Fake Definitions: fantabulastounding

Disclaimer: This is obviously a fake definition.Or I'm trying to forge a new word this time...

fantabulastounding

Pronunciation: /fanˈtabjʊləstaʊndɪŋ/

Definition of fantabulastounding

adjective

informal

• most excellent; quite wonderful; absolutely awesome in every way:
  this young lady is really fantabulastounding

Origin:

May, 15th, 2013 (© Dru de Lanor): blend of fantastic and fabulous and astounding.

Being Nice Doesn't Pay: Work (Almost) Woes

Am I perfect?

Hell, no.

Can't I make a mistake?

Of course, I can. I'm only human.

But (and that's a massive, gigantic BUT), when I make a mistake, I admit it.

Years ago, in college, I told one of my classes one big, silly thing. One student told me I was wrong; I checked, she was right, and the following week, I made a big mea culpa and corrected my mistake.

I'm formatted that way.

Because it's better to correct a mistake and admit that one was wrong (that's what it says in my book).

As well, even though I'm not working in anything dangerous or vitally important for the safety of the entire planet, I'm extremely careful about my job and the things I have to do because:

a- I'm paid to do my job properly

b- it's the right thing to do

c- I'd have panic attacks if I didn't do my job properly

Now... in one of my several jobs, I had to work with someone...

I'm not a fan of team work, because there's nearly always someone below me who thinks "it" should be above me (and I'm usually too nice to bark).

Today, I did bark.

Imagine the Mars Project:

Supervisors: A, B & C

Coordinator: me (D)

Rest of the team: E to Zx2 (big team; over thirty people, in fact)

I was to collect files from each team members. I got two files early, about twenty files on time, the rest was late and one... one was never given to me.

Since I'm not the kind who points and says '"it" didn't do "its" work', I forgot BUT I noted it down in my archives (I've got archives for everything; I've got so many folder, sub-folders and sub-sub-folders that the Minotaur would be at home in my files).

Since I'd forgotten who the lazy one was, I looked for the missing file during a meeting. When I remembered that I was never given the file, I didn't want to embarrass the person, and I didn't say that "it" had let me look for the file whilst I'd never had it to begin with. [Note to self: NEVER AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

The person who didn't do "its" work went to see C to complain that I'd lost the file, and C, being too good a heart and too trusting, asked me in front of A and B what happened with the lost file.

Good thing that I can prove that the "team" members is the one lying, otherwise I'd have to explain why I've lost a file (for the moment, I've never lost anything: I'm paranoid about work, and I'm obsessed with order).

I can't believe that this person went above me to save "its" hide.

It proves that snakes (apologies to actual snakes) are amongst us, and that it doesn't pay to be nice because someone will stab you in the back.

From now on, in all my jobs, I'll no longer be nice. Oh, and I'll name and shame, since it'll make sure that I have witnesses on top of my well-kept archives in order to prove that I'm innocent of any wrongdoing.

The gall of some bipeds will never cease to amaze (and sadden) me.

Book Cover for my tragedy: "Paper Cranes" (+ a poll)

*drags self to blog and collapses*

Gaaah!

I'm nowhere near done on the cover of Play#1, but I'd like to show you the first ideas that hopped into my brain... and you can silently vote, too.

Which "test" cover do you prefer?

Image 1:

Image 2:

Image 3:

Image 4:

Image 5:

Image 6:

Image 7:

Image 8:

Image 9:

So? Anything remotely worth improving and polishing, or back to the drawing board for my Paper Cranes?

Quick Question...

Quick poll, in fact.

 

I'm writing.

I finished a sub-part in my fantasy novel, and now the Sci-Fi P.I. plot bunny is demanding its turn.

I'm working on the details of the nine stories that are going to make this "universe".

Funnily enough, I cannot start writing until I have a title, and so, I am currently working on the nine titles (because, yes, I know where the whole thing is going: the plot's been brewing in my head for over a year).

Would you growl at me, or be tempted to curse me, if the titles were in Ancient Greek (*cough* and not translated *cough*)?

Time to vote..........................................

[Recipe] Regency Spiced Biscuits

Our beloved Auntie Beeb recently broadcast a beautiful documentary about the planning and full reconstitution of a Regency ball: Pride and Prejudice: Having a Ball.

I love Jane Austen, dancing, costumes and cooking and baking, so that was more than a treat.

At the end of the documentary, we were informed that more information could be found on their page on the BBC website, and I clicked there.

I discovered three extra clips... and one was about Regency spiced biscuits.

If you have access to the videos on that website, hop there:

 

because Mr Ivan Day's explanations are better than what I'm going to do here, but... it's so cool and so good that I've decided to put the recipe here to share with the world.

You'll need:

125 gr plain white flour

125 gr blanched almonds

40 gr icing sugar

a teaspoon each: powdered mace (or mixed spice) and powdered cinnamon

~~~~~~

100 ml water

125 gr caster sugar

First, put together flour, almonds, icing sugar and spices in a mixing bowl and blend them together.

Then, put the water in a small pan and boil it; add the sugar and swirl it around until every crystal melts. Keep it boiling for about one minute: you'll have a sugar syrup.

Stir the syrup into the mixture, a bit at a time (this is extremely important!) [Read: I didn't do it, and my mixture was momentarily messy].

Once all the syrup is in, your dough should look a tad like a big, wet crumble. When it's cool enough to handle, put it together in a big ball that you'll put into the shape of a small rolling pin. Once you've done that, flatten it and place it on a papered baking tray.

Put the tray into the oven (160°C) for about 40 minutes. [Tip: keep an eye on it in the last minutes - mine was almost too baked in the last four minutes]

Slice the giant biscuit diagonally with the sharpest and biggest knife you've got; cut the thinnest slices you can.
Place them back onto a tray (or some paper, which was what I did) and back into the oven (switched off and cooled down) to dry out: biscuit is Latin for cooked twice.

They look great in a tin box:

Now, for the love of your teeth, dunk! In dessert wine, in coffee, in tea... in water or... whatever, but if you don't want to mourn a molar, do dunk.
They may be a lot thinner than croquets from Provence, but they're fierce - and absolutely delicious (and I usually hate cinnamon, which says a lot about these lovely biscuits!)

Panem et... Voyeurism?

Some bipeds are stupid. Of course. I know.

Some media are vultures, I know that, as well.

Yet, the morbid fascination most sheeple show the moment there's a tragedy is something I have a hard time to understand. Really.

I know it's probably linked to the fact that by knowing about tragedies happening to others, these people find comfort in the fact that they're free of such horrible things (and/or they rejoice in the fact that they're still alive).

I know, I understand, but I probably skipped that strand of DNA, as I cannot stop to look at a road accident or read about everything about tragedies.

However, there's one thing, one single thing, I find utterly despicable - and the bipeds who are too stupid to connect the dots should be smacked until their brains kickstarts: that's when children are added to the circus, just for the sake of plonkers' morbid voyeurism and media's hideous wish to make money at all costs.

Let me give you just one example: a girl disappears, but no body is ever found. Years later, the girl is found alive, and she'd been abducted by a man. With her, police officers find her child (or children).

There's only one possibility, and that's not immaculate conception.

What happened is painfully obvious, and yet... complete twats wait for the inevitable piece of info about the name of the father, and the media all compete to be the first to spread the info.

That, miserable twats, is siding with the culprit. That's adding to the victims' trauma, but... hey! Anything to boost the sales, right? And the public has the right to know. 

Sorry. That's bollocks.

The Romans had the circus. We have the Internet.

That's not being human.

Time to grow up and do better than that!

Legal (& PC) Lingo

Oh, I do understand why one now has to say that the obvious, already proven culprit of a crime has to be called the "alleged" culprit, but I'm old enough to remember pre-PC time and a time when it hadn't occurred to actual culprits to sue in order to get money because newspaper "ACV" or magazine "TGH" or channel "RDO" had dared to print or say that they were the culprits before dozens of testimonies and zillions of proof had made a jury declare them guilty of the crime(s) they were standing trial for.

I do understand that.

I also know that some people are declared guilty whilst they're innocent. But, I'm not talking about them... I'm talking about the real bad guys who are caught red-handed and with their lucid victim(s) saying 'That's him/her!'.

I understand that now, until we get the final verdict from the approved jury, we've got to say "alleged" culprit... but that sucks in a few cases.

Between 2% and 8%

*points at title* I'm talking about false accusations of rape.

Apparently, it all depends on where the accusation is made on the planet, but most sources I just consulted agree that the false accusations are quite often around 2% (the 8% is to cover the scared behinds of the agencies making the stats).

Let me be very clear if you're maths-impaired: two per cent means that whilst two poor people (not writing "men" - or "women", because anyone can be raped or can potentially turn into a rapist; it's not limited to one gender against the other gender - there are several different degrees) were unfairly accused of a crime they did not commit, 98% (ninety-eight per cent) accusations were true.

And when we talk about stats, we're only dealing with reported rapes. We're talking about the people who did go to the Police and went through hell a second time in order to try to get some justice.

In fact, we don't know how many people are actually raped, because the stigma still attached to that crime instantly turns the victims into suspects (Where were you when it allegedly happened? Did you know the person? Did you resist? Did you like it? What were you wearing? Were you drunk? Why are you wasting our time? Don't you think you deserved it because [insert any idiotic reason here]?).

So, yes, we do have a few nutcases who will go through the entire circus just to get revenge or because they definitely belong in Bedlam - and I shall always be on the side of their victims, but...

When I hear boys (because, in this case, it's nearly always boys) moan about the fact that one man was falsely accused and that that bloke should be made a Saint and named the President of Earth because of what happened to him, I'll yell that, yes, that particular victim deserves our sympathy, and whoever accused him should be severely punished and socially branded as a right plonker, but... let's not sweep under the carpet all the victims of actual rape.

As I was looking for the latest stats, I used a big search engine, and amongst the first results what did I get? The propaganda page of a despicable source of pseudo-news that spat lies from line one. That's depressing; if you try to show that there are more victims of rape than victims of false accusations of rape, you're yelled at, ridiculed and despised by some bipeds.

Look, I'll be super extra generous... Even if there were 10% (ten per cent) of false accusations (which there is NOT), we'd still be dealing with 90% (ninety per cent) of true accusations (which are probably just the tip of the iceberg).

I know it's awful to be falsely accused. It's unfair and petty and nasty, but the number of true victims must be placed first.

When I hear boys whingeing about false accusations, I hear bullies who want their gender to be always #1 and the best and perfect and blameless. That's not the case.

Yet, my dear boys, if you want to be the awesomest creatures on Earth, here's an idea: fight against rape so it becomes a sad fact only found in History books. How about that, um? Problem solved on all fronts.

To ALL Earthlings: Letter about Equal Marriage

My dear fellow Earthlings,

most of you are decent people, and a few are even quite awesome. When it comes to marriage, you don't care if it's Paul and Jenny getting married or Paul and John or Jenny and Susan - because it's none of your business, and unless you're invited and you've got to buy a new suit or a new dress (and a hat and gloves and new shoes), you basically don't care.

Now... to the happy bunch of cavemen who think that they can go and demonstrate and sign petitions about marriage equality, I'll ask you who died and made you kings (and queens)?
What is it to you? I mean, you personally - what does it change in your life if Paul and John or Jenny and Susan get married? Answer: Nothing. Bloody nothing. Fuck all.
You know what? Your entire tribe is behaving like adult bullies (and you often drag your offspring to demonstrations, which shows you're irresponsible).
If you think you have the right to prevent Paul from marrying John and Jenny from marrying Susan, then why-oh-why don't Paul, John, Jenny and Susan have a say about your getting married, eh? Because you're "normal"? Piece of news, Cupcake: nothing is "normal". There are things you do that are barmy according to other people, and things that they find normal that you'd find not normal, and all that because we're all different.
If you don't want other people to say that you - let's call you Birgit [and if one does follow the European news, there's some clue in that particular name] - cannot marry "Wilhelm" just because he's blue-eyed, then you cannot, my dear Birgit, go out and demonstrate against Paul/John and Jenny/Susan because you feel entitled to do so, because you think that their couple doesn't deserve to tie the knot officially because they're not a pseudo-sacrosanct man-woman couple, and because you think that their love is not as good as yours.
Basically, we're back to "who died and made you king"?
You see, Birgit, I don't want to interfere with your life, and you've got no right to interfere with mine or with Paul's, John's, Jenny's or Susan's.

The two cherries on that sad cake are that you've got religion being mixed in the topic, and then your sorry lot adds children, too.
First, religion? Which one? Who said that your religion was the only one? Here's another free piece of news: you're not the only one who believes in Zeus or the Tooth Fairy or the Great Whatever. Religions were invented because bipeds were afraid of their own shadows when they left their caves (and it's a bloody good - and easy - way to control the scared, brainwashed sheeple). So, please, stop shoving your beliefs and fright down the throats of decent people, who merely want to live a quiet life and share some love before Death comes to pay them a visit.
Then, children... So, according to you, it's better for children to rot in sordid orphanages than to entrust them to Paul&John or Jenny&Susan. Because heterosexual couples are so much better. I'm not saying that homosexual couples are perfect, but if one takes into account the number of Kafkaesque hoops they've got to go through whilst they navigate through awful and nasty bumpf, one has to think that Paul&John and Jenny&Susan really, really, really want to rescue an orphan and give him or her a good home and a good family.
You'll have to admit that a lot of bipeds have children a bit by chance - a hazardous consequence of sex that they decide to keep (I won't mention the few nut-cases in your lot who have as many children as they can spawn because they believe that's what their god wants: the Earth has other plans for these careless twats).
So, Birgit (yea, you, again, Dearie), when you say that a child needs a mother and a father, I'll say that you really don't care about the children (because monitoring all new adoptions - and I do mean all - would create jobs, and that would be good - except that governments usually don't want to give money to protect children and educate them properly: buying weapons and paying generals is more important in their books).
You see, Birgit, some children have lost one parent (that happened to me), others only have a mother or a father by a twist of Fate, and others have parents who divorced and cannot stand each other and made sure that the children would never see the other parent. There are millions of possibilities, and no two families are the same. Once more, you're clinging to a kind of idealized version of life; a pretty script that you could re-write if need be, but, Birgit dearest, life isn't a film (though you'd probably fail at that, too - no, wait! You are a failure in humanity because your narrow-mindedness is making you judge people who don't know you, and who were kind enough to not judge you in the first place). I'm not going to be kind and nice with you because bullying must be fought - always.
Birgit dearest, you have no right to demonstrate in order to shout on telly that you're against Paul/John and Jenny/Susan getting married, because it's against your Book (there's no frigging god; stop being afraid and stop being a pest), because it'd hurt children if those arrogant homosexual couples were allowed to adopt these cherubim (how many orphans have you rescued from orphanages, Birgit? Um? How many?), and because marriage is only for procreation. Don't deny it, girl, I heard you being interviewed. Does it mean that old people can no longer get married because they can no longer have children? Does it mean that couples composed of people who caught viruses or had accidents or whatever and who, in consequence, are still young but can no longer have children cannot get married?
No.
You're exclusively targeting homosexual couples because you have a brain the size of a pea and you've got no heart - oh, and you're an adult bully.

So, Birgits of the world, you and your male equivalent can go to your hell and roast there for all eternity (which is just a figure of speech, since there's no hell, and all we've got is this life, which is why I'm so angry when I hear your lot working against love and marriage - whilst you can tie the knot with whoever you want).
Go do some charity work, bake cakes, stop wars, write poetry, create a new variety of roses, or whatever, but stop being pains in the neck who think they're got the right to bully others.
Merlin! You make me feel like a crèche headmistress who's teaching babies how to behave in society.
Grow up, and mind your own business!
Nothing is being taken from your lives, so let others be happy. Ta. Muchly.

Love,
Dru

Of Labels and Pseudo-jokes

Bipeds can be such odd creatures, really.

 

Take labels for example: someone does something when he or she is young (or not), and then he or she gets to hear or read about it for aeons (here, I'm thinking of young actors and actresses who grow up and have fantastic careers, but who keep being identified as "that person from film XYZ (that was shot in 1914 and we're now in 2123, but never mind, and let's keep focussing on that, shall we?)".)

And that works for everybody: we all have relatives (them, again) and/or friends who focus on one tiny part of a thing we did years ago, and who keep mentioning it over and over again. It can be "that job you hated and yet didn't leave", "that person you were dating and didn't dump" or "that stupid thing you did and that we'll keep talking about until after your funeral".

 

That's highly annoying, but extremely common (I guess because no one fights against "Bullying Light" - and probably because all the bipeds doing that feel so much better when they can make others feel uncomfortable).

There's another odd thing that many people do, and which, I just bet, they don't even spot themselves (for most of them: I'm not counting the twisted, cunning ones, who do know). That's the habit of spewing something that they see as a truth (usually a nasty one) - e.g.: 'You're useless.', only to quickly add the magic formula that, they think, is going to keep them out of trouble - e.g.: 'I'm joking!'

When anyone ends a sentence by "I'm just joking", my brain goes on Red Alert because these words very, very, very seldom really mean what they're supposed to. Anyone uttering that is someone I'll be extremely wary of (to say the least).

In my book, it's not a magic formula, it's a massive warning. When I hear these words, it translates in my head as "I don't have the guts to tell you what I really think, so I'm going to pretend to make a joke, and if you hate it (and me), I'll insist on the fact that - honest to God - it was just a joke".

Not buying that. Sorry - and when I say "sorry", it's just that I wasn't raised in a barn, because that kind of chickenshit is not fooling me one bit.

Sooooorry.

Relatives' Relativity

I'm not the only one with barmy relatives. I know.

In fact, I've just watched an episode of a series I like, and there we had neurotic, manipulative mothers mentioned as if they were ten a penny.
This seems to be a quite common trick in series and films. As well, if we just listen to chats around us, it's rather easy to discover that parents and relatives can be nuttier than a hazelnut tree in the summer.
Now, I've got a few chosen heart relatives, and those are really dear to me - then again, we decided to be a family of the heart; there was no DNA twist of Fate involved in this.
My blood relatives on the other hand... Merlin! There really was a time when I was younger when I did wonder if I was adopted (physically, I look too much like my maternal nan to have entertained that idea for too long, but... you know...). However, they're my blood relatives, whether I like it or not (incidentally, I don't like it, and I avoid the lot as much as I can).
This post was prompted by the fact that I had to deal with nasty bouts of family manipulation today, and I started thinking about the reasons for such a behaviour. Of course, there's a good part of habit: my relatives were themselves the victims of adult bullying and twisted manipulations, and they've become experts at it as well.
Yet, there's got to be something else. Something utterly twisted in people - not just in my own relatives.
Why are people belittling others?
Why are they hurting others on purpose?
Of course, I bet that some people are just cruel plonkers who enjoy making people cry, and I bet that others are just complete idiots who follow the sheeple and are doing what their friends are doing.
But... why are mothers and fathers (and their own parents and their entire collection of siblings) hurting one another and targeting their offspring?
Once more, I feel wired differently, because I don't understand that. I sometimes snap when someone tries to bully me because, as I explained in another post, I escaped the lethal claws of a manipulator, but I don't look for soft spots only to target them and use them against other Earthlings.
I view that as a waste of time, and a sin against humanity (I don't mean the whole number of bipeds on this planet, but that little thing that should make us different and that should provide us with higher aspirations, more compassion and greater souls).

Today, I started snapping at my own blood relatives because enough's enough, and they may think that I owe them my life, but, in fact, they should be extremely nice with me, because... well... I never asked to be born, and I'm not their slave, or their property, or their emotional punching-ball who's on Earth just to make them feel better about their sorry lives. It's not my fault if they're not living the life of their dreams, and they (or anyone else on this rock) shouldn't take it out on me.

Empathy and love should really start in families, and then, if people were nicer with their own blood relatives, they could try being nicer with people outside their families.
I find it disheartening that some can be nicer and kinder to strangers (for whatever reasons) than to their blood relatives.
More and more, I have the feeling that a lot of people have left their inner caveman brain "on".
This is the 21st century. It's high time to do better - or to go extinct.