Made a wrong turn, once or twice,
Dug my way out, blood and fire,
Bad decisions, that's alright,
Welcome to my silly life,
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood,
Miss 'No way, it's all good',
It didn't slow me down,
Mistaken, always second guessing,
Underestimated, look I'm still around…
There are only seven women in this world that I would happily shag, and Pink is one of them. Stop looking at me like that, every woman has a list of women she’d like to shag, and any woman who tells you different is lying. That’s right, we’re all closet lesbians, in our minds at least. And no, I’m not going to tell you who the other six are, not yet anyhow, I’m saving those stories for slow weeks, not unlike this one. Strange thing is, when Pink first burst on to the scene with her luminous hair and teeny-bopper tunes, I was not a fan, despite the fact that I was not far from being a teeny-bopper myself, the slick pop tunes held no appeal. And then she released her sophomore album, slamming her own earlier music, and in the process completely transforming her style and finding her unique (and slightly crazy) voice. That’s when my love affair with her began. This woman says whatever she thinks/feels, good and bad, without any of the self-censorship bullshit characteristic of someone trying to manipulate our emotions for their own (often financial) gain. The fact that she’s a smart cookie (see ‘Dear Mr President’) is simply a delightful bonus. Like I said, one of seven…
Dug my way out, blood and fire,
Bad decisions, that's alright,
Welcome to my silly life,
Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood,
Miss 'No way, it's all good',
It didn't slow me down,
Mistaken, always second guessing,
Underestimated, look I'm still around…
There are only seven women in this world that I would happily shag, and Pink is one of them. Stop looking at me like that, every woman has a list of women she’d like to shag, and any woman who tells you different is lying. That’s right, we’re all closet lesbians, in our minds at least. And no, I’m not going to tell you who the other six are, not yet anyhow, I’m saving those stories for slow weeks, not unlike this one. Strange thing is, when Pink first burst on to the scene with her luminous hair and teeny-bopper tunes, I was not a fan, despite the fact that I was not far from being a teeny-bopper myself, the slick pop tunes held no appeal. And then she released her sophomore album, slamming her own earlier music, and in the process completely transforming her style and finding her unique (and slightly crazy) voice. That’s when my love affair with her began. This woman says whatever she thinks/feels, good and bad, without any of the self-censorship bullshit characteristic of someone trying to manipulate our emotions for their own (often financial) gain. The fact that she’s a smart cookie (see ‘Dear Mr President’) is simply a delightful bonus. Like I said, one of seven…
Folks, its time to switch gears. This searching for a relationship story is becoming a bit of a drag, no? I mean really, how many times can a girl ruminate on why she doesn’t have a man? Its time to move the fuck on to something else, something of slightly greater maana, like the price of unga, or the strange tremor in my left leg when I’m walking downhill.
Cue silence…
This is the problem, I have nothing to talk about. I can’t talk about work, because my job requires some discretion, that and I choose not to bite the hand that’s feeding me. I can’t talk about my family, because they also prefer discretion, and they can and will beat me if I say anything about them. I refuse to talk about politics and such like nonsense till December, purely because I’m in denial, trying to ignore all the bullshit noise around me in the hope that one day I’ll wake up and it will be March 5th. Looks like all I have left is sex, but for some reason I have nothing to say on that most entertaining topic, probably because I’m currently (read reluctantly) practising forced chastity (no more booty call, remember? I know, not exactly one of my more brilliant ideas…). Which means I have nothing else to write about? How strange…
That was Wednesday night. As you may have noticed, I didn’t post midweek, and for that I sincerely apologise, but when the cow refuses, the bloody cow refuses. She’s still refusing, seems I’m a dog with a bone this month, my mind refuses to look at anything other than this thing called relationships. Thing is, I can honestly say that when I started blogging, I never thought I’d become that chick who keeps going on and on about this rubbish. Do I sound disgusted? I’m not, well, not entirely. I’m just tired, I don’t like spending time on something unless it’s fruitful, and, to my mind, the endless questioning has already given me the answers I was seeking, or in some cases hasn’t, to my great surprise. At this point I’m simply flogging a dead horse into the afterlife, and you know what I think about afterlife flogging. I’m afraid I have nothing to say on matters relationship right now, not because I now know all there is to know, but because I think some answers can’t be found, or perhaps shouldn’t be found, on a blog, even if the fabulous blog is mine.
Ah yes, I’m still quite delusional…
Ladies and gentlemen, with your permission, I beg your leave. I want to turn off my computer for a couple of weeks, get out into the big bad world and see if I’ve actually learnt anything over the past year, or if I need to start asking more questions of myself, different questions. Knowledge is a funny mistress, the more she gives, the more she demands, and my mistress is currently demanding interaction with others, hopefully wiser than me, or at the very least with a different perspective. On the up side, I am an infinitely troubled individual, therefore you are guaranteed more tales of foolishness when I get back. Stop frowning, I won’t be gone for long, only two weeks as usual. I’ll be back, most probably with a foolish tale, hopefully deviant, on December 9th, 10 in the a.m., GMT +3.
I’d tell you not to break anything while I’m gone, but we both know you don’t listen to a damn word I say, clearly. For those that feel so inclined, the ON THE DOWN LOW... page is up, feel free to tell a tale of your own. I’ve often found that getting shit off your chest is muchos therapeutic (although, if my continued poking around in the dark is any indication, perhaps not, no?), just don’t expect much of any reply, buggers around here tend to be a bit quiet, no? Well, that and the fact that there are only kendo three people here on any given day, and that’s counting me. I’m just saying, if you’re looking for adoration of the masses, you might want to go elsewhere, say facebook?
You're so mean, when you talk,
About yourself, you were wrong,
Change the voices in your head,
Make them like you instead,
So complicated,
Look happy, you'll make it,
Filled with so much hatred,
Such a tired game,
It's enough, I've done all I could think of,
Chased down all my demons,
I've seen you do the same…
About yourself, you were wrong,
Change the voices in your head,
Make them like you instead,
So complicated,
Look happy, you'll make it,
Filled with so much hatred,
Such a tired game,
It's enough, I've done all I could think of,
Chased down all my demons,
I've seen you do the same…
The song is ‘Fuckin’ Perfect’, and thanks to my dustup with the powers that be I am compelled to state that despite the lack of quotation marks, I am quoting these lyrics verbatim, duly accredited to the recording artist. I have no intention of using them for any form of personal gain, save emotional, I’m just being an over-enthusiastic fan talking about a good tune, and occasionally streaming (not sharing mind you) them, possibly without a license, but, again, not for any gain, save emotional. Really. Slight detour. You’d think that the fact that I’m usually talking about the song I’m quoting in glowing terms would be an indication of my lack of ill motive, but nooooo… I was slapped with a cease and desist. Really? Fair use, anyone? You’d think I was bloody
