Life's Rich Tapestry: September 2007

Thursday, September 27, 2007

"Now listen here girls, your accessories are the window to your soul"

This week, I have become slightly obsessed with the What you wear to work pool on Flickr, because there is nothing more satisfying for a woman than scrutinising another women’s wardrobe and maybe feeling wee pangs of jealousy at how bloody fantastic some of them look in their ‘half the price us Brits have to pay for decent clothing’ outfits, which means they can afford matching bags, shoes and jewellery for each and every ensemble they own, when over here the equivalent amount of money would buy a single earring, or maybe the G from a string.

Naturally, as a women is prone to do, admiring cute kitten heels and perfectly tailored jackets of others will unearth familiar feelings of inadequacy with ones own attire and then, if that isn’t unsettling enough, by some cruel twist of fate, random flicking of the remote control will result in watching an entire episode of What To Wear, which will only magnify the emotions even further.

I had to stop watching such programmes for a while, because each episode resulted in delirious and demented online purchases that very evening, because, oh my god, if I wait until morning everything on the whole Internet will be sold and all the shops will burn down over night and I’ll be the only woman wearing old tracksuit bottoms from 1984 for the rest of my life! I replay a well rehearsed conversation in my head, one that What To Wear brainwashed me with many years ago, about how I’m worth spending money on and how it’s ok to be extortionate because I am a lowly woman whose life is controlled by others and whose every waking hour is spent being a dedicated wife, mother, daughter, employee, supportive friend and somewhere along the line I stopped caring about myself, I lost all sense of my wants and needs and it’s time to find the new improved sex kitten and start building that lost self esteem and give myself what I deserve, it‘s ok to treat myself, because Trinny and Suzanna said so. Yes, I need shoes and bags and skirts and then, only then, will I find myself again!

Really, if I’m honest, it’s all a load of horse shit, but yet, every time, I find myself wanting new clothes right away, because everything I bought last month is clearly so wrong for me, even if I’m sure they were purchased as a result of a WTW episode, when they were clearly so right for me, but that was last month and times change, fashion evolves, along with my yearning to feel 100% confident and if I stop trying to find that perfect look surely I will shrivel up and die? This time I’ll get it right, I’ll feel gorgeous and beautiful, powerful and amazing for the rest of my life if I just buy those four perfect outfits right. now. this. very. minute. The cure for my inadequacy is so simple, how did I not see this before? Tomorrow I will spend an obscene amount of money that will make everything perfect and others will gasp in admiration of my grace and grandeur and I’ll live happily ever after. The end.

This week I’ve gone for the floaty feminine look, I haven’t passed a shop without feeling like I would suffocate if I didn’t at least look inside, because it may just house the cloth of my dreams. So what if it’s only half way through my payment month and all my money’s nearly gone? I can eat plain pasta for the next two weeks, it’s a small sacrifice to pay for ’finding myself’ for god’s sake, chic doesn’t come cheap you know, it’s a good job I know a life changing opportunity when I see one and am hardcore enough to go out and grab that bitch instead of listening to the crap that some people spew about how one’s confidence and self esteem comes from within and how society shouldn’t be so shallow when there are children dying in Africa and Monks being murdered in Burma. Happiness does revolve around appearance, Trinny and Suzanna told me so and Christ, anyone who thinks any different is clearly just gullible, they should go get a life or something.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Comuppance

Edit; All is fine, he will be staying in for a few days after a fall.

I just sat down to write about how I'm a lazy bum, because I've been lounging around in my knickers and t shirt drinking tea all day, when my Grandad's warden rang to tell me Grandad has been taken into hospital, so I guess that's my punishment for being such a skanky whore, because now I have to get dressed at 9pm and will be spending the night at the most visited place by our family this year. Blaaaah.

He's ok by the way, nothing life threatening as far as I can tell.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

You had me fooled Porky.

I’ve recently discovered something rather odd about my cleaner. Daisy is a family acquaintance that lives in the same village as my parents and started coming to my house once a week back in 2001 when I finally left the spinal rehab unit. There is something highly infectious about her bubbly and vivacious personality, but at the same time a lot of her opinions and judgements sicken me.

She’s well known in the area, a favourite for most, a breath of fresh air for many and I always thought that way too, until I got to know her, really know her. Over the last couple of years Daisy has dropped her guard in my presence, she’s shown her true colours if you will. I hate nothing more that prejudice, racism, homophobia and unfounded speculation and Daisy is guilty of all four of these, in abundance.

Because of this, (and the fact that she’s a crap cleaner), I always said I would break ties with her when I moved home. I will have the perfect excuse because I’ll be moving further away. But I haven‘t moved and it’s been 2 years and I’m still waiting and although moving type things are set to happen within the next year, the woman has still been merrily driving me bat shit in the meantime. Of course the last three months have not been a problem, simply because I’ve been either at the Hospital, Hospice or at Dad’s home each Tuesday, (ok, admittedly I have gone out on purpose a few times just to escape the ranting looney), which is something I will continue to do until, a) I move or b) I can find someone to clean for less money an hour than Kate Moss gets out of bed c) I am offered a break through treatment involving pig stem cells, which may produce side effects such as; squealing like you are a 14 year old who caught a glimpse of Usher and smelling amazingly similar to a greasy cafe, but by god, you’ll be fit enough to do your own cleaning you lazy whore!

The fact of the matter is, Daisy’s standard of cleaning appears to fluctuate rather a lot. At first I thought my reasoning behind this was ridiculous and I should stop analysing each and every hoover stroke mark in the carpet, but on returning home today, I am now utterly convinced I have busted her way of thinking and it goes something like this…

Jilly’s father is in Hospice/Hospital on death bed = Hoover, hoover, hoover, dust, dust, dust, move furniture, hoover hoover hoover, replace furniture, dust, dust, scrub bath, make bed, spit, polish.

Jilly’s father is home and stable = Hoover, gaze out of window and miss quarter of carpet area including crumbs under chair, hoover roooound the furniture, skip dusting, cup of tea, shower down bath tub, watch some Trisha, put duvet cover on wrong way round, nosey in chest of draws, spit, go home.

Jilly is home, all is well, (time before father was ill and influenced domestics) = Hoover, yap yap yap yap yap yap, flick duster, rant rant rant rant, spit in bath tub, yap yap yap, go home.

So you see, the more unstable my father is, the better her level of service. I can’t decide whether she thinks that unless my Dad is in a critical condition, I should be doing my own housework because I am a lazy benefit stealing woman who is probably gay because she doesn’t have a family of seven and I bet is pretending to be spastic and simple (yes she really does use those words), or she doesn’t deal with impending death well and simply slips into a manic, germ eradication zone. What do you think?

Monday, September 24, 2007

It's because I hate plants.

I stopped eating chicken when the first case of Bird Flu was detected. I’ve always been a bit icky about eating chicken, I can’t bring myself to handle it raw, plus a piece of boneless breast looks far too much like a labia to me. Talking of labia’s. What the hell?! Make sure to check out the recommended albums on the left, specifically ‘The Chicken Nuggets - Ten'.

I stopped eating Turkey during the second break of Bird Flu, occuring in February, in which thousands of Mernard Batthews turkeys were slaughtered, (for which, consequently, he was compensated £589,000. Shame he didn’t spend it on decent living conditions for his livestock rather than keeping them in airless, dark, crowded barns, up too their beaks in their own shit).

Last week I stopped eating meat altogether. I knew it was coming, I have not felt comfortable being a meat eater for a while now and the reports of BSE and Bluetongue have been the icing on the cake. I simply don’t have enough trust in our government reassurances that British meat is safe to eat. Being vegetarian isn’t foreign to me, I very happily lived on bean sprouts for 10 years and probably still would be if it weren’t for being bullied into eating meat again, by an over bearing matron whilst in hospital for anorexia…

Just try some

I don’t eat eat meat

Of course you do, it’s full of protein

No. I’m a vegetarian

That’s the anorexia speaking. Free your mind from the hold it has over you

I. Don’t. Eat. Meat.

You’re not thinking rationally. When your body is at such a low weight your reasoning..

It has nothing to do with that.

You may think not, but subconsciously…

I. DON’T. EAT. FUCKING. MEAT!!

Doctor, bring the syringe, she’s having another psycotic episode!

Bastards.

Anyway, as I was saying, I am once again a vegetarian. Which may shortly include non consumption of dairy from unknown sources, because what the fuck lurks in my yogurt worries me too. Luckily, I am surrounded by local farm shops owned by family friends that produce their own dairy products, where I can personally inspect Gertrude for madness like behaviour, which is fantastic, as the thought of never eating the soft inside of a piece of brie, leaving the velvety skin until last, orgasmically moaning, OH MY GOD IT’S SO GOOD I COULD SMEAR IT ALL OVER MY NAUGHTY BITS, is not a fun thought at all. Oh no, indeed not.

Official Statement; my staggering whilst slobbering from the mouth behaviour on Saturday evening was in no way connected with the symptons of Mad Cow Disease, but simply a result of my neighbour, Stuart, being an exceptionally good, "that Tom Cruise bloke what's from Cocktail" Margarita maker.

Anymore questions may be directed via my PR Agent. Thank you.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

"That’s some treasure chest you’ve got there"

The pirate speaks,"Good evenin' everyone, do you like me eye patch? What's that? I have a limp? Oh well aye, a wooden leg will do that too ya. Where's t' parrot? I had him for what crawled out o' t' bung hole, in a kebab. I really don't have much else t' say. I've had no electricty or gas all day, only t' electricity board from Somerset could dig starboard through t' gas mains, dense bastards."

Friday, September 14, 2007

Full clothes dryers make great camouflage

Seaside Apartments, originally uploaded by Purpledew.

I accomplished nothing today, I was far too busy spying on my new neighbours. After 4 months of silent bliss, the thought of having to share the front door with other human beings again almost led to a melt down. I say almost because thankfully a whole bar of Green & Blacks Cherry saved the day.

I'm definitely becoming one of those judgemental old people that I hated so much as a teenager. Oh god, they're under 25, it's going to be hell, loud parties, rap music, drunken antics and mass orgies. I really need to curb that way of thinking, it's incredibly negative.

When you have had an awful neighbours experience as I had at the beginning of the year, it obviously makes you a tad paranoid.

Yeah, they're moving in their fridge right now and he has jeans on, with A SHIRT! That's good right? I mean yobs don't wear shirts right? and the crotch of the jeans are actually in his crotch, you know, not like hanging down to his knees so that every last member of his 'crew' and a six foot bong can squeeze in!
OH MY GOD he just banged the door, like reeeally hard and now I can hear her shouting something, oh shit I bet they have a skip load of ASBOS and probably a frothy mouthed Pit Bull and they'll hold dog fights every weekend and lots of ex high security convicts will come over and get high and then they'll find out it's a addicts paradise in here and they'll batter the door down with crow bars and beat me within an inch of my life yelling "where's the killers bitch?"!
Oh wait.... she's wearing crocs.... I think it's all going to be OK.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Bathtub Drama

It's so short because 90% of the recording consisted of a shaky picture, accompanied by my pathetic shrieking, foul language and a distasteful death that some may have found disturbing.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Bloody hell, is that a smile I see Jilly?

It feels wonderful to sit down and type an entry in almost complete relaxation and before I say any more I want to express my appreciation and thanks for all the lovely emails, phone calls and texts from people over the last few weeks, your kindness makes me warm and fuzzy inside and although I may not have got back to each and every person individually, please know that each and every one of you has helped me cope in one way or another.

I've just tried to type a paragraph to justify why I may appear to be over dramatic about this whole situation, but I can't put it across sufficiently. All I can say is that when I read my last few blog entries, I feel almost embarrassed. They read to me as if I think I'm the only person in the world who is/has watched a parent die. Please know that I don't think that, that I'm not in place where I feel hard done by or that I am a victim, but only that because of the life I've lived and my unusual living circumstances, my dad isn't just a dad to me, he is my stability, my confidence, my self esteem, my guru and my main source of unconditional love, he IS my life and no-one comes or ever will come close to that. The thought of losing the only person who truly understands me makes me feel naked. I'm not saying I am the only daughter to have this amazing relationship with her father, but I am saying that not many do and not many ever will and that if I appear to be over dramatic about my experiences right now, I'm sorry, I'm just being how I really am. Also, if you're reading this and thinking "what the hell is she trying to justify?" then sorry, I just wasted 2 mins of your time, oopsy!

The last two days have been the best in a long time. They involved normality, fresh air, laughter and recreational fun, which is why I'm too tired to tell you right now, so stay tuned for some (what has become rare on this blog) happiness, hurrah I say, hurrah!

Thursday, September 06, 2007

"See, I think you're scared. You put up a big glass wall to keep from getting hurt. But it also keeps you from getting touched"

We interrupt this, errr *silence* to bring you a news flash.

Last Thursday we were told Dad had a couple of weeks to live. Last Friday he developed pleurisy and pneumonia and I spent 24 hours beside what we were told was his death bed. Tomorrow he will be deemed stable enough to come home. Welcome to the roller coaster on which rides the family of the man that defies all odds.

It still stands that he has a couple of weeks to live, weeks in which he will be organising his "wicker coffin because it's environmentally friendly, no Jilly you won't see through the gaps, they're lined" and "celebration of life, at which you better get pissed and enjoy yourselves or else I'll come back and scare the holy beejesus out of ya", whilst mum and I try to recover from the worst week of our lives before it happens all over again.

Please don't say how wonderful it is that he is still with us, Dad would be the first one to argue with you. There is only so much suffering, pain and emotional turmoil that a family can go through without it affecting their relationship. The cancer is the not the worst thing about this situation, in fact it's the easiest to deal with. It's not how they portray it in the movies, I blame my rose tinted glasses on 'Love Story'.

Life's Rich Tapestry