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July 26, 2005
Lip service
My favourite dish, whilst languishing (moping)in Penang (Malaysia)used to be Hainan Chicken rice.
One day i asked the owners to cook me one that was HALAL--(they advertised that it was available)as i wanted to see if there was any difference in taste
This is what they said:
'ARE YOU CLAZY?'(THEY WERE CHINESE)---WE VELLY BUSY---WE NO HAVE TIME TO DO THE SIRRY THINGS---WE GO OUT OF BUSINESS----WE TELL THEM (MOSLEMS) 'IT HALAL' AND THEY BELIEVE.
Belief sytems are very easy to manipulate: you just need a figurehead,---someone who has been dead for hundreds or thousands of years----lots of robes and jewels, music, incense---a tatty piece of vellum that purports to be a scripture written by THE MAN years ago-----and then you need FEAR AND IGNORANCE.
And folk there is PLENTY of that around at the moment
I have seen very few religions that rule with LOVE.
Fire and Brimstone, The Witchfinder General---Hell and eternal pergatory or damnation (like being put on hold to classical musak when your blood is imploding with hot rage)---this is your fate if you do not do as you are told.
Well i would like to start one.
Naturally it will be called BODY WORSHIP. This time the figurehead will be a woman who is (kind of) ALIVE. Naurally it will be MOI.
There will be no churches, or flagrant waste of money on solid gold domes.
There will be no pope, pontiff or priest to tell you lies and fiddle with the books or your sons and daughters.
You don't have to wear silly clothes in silly colours---and you don't have to be kept in abject miserable poverty and servitude.
What you DO have to do is : 'BE EXCELLENT TO ONE ANOTHER'
Yeah, i KNOW it's a line from BILL AND TED'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE---but the sentiments still hold true.
If you fail to comply, you won't disappear or be tortured by the Body Worship Police.
The fact that you will continue living life as a humourless git will be sentence enough.
HOWEVER,---- as high priestess and ultimate SEX GODDESS ON HIGH--i think it is only fair to co-opt the feudal system----that is whereby i get to deflower/teach all male virgins (over 16)who look remotely like (swoon) KEANU REEVES.
C'mon fellas!!! I HAVE TO HAVE SOME PERKS OF THE JOB .
Posted by Letitcia at 12:25 PM | Comments (0)
Shite World
'Not tonight i've got a headache'
No, i didn't actually say that--but since i had a migraine---a night of T.V rather that 'gentleman callers' was in order---
What a bloody nightmare.......
So, after the News at Six..... (wrongful killing, death toll in Egypt, mistrust on 'both sides' ie: Muslims and non Muslims)
--we cheerily skip along to 'the Chechen problem' where people are being fed horse shit (media wise) and communities are being made to disappear----
--to guys who actually want to join the Foreign Legion (due to a misplaced romantic ideal)----
Oh i forgot, on the other side was about how the internet propogates and promotes the tenets of Bin Laden acolytes----
----News at Ten for the latest roll call of deaths---not only in the name or terror, but a body of people (in Niger) starving to death, and i'm sticking my neck out here----it wouldn't be because the rulers of the country misappropriate every dollar given in aid to go on shopping trips to Paris and to build more jewel encrusted palaces now would it??----
Then i go to ITV 2 ('cos i'm digitally integrated)and catch a peak at Terminator 2----there was a line spoken half way through which resonated with me: 'We're never going to make it if we keep killing each other are we?'
Quite----i'm off to bed to have a wank.
Posted by Letitcia at 12:35 AM | Comments (0)
July 24, 2005
I've 'ad 'im
It's inevitable.
If a swish, swank, hip -hop -happening - eating place to see and be seen opens in Brighton---and if that place is fairly elitest and expensive---then as sure as eggs are eggs I AM GOING TO BUMP INTO LOADS OF MY PUNTERS (and their wives)
They are the only people who can afford it
It's all very amusing-----
I do wish some of my patrons wouldn't give me the kind of look which says: 'you should be manacled to your work bench (bed) until you are required again'---like i'm some sub species that doesn't socialise or have an ORDINARY social life.
So it was one Sunday lunchtime and the luxurious resteraunt was RAMMED TO THE GILLS with 'those who have been Body Worshipped'
You have to feel for the guys, there they are hosting and paying for a get together with family and friends and their OTHER LIFE is sitting at another table wearing a hat and an enigmatic smile
They go some pretty strange colours--- (what i term a kaliedescope of guilt or shame):-----white, green or red.
I swear i even saw the colour purple once.
I can practically set my watch by the number of days that it will be (2 or 3)before i see them again.
I get interrogated as to who i was with, how did i know them---did they know of our association.
Make no mistake, they come to see me precisely because i AM confidential and then question to what degree, when i have the temerity to set foot outside my front door and do NORMAL stuff,just like normal people do.
Some of them panic so much that they FOLLOW ME TO THE LOO (i am not making this up)to say:'Don't say anything'.
This is highly offensive.
I would never dream of putting a patron in a compromising position by looking in his direction for a nanosecond longer than is usual--though on this particular day it would have been a scream to stand up, bash on a glass for silence and proclaim: I've had him, i've had him---and him---and since i never forget a face i've sat on---HIM as well.
Now that's what i would call a KODAK moment.
Posted by Letitcia at 11:44 PM | Comments (0)
July 21, 2005
Get yer tits out for the lads
A few years ago, i felt that body fascism had reached it's nadir---i looked down from my eerie, overlooking the pavement, and saw:..............A WANKING MAN.
The ultimate irony was not lost on me. Don't laugh, but i felt a mixture of annoyance, impotence, revulsion and i also felt a tad frightened (titter ye not)
The guy had obviously seen me sitting on the balcony, though in no way was i in such a state of nudity to warrant such attention.
I was quite happily reading about how the Hang Seng and Dow jones had added 300 points overnight and that the Footsie was at an all time high (pushing the 7000 barrier)---when my attention was drawn to a car that was parked on the road, but blocking the entrance to the next door's forecourt.
'He'd better move before the 'witch of the south' twitches her curtains and runs out to him' i thought.
He appeared to be having trouble winding up what appeared to be a very stiff window.
On closer inspection, i could see that it wasn't the window which was enjoying the wrist action--- and as for what WAS being tugged--- turgidity was not in question.
I rang the police.
'There's a guy masturbating outside my flat' i complained
'Is he on your property madam?' the call centre guy replied.
'He's in his car, on the side of the road---looking up at me---and he's erm wanking'
'So he's not in fact trespassing then Madam' said ther call centre dolt who was in danger of me crawling down the phone wire and ripping out his throat
'Well no, but surely he is contravening certain anti social behaviour as in 'lewd in public' or something' i snapped
He droned on about this that and the other, but was not telling me what i wanted to hear. I mean, even the bird from Eastenders got done for fellating her OWN boyfriend in public.
'In which case, i will just have to go down there myself' i petulantly stated.
'I strongly advise you not to do that Madam, he may be armed'
Ha!! well his weapon was neither dangerous nor concealed---and that was my very point.
'Perhaps if you go inside for a while, he will leave of his own accord' Mr impassive and impervious suggested.
Drawing breath to remonstrate, i realised that this is what the crime is all about---it's about power.
So i bade farewell to 'Mr useless as a chocolate teapot' and cowered---yes COWERED behind my drapes until the bastard had either left or finished the 'job in hand'
After a while the coast was clear and i took up my position on my balcony once more----5 mins later the wanker was back----i went back inside and rang the police once again.
I got the same phone controller.
We pretty much went laboriously through the former conversation until he said:
'you must be doing something to incite the guy'
When i had finally picked myself up from the floor of incredulity and taken any hint of umbridge out of the timbre of my voice, i told him calmly and concisely what i was wearing.
SARONG FROM WAIST TO FLOOR--AND MATCHING TRES ATTRACTIVE BIKINI TOP.
One would think that this was perfectly acceptable sunbathing apparel on a torrid day where the mercury was hitting 90---
'Are you --what i mean to ask is----bosom wise-----do you-----HAVE YOU GOT A LARGE BUST madam?'
I told him i did, and also informed him that as far as i knew---THERE WAS NO LAW AGAINST HAVING BIG TITS.
He GRUDGINGLY ACCEPTED THIS STATEMENT.
But the subtext/unspoken twaddle was: 'if you have massive mammaries, what do you expect'
So that's O.K then.
Beaten into submission by horny man's inability to stop playing with himself when confronted with bewitching jugs.
Well PAINT ME BLACK AND CALL ME BWANA!!
I'm going to get one of those protective splatter guards (like Lady Di had when going into the bomb disposal zone) and i will fry my baps with impunity.
If the plonkers make a habit of it, i WILL post their number plate to the cops, just so they can get an official warning.
Even better, i will/ can get friendly officail help with regard to addresses matching DVLA records.
I just want to see the look on the twit's face when i rock up and start 'touching myself inappropriately' whilst opposite his house.
I will of course make sure that i am not on his property.
THAT WOULD BE AGAINST THE LAW.
Posted by Letitcia at 10:35 PM | Comments (0)
Gay enclave in silent coup.
I always knew the demographics for my city were loaded against HETEROSEXUAL little ol' me, but sod me if the lunatics have not COMPLETELY taken over the asylum-----
Whilst having a pre BODY WORSHIP chat with a patron, he related to me an incident which happened to him several days previous.
There is a rather unpreposessing little Italian resteraunt a stone's throw from where i live---all check table cloths and freshly made pizza----- family run and owned.
My patron (or victim depending on which way you look at it)enjoyed a meal there, and was struck by what a friendly time he was having, both with the staff and other diners alike.
One diner (male) asked him if he 'fancied getting a beer later'
His response was no, due to the fact he had important company work to complete.
The diner retorted:'YOU SHOULDN'T BE IN THIS AREA ALONE IF YOU'RE NOT CRUISING FOR TRADE'
Excuse the profanity, but FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!!!!
I have been so busy tending to my flock and shamelessly promoting myself---that this silent coup (or rather ****dangles limp wrist**** CCCOOOOOooooooeeeeeee!!!!)has somewhat passed me by.
In fact i'm waiting to be exterminated by the Gay police for having the temerity to reside in their midst.
I'm tempted not to leave the house---not even for champagne----they can easily set up road blocks along the main thoroughfare---and if my identity card does not scream raving poofter----it will be the cattle truck to Bognor for me, and forced labour at a Butlin's holiday camp.
The world has officially gone MAD.
Posted by Letitcia at 12:37 PM | Comments (0)
July 12, 2005
Livin' on the front line
******Sing along with me folks*****
'SUMMERT-I-M-E AND THE LIVIN' IS e-a-s-y----'
Ha!!! Not if you live on the seafront it aint-----
It's a most clement English Summer's day----seagulls are scudding across an azure sky---the cushions are plumped, the beverage de jour (depending on the mood) is ready on the balcony---sunglasses, reading glasses--a month's supply of unread glossy mags and Sunday Supplements---all the ingredients for a well earned rest and relaxing time you would think---Wrong.
You can be up and down so many times you may as well be doing squat thrusts at the gym.
Just as the first line is about to be read and the first sip is about to be swallowed---something is trying to attract your attention from down below (OOoooer)---by that i mean people who just HAPPEN TO BE PASSING BY.
'Just happen to be passing by' they coo.
They are lying.
I would respect them more if they could confess: 'its a bonza day and you have the best view in the city' or 'i fancy a glass of fizz and i know you always have one on the go'
What really cranks me up is that they are often only one of TEN people who have tried that particular ruse on the very same day.
I did used to be putty in their manipulative hands, but my drinks bill was horrendous and i never felt as if i had time to myself.
Don't misconstrue, i like quality company and have been told i am very welcoming and gregarious----however it has ALWAYS been a rule in MY abode: RING FIRST.
The reasons are manifold.
'Never arrive somewhere unannounced--you might not like what you see when you get there'.
This was advice received from a no good, two timing boyfriend----who was drenched in both the perfume (cheap smelling cat's piss) and the sweat of a stray shag.
Then there are times when you just want the world and his dog/baby/mate to '**** off and die', and i am determined to have the choice.
'I was banging on your door the other day!!!' said a neighbour in an accusing manner.
'Really?' i replied 'i never answer the door unless i a) know who it is, or b)have invited them'
'But you was IN--i could hear your AC/DC blaring out'
'That's as maybe, but sometimes it's nice to be alone' i explained.
My mate Kym has perfected the noble art of inscrutability.
She can ignore the persistent, fervent ring or knock at the door---even though the potential visitor has an actual SIGHTING of her through the door or the window.
She is not in the least embarassed.
Like myself, she feels the onus of responsibility is on the bugger daft enough to rock up unannounced in the first place.
'Hear hear!!' i thought, and have followed her lead ever since.
It's not good enough to refuse entry or wangle out of it with an excuse---one has to feel not one iota of guilt or responsibility for the refusal or the 'wasted trip'.
And 'oh to be in England (now that i have mastered that same art)----and now that summer's here.'
Posted by Letitcia at 12:24 PM | Comments (0)
July 09, 2005
The Ghost of the Fens
Every body was talking about it---finally, a bit of excitement in the wastelands of the dreary (to me) dismal Fens.
I was determined to superslueth and get to the the heart of the matter----------
I once had a boyfriend (hairdresser), whose name has since become a swear word in my Mother's house.
She was gutted that i had given him his dating 'P.45', since he used to give her the going rate for 'hairdos for the mother of a loved one'
His brother- in- law was a postman, and on one Sunday lunch he actually spoke to me in a semi civil manner.
This was a cause of great astonishment to me, since the hairdresser's family froze me out of any/every conversation, and his harridan from hell mother was the worst offender.
My crime was to be too trashy (peroxided hair), tarty (fishnets and sky scraper stilletoes---- with barely there mini skirts), braless (and boy were they big and firm) and basically not good enough for the likes of them.
I was too young to have found my voice in those terrible days and they really made me suffer: ****a nervous tic appears in this writer's eye at the very memory of it*****
The brother in law was talking about an apparition that appeared out of a copse (small wood) within a mile of where i lived.
The postmen (at the central sorting and collection office)were scared witless. Nobody wanted to drive the mail van from Kings Lynn to collect from my village because every Sunday for Months the 'ghost' would pass in front of it---in exactly the same place.
I thought it was all jolly exciting and against my Mother's fervent instructions not to 'go up to that bad place', i took a constitutional as usual, after i had devoured her best in the world Rhubarb Crumble
I was a bit disappointed not to see the ghoul, though i DID see the mail van doing about 80mph in a 30 zone.
I caught sight of his face----he looked as if he had seen a ghost.
I repeated this every sunday for weeks---having a walk, picking wild flowers/berries or gardening being the only thing to do in my Norfolk hamlet after Lunch.
The next time i saw the brother in law he said that it was touch and go whether they could find a volunteer to collect our mail in the village, though he was next up for a tour of duty.
They felt it must be a poor soul who had lost her life in that place many years ago,
'Why do you say that?' i asked
'It's the clothes she wears'he replied
'Well what kind are they?' i pressed
'They used to wear hats years ago didn't they-----and she's dressed all in black----right down to the floor---she wears one of those old-fashioned furs with tails and feet all over the place----her face is deathly white and her lips are bloody green'
HE WAS IN FACT DESCRIBING ME.
I was the 'ghost of the fens' due to the fact that my mother thrives on routine. I would finish my repast at EXACTLY the same time, wear my 'winter uniform' as described by the scaredy cat mail boyos---go into the wood to pick primroses and violets for her AND EMERGE bang on 3.15 just as their van would hurtle round the country lane.
Could i help it if i was years ahead of my time with the angst and ennui ridden GOTHIC LOOK?
I had a cunning plan.
The next Sunday i was waiting for him, and when he rounded the corner i waved to him.
The next time i was at the family from hell's home i asked where Peter was.
'He's on sick leave' they said gravely 'his nerves are so bad since he saw that woman, that he cannot work'
'Oh, what a terrible shame' i offered, suppressing a wry smile.......
Posted by Letitcia at 02:13 PM | Comments (0)
July 05, 2005
The youth of today eh?
It has long been a source of great amusement to my mates, family and passing aquaintences---the fact that i prefer much younger men-----I am always looking for a perfect fraction----someone who is at LEAST half my age.
I had a date with that very thing only the other day------this is how it panned out----------
All the signs were good, he rang to say he would be 10 mins late (good boy).
Though already i thought that it was slightly tiresome that his mobile was: a) out of order b) been nicked c) out of credit (due to the fact that he did not have a job), and therefore he had to go to a phone box to close the final details of my address.
So, the death knell of my buzzer rang eventually.
He was as advertised (from a dating site) 6'4", cute and with size 13 Timberlands---and we all know what THAT means don't we ladies?
'I see you arrived empty handed' i said
'Wot, you though' i wus gonna come wiv me overnight didya' he replied
This is where you know the age gap cannot be bridged. Sure older women fancy younger men and vice versa---but would it be SSssssooooomuch trouble for them to have by passed the JERK phase???
I had ensured fresh flowers, alcohol---and fluffy towels were available, and he, in is youthful arrogance had just rocked up.
Like i was suppposed to be grateful.
Within another 5 minutes his first brain numbingly gauche statement tumbled from his lips like a Pyreneean avalanche: 'Yeah, your-- like ---similar age to me Mum, --------ME MUM LOOKS YOUNGER THOUGH.
Resisting the urge to head butt him, i smiled sweetly as he slowly but surely hanged hinself with the misplaced swagger of the barely post pubescent.
'Wotcha pay for this then' he asked, surveying the view and opulent surroundings
I declined to answer.
'I reckon on a scale of 1 to 10, i'm 9 an'half' he beamed.
(Gee, aren't I just the lucky little possum)
I declined to comment on that too
Soon he was making the worst kind of social gaffe (where you are actually looking to get laid) every 5 minutes.
'Is that a hair on yer boob?' he asked
I couldn't see one, but he persisted: 'yeah, it IS' he exclaimed holding the 'ducks down' of a blond hair (which MOST women have on their breasts) between his thumb and forefinger.
''Ere, yer not a bloke are ya??' he exclaimed.
Through gritted teeth i assured him i wasn't.
Stumbling on through this less than torrid date, we reached a stroking, touching hands thing on my leather lounge.
'ow much longer have i got to keep doin' this for?' he whined.
If this young buck wanted pulverised knackers, he was going the right way about it.
He then proceeded to lecture me :'Ya didn' make it plain wot it was you wus lookin' for in yer ad'.
In short he wanted a zipless fuck withing 30 seconds of arrival, hell, even my PATRONS DON'T WANT THAT.
Were i to have lived at---oh, lets say number 100 in 'somewhere in Brighton road', he wanted to shaft me to within yards of 107. This was not a happening thing.
I questioned his M.O and his answer was: 'yeah but you only do THAT kind of soft lovey dovey stuff with someone you luv an' care abart'.
I really (i am being serious) MUST set up an academy of love making skills.
I couldn't help thinking of all the poor ladies and gents who are putting up with a perfunctuary time.
I personally will not put up with that kind of shit.If people are not inately doing it, then they will just have to be taught.
And i know the very teacher to do it!!
Step this way ingenues!!!
Posted by Letitcia at 04:53 PM | Comments (0)