The pressure cycle

Today’s news tells us that people prefer women to be slim rather than curvy and well-fed. Studies have Shown and Experts have Said so it must be true for everyone.

It’s not true for me but then I have not been assimilated. Resistance is never futile. It won’t be true for almost all those who come here for a bit of a read and to catch up on the latest episode of my insane soap opera life either. If it was, you wouldn’t be likely to be here.

I don’t much care about body shape. It’s not the first thing I look for although when I do look, I like to see curves. Okay, I’m not going to be too attracted by curves tending to the extent of planetoid but then I am certainly not attracted to a visible pelvic bone and arms that look like they might snap at any moment. I like women with a bit of meat on their bones.

There are young girls in that shop so thin that I wonder how they manage to lift their forearms. It can’t be good for them.

For me, a waist so thin that I’d worry about her breaking in two with a hug is no good. I don’t want a woman I might have to stick back together with duct tape.

Other people will disagree, naturally. We are all individuals and some will prefer the more rounded figure, some the spherical figure. Others will prefer the preying mantis look, or even those women who look like they weigh less than their photograph.

The drones, of course, will prefer what they have been told to prefer.

And there is the flaw in the study. The obsession with BMI and body shape and superficial appearance has been battered into drone heads for years now. This study merely completes the cycle. People have been told what they must prefer, it’s been well drummed into them, and now they run a study asking people what they prefer and good golly gosh – they prefer what they have been told to prefer! Who would have thought?

It’s no different to a rote-learning course with an exam at the end. Can you regurgitate the crap you were taught to remember? Then you pass the exam.

This ‘medical’ obsession with superficiality is getting pretty annoying now. For those new here who think I am an obese, stubble-faced and spotty internet goblin typing in his string vest and grey skidmarked Y-fronts while chomping down the eighth Pot Noodle of the hour and trying to justify it, look back through the posts. There are recent photos. I am not fat. Nor do I look like Death in a pink latex bodysuit. But it really doesn’t matter.

What you look like does not matter at all. It’s what you do and who you are that matters. You can look like a peg-toothed tramp and be an angel inside or you can look like an Aryan demigod and be an utterly intolerable bastard. The outside is irrelevant. It really is what’s inside that matters.

That train of thought is gone for the drones. The assimilated drones believe everyone is the same on the inside and must therefore look the same on the outside. The British Standard Human is the new Aryan race. It’s still going on. It will probably never stop.

If you’re focused completely on the outside, on appearance, then there can be only one conclusion.

You have nothing inside.

Certainly nothing I’m interested in seeing.

Life is… interesting

I have a lot of moving-related stuff to take care of and have to be out of here with everything breakable before the letters start arriving. Mortgage, TV licence, electricity/gas… all the things I’m not paying for here any more. And when she finds out she no longer has free AA membership…

Yesterday I tried to set up an account for electricity (the flat has no gas unless I make another baked bean Madras). Simple, you would think.

Okay. I checked around and phoned one. The call centre is in Cardiff so the accent was no problem for either side. A good start. I finally managed to convince them that I have no boiler, combi or otherwise, because I have no gas supply.

We went through all the usual stuff, again all okay. They reckoned on about £100 a month but it’ll be less than that. I can take quite a bit of cold. I like the cold, it means I’ll keep longer, and I have new knitted woolens on the way courtesy of the new family ;)

I’ll also get some halogen and fan heaters to use instead of those storage heaters. Anyway their estimate is a lot less than the £250 I had for one month last winter.  All good so far.

Address, no problem. Last readings, no problem. The flat has two meters… oh. This is where it started going downhill. It has an old meter and a new one and both are active.

Well, I have the serial numbers of the meters. Will that help? Apparently it’s really helpful, they can look it up on the National Grid and take it from there. So they did.

The meters are located in another flat in a different building. One that seems to not actually exist.

The phone man was apologetic. I was about to fall down laughing. It was never going to be that easy, was it?

I checked the meter serial numbers last night and they are indeed correct. I have someone else’s meters running my flat and to me, that means someone else can pay for them. Naturally this will never happen but in the meantime I have electricity so I care nothing for whether the flat actually exists or not. Maybe it’s a Tardis.That would be fun.

The poor harassed call centre man will call me back today. His life is just going to get stranger.

Today I’m going to try setting up phone and broadband and I have no idea of the flat’s phone number. And I haven’t put a plug-in phone in there either.

If you work for a phone/broadband call centre, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Here I come…

Adam Cohen

It’s been a bit of a hard time this past weeks time and more. I’ve just felt drained and sad. You know one of those times where you just feel like a bad remark away from getting misty eyed

I got invited to my granddad’s birthday party which was very surprising since I only tend to get invited to the big celebrations. My grandmother isn’t always the most tactful person. So I spent a lot of time wondering why I’d been invited trying to find the catch. Seems like there for once wasn’t one. It was a pleasant visit with great food and he liked his gift.

I try to be a happy person, which in times like these isn’t always easy. I’ve had people tell me that I need to toughen up and not be so silly and in a way that has been a thing I’ve been grumbling over for a while now. When did it become okay to be a douche bag to people? My brothers and I were raised to say please and thank you and my dad always told us never to tease others about the way they looked because people were responsible for the way they act but not for their physical features. But it seems like these days if someone does something to piss of another it’s “this fat bitch”. I once heard someone, walking past an imigrant, who joked that some people would look better in a burka. Or my grandmother at a birthday party saying very loudly “was that Hellen? I barely recognised her because she’s gotten so fat!”. When did that become okay?

Another thing I don’t get is those going “oh it’s freedom of speech!”. And really I support freedom of speech. It has done some great things through the years. But it seems like today a lot of people will act like a dick and then pull up the shield of freedom of speech. Yes, you can say whatever you like but do we really need to? Is it really necessary to tell some local politician that you hope his kids get cancer because you don’t agree with his opinions? And what I really don’t get is those who’ll go around poking people with their mean stick and then acts all omg like get a grip. Freedom of speech bro. I mean if you stand in the street calling passerbys the c word you shouldn’t really be surprised or run crying when you at some point get a word back or get punched.

I just don’t understand people who seem to go out of their way to be negative. I’ll stop rambling and get on to the music.

I must admit I’ve never gotten into Leonard Cohen. He writes some great songs, I rather like Jennifer Warnes tribute cd Famous Blue Raincoat, I just never really fell in love with Cohen’s singing style. I am however very fond of the music that his son Adam Cohen makes. So he is today’s music segment.

What other guy

Cohen is what I usually put on when I want something soft and gentle.

Overrated

I absolutely love this song. It’s the song I imagine myself having that first dance with my newly husband at our wedding. It is just beautiful and for me fitting.

We go home

This one from the newest album has a bit more go to it. It was the first one I heard and the one that drew me into the world of Adam Cohen

Love is

I have a neighbour who is a big papa Cohen fan so I let her borrow the newest Adam album since she was curious as to wether she’d like his music or not. She didn’t. She thought his lyrics was rather empty compared to his father’s. I disagree, I think if you look past the upbeat music you do find pretty good lyrics too.

Smoke Free

My interpretation of the phrase is, naturally, somewhat different from the Smokophobes’ (I hesitate to use the word) thoughts.

I have said a lot of good things about Bull Brand products in the past and will surely say more good things in the future. At the prices (mostly £1) they are very hard to beat. I have a lot of Bull Brand stuff that I bought in Poundland and it’s all good. Except the pipe. I’m fussy about my pipes so a £1 one was a bit of a gamble, but not much. It was only £1 and it does work.

Nonetheless it was a surprise to receive an email from Bull Brand themselves asking for an address to send a box of goodies to. I gave the old one. I still have access because, dammit, I’ve been paying for it and it’s not hers yet. Sure you can cut the atmosphere in the house (the new flat is ‘home’ now) into slices and toast and butter it but it’ll make you sick to eat it. Even so, while in transition, the place is still mine.

The new place is ready to move into as soon as the harpy explodes. Ideally before. Next week the letters will start arriving – TV licence, council tax, electricity/gas, mortgage etc. I don’t want to be here when they do and I want everything important and breakable moved before then.

Anyway, I digress. Come on, you’d be shocked if I didn’t.

So a box arrived. Wife declared that I was supposed to be selling things on eBay, not buying things. Her idea is that my life should consist of working and selling my stuff and paying bills, nothing more. I didn’t bother to explain. It’s far too late to care.

The box contained much more than I expected. In fact it contained far more than just Bull Brand products. Here’s what was in it.

bullbrandYes, that’s tobacco too. I’ve been smoking at no cost since this arrived. Now that’s what Smoke Free really should mean. Perfect timing too – first month’s rent plus deposit has left me somewhat brassic to say the least.

There was only one thing that wasn’t to my taste. Lilac flavoured cigarettes. Menthol, fine, I do like a menthol smoke but lilac was a step too far into the girlie zone. I tried one and gave the rest to Boss, who liked them. But then she’s a girl. You can tell. Girls are the ones with bumps on the front.

There’s a new ciggie-filler machine in there. The one I’ve had for a year or so still works fine but it’s always good to have a spare. At £1 a shot you’d think I’d have the foresight to already have one spare but I genuinely don’t.

I definitely recommend the deep ashtray. Drop the fag end in and it expires due to lack of air in a moment. The wide ashtray lined with smoker encouragement is fun too.

I use filters in rollies because I don’t like picking tobacco strands out of my teeth and don’t want to waste expensive tobacco at the end of a smoke. I have not yet tried the menthol rolling baccy with a menthol filter but it must happen. It must happen in a liquorice paper too. I have some… Bull Brand ones.

It does sound like ‘a word from our sponsor’ I know, but I was a big fan of Bull Brand long before the first contact and the box of stuff arrived. The blog isn’t sponsored by anyone. And if they ever need a salesman I’m looking for a new job.

One that has regular days off….or at least some.

Transition

I have had a really generous mystery box from Bull Brand which I will blog about at the weekend. Tonight I am preparing for transition. It is time.

If you have my home address, delete it. It is no longer my address.

Tomorrow I get the keys to a new home and start closing down the appalling bills attached to this one. A particular harpy is in for a hell of a shock because a lot of what she’s had for free for the last 30 years isn’t going to be free next week.

It’s going to be a tight month because this month is rent plus deposit. There’ll be a little gap while I get internet installed in the new place. The new phone will keep me online in the interim but I can’t type long posts on it.

You know by now why I’m not making more money than I immediately need. This will change and it will change big time once I shed the parasite who will take at least half of it from me. ‘Take me for everything I have’… good luck. I have nothing :)

I am also applying for a new job. Its ambitious because it’s outside my experience range but then so was the janitor job. It’s a lecturing job so it’s far further inside my range than a shop janitor job. It’s possible…

I know Boss will be upset at my leaving, she told me so in a fit of attempted emotional blackmail. I really don’t want to let her down but I now need to increase my earnings – I have to pay law fees and they can get very nasty indeed. As could the coming months.

New home, new job, new partner, new life. I said a long time ago that I’d smash my life and start again but I didn’t really think it would be quite so complete. Yet here it is. Tomorrow I have the keys to it.

The new flat is not a permanent home. It’s a bolt hole for the next six months or so. Big enough for two but not nearly what I want for the future. There will be more and bigger changes to come – except one. There is going to be one permanence in my life and she knows who she is, and so do you. Everything else is fluid and chaotic at the moment but I have one fixed point to rely on.

That’s all I need. One focus.

Around that one focus I can put everything else in chaos and not just survive it. I will absolutely revel in it. The Gates of Hell are now nearly fully opened.

Bring it on.

Lisa Ekdahl

I can happily inform that my reading situation isn’t as bad as first thought. I have made a reading challenge on my GoodReads app but apparently it hadn’t accepted a good chuck of the books I had read. So with the two books I’ve read the last few days I’m now up to 12 books read this year which isn’t too bad. My aim is 25 so I’m slowly closing in.

Can we take a moment to talk about the heat? I don’t know about where you guys are but here it is way too hot. Well 26 degrees Celsius. I was made for the cold. I don’t function in this heat. I spent my first 4 years with Swedish and Norwegian winters so I do find it a bit funny when I’ve mentioned to friends that I may relocate to Scotland and their first reaction is do you know how cold it is there? I just smile happily and go yes!
I usually bring Susie with me when I go to the local shop. It helps a bit with my anxiety. But she would get too warm and even though I’d park her in the shade she’d be panting when I’d get out from the shop. So I started to bring water with me. I fill up my purple penguin water bottle and off we go. But does she want to drink it? No way! Strange brown water on the parking lot is apparently appetizing, I had to pull her away to make sure she didn’t try to drink it,but she turns her snout away when I try giving her clean water. Dogs!
She does how ever seem to have accepted Igor a lot more. She let him sniff her paws and tail and even let him crawl on her so that’s good.

Now Lisa Ekdahl’s music has been in my life for a big part of it. It was some of the Swedish music my mum brought back with us. My mum always wanted me to have some of the Swedish culture too in my upbringing, mostly music. I must admit that since I don’t really remember living in Sweden I always felt much more Danish. Especially after my mum and I took a Christmas shopping trip to my birth city and everyone I tried to speak “Swedish” to replied to me in English. So even though I don’t in some ways connect her with my heritage I do in other ways since I’ve been listening to her cds since I was a child. So more a sense of growing up with her than a sense of national pride. I do now as an adult living on my own actually own most of her albums and listen to them regularly.

Vem Vet

This is her far most known song here in Denmark and her first one if I remember correctly.

Benen i kors

Now this is my all time favourite of her Swedish songs. I haven’t got a number on how many times over the years I’ve listened to this song and been singing along and just enjoyed the beauty of it.

Give me that slow knowing smile

It’s funny I once spoke to a guy on Twitter who also liked Lisa Ekdahl. He knew her English songs and I knew her Swedish ones at that point and we came to the conclusion that together we’d make a pretty good Lisa Ekdahl fan.

One life

I went to see her live some time ago and it was there I really started my journey into her English music. It’s funny, her English songs are in some ways much more jazz influenced than her Swedish songs. But it could just be from growing up and evolving her style.

You want her approval

Now this song gave me goosebumps at the concert. It’s pretty amazing, she’s just a rather tiny woman but that voice is just wow! If you ever get the chance I highly recommend seeing her live. It is quite the experience.

Ashtray Domination

Today I drove into Aberdeen with two Samurai swords and a cattle trailer. On the way back I got stuck behind a windmill. An ordinary day, really.

Later I went in to work and got Boss to witness my signature on a lease. I’m finally doing what I should have done twenty or more years ago and it feels pretty damn good. It feels so much more than pretty damn good because I’m not doing it all on my own.

It’s pretty much a legally binding doodah now. I think the landlord has one last chance to say ‘No, fuck off you horrible little man’ but I doubt that will happen. My email saying I was interested in the flat was held up by spam for a day and I had one back saying ‘We can drop the rent by £10-20 a month if it will help’. I graciously accepted.

I’m pretty damn sure I have this flat and it’s a really nice one. The only bugbear is all the stairs but then it’s just a starting point. It’s not going to be forever. I want a little house with a garden and we’re agreed on that.

Maybe I won’t have a car for a while. The flat has a bus stop right outside the door, work would be 10 minutes away by bus and at a real pinch I could walk there in about 90 minutes. Not running a car for a few months would allow for some serious cash accumulation. Well worth considering. And my current car is pretty crap anyway.

One thing about the flat is that it’s non smoking. Well, I don’t own it. It’s the landlord’s flat so I’ll abide by his rules. It’s not a problem and it’s only for a matter of months. It’s probably too small to smoke in anyway. I’d have all my clothes smoked up. In this big house I can smoke in a couple of rooms without affecting the others but in a little flat, it could get pervasive.

There will, of course, be an ashtray. It will be the Bull Brand glass ashtray with the ‘no smoking’ sign in it. A delightful bit of cognitive dissonance. There has to be an ashtray. It’s the law.

It is on aeroplanes, apparently.

Aeroplanes are required to have ashtrays on board in case of something or other and they cannot take off without one. They should all fit the Bull Brand no-smoking ashtray. They only cost a pound. I hope they still make it. I have one anyway.

I was most amused by the picture of the enraged harpy raising the wrong finger at the guy with the unlit cigarette. Once, a wrinkled harridan passed me at a bus stop while I was rolling a cigarette and gave an exaggerated fake cough. I hadn’t even finished rolling. So the picture is at least accurate. The pathetically indoctrinated really do exist.

Then there is the ‘probably’ that is presented as fact.

An onboard fire probably caused by a cigarette led to the deaths of 123 people on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Paris in the 1970s.

It could have been. Or it could have been caused by a million other things. Not one of those other things is even considered even though there is no firm evidence that a smoker caused the disaster. Even though, if there is an ashtray provided by legal diktat, why would a smoker chuck a cigarette in waste disposal? We all know how to use an ashtray. It’s a genetic thing.

I predict it won’t be long before a vaper is blamed for a plane crash. Lithium batteries have already been demonised so it’s just a matter of time before the Age of Steam takes its vengeance on modern technology.

How long before a plane crash gets blamed on the fat boy in seat 7B?

You think it’s different. It’s not. It’s the same template with the same agenda. Control.

And fat boys, for you it’s already started.