Dear Mr Geek,
I’d like to write something profound about the rejuvenating qualities of spending time with your best friends. Certainly calmer and a bit more pragmatic than I was a few days ago.
Due in part to my brain soaking in oramorph, I will stick instead to a Julie Andre’s style list of things that you do. A few of my favourite things if you will…
Making light of things with blatant innuendo. You see the breast in everyone.
Kneading my shoulders. I wind myself up tighter than a tightly wound thing and add to my muscle knots and tension headaches by being Anxiety Girl. You methodically go through and untangle those muscles and manage to calm my nerves at the same time.
Providing food. It sounds simple doesn’t it? But I just wasn’t in the right place to start eating today and the “better” feeling from fasting is alluring. You tempted me with nuts & chocolate until I stopped wearing the retaliation from my intestines for eating.
Technically, food credits here go to Mr GypsyTree. Oh this was SO good.
Stroking my hair. This one is odd. I don’t like other people seeing the current state of my hair and so it highlights how comfortable I am around Mr & Mrs GypsyTree having unwrapped my scarves this evening. But instead of wanting to hide my hair from you, I like that the hair that is left is kept back as a gift for just you. What this means is when we lay in bed and you stroke my hair, it’s so much more intimate and creates a little bubble around us where everything is OK.
I’ve felt so unwell this week and I appreciate that you’ve recognised that and adjusted yourself accordingly even though you’ve been stressed out of your mind too. Things always feel much better when we throw poop at it together. We’re a team. And even if I am barely able to string a sentence together, I love you very very much.
I grew up with Harley Quinn as an icon. As a bit of a feminist, this doesn’t for too well as she was (is) the ultimate bunny boiler.
Intelligent woman tries being all independent, but ultimately loses her mind over a man (who fair enough did get her to kill him for messed up reasons). Then, like she had no chance at self esteem, falls in love with self obsessed, manipulative and abusive make up wearing man. That’s the joker btw.
I’m not entirely sure why she was my hero growing up when you put it like that. Oh yeah…. She’s hot, and slightly unhinged.
I present also exhibit B.
My taste in women is questionable at best.
So, somehow I was miffed to find Mr Geek salivating at DC’s latest incarnation of Miss Quinn. It took me a bit of head churning to work out the two themes of why I’m not keen on this one.
1. She’s not even pretending to be the proper Harley Quinn overtly tits in your face sexy with the severely mentally unhinged facade hiding the fatal Freudian flaw of requiring the Joker’s approval of her actions. The HQ of my comic years kicked ass, and spoke to my inner teenage girl, whereas this one appears to wiggle her ass in a girly, slightly unnervingly underagey way whilst kicking nothing but her cute shoes (they are good shoes).
2. She’s hot. Mr Geek is right. And right now, I’m about as sexy as a vasectomy. Performed by Dr Zoidberg.
I’m a bit jealous…. and probably out to stick with Deadpool. He’s far more my style.
I suppose I ought to pass comment as this is realistically an issue that will affect us all the way down here in the softy South. But unlike all the slightly unhinged facebook & twitter posts I keep seeing from those local to me, I’m not going to demand a vote, or tell them what to do.
Well, because it’s a union. A bit like a marriage. We work as partners (ok, there’s 4 of us, so it’s a bit polyamorous, but just bear with this metaphor). And now one of us is considering leaving.
We’re in that crucial stage of any relationship breakdown where one partner needs to make up their mind (in this case, vote). We are the one left behind, and just like a marriage going badly, we don’t get to say to the other partner “this isn’t over until I say it is”. Why? Because frankly that’s just creepy. It’s not up to us.
Scotland will make up it’s own autonomous mind & we need to respect that. If we can prove to them that we are still the country that they wanted to join with until referendum us do part, then we need to get ourselves to the political gym and start paying enough attention to them, because let’s be honest, we’ve been a neglectful partner. Perhaps get Cameron to wear the occasional skimpy nightie (oh ew ew ew no, too far..). But if they decide that they want to leave, we should have the good grace to wish them well & let them go without turning up drunk, crying and snotty at Hadrians Wall begging to just hold them. We have more dignity than that & that sort of behaviour will just make them delete our phone number.
So Scotland, this is us, just a country standing in front of you another country, asking you to love us.
And if not, you know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together & blow.