The Westmonster Daily » home & living

A Mediocre Cry Three Years Ago

admin — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 22:25:41 +0000

Here’s a poem-y text fragment I wrote in my poem-y diary just about three years ago:

I had a good cry today. Didn’t help.

Maybe it wasn’t that good a cry, then. I don’t know what exactly constitutes a good cry. I kind of always thought it was just a cry that helps you get that big proverbial sob out of your throat.

Problem today was – the sob was still there after the cry. Not sure what kind of sob stuff is stuck in there, though. Probably problematic stuff. About life. My life. Maybe the lack of someone else’s life in mine. Maybe the lack of my life in mine. Nothing a cry could cure, anyway.

I should just go to bed. Maybe read for a little while before going to sleep. Some sad book to make me think there’s other people somewhere feeling more like shit than I do. Which is, after all, rather likely.

This summerly, lighthearted, sanguine literary masterpiece was obviously B.H. – before Hubby. I can’t remember feeling that way since we’ve been together. I am happy to report that these days, I mostly cry about other people’s misery, preferrably people in movies or books. Hardly any romantic self-pity involved anymore. Growing up – check. About time, too!

I wonder… do dogs yap on about how doggy they are? Do butterflies feel inclined to tell all the world how they are butterflying around? And… do Grown-Ups even call themselves that?

A Mustang

admin — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 18:04:06 +0000

Today, I was invited by a friend from work and her husband to take their recently adopted viper red ’65 Mustang for a spin with them.

Please hold the line while I *faint*.

For those out there who are not familiar with this magnum opus of a car, here’s what it looks like:

(click on image for source)

The funny thing about this picture (which I googled) is that my colleague’s car also has those dice dangling from the rear view mirror. I’m not entirely sure but maybe that’s a required original part? I don’t know.

All I know is this: Once you set foot and then butt in this car, you’re instantly californicated and it becomes virtually impossible not to be completely blown away. Also, it seems improbable to be in a bad mood in a car like that.

Don’t get me wrong here – I’m not a car nut or anything (I drive a Suzupel, for crying out loud – more on that at a later time), but this baby is just so perfect, I can hardly stand it.

The steering wheel is made of some sort of wood, all of the handles, and knobs, and switches are made of chrome, the gas cap is very much not conveniently located at the very back of the car (motor in the front) – and there are no safety belts! The first thing I did when I sat down in the surprisingly comfy black leather seat was reach for the belt – alas, to no avail! This is one of the very few actually dangerous things that are allowed in Germany: Having no safety belts in a vintage car if they’re not originally there. While everything else is strictly regulated here, the law has not dared to advance into this domain and ruin everything. I was actually very careful not to touch the car door when we were going around a bend, for fear of falling out, but even though it was painfully unusual for me not to be wearing a safety belt, it had a very liberated feel to it, adding to the whole Californication experience.

And the sound! You should hear the sound! There are a few hiccups when you turn the key in the ignition, and then there’s a roar, a short but full-bodied, dangerous roar before the engine finally settles into its rumbling growl.

Also, today being my first time actually sitting in one, I finally understood why a Mustang needs to be called a Mustang: It squirms and prances and skips and bounces, just like a wild horse.

Golly, gee, fellas, he’s so dreamy.

Chairs

admin — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 17:33:04 +0000

For the last two years, whenever I’d been staying at Hubby’s, he’d make me sit on one very uncomfortable wooden folding chair after another in front of the computer. I even had to steal my own cushion out from under the cats purring away sleeping in the old armchair.

Those folding chairs would, one by one, fold under our respective weights – you know, Hubby is actually quite the gentleman and would, from time to time, offer me his comparatively comfy swivel chair and take the folding chair himself. The first wooden chair perished all to pieces and with a real bang under Hubby when we had dinner watching a DVD one unsuspecting evening. The second payed its debt to nature unter yours truly when we had another dinner watching another DVD another unsuspecting evening. Makes me think whether maybe the having dinner part had something to do with all that… Maybe we oughta switch to lighter fare. On the other hand, those chairs might have just been the crappy junk they looked and felt.

Today, Hubby told me the last of the folding chairs had a slivered leg and he wouldn’t stand for me sitting in that piece of crap any longer! So to IKEA we went and had a look around. Here’s the little baby Hubby bought as an addition to the careful interior design of his room, for me to sit in exclusively:

Ain’t she the prettiest little lady chair you’ve ever laid your eyes upon? I know she is the prettiest little lady chair my eyes have ever had the privilege to be laid upon. And a cinch to assemble, too.

So basically, I just wanted you to know: I’m in love!