RIP JD Salinger

the mails began to pour in just about 17,30 today (if nine counts as 'pouring') and my first reaction was 'MOTHERFUCKER!' *in a Ving Rhaimes voice* cause Holden Caulfield became one of my first fictional heroes when i was like seven or eight and just a few pages into Catcher In The Rye for the very first time (i had this edition. still do, actually):


from then on in, it's been one of the three books i never tire of reading (the other two being Alice in Wonderland and Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas). *sigh* then again, maybe i never get bored reading em cause i'm senile? nah, cause i had a really vise-like memory for mosta my life.

instead of sobbing all wordy and shit, i'm gonna pull a quote from here cause i dig it due to my only reason for ever liking anything usually self-absorbed reasons:

'...Thursday's statement from Salinger's literary agent acknowledged the writer's isolation. "Salinger had remarked that he was in this world but not of it"...'

i wonder if he thought like me he's happy he's dead cause he really wanted it and everything. moving right along, at one point tonight, in near-desperation (cause i was impatient to continue discussions with my sister, Christine and the others with whom i was all teary on this), i tried to twit my fave Salinger quote, but ended up mistwatting it and wasted a second twit doing so.

i remember the first time i read it: i was up in my room with the door shut, as usual, supposedly doing my stupid homework. i read it, and in true delight, recognised the situ —> nothing i'd read in print up to then had seemed as real to me as that shit did... so i went back and read it again and again, then laughed my fucking ass off to the point at which Daddy got up from his chair and called up the stairs to see if i was alright. anyway, here's the real deal, in toto and in context:

'...I had quite a bit of time to kill till ten o'clock, so what I did, I went to the movies at Radio City. It was probably the worst thing I could've done, but it was near, and I couldn't think of anything else.

'I came in when the goddamn stage show was on. The Rockettes were kicking their heads off, the way they do when they're all in line with their arms around each other's waist. The audience applauded like mad, and some guy behind me kept saying to his wife, "You know what that is? That's precision"...'


thing of it is, by then, my parents had taken us to Radio City enough times for me to know there was always some guy saying sump'n pretty much exactly like that. when i was like five, this old-ish dude sitting behind us actually seddit and i turned around and laughed in his face. everyone looked at me apart from my mother whose gaze was frozen, fixed onstage with the Rockettes.

fun-fact: needless to say i hated em mainly cause just like the chicks who became Miss America, they were already being held up to me as clean-cut role model types, the kind my mother wanted me to turn out to be *smirk* and whenever she'd start in, i'd think sump'n along the lines of 'fat chance, ma'. anyway, after the show was finally over and we reached the garage where Daddy'd parked our car, my mother finally caught up to me and smacked me — 'for being fresh' — but it was totally worth it. *snigger* so AFAIC, Salinger nailed it and that particular passage never failed to make me LOL — but not tonight. *sigh*

JD Salinger: 1, january 1919 – 27, january 2010. RIP dude and thank you for everything.

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

dillydally defer & delay

and the proof is in the pudding posting. back to The Bruthuhs Deez, Dillydally, Defer & Delay were these four wee kitties who lived out their lives in — no, wait... that's a whole nother story so i'm starting over — yeah, no backsies — but before i forget, big thanks to AndreaUrbanFox for teh funny above as well as the darling dudes over at Trollcats for the love that enabled her. somewhere along the line, someone (Andrea?) gave it the title:

'Kids, this is why adults don't want you to touch them', but as usual, i digress, which totally fits into the same exact vein as my hungover hesitation of the other day as well as my dillydally-delaying the deferable. *whispers* and if, by post's end, y'all aren't driven batshit-crazy y'know: like me, i'll have to admit dreaded defeat: the accusations are accurate and i'm losing i've lost my tenuous hold on reality touch. pity, that. }-(

editor's note: holy hell, i've written some utter shite in my time but never have i experienced this World Without End going on and On and ON right now... all in the interests of Procrastination Nation and used to the dirtiest demented, deplorable, depraved disadvantage. waitaminnit...

Logorreah's like diarreah of the mouf — both kinds, right? Linguistically, it's 'an excessive flow of words; prolixity; wordiness; tumidity' and Psychologically, it's 'a communication disorder resulting in incoherent talkativeness'. *cough* 'guilty as charged, yer honor'. *snigger* wait — i gotta remember to add to my FAQs. anyway, here's the score: coherence: nil / confusion: well, see for yourself:


this is cause my shit — the post i wrote whilst ill — is so incredibly fucked-up (even for me): depressing and pretty much deathly devoted deranged. then again, in all actuallity, it's more daftly distressing than technically depressing, but still... enough people think i'm way too off-the-wall already — hang on; why use a euphemism like 'off-the-wall' when the more appropriate 'fucking insane' will do?


OK, enough think i'm fucking insane already (guess what? they're right), so in the interests of any modicum of self-preservation that still might be rolling round in my head, i'm entertaining second thoughts about putting the damned thing up here. then again, after all the bullshit build-up, it's bound to disappoint so, like... why bother? confused again? yup — me three. *wack* and in the very rare case your discomfiture's lacking, i'd advise the only proper thing to do:


sorry, i keep forgetting i'm American and being as distinctly direct as i am's like, totally not on; it's not considered polite here. i do hope this's betterer (in the sense of 'more easily palatable to Brits' oh-so-delicate sensibilities') cause even though it's the same exact message, the cute kitty below makes it more bearable. or so i've been told).


not-so fun-fact: this pussyfooting around (no pun intended) is totally beyond me and prolly always will be cause although i bullshit Bulwer-Lytton my way through any act of writing, my meatspace manner's always been *cough* 'in-your-face' (as this British dude once moaned to told me). in the States, it's known as being 'direct' and 'to-the-point' and is looked upon as a positive characteristic, at least when tact over-rides brutal honesty. but now i'm touching upon things about which i know nothing (like social graces) and though that never stopped me before — wait: hey, look over there —> it's some ADD!:

regarding any Bulwer-Lyttoning in which i might indulge (hah! —> 'might'), someone once called me (get this), 'The Princess of Purple Prose'. *snigger* now i dunno about any princess, *shudder* as fucking IF but he was spot-on with the purple prose stuff; that is, '...passages, or sometimes entire literary works, written in prose so overly extravagant, ornate, or flowery as to break the flow and draw attention to itself...' once again, 'guilty as charged' (and this is me caring). but in my own defence, i must say that my vivid imagination is so convincing most times that i forget i'm not someone like Charles Dickens and paid by the word.

moving right along and back to me telling yiz all to Shut The Fuck Up, i'm like totally kidding, of course. to lapse into LOL-speak — 'a dialect which parodies the poor grammar typically attributed to Internet slang' — O RLY? yup, rilly — i am (kidding, as well as tawkin to myself but we won't go there).


BTW, this is a prime example of what i call 'a nothing post' and so, in the spirit of wasting more time and even more bandwidth, when i took the next photo of Hunter, the caption occurred in a flash of tritenessity, repulsive though it may be. *preens* yeah, i'm tryna change the subject so why bother asking? *whispers* right, i hear dead people voices as well but shhhh... don't tell anyone. and y'all know where the door is, right? right? *points and LOLs* anyway, heeeere's Hunter! *in an Ed McMahon voice*


oh, wow — he's dead... 'I did not know that' *in a John Goodman voice*. if you're so inclined, listen to him — Goodman, not McMahon — as Walter here in one of the funniest bits from Lebowski and make sure you check Walter's, i mean, John Goodman's intonation of the very last line:

The Dude: 'He has emotional problems, man'.
Walter: 'You mean, beyond pacifism?'
The Dude: 'He's fragile, very fragile'.
Walter: 'I did not know that'.


fun-fact: above image's illustrating Walter going 'Eight-year olds, Dude' to the Dude. not-so fun-fact: as all who know me know (so much so, my Lebowski Tourette's coming outta their ears), i'm hard-pressed to choose the funniest of teh funny from the film. one night when still living in Germany, i began to list em whilst watching but after like ten, twenty minutes or so, i found myself copying every damn line and since i get so easily discouraged, it was then i left off. BTW, the script's online; please hand in a synopsis of at least ten double-spaced typed pages by 08,00 tomorrow morning or points off.

whoa, this past half hour of time-wasting was FUN if your idea of fun is writing whatever pops into your dumbass head and passing it off as your journal or diary or notebook or sump'n. and i do — i mean, 'and it is'. well, in truth, i dunno what i mean but that never stopped me from blethering on and on and on in my typically feeble efforts to pass off stream of unconsciousness as real, true deep thinking. what never fails to crack me up is that people actually read me — amazing... what boring lives they must lead (but i didn't say that and never ever would). now, where was i?


once again, since i have nothing noteworthy to say, i stoled this from TrollCats, the sole reason being cause the shoe totally fits, if 'shoe' means 'content' which, at the moment it does even when i hafta force it, as i do when nobody's looking, like now. where am i going with alla this shit? damned if i know cause i'm still disoriented. confused again, dammit.


hey, i just realised sump'n: there's more than a decent chance that the sheer disjointed, demented nature of this very writty could be due to me not sleeping again (up for two outta the last three nights), even though i went to couch with Hunter (06,30 this AM and i was still awake at 08,00 so i said 'fuck it' and got up). but that doesn't answer Why So Many D-Words?

fastly changing topical gears as only i can, i've turned this into a repository for the motley miscellaneae accumulated over the last few weeks, the oddments and such lying scattered on the pavement of my desktop in a manner that maketh my OCD boil over.

*dusts off hands with satisfaction having successfully driven off the cliffs of The Danger Zone* speaking of which — the oddments (neither the OCD nor the Danger Zone) — i haven't forgotten Stoneleigh House, my fave edifice here in the 'hood, though i haven't posted any pics of it lately. and now that's an outright lie cause i took this the other night and immediately forgot about it.


*whimper* OK, lessee if i can waste any moar of anyone's precious time (in all seriousity, i'm actually waiting for a communique that just might change my life but i won't get into details cause of Sod and all). right, i took this next of the inside of one of the stalls of the ladies' loo at The Travellers Inn last time in London. the details of sump'n so relatively insignificant never cease to amaze me and i've spent too-long a time just digging on the original ceramic tiles that line each stall within both men's and women's johns on the upstairs of the pub. no fucking way can i see this in any public toilet in the States but then again, i'm rather biased, to say the very least as well as putting it as nicely as i'm able). dig:


fun-fact a): the day i took above pic i guess i spent too long a time doing so cause one of the waitresses came in to ask — through the door — if i were alright. i immediately came out and showed her the pix on my phone cause i got the distinct feeling she thought i was in there getting high solely based on the longass time i spent within. fun-fact b) the day i took pic above was Guy Fawkes Day on my way to Stevie's new flat for her 5. november party and the last time i was in town. in almost 5,5 years of living in England, i'm in the midst of the longest interval spent away from London — almost three months now. this troubles me muchly. :-(

OK, i've wasted enough of my your time writing and if yiz're still with me, i salute you. then again, i've always had the sneaking suspicion that people read me to note the ever-increasing amount of train-wreck factor or else, they're looking for clues, band-gossip and whatever other sordidity i sometimes manage to sneak into my posts, mostly days after they've been up. so 'HA-ha!' *in a Nelson Muntz voice* y'all read this for nothing. wait: here, have some cups or sump'n i stoled from Forbidden Planet. ;-)


*to self* finally! Endlich! this ordeal's totally over tonight and good riddance to it. and now, for the moment i've been waiting for all the damn day (and night) so use yer imaginations cause i ain't gonna spell it out for you. oh, why not? gimme a TEE! gimme a HAITCH! and on with the rest. i mean, 'I might be stoopit but I ain't bloody stoopit' *in a Zoe Bell voice* well, akshully i am... though she's not — know whut i mean?

in other news, if i hadda rate this post, this'd be IT:


LOL, just sayin' — i totally callz em as i seez em and i ain't never wrawng. :-)

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

hesitating with Hunter

to delay balance out neutralise my upcoming post which exemplifies the ravings of a deranged mind my total sanity in a world gone ma This Modern World, here're some recent pics of Liddy Hunt. i'm actually aiming for a regular person's typical diary entry here with no hidden meanings or anything like that. i do hope that gazing upon him in all his furry glory would ideally impart a calming effect (and hopefully banish the implications of that which i've written and just about to 'publish' as they so optimistically labelled the stupid button). anyway, forget that shit cause here's the latest of Teh Cuteness.


please note how he plants himself atop my landlady's horrid wall-to-wall between the kitchen and the LR. this is so he doesn't miss anyone's trips into the Nom Cave cause as far as Hunter's concerned, hope springs eternal; the hope that no matter how recently he's been fed, whomever's next trip to the cupboards will lead to more fudz.





awwww... now doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy and stuff inside? kinda like Hunter but not? now hold that thought... wait: nah, i dunno what i'm tawking about either cause after getting only two hours sleep saturday AM, i still haven't felt the need to crash so bear with me, please. i'm a very protective person towards those i love and this liddle oasis of cute is posted for a reason.

hang on — that is, all the above apart from this, which i just found in my Drafts dated 9, january, right before i got sick. i called it 'reality checks' and wrote on two:

a) 'It's not healthy to obsessively collect things — you fill your life with stuff instead of connecting to people...'

big duh! after hearing Steve Buscemi's character, Seymour say that in Ghost World last night, i recognised myself very, very well. *breaks into a cold sweat* anyhow, i can say nothing in my own defence apart from 'it's funny cause it's true'... i mean, you i have to LOL cause if i weep, i'll get even more depressed. *whispers* 'i lugged eighty boxes of books outta Brooklyn... fuck knows how many other cartons housed my too many collections. and all those goddamned framed pictures!' *hangs head in true shame*

b) Nomad sent this pic writing, 'bet you can't guess who this is'.


i replied, 'Brian Jones is really alive? LOL, do tell. ;-) ... WHO IS IT?' and was just about to hit 'Send' when i took another look and added 'ps, not a homeless Anita Pallenberg?'

Nomad: 'you're bang on with Anita Pallenberg'. me: 'ARRGHHH!!111one!!1!

right, where were we? i seem to have gotten waylaid... oh, yeah, forget the reality checks, look at Teh Cute. i'll BRB sometime soon with that other post if i don't succumb to sleep which i really should but i hate to go to bed no matter how tired i am or how long it's been since i slept... shit, i'm blethering again. my bad.

*to self* damn, Anita Pallenberg... once he ID'd her, i wrote back to Nomad: 'i think i told you the last time i saw her, she was in my friend's bar, way downtown. she was waayyyyyyy obese, sitting on a barstool next to me. this was sometime in the 70s.


'i was strung out and she was as well (everyone we knew was). Gordy knew the bar-owner (i think i did too but can't remember who it was, someone from Quintano's). anyway, he left me there to score at a new place — for whatever reason, i couldn't go — it turned out that neither could she so she and i started talking (she was waiting for Johnny Thunders to show). we didn't have anything to say, really (apart from junkie stuff cause we were both sick).


'end of story — Gordy came back an hour or two later, bopping in with Johnny. then we had the choice of either going to the Chelsea Hotel to get straight high with em, or going back to this loft Gordy and i were living at that was nearer to the bar. they chose the Chelsea so we four split up...

'... LOL, JESUS FUCK! i just looked at the photo again — AMAZING'. oh, right, ignore the above and concentrate on Hunter. sorr-reeee — not really. ;-)

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

LOL of the day

NEW, IMPROVED* & UPDATED —> edit @10,42 thursday cause i just received yet another mail from Antique Watches (copied below with my reply). regarding the improved*, thass up to youse to decide. anyway, when last i posted, this appeared thusly, so bear with me here (or don't — written for my own bad self, it matters not if others peer over my shoulder). OK, here goes, as seen before the updation:

please embiggen the above in another tab in order to see teh 'Featured Blog' funny moar betterer and please do same to the next as well cause i don't have the powers of description to do justice to this travesty factoid:


i'm totally honored — this is beyond beyond Teh Prestige! OK, the situ: a few hours ago, on the floorpillows watching The Simpsons and chexing mai mailz on my iPod, i was verily gobsmacked when i happened upon a way mis-spelt missive sent to my Y! mail. in toto:

'Subject: Your Blog Featured at antique-pocket-watches.co.uk'

a) hot damn! my life is complete — now i can die happy; i'm totally honored being chosen (amongst a cast of millions collected thanks to crawling 'bots programmed to do so by a hitherto unknown site whose claim to whatever is the commercial flogging of timepieces — 'Bourgeouis Blues', anyone? but in all seriousity...


b) sorry — i meant, 'big whoop'. as well as...

c) WHAT. THE. FUCK? — i certainly haven't ever written on clocks, watches or timepieces of any flavor, be they antiques or not. OK, continuing (and edited for clarity since 'Shiela' [Sheila?] seems to be one-a those ESL kinda... uh, 'bots people):

'This is Shiela from Antique-Pocket-Watches. We stumbled on your blog and found it quite interesting!'

and in the stumbling, i hope you broke botha your legs as well as your back but LOL, where to begin? it's a blatant obviousity that's an outright lie — it's way too clear they didn't do any reading cause if they had, they would've run like hell in an effort to distance emselves as far as they could from my content — all FAQs, all me, alla time.

then again, in any situation (barring most friends), that surprise mark'd be bound to turn me way the hell off, but hey — i was actually intrigued, not so much by their misguided boilerplate of brevity but due to the vasty number of grammatical, spelling, punc, vocab, syntaxical and unintentionally hilarious usage errors 'Shiela' managed to fit into this one single mail.

'...We operate the largest Antique Pocket Watches website featuring more than 30,000+ blogs'. (all garnered by indiscriminately Googling, no doubt). 'Our site averages 200,000+ uniques' (sic) 'visitors per month. As a kind note We have featured your blog at...' (at this point in time, the desperate need to reiterate and spell out the URL seemed to be overwhelming and so she did but i'll spare yiz by editing in a 'here' — and there y'go).

and here's the upshot, the money quote, the 'ask' or whatever:

'...We would be grateful if you could add the following details to your blogroll...'

my WHAT? — if yiz look back above, you'll see my FAQs spotlit as the site they desire and as far as i know, there's no 'blogroll' there. as well, 'Shiela' diddit again: painstakingly took the time and energy to demonstrate exactly how she wanted me to list a site which goes against every fibre of my nature cause it exists solely to sell shit — Antique Pocket Watches or whatever — sump'n that couldn't bug me more than that did and without even trying. furthermore, she added details with liberty, justice and imperfectly written HTML code for all.

'Looking forward for your confirmation. / Thanks, Shiela'.

*snigger* i bet you are. *musing* i wonder how the hell many other sites received this poorly written mail (but i haven't wasted more than a minute cause i ain't wondering that much). then again, dunno 'bout her but i myself look forward to (not for) confirmations. betterer luck next time, Shiela (if that's your real name, which i doubt).

see, y'all might think me ungrateful, cold and shit but i take it from whom it comes and coming from this magnificently valid and way famous antique swatches site (no doubt known and beloved by millions upon millions of timepiece wearers the entire world over), i feel no compunction dissing this latest slight compliment. far be it for me to stick my nose up in a hipper-than-thou kinda gesture or whatever, but c'mon; i've gotta draw the line somewhere and apart from this latest source of LOL, i'd rather have nothing at all than submit to the poorly written desires of any commercially oriented collection of links, gathered, no doubt, thanks to Google (which in this case is certainly not my friend). which begs the question:

Q: how low can one stoop, anyway?
A: i actually assumed i knew the answer to that until i read their mail.

*smirk* ah... they've changed it; not only am i 'featured' at left but i'm (temporarily) up top over here:


i haven't the words — for once — and coming from me, y'all know that's a LOT. and despite my explanatory reply stating if looked upon closely, any 'blogroll' on my FAQs is a list of those sites on which i feature and so i advised em to take a closer look and actually READ, not only my FAQs but my Tawdry site, on which they'll find the semblance of a (scuse the uhspression) 'blogroll' thus called Reservoir Dogs, on which i proudly list any sites of my friends. so far, no good as they either haven't read my response or didn't bother taking my advice. no biggie, rilly.

am i honored? you tell me — one fuckin' guess and it starts with an 'N'.

in related news, how many times must i repeat myself by stating i'm totally against awards which pit one whatever against another cause believe it or not, i'm more of a cooperation kinda grrl, rather than a competitive one (in an 'Everybody is a star' kinda way). so let that be a lesson to ya (neither you, nor you, but em).


ps, here's my message to Antique Watches or whatever thanks to the late, great Bill Hicks. listen carefully, Shiela (or whatever you think your name is), and maybe, just maybe, it'll sink in but then again, i doubt it. anyway, here's hoping (and if it actually gets through, you'll be quitting yer gig ASAP if y'all don't off yourself first instead).

*and here's the moment for which yiz all've been waiting: my AM mail brought their latest moronacy:

'Hello rimone n, Thanks for add my site in your blog.' (editor's note: they're thanking me for THIS post?) 'But plz add my site link in your blogs sidebar. We have featured your blog at' (and then again, the mis-coded HTML, which if i followed their directions, surely wouldn't lead to their site) ... 'We would be grateful if you could add the following details to your blogroll'. (then a repetition of their mis-coded code).

my very polite reply to this latest source of LOL:

'dear antique-watches dudes and/or "Shiela": no disrespect intended but did you even read my mail? the site to which you refer — my FAQs — to which you so fervently want to be added does NOT have a blogroll. i understand it's quite easy to mistake the list of links starring me and me alone that to the untrained eye could easily pass as a "blogroll" but (as it's titled), 'IT'S ALL ABOUT ME'.

'BTW, i wasn't aware i added your site to my FAQs — please show me where this mishap occurred and i shall rectify it forthright.

'furthermore, why in heaven's name would i entertain the vaguest possibility of sticking your site within that list ('it's all about me') cause it's way beyond my limited comprehension as it totally isn't about me at all. if you've got a valid coherent answer to that burning question, i'd appreciate it if you informed me of same. it's not like i walk about wearing a timepiece, sump'n i find totally unnecessary thanks to the wonders of my cellphone as well as my iPodTouch, both of which — amazing though it may seem to youse — actually inform me of the correct time each and every time i care to look.

'if you still want to be added to the list of links titled Reservoir Dogs (that some mistake for a blogroll) here:, i'd suggest you write a complimentary note informing me of how wonderful i am since my low self-esteem needs all the boosting it can get. barring that, i'd think it's best you suck up to me in some other fashion — i.e., i'm not above accepting bribes like financial contributions or those of substances extralegal, which'll get you far beyond beyond and no one'd be the wiser.

'in fact, if you do succumb to my admittedly *wack* wishes, you'll find yourself in place of pride, in the enviable position of scoring the topmost link under Reservoir Dogs whilst usurping my long-lost, much beloved yet dead-as-a-doornail prior site listed as 'RIP Dateline: Bristol'. this is an honor even the site-architect hasn't yet attained and i urge you to act fastly on this, most holy of holies.

'a helpful hint: in future, please READ as it's obvious the contents of my prior mail were disregarded and ignored.

'respect and shit,
'sincerely, rimone'


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

day 21,915 or so

or 'it takes a squint': to be filed under Boring Minutiae: it was a dark and stormy nightmare one night last week as i lay huddled under the covers whilst the wind howled about the house and i set an all-time record for Most Layers Worn Inside. from the inside out, i had on my two Death T-shirts under the Motorhead T, under The Ruts T (a present from Stan — in fact, they're all gifts but i'm fucked if i can remember from whom) and then a long-sleeved striped turtleneck (sans the neck ripped off in a fit of pique).

the foregoing layered under my plain black sweatshirt — gifted stoled from Wall Street Pimp — i mean 'Wall Street Broker' dude (sorry, Alan) — under my NYPD workout sweats (that atrocity collector's item from liddle sister, Bibs), and the whole shebang (which resembled me to The Michelin Tyre dude) beneath this way long thick heavy woollen sailor's sweater which i snagged from a thriftshop to which The Gap so kindly donated their irregulars extras — and all comfortably fitting under my Liddle Red Riding Hood sweatshirt (which, for some inane reason,'s now known as — scuse the uhspression — a 'hoodie'). WTF & WHY? great shades of the *puke* 80s! amongst other horrors from that decade, was there EVar a more yuppie word?

yow! does this look like a hoodie to you? nb: pardon crap quality; i just took these in the kitchen and i'm totally ripped. BTW, if i've got the misfortune to live so long, please instruct my minder to describe these next in minute detail whilst he's reading this journal to me.

'hoodie' *retch* or 'sweatshirt'? you be the judge:



you might see the semblance of a badge over to your right and above my left side. let it be known, it's one i've worn on that sweatshirt for nigh on twenty years now. it reads 'Shut The Fuck Up' (as per usual, the pix of it were shite).

heh... i do tend to go on, don't i? anyhoo, this wondrous pieca clothing was liberated from the Boy's Department of the Parkchester Macy's ages ago and over the years, though tattered it is, it's served me very well (since during the rare times the cops stopped me whilst in it, neither did they find shit nor contraband of any description). hide in plain sight's always been my M.O. but, as usual i'm filling up space here, i digress.

hmmpf... where was i? right, having nothing of import to impart to yiz all, i shall continue with the boring details of my late night attire. OK, Christine's luxuriously soft woollen scarf was twice wrapped round my neck (as a Wiccan Nature-worshipping talisman of sorts), then below that, i'd had on my oldest pair of exercise ballet tights (the ones with the stirrups), over woollen leggings and under three pairs of Ragg Socks (in faded red, charcoal grey and black), just like these apart from i wouldn't own the white if paid to do so. hmmm... these fuckers lasted more than 20 years, actually.


underneath those, i had on a pair of woollen knit slippers under my usual furry-cuffed leopard and black suede house shoes, one of Daddy's last xmas gifts as he was of a mind where, despite whatever else he got me for the hols, he always made sure to buy slippers in the only xmas tradition to which he bent. respect, Daddy dude! :-)

did i mention it was -9 here that particular night and continued being same for the duration of the week? Ja? nah? no matter — it's just me wasting space and time here to STFU appease all those lovely people who mailed expressing concern i might be dead or sump'n. no worries, dudes — much to my dismay, i live and breathe.

here — have a hand and don't say i failed to warn you (of what i dunno).


nb: i haven't a clue WTF i began by trying to say here but suffice it to say, 'hands' in general were integral to the now-forgotten point. i guess i'm like trying to prove i'm alive to like, my friends... sump'n like that. so, FAIL — and miserably so. and as i've stated oh-so-many times before, i can blether on and on and ON in the manner of 'tawkin' loud and saying nothin' so prep yourselves; as youse know, i can go on for hours and hours. and i shall if nothing diverts me. cue 'ooh, look! a kitty in the cold!' *mirthless laughter* oh, right; big thanks to Darren, Pam, Christine, Stan, Leisl and the rest of youse can fuck off. LOL, kidding!

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

01/01/2010

editor's note @18,15 which i forgot about and left here unpublished an hour ago: since my temp went up, i'm once again camped out on the floor, under the quilt, eating toasted muffins and admiring the scene which looks just like it did last friday. then i made the mistake of reading this on my iPod. :-(

*coughity* i totally forgot about these pics/just found em in my phone — the fact i forgot bothers me but only to a small degree cause in the rush my mind's bent on turning to mush, i know i'll forget again so why waste time fretting on sump'n i'll not remember anyway? not so oddly enough, i can only understand the foregoing if i read it very slowly.

hmmpf... new year's day AM and i'd finally crashed a few hours after the fireworks, after being forced into the bedroom and after i'd gone 'fuck it' since i didn't think the MDMA'd come on. silly me cause hours later, i came to all sparkley and headed for wobbled into the loo (actually holding onto the walls). *smirk*

then i stumbled out, thinking i'd examine and analyse all the sparkles from bed in the dark, but i thought i heard music and paused to listen. yup, there was music, so i was back in the LR to turn it way up, lit a few candles, then huddled on the floor pillows under the big duvet i dragged off the bed cause he was up as well, then i took these photos when he was in the loo. *snigger* nb: i just turned around and i'm in the same scene but toasted muffins and cream-cheese and butter have taken the place of Essence of Dude or whatever. :-)


detail of L-hand side of the mantel in boring old daylight (with Pam's marble egg, Ilgin's silver ashtray and my mother's teeny cobalt and silver dish thingy):


more MD&c and countless cigs later (and discussions on the merits of which of the Alabama 3's HB, WBTB and UAMH they should've released [faves are the least popular with the band and the masses] amongst the Steve Earle, Thee Hypnotics and Stones — Let It Loose from The Departed — as well as a cast of maybe hundreds cause he was DJ) led to recrashing after the sun came up.

anyhoo, in other non-news, i got mail which i ignored up to now asking 'why all the secrecy brevity lately?' *shrugs* helpful hint: if you have to ask, forget it but didja ever notice how i can talk about nothing and go on and on and on without stopping? huh? didja? :-)

edit @18,15: fast forward to wednesday and the scene outside, two hours apart:



ps, big thanks to RockStan for ringing today and keeping my mind off 'normal' for awhile. apparently, it's not back yet, so thanks again, dude. :-)

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

2009-10

big thanks to Trollcats for the image and the message. :-) next up's the aftermath of my xmas and New Year's hols 'lying splattered on the pavement' — the pavement of Queens Road, Bristol. please notice the absence of *puke* as it's been mentally PhotoShoppedly mentally removed outta respect for those with delicate sensibilities. *smirk*


in other news, last wednesday i used my iPod to scale and sent the next two to the chef so he'd know my potatoes before he got here.



'know my potatoes...' that is, for the purposes of the most delicious Bubble & Squeak EVar (nb: chef's personal recipe was a thousand times better than the link's). anyhoo, suffice it to say, this was an extremely memorable* hol (as well as a reprieve), made more so thanks to guests who took the time and trouble to actually travel all the way from Bournemouth and London to get their asses over and spend time here with boring old me (and way intristin' Hunter), so the biggest of big thanks to Maxine, Rich, Sarah (The Engines) and Chris. :-)

as well, big thanks to Christine *kiss* who knitted and sent me a beautiful and very warm, long black woollen scarf which got here just in time: on the morning of 31. december. i've been wearing it almost continuously cause it blocks out the bone-chilling cold but naturally, i'm forced to remove it to get into the tub. notice me not mention the hot water malfunction on the early morning of new year's eve when i so stupidly decided to have a bath and ended up cutting my usual hour-long immersion to a measley 25 minutes in

*since i'm in enough shit already, suffice it to say one event (which included what seemed to be an endless series) served as conversational fodder for the duration and'll prolly most definitely serve as same in future when i'm bound to encounter uncomfortable silences — silences only a good bit of gossip can cure — and that's all i need to say about that for now. *giggle*

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