyboard, riffing on how he’s totally lost at sea in all of these things yet thriving somehow and is eternally coping with being a boy and a grownup at the same time, the bastard can’t help but mention that he has a dream job, lives in a treehouse in a cool place, his kids seem more or less well adjusted and engaged with their family and their lives and all get along and stuff. Plus, he has a hot wife. (For the record, I do too, it’s just that she’s not all that into me. Probably has something to do with me being a dick.)

I thought that was supposed to be my life by now, so through the green-tinted lens of present comparison, I want his life. Although he still doesn’t have a jet pack. Yet.

Likewise for that Obama dude. I wouldn’t trade him his job for anything, but I doubt he’d switch with me either. Guy obviously is involved with his family deeply, and even living in even more of a shithole swamp than I do he still keeps cool. In fact, the man embodies Cool to the point where he’s making the rest of us look bad – not that I want him to back off on that, last guy in his shoes pulled a macho fit and we wound up in two shooting wars that have yet to end. Plus, he has the closest thing to a jet pack: Marine One, upon which he has and probably will again called up for the sole purpose of taking his (also hot) wife out on a date.

Maybe it’s that the last sixteen years the criteria we’ve used to pick our President was that he was the d00d we wanted to hang out with and go on a road trip and hit the strip bar … and after that massive hangover we downed some coffee and developed some caution, picked the one we wanted to be. So maybe that part of my envy isn’t so unique.

Men of my generation – straddling the line between the tail end of the Boomers and the start of Gen X – get lost in this fog too easily. We want to be so many things and unless we can narrow it down to a manageable few, we wind up lost in our lives.

I don’t have a witty or insightful ending for this, merely the observation of where I (think I) am in this and a few snarky rationalizations. That’ll have to do for now. Meanwhile, I’m gonna go stand next to my jackass neighbor, because he really does make me look good by contrast.

Page testing for thinesswaran..

Geez check this guy out. He makes a rap that disses Jay-Z and Kanye (LMAO). He must really be bored!

Spent an hour or two removing an insidious piece of malware from my eldest’s computer, a fake anti-spyware app called Total Security (not to be confused with BitDefender’s very good app of the same name).  While refreshing my Windows Registry editing skills, untangling e-tentacles and unclogging the tubes that lead from my firstborn’s expensive toy to the Internets, I couldn’t help but gawk at the absurdity of someone actually spending time crafting such an intricate piece of work just to have it be a pain in the cyberass.  Call me an idiot (although if you do you’ll need to WAIT YOUR TURN), but I think if the author(s) of this PoS turned their 133t sk1lz toward something useful, they could make a boatload of cash and maybe move outta their mom’s basement.  Then I remembered that my dear son uses that box mostly to play WoW and troll FunnyJunk, and I dropped that line of thought altogether, basked in the glory of rare gratitude from a teenager instead.

Well I have waited some days now to see if the Kanye West steam roller engine would exhaust itself and simply die down, but the locomotive has only picked up speed and is blowing out more steam than ever!

So I guess I would be remiss if I too did not vent my all too familiar writer feelings out in a small snippet of finely crafted paragraphs, and letting my readers chime in on their thoughts about my thoughts!  So I’ll just start here, and borrow a line from the leader of our free world- “Kayne is a Jackass”!  True enough I think that at this point Kayne knows for real, that Kayne is a true Jackass too!

Thank you Mr. President Obama for giving me yet another reason to love you again!  You are real and we all identify!

I’m just wondering what a sloppy, drunken rapper did to get past say security, back stage people and who ever else is backstage at an awards show, to actually get on to stage, and grab the microphone from any recipient! It was released widely that CNN got a hold of  words used by Kayne West himself that went, I had a bit too much sippy, sippy and got a little tipsy, tipsy—whoa!  Sounds like a new song?  Or was it already a song??  Anyway, a stroke of luck brought the scheduled performer to the Jay Leno stage, where Leno asked a couple of great questions -such as -what would your mother have thought of this behavior?  Any mother would not be proud of that display period!  I’m glad Kayne West felt sorry, ashamed, and embarrassed -he should have! It was unclassy, child-like behavior that little children are put into corners for.  Thank you Beyonce’ you are a class act in my opinion!  In my eyes there is not one thing you can do wrong, ya know that Jay-Z thing!   OH girl, yes I did!

Just my thoughts, just my opinions, and always in a conversationaltone!

Mary Caliendo

Get a Life, by Vickie Clark, 2009.

Get a Life  was the featured quilt in the September 6, 2009 edition of the Start Your Week With a Quilt© newsletter.  It was created by Vickie Clark. This quilt was recently featured in the Brown Sugar Stitchers Quilt Show where it was voted “Best of Show”  by the viewers.

Get a Life is a kaleidoscope quilt. A kaleidoscope quilt results in a unique symmetrical design. They have been  made popular by quilter Paula Nadelstern, who has turned them into an art form.

Vickie Clark

However, it is not the quilting that stopped people in their tracks. It is the exquisite beading that Vickie added to the quilt after it was quilted. This quilt has over 10,000 beads in the border alone!

Vickie says it took her four years to finish this 58 x 72 inch quilt. If you haven’t guessed already, that’s where the quilt gets its name!

I studied online communications and was delighfully shocked to learn of this internet trend: googlebombing.

Apparently html is modified so that links and pages of a certain topic are categorized with political or hilarious intent.

Example A: A Google search for “miserable failure” retrieves information on former president G-Dub.

Check out the wiki for loads of additional examples.