nourishing obscurity

My semi-betrothed who cries out her own name in climax and whose epitaph reads:

My name was writ on Diet Coke

… has finally got her butt into gear and reached 100 fine comments.  Ubermouth spends 50% of the time happy with me and 50% of the time never speaking to me again.

This girl who takes seventeen emails to make her point and then writes another two just to make sure I understood has got to be taken note of and her number one fault is her softheartedness.

Whether it’s a bird with a broken wing she takes into shelter [you should see the menagerie she's built up over time] or a fellow blogger who is on his last legs, she comes to the rescue and then gets slapped in the face for her troubles.

I have a secret liking for her blog and though it doesn’t fit in with the Moral Giant image of nourishing obscurity, which it takes an awful lot of effort to keep up – it’s not easy being a good Christian, I can tell you -  here are some of the things which tickle the fancy:

#  As you can well imagine, however, I only LOVE or HATE, because I am far too opinionated to simply like/dislike.   I hate white milk but love chocolate milk. Does this make me racist?   I love being called a psychological mind raper[sic]. It has a certain ring to it, no?

Straight to the heart of politics:

#  One would think that only the real nice people drop like flies. Don’t bastards whom everyone hated ever die?  Why do they [okay, US] get absolved of EVERY nasty fucking thing they ever did the minute they die and are metamorphosed into something they never were, for propriety’s sake?

On Christmas presents:

#  I didn’t even open one present early, when no one was looking, which is my wont ( as I am a big kid like that).  I can’t be trusted alone with wrapped presents.I become a magpie, drawn to the shiny, lovely paper and bows … mesmerising , I tell ya!  Then I have to open EVERYBODY’S, NOT actually responsible.

And I DO re wrap them AND I could get a Oscar for feigning surprise, when I have to endure re opening them on the day.  A proper parent would just buy new ones.

Sensitivity is her second name, as is amply illustrated in her helpful piece: Top Ten Reasons we should all wear Burqas.  Actually, it’s all a bluff.  This is the real Uber [in [brackets]]:

Mum is buying me a pedigree Hungarian Puli puppy for Christmas from the breeder who sent me this pic [to give me an idea of how my puppy looks at 9 wks [which she is]].  Isn’t this the cutest little puppy you ever saw?

… followed by pic of said furry puppy. Now to let you into a little secret about Uber- her voice is too sexy for words, a true honey-dripper [except when she's telling me it's all over, which is mercifully rarely].

[Hope her boyfriend never reads this post.]

Perhaps, in the light of this award for 100 comments, Uber’s should be the last word:

I so love being awarded for no effort whatsoever. As life should be. And what greater rewards for my non-efforts than being presented with an award when I wasn’t even here?

Actually, it was way more than no effort she made on my behalf and I shall eternally keep her here in my heart, this Ubergirl.  I said that for two reasons – one because I know she hates slush and two because it means she doesn’t get the last word in, LOL.

Filed under: Blogging, Society & human issues