Wednesday, March 25, 2015

The Effect of the Occlusion of the Carotid Artery on the Human Female (Age 34)

Public Service Announcement #1: 
It is possible, when working out the kinks in a badly strained neck, for a physiotherapist to press just a little too hard on the carotid artery.
Oops.

Public Service Announcement #2:
When a woman is leaning half-passed out against a light post while her husband has stepped sideways to hail a cab to get her home because she can't walk on her own just yet, and you have watched said husband as he propped her up against that lightpost and walked 20 meters up the street to the taxi rank, that is with absolute certainty not the moment to cross a road with the specific purpose of pressing up to within 12 narrow inches of her face, making aggressive eye contact and leering and doing a solid up-and-down of her limp person.

Public Service Announcement #3: 
It would be best to count your blessings that she didn't have the energy to slug you right in the middle of that leer of yours. Because the next time you pull a stunt like that, someone's gonna.

Monday, January 19, 2015

The Blind Spot of Spatial Absurdity (sort of like this title, really)

Sigh... apparently the one place in our flat that I don't check when I'm looking for my purse is the coat-and-purse rack right next to the front door. It's like a gosh-darned blind spot. Or a black hole. This is the third time in a week I've turned the whole flat upside down and the purse is just... hanging there... watching me.
            Can't it know? Put out little blinky lights or discreet whistling noises? Hum "you're being an idiot again" in beeping morse code or three part harmony? I'd be grateful and actually wash off the marks from when I left the lid off my gel-pen and scribbled down the side -
            See? Mutual accommodations and benefits! Pretty please?

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Bah Hachoo Humbug.

I'm sure that flus come at worse times than between Christmas and new year, but this particular time is probably the least fun time of the lot.
Bah Hachoo Humbug.


Let's pretend that my sneezing sounds like this - and feel all holiday happy and fizz.



It's pretty much the reverse of inappropriately lugubrious holiday music, isn't it?

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Post Prandial Phantasies. Burp.

"On the seventeenth day of Christmas
The Elephant said to me -
It's almost HALLOWEEN!"

Someone has a turkey-stuffing hangover...

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Merry Christmas, You-All!

This morning's shower ditty:

"I don't want a lot for Christmas
That is one big honking fib!
I'm dreaming of buckets of gold and rubies
A necklace like a diamond bib

(Just like Maria Christina of the Two Sicilies in her seminal royal portrait of 1830)*

Oh, I just want you for my own
Just how much you're gonna know
When i throw you down, tear off your stockings
And smooch you beneath the mistletoe -
"

At which point Mr Tabubil stuck his head into the shower, asked if I was quite done, and that he was going to be out on the terrace with a boiled egg. Did I want one? There was one for me if i wanted one.

*The line doesn't scan, but pedantic accuracy is important when it comes to Santa's Wish List. You can hum it in E sharp if you like.

Friday, December 12, 2014

Second-rate Holly Jollies.

I am trapped in customer service telephone hell.
            I wouldn't mind so much if the infinite roll of Christmas carols they're playing at me weren't buried in so much static.  Or if they chose versions that weren't maudlin and lugubrious.  
            Stop singing about holly jolly holidays with a catch in your throat.  And if you're going to hang a star upon the highest bough, remember that only Judy ever got away with quavering like that. Your quivers, semi-quivers, demi-quivers and little achey-breachy wibble-wobble-whoopses will not be supplanting Judy as doleful holiday queen anytime soon, alright? Go try a jolly little jingle bells.  Go ahead, try it. Throw in that perky decant about snowflakes if you want, but above all, sing it cheery!  
            I've got  long wait and an epic argument ahead of me and i want to be in a fighting spirit. Not curled up sobbing underneath my Christmas tree while a second-rate celebrity sings a mournful dirge about snowmen.
            Please.  Thank you.  Please.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Zephyrs and Divans and Ladies of Leisure


It's been a quiet few months here at Tabubilgirl. A medical situation has turned me into a Lady of Leisure, and I have spent the spring reclining genteelly on a sofa (proper divans being in short supply) watching the world turn green outside my window, while the Platanos Orientales unfurled their green canopies across the street -
            Which meant coughing (genteelly) into a hanky as the year's first warm zephyrs drew out the platano pollen out from between those green leaves- and then coughing less genteelly and with more steel as the spring winds built in force and the damn trees dropped their annual load of toxic yellow fuzz all over the damn place -
            At which point, picking platano pollen out of my teeth, I decided that Ladies of Leisure were more inclined towards windows firmly shut and Farscape marathons in a darkened room than quiet contemplation of nature's annual miracle.
            That particular miracle is a loaded one. Both barrels.

This past Sunday, when the zephyrs were turned off for the afternoon and the fuzz was away on half-holiday, Mr Tabubil took me for a stroll around our local park. As we progressed toward the children's playground, we noticed that the children we passed seemed to be all lightly tinted pink.
           Their mouths were sticky, their fingers were worse, and their little faces were either looking dazed and ill or carooming off the trees in some sort of hyperactive fit- 
            Leaving Mr Tabubil in the dust, I made a beeline for the playground. The Fairy Floss man was there!
            Our fairy-floss man pushes a hand- cart with a treadle-powered fairy-floss machine. Pumping the treadle with his foot, he dips a wooden stick into the spinning sugar vat, and neatly twirls you a cloud of pink sugar-floss larger than your head. 
            Mr Tabubil treated me to a stick, and I ate it, and life was very good.  We wandered back up the park, and I found a man with a hose who let me wash my hands and drink, and life was even better. Fairy-floss is divine, but sticky is sticky.