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waiting for the whoosh - badgergirl's journal

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  • Interesting analogy....

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    • Originally posted by ssn679doc View Post
      Interesting analogy....
      I try. Once a Eng Lit student, always an Eng Lit student.
      I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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      • Yarns

        Let me unravel a ball of story wool for you. Remember, though, that the truth is only one strand spun together with the words - where there's art there's lies.

        I began my second year at university. Pops was pretty much my only friend (wooed with homemade fishcakes on a chance visit) as first year had been devoted to applying the bellows to the ashes of first love. I got excellent grades in first year, not so much in second year (when it counted). I treated every first seminar the same - a trial to be overcome. Naturally reserved and awkward unless under the influence, I had formulated a standard opener for all those yearmates I should have have got to know the year before, but hadn't: hi! I'm sorry, I don't know your name.

        I walked into creative writing 101. This was the class I was most excited by; the class I'd had to audition for by submitting a portfolio. I saw the back of a head. Neatly formed, with short brown hair. It seemed bathed in a pool of light. 'Hi! Can I sit here? I'm sorry, I don't know your name.'

        Her name was best friend and she was surprised I was sorry, because how could I know her name? She'd only just arrived from UMass on a one-year placement. Her voice was sweet and soft, like molasses. Her hands. I will know her hands until the day I die: small, fine, strong. It was love and awe at first sight. From the moment I saw the back of her head bathed in the Autumnal sun of a northern English afternoon, it was love.

        It was a slow waltz to friendship and I almost ruined it by stepping on her toe during the overture (is that a mixed musical metaphor? I fear it is). We recovered from that accidental bruising. I spent days and nights at her place - on the campus out of town, in a bleak tower: married quarters for overseas students. I got to know Mr best friend almost as well as best friend. He was wonderful too. He saw light and shadow, manipulated photons to create magic. He drew back curtains I had never known were there. My drunken bones slept laid out on their carpet while they slept behind a tangible dingy grey curtain. Bloody Mary breakfasts quelled hangovers, but did little to dampen my pangs of imminent withdrawal.

        Best friend and I wrote together. Walked together down muddy paths and traversed an aqueduct that spanned a tidal river. We trudged along a canal, scoping suicide spots for fictional lovers.

        I worked in a chippy. I was tormented by the impossibility of my love and the vileness of the owners. I would stare out of the window on to the dark and rainy street and wait for the pubs to turn out so that we would be busy. I'd block out the sounds of Mr Chippy's porn by humming to myself a song best friend had introduced me to

        What is it with youtube vids and MDA recently? If it defaults, here's a direct link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYzyOVsVicM

        I washed up the gravy pan, the curry sauce pan and the mushy peas pan; plastic bags stuffed full of dead rabbits were under the sink. Lucky feet surrounded my feet. The woman hated her daughter (adopted) and adored her son (natural). Knowing I was adopted, she asked for validation, 'No mother could love a cuckoo, could she?'

        Midnight. Sent home with congealed chips and unrequited love.

        Money in my pocket, Pops and I would go dancing. Snog a stranger. Some of the less strange came home. Matt, Mick, Tom, John, Rory...I forget the names. The parties blur now. I wasn't keeping count.

        I took best friend and Mr best friend to the Isle; they took me to Manchester to watch PJ Harvey's Dance Hall at Louse Point tour. We were inseparable. But soon the year was over and with it their stay in Blighty.

        Last edited by badgergirl; 03-14-2013, 03:30 AM. Reason: youtube vid defaulted :(
        I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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        • I am working on it, but I need translation help...

          Chippy - deep-fried fish and french fry shop?
          Snog - smooch, kiss?
          Blighty - England?

          And OMG, that remark about loving a cuckoo... I am floored. May she burn her tits in her deep-fryer, even after all this time.
          I have a mantra that I have spouted for years... "If I eat right, I feel right. If I feel right, I exercise right. If I exercise right, I think right. If I think right, I eat right..." Phil-SC

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          • Originally posted by Crabbcakes View Post
            I am working on it, but I need translation help...

            Chippy - deep-fried fish and french fry shop?
            Snog - smooch, kiss?
            Blighty - England?

            And OMG, that remark about loving a cuckoo... I am floored. May she burn her tits in her deep-fryer, even after all this time.
            Fish and chip shop = battered fried fish, chips are kind of like French Fries' dirty cousin. Northern chippies are known for serving chips n gravy, chips n curry sauce, chips n mushy peas and...wait for it chips n cheese - or any combination of all of these. But what really blew best friend's mind was the chip butty. White bread (often a soft, floury bap [think big burger bun without the seeds]), thick butter, chips and sauce of your choice (tomato or brown). They also sell pickled eggs, pies and things. In Scotland they batter and deep fry pizzas!
            Snog = kissing avec tongue, groping optional
            Blighty = yes, Engerland

            The cuckoo comment is a far shortened summary of what she actually said, which went on for hours and hours each Saturday afternoon.
            Last edited by badgergirl; 03-14-2013, 06:42 PM.
            I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

            Comment


            • Chip butty... Just looked it up and found it on the Wikipedia, with a photo... aha! It is a French fry sandwich! You know, I grew up smashing potato chips into my regular white bread, lunch meat and processed cheese sandwiches. And I instantly loved Germany's "pommes mit mayo", which is French fries with mayonnaise. Holland makes awesome pommes mit mayo, too - better than Germany, even.

              We deep-fry Twinkies, right along with cucumber pickles, and Coke and Pepsi. Seems we Americans are still culinarily related to the Brits, after all this time.

              So if a French fry is a chip in BritSpeak, what is a potato chip called??
              I have a mantra that I have spouted for years... "If I eat right, I feel right. If I feel right, I exercise right. If I exercise right, I think right. If I think right, I eat right..." Phil-SC

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              • Originally posted by badgergirl View Post
                The cuckoo comment is a far shortened summary of what she actually said, which went on for hours and hours each Saturday afternoon.
                That woman doesn't deserve either of her kids.
                I have a mantra that I have spouted for years... "If I eat right, I feel right. If I feel right, I exercise right. If I exercise right, I think right. If I think right, I eat right..." Phil-SC

                Comment


                • Originally posted by Crabbcakes View Post
                  Chip butty... Just looked it up and found it on the Wikipedia, with a photo... aha! It is a French fry sandwich! You know, I grew up smashing potato chips into my regular white bread, lunch meat and processed cheese sandwiches. And I instantly loved Germany's "pommes mit mayo", which is French fries with mayonnaise. Holland makes awesome pommes mit mayo, too - better than Germany, even.

                  We deep-fry Twinkies, right along with cucumber pickles, and Coke and Pepsi. Seems we Americans are still culinarily related to the Brits, after all this time.

                  So if a French fry is a chip in BritSpeak, what is a potato chip called??
                  That would be a crisp. Prawn cocktail for preference.
                  I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                  Comment


                  • Yarns (con't)

                    I tearfully promised to write, back in the days when this meant paper and pen, and visit. They left a box of themselves behind - alarm clock, duvet, tinware dishes (I still have these, they're the dog's food dishes now), a few books and the bleached skull of a ram.

                    I went back to the Iggles (Iggle de Wiggle is my name for the Isle). Summers from age 13 to 21 were all the same: black skirt, white blouse; servicing the grockles in cafes, hotels, guest houses. I do not miss the chambermaiding (people do terrible things in their rooms and much worse in the en suite), but I do miss waitressing - casual flirting, camaraderie, balancing plates up my arm and all of us helping ourselves to the optics after closing on a Friday night. All of us from high school worked on the same strip that summer and we'd congregate after work in the Jolly and then downstairs in the fleapit nitespot Bogeys, known as the living room as we were there every night of the week except Sunday (when it was closed and we had to make do with just the Jolly). If you watch the vid, and my god the soundtrack makes the bathos hit you in the eye, please note that the no trainer policy was vigorously enforced. (Once upon a time, journos from lads' mag extrordinaire Loaded came to visit and were turned away for wearing unacceptable shoes. They ended up in a beachfront bar - you can't see it but Boges is on the front, oh the nights we ran out and skinny dipped - they got trashed, pulled, shagged in the sand, lost their trainers and concluded: THE ISLE OF WIGHT IS THE NEW IBIZA. I wasn't involved in the making of that story, in case you were wondering.)

                    Yes. It was wall-to-wall glamour. There was also snog man. He kept asking me out, but really why would I? He wasn't there to talk to (standard issue local boy) he was there to snog. Eventually he got fed up with this objectification and hid from me...but it took several summers. My goodness, he was was pretty.

                    Anyway. let's get back to the original strand of this yarn.

                    At the end of the summer I had saved enough for flights to the US. Yes, many people had told best friends that they would write and visit, but I meant it. In my innocence, I thought nothing of imposing myself on best friends for three weeks. They were already back at school and I attended one class with best friend (reading Frankie and Zooey for it). Portentiously enough, given recent events, I paid my way by buying the groceries while I was there.

                    There was much talking, thinking, writing and yearning, at least on my part.

                    Now. Here's the thing: when you (I) love someone it becomes easy to love the person that loves that someone too. Mr best friend loved best friend. Aside from the obvious genital differences, Mr best friend offered things that I never could. And, anyway, as I explained to Pops, being with best friend was like trying to live at the top of Everest - the air is thin when you're on top of the world. My emotions were complicated. I was in love with her, with him and with them as a unit.

                    We went to Maine to spend a few days at Mr best friend's family's 'camp' - a cabin next to a lake in the woods. We took micro-beers, wine, spirits, food, books, our journals.

                    One night we were all more than a little trashed, we'd been talking about the continuum model of human sexuality: inanimate to animate was on one axis, gender was on another. At some point we went out on to the jetty to look at the stars. Mr best friend kissed me. I freaked, ran off, cried. Best friend found me in a sobbing, quivering heap - 'but I love both of you,' I wailed.

                    Didn't I just.

                    Certainly for the next two weeks.
                    Last edited by badgergirl; 03-15-2013, 02:12 AM.
                    I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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                    • And we'll return to the whole concept of 'natural' mothering at a later date. Let's just say, I have thoughts.
                      I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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                      • Since we're giving each dramatis personae a song, here's one for Pops:

                        Full of Northern soul. Full.
                        I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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                        • Originally posted by Crabbcakes View Post
                          So if a French fry is a chip in BritSpeak, what is a potato chip called??
                          Crisps

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                          • Originally posted by Crabbcakes View Post
                            Chip butty... Just looked it up and found it on the Wikipedia, with a photo... aha! It is a French fry sandwich! You know, I grew up smashing potato chips into my regular white bread, lunch meat and processed cheese sandwiches. And I instantly loved Germany's "pommes mit mayo", which is French fries with mayonnaise. Holland makes awesome pommes mit mayo, too - better than Germany, even.
                            Go to Greece. Find a skanky looking caff. Order a jug of resina, tomata salata and a gyro patata with aioli. Die happy. Also find a taverna: saganaki, horta and then go to a bar, make eyes at the staff and ask if there's chance of scoring a fanaki (a poor attempt at transliteration - Greek for little kiss) - a free shot. Dance like a loon on the bar until you take a tumble. (But I'm skipping ahead two years.)
                            I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

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                            • A stitch in time

                              I'll interrupt myself to shout: FINISHED! This is a gift for Greek K (who isn't Greek and has yet to be given a song, but I'm thinking on it). Greek K won't come into the story for another two years. Why am I unravelling yarn anyway? Well, it was something Pops said that set me off: put up photos from the glory days to remind yourself who you are and show new friends that there's more to you than what they see. I'm not a big one for photos (and how can I show photos that would explain best friend? although somewhere I do have a photo of the double bed in the camp in Maine...) Since I've quit therapy and husband is always on at me to write I thought I'd kill three birds with one lengthy stone tablet monologue.

                              Last edited by badgergirl; 03-15-2013, 03:59 PM. Reason: typo
                              I like badgers, books and booze, more or less in that order.

                              Comment


                              • Badger That is an amazing Quilt !!!!!! and a cute wee pirate as well !!!!!!!!!
                                well done
                                "never let the truth get in the way of a good story "

                                ...small steps....

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