Scored tickets to a wine and cheese event hosted by Neil Gaiman, who was there to read an excerpt from his new book, Anasi Boys, and to do book signings.
It was held in the atrium of the Anzac Square Building, which is heritage listed and just a gorgeous setting. Narrow atrium with little balconies overlooking it, and copper sculptured tree rising towards the roof, with copper plates etched with leaves suspended randomly from wires in the air. Pictures (not mine) here and here.
Gaiman was delightful ; with a dry and keen sense of humour, tinged with the faintest hint of shyness despite years of presentations just like this one. Very appealing! Blissed out during the reading...totally lost track of time and got into the story. Irritated to find the book does not get released for months yet. You can, however, read an excerpt.
Then he opened the floor for a question and answer period.
We had the pleasure of being stuck behind what is possibly the worlds biggest dork. I was painfully embarrased on his behalf, as he obviously had no clue how dorkish he was. He was an absolute characture of all that is geek. The Simpsons could have used him as a model for thier computer nerds. He had a pocket protector. His mom obviously still bought his clothes, and they did not fit, which meant he had extreme plumpers crack. And dirty ripped underwear. Charming. He was also an utter clutz and kept dropping things, bending to pick them up, bumping into opther people.
And then he started asking questions. By raising his hand in the air and waving it frantically, like a first grader who is craving the attention his mommy does not give him cause she drinks too much :P His actual questions, when he finally got his turn, consisted of a five minute ramble full of every jargon filled word he had picked up at uni, solely tossed in to impress Neil, and without a doubt, to isolate the rest of the room, whom he felt beneath him. You could tell he was certain that his speach was meant to make an impression, and that he was certain he shared a deep unbreachable bond with the man himself. Gaiman, meanwhile, was practically cross eyed by the time he wrapped up his spiel and actually got around to askign his question, which was merely "Do you and Pratchett plan to work together again"
The entire group audibly groaned.
Friends of ours with there, with their spawn, who is a gorgeous little blonde creature of 6, without a scrap of shyness in her, got the last question "When are you writing your next kids book; its been too long since Coraline?" and got applause when she was done.
Had several of our books signed, and also Geoffie's copy of Neverwhere, which I borrowed ages ago and has travelld with me through 6 countries now. Even got a photo of the signing of said book, which has since been returned(at last!) to its owner :)
Friday, July 22, 2005
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Elvis has entered the building.
So about our puppy. He is a shih tzu- lhasa apso cross. That is, this is what the breeder claimed. We now know enough to know better. The female shih-tzu has beyond a doubt, gotten her jiggy on with a tibetian spaniel, and the neurotic furbag we now own is the result of that unholy coupling.
There are pictures of the puppy here
Our furbag was not being sold by his breeder because he has a cleft palate. She gave him to us on the agreememnt that we would not breed him. I was statled to find that breeders normally put animals with this defect down after birth. For us, it just makes him look cute (like the one flopped ear of our german sheppard), and long term it might mean a tooth or two needing to be pulled, and he may need his food softened.
He came close to being called bananas (thank you, Gwen Stefani), or Mark, for the tragic joke...but in the end wound up being Elvis.
He owns a sweater, and a judo outfit.
We are still looking for a white rinestoned pantsuit.
There are pictures of the puppy here
Our furbag was not being sold by his breeder because he has a cleft palate. She gave him to us on the agreememnt that we would not breed him. I was statled to find that breeders normally put animals with this defect down after birth. For us, it just makes him look cute (like the one flopped ear of our german sheppard), and long term it might mean a tooth or two needing to be pulled, and he may need his food softened.
He came close to being called bananas (thank you, Gwen Stefani), or Mark, for the tragic joke...but in the end wound up being Elvis.
He owns a sweater, and a judo outfit.
We are still looking for a white rinestoned pantsuit.
I need a vacation.
Months of worrying about family court, and what would be asked of me before I was granted a divorce.
Five minutes of court time, in and out, including the swearing inand verification of name and purpose and all that jazz.
Six minutes later and I'm back out in the lobby. Divorced.
Sometimes it pays to overthink every little detail like an alan retentive little control freak. Means you wind up with a mountain of paperwork...but also means you cover all the basis and have an answer for everything.
Wedding on August 9th. Honeymoon at a resort in Rainbow Beach.
Plans are afoot for a trip to london and newfoundland next summer.
And...we got a puppy.
Five minutes of court time, in and out, including the swearing inand verification of name and purpose and all that jazz.
Six minutes later and I'm back out in the lobby. Divorced.
Sometimes it pays to overthink every little detail like an alan retentive little control freak. Means you wind up with a mountain of paperwork...but also means you cover all the basis and have an answer for everything.
Wedding on August 9th. Honeymoon at a resort in Rainbow Beach.
Plans are afoot for a trip to london and newfoundland next summer.
And...we got a puppy.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Snap
I’ve decided I’m going to become a Japanese Tourist. From now on, I will wander about with a camera perpetually grafted to a strap around my neck. That way I won’t miss capturing moments like the one I missed out on this morning.
Driving into the office this morning, stuck at a traffic light, bouncing about to Will Smith’s “Switch” on the radio, and watching a dad and his kid also waiting for the light to change so they can proceed across the crosswalk.
She was sitting on his shoulders, in her school uniform, complete with silly hat (Aussie school uniforms (the link is a typical example)don’t inspire naughty schoolgirl fantasies, trust me!), and he was wearing a classic dark business suit. She was playing the drums on top of his bald head, completely ruining the badass look he almost had going, what with his matrix-inspired sunglasses and all.
And then the light changed, and he crossed the street in front of me.
He was wearing her “wiggles” backpack.
It was intensely beautiful.
Driving into the office this morning, stuck at a traffic light, bouncing about to Will Smith’s “Switch” on the radio, and watching a dad and his kid also waiting for the light to change so they can proceed across the crosswalk.
She was sitting on his shoulders, in her school uniform, complete with silly hat (Aussie school uniforms (the link is a typical example)don’t inspire naughty schoolgirl fantasies, trust me!), and he was wearing a classic dark business suit. She was playing the drums on top of his bald head, completely ruining the badass look he almost had going, what with his matrix-inspired sunglasses and all.
And then the light changed, and he crossed the street in front of me.
He was wearing her “wiggles” backpack.
It was intensely beautiful.
Friday, May 20, 2005
And it's off to court we go...
Well, off ~I~ go, anyhow. Yesterday I filled for Divorce here in Australia. After some cohercing and eyelash fluttering, I was able to convince the clerk to change the appointed hearing date from the intial August 8th date back to July the 5th.
So, on that date, I appear and if required, present evidence to the judge that I consider Australia home and therefore, should have the case decided here. Given that I will have with me a local boy who apparently wants to marry me or summat, and who has in the past year bought property and a vehicle here, it should be fairly evident that we plan to remain. That, in combination with my bank and credit accounts locally, and my local car insurance and positon as manager on his aformentioned property shoudl be enough to establish local ties. So I think it will be ok. And sicne there is no dispute from former partner regarding the divorce, the property settlement was arranged amicably years ago, and there are no children, then the divorce itself could not be simpler.
Supposing the judge agrees and grants the divorce, the Boi and I can and will be married on the 6th of August. So we can then present the immigration application on the 8th of August. Considering my visa expires on the 12th, thats still cutting it VERY fine.
But having a hearing date is a big step and a huge relief. I'm relatively confident we can satisfy the courts about why I want to process the divorce here. The timing still makes me nervous, but making an actual move rather then sitting in stasis is a GOOD thing, and we are very "Yay!" about it all.
Meantime, the ex is pigheadedly refusing to accept the Norwegian refusal and is launching another divorce application there, under a different section of the Marriage act. I've read the accompanying legislation, and while I understand why he thinks he has a chance, I also think he is grossly missinterpreting the law and their ability to bend definitions to suit his purpose.
But he has chosen to fight that battle, and so I've signed the documents and will let him wear himself out on that avenue too, if it makes him happy. I think his energy would be far better used elsewhere, but on the other hand, I know I'm exhausting every loophole I find, so I can understand hima attempting the same. In any case, the two applications do not affect each other and are legal; whichever one is granted first is the one that will count, and we have the obligation to inform the other government of the divorce being finalized elewhere.
Upwards and onwards!
So, on that date, I appear and if required, present evidence to the judge that I consider Australia home and therefore, should have the case decided here. Given that I will have with me a local boy who apparently wants to marry me or summat, and who has in the past year bought property and a vehicle here, it should be fairly evident that we plan to remain. That, in combination with my bank and credit accounts locally, and my local car insurance and positon as manager on his aformentioned property shoudl be enough to establish local ties. So I think it will be ok. And sicne there is no dispute from former partner regarding the divorce, the property settlement was arranged amicably years ago, and there are no children, then the divorce itself could not be simpler.
Supposing the judge agrees and grants the divorce, the Boi and I can and will be married on the 6th of August. So we can then present the immigration application on the 8th of August. Considering my visa expires on the 12th, thats still cutting it VERY fine.
But having a hearing date is a big step and a huge relief. I'm relatively confident we can satisfy the courts about why I want to process the divorce here. The timing still makes me nervous, but making an actual move rather then sitting in stasis is a GOOD thing, and we are very "Yay!" about it all.
Meantime, the ex is pigheadedly refusing to accept the Norwegian refusal and is launching another divorce application there, under a different section of the Marriage act. I've read the accompanying legislation, and while I understand why he thinks he has a chance, I also think he is grossly missinterpreting the law and their ability to bend definitions to suit his purpose.
But he has chosen to fight that battle, and so I've signed the documents and will let him wear himself out on that avenue too, if it makes him happy. I think his energy would be far better used elsewhere, but on the other hand, I know I'm exhausting every loophole I find, so I can understand hima attempting the same. In any case, the two applications do not affect each other and are legal; whichever one is granted first is the one that will count, and we have the obligation to inform the other government of the divorce being finalized elewhere.
Upwards and onwards!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Rigging the Bet
Left the office this morning on an errand, and got downstairs in the courtyard of the office complex when I was approached by a man I’d never met before, who announced, without preamble “You lost me ten bucks”.
Turns out the boys in the gym downstairs have a running bet each week about what colour my hair will be. It’s pink this week, but he had bet purple.
Ive told him if he can get the betting up to a hundred, I’ll give him my number and we can sort the shade in advance for a fifty-fifty cut.
Turns out the boys in the gym downstairs have a running bet each week about what colour my hair will be. It’s pink this week, but he had bet purple.
Ive told him if he can get the betting up to a hundred, I’ll give him my number and we can sort the shade in advance for a fifty-fifty cut.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Shifting Gears.
So having finally gotten tired of getting information from Norweay through former partnmer, I called the government office there myself.
And discovered that as of the 19th of April, the decision was made to not grant the divorce application, and that there simply is not a way around this decision.
So. Plan B. Former partner received divorce papers from me last night. Today he is to have them signed and witnessed and couriered back to me. I will apply here, but the earlier Hearing date with local courts is likely to be in mid July.
Providing they are satisfied with the application, and are in agreement, they issue right there on the spot a 'decree nisi'. After a period of 1 month and 1 day, without dispute from either partner, this decree automatically becomes 'absolute' (final), and THEN the bastardly boi and I can proceed with plans.
This all cuts everything to the bone, time wise. A month from mid July puts me over the time that I have to leave the country.
I cannot make an appointment to launch an application to immigration without having the decree absolute. And getting an appointment to launch an application is haphazard. It could be the next day, it could be a month, it just depends on how many appointments are requested at that time; and that fluctuates wildly and is unpredictable. The same system is used for ALL incoming immigrants, regardless of status. So if I luck into a quiet day, it could be fast. If there is a boatload
of refugees, it could be ages.
I'm seriously looking at booking me a flight to New Zealand on the 12th of August - that is the date I have to leave Aus. Once in NZ, I can apply for a visitors visa to Australia and enter on that. The problem with this plan is immigration offers an extension of the applicants CURRENT visa while they make a decision. The problem is by that time, the visa I will be on is a visitors visa, not a working holidaymaker; so that means I will not have the right to legally work. And again, they don't know how long to process; a month to two is the general standard, but not guaranteed.
If immigration reject the application (a possibility, asd, due to all the questionable timing, it is going to look like we are trying to cheat the system and are not an actual couple. they have right to use discretion about these matters if there is the slightest suspicion of wrongdoing), then Sean and I will go to Canada.
The moral of the story?
The internet thingy is a bad, bad, bad idea. Stay far, far away. Don't talk to anyone long; once you start thinking they are kinda cool - run screaming. Finding the other half of your soul lives on the other side of the globe means more hassel then you can possibly imagine.
Dicking someone never used to be this involved. Remember the good 'ol days? Where you went courting with the nice boy down the street and providing he was not a bum and your dad approved, you could go the chapekl and have a white picket fence.
Why coulden't I have found me a nice caveman to knock me over the head with a club and a grunt and haul me off by me hair?
Oh no! I have to fall for some near perfect boithing who has a strange obsession for smurfs and wombats but does not have the bloody decency to have a passport like my own. Bastard.
And discovered that as of the 19th of April, the decision was made to not grant the divorce application, and that there simply is not a way around this decision.
So. Plan B. Former partner received divorce papers from me last night. Today he is to have them signed and witnessed and couriered back to me. I will apply here, but the earlier Hearing date with local courts is likely to be in mid July.
Providing they are satisfied with the application, and are in agreement, they issue right there on the spot a 'decree nisi'. After a period of 1 month and 1 day, without dispute from either partner, this decree automatically becomes 'absolute' (final), and THEN the bastardly boi and I can proceed with plans.
This all cuts everything to the bone, time wise. A month from mid July puts me over the time that I have to leave the country.
I cannot make an appointment to launch an application to immigration without having the decree absolute. And getting an appointment to launch an application is haphazard. It could be the next day, it could be a month, it just depends on how many appointments are requested at that time; and that fluctuates wildly and is unpredictable. The same system is used for ALL incoming immigrants, regardless of status. So if I luck into a quiet day, it could be fast. If there is a boatload
of refugees, it could be ages.
I'm seriously looking at booking me a flight to New Zealand on the 12th of August - that is the date I have to leave Aus. Once in NZ, I can apply for a visitors visa to Australia and enter on that. The problem with this plan is immigration offers an extension of the applicants CURRENT visa while they make a decision. The problem is by that time, the visa I will be on is a visitors visa, not a working holidaymaker; so that means I will not have the right to legally work. And again, they don't know how long to process; a month to two is the general standard, but not guaranteed.
If immigration reject the application (a possibility, asd, due to all the questionable timing, it is going to look like we are trying to cheat the system and are not an actual couple. they have right to use discretion about these matters if there is the slightest suspicion of wrongdoing), then Sean and I will go to Canada.
The moral of the story?
The internet thingy is a bad, bad, bad idea. Stay far, far away. Don't talk to anyone long; once you start thinking they are kinda cool - run screaming. Finding the other half of your soul lives on the other side of the globe means more hassel then you can possibly imagine.
Dicking someone never used to be this involved. Remember the good 'ol days? Where you went courting with the nice boy down the street and providing he was not a bum and your dad approved, you could go the chapekl and have a white picket fence.
Why coulden't I have found me a nice caveman to knock me over the head with a club and a grunt and haul me off by me hair?
Oh no! I have to fall for some near perfect boithing who has a strange obsession for smurfs and wombats but does not have the bloody decency to have a passport like my own. Bastard.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Email exerpt
In my mailbox this morning, right after I arrived at the office;
Date: Wed, 11 May 2005 09:04:02 +1000
From: Sean . (removed to block spam engines)
To: nikki(removed to block spam engines)
Subject: I was depressed
And then I got girl. Crazy sexy beautiful, utterly, completely, perfectly,
heartachingly wonderful girl. And I remembered something. She's mine! Alllll mine. So mine. Completely mine. mine mine mine. and that made everything better.
I love you.
Hidious. Truely reminicent of high-school crushing.
It's fucking fabulous.
I should have gotten me one of these ages ago.
Date: Wed, 11 May 2005 09:04:02 +1000
From: Sean . (removed to block spam engines)
To: nikki(removed to block spam engines)
Subject: I was depressed
And then I got girl. Crazy sexy beautiful, utterly, completely, perfectly,
heartachingly wonderful girl. And I remembered something. She's mine! Alllll mine. So mine. Completely mine. mine mine mine. and that made everything better.
I love you.
Hidious. Truely reminicent of high-school crushing.
It's fucking fabulous.
I should have gotten me one of these ages ago.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
A day in the life
Weekdays;
6:30-7:00 am; Drag ass out of bed and stumble bleared eyed into bathroom, usually tripping over the dog in the process who is too dumb to clue into the fact that as a speedbump, he is remarkably suited. Turn on hot water, then radio to tune into breakfast show. Stand in shower and gasp as scalding water hits me. Fiddle with cold till temperature is right.
7:00-7:30 am; Breakfast while checking email. Coffee and toast. Yes, always. Wash down a mouthful of vitamins with last of coffee.
7:30-8:00 am; Makeup/hair/pack bag for the day
8:00 -8:15 stand in living room or driveway for a quick snuggle with the boi as he gets home and I leave for the day. Bitch that its not long enough and giggle about the stories from his worknight.
8:15-9:00 am- drive to work, dance to radio and sip another coffee while stuck in traffic.
9:00-12:00 am- jot random notes as boss mentions absentmindedly what needs to be done, Check post, email and faxes, and send same, make sure boss knows who needs to be called, what needs to be done for the day.
12:00-5:00 deal with the jotted list of notes from the am, make a bank run, sort rental property/tenant issues.
5:00-6:00; drive home in traffic, dancing in seat and drinking coffee.
6:00-6:30- sort something for evening meal
6:30-7:00- go jump on the sleeping boi, steal snuggles.
7:00-7:30 shower together
7:30-9:30; eat in front of the TV, snuggle while watching crime dramas or something, chat about my day, get him packed for work during commercial breaks
9:30-midnight- laundry, more email/surfing, read papers while snuggles with the kitty, sort lunch for next day.
That’s my workweek. Sometimes duck out early on Thursdays to join the mom-in-law type for shopping and coffee before heading home. Often duck off for a few hours on Friday, as the boi will often come to the office as a way to avoid falling to sleep when he gets off in the am; the longer he stays awake on Friday the more likely he is to sleep through the night and therefore be awake during the day on weekends.
Today I feel spoiled. Message from him in am to say he was still at work and would not make it home in time for morning visit. So off I go to work. Only to be jumped in the parking lot. We love on the north end of the city, boi works in centre city, I work on south end. Since he would not catch me at home, he braved morning traffic to see me at the office. AND he brought chocolate.
Weekends are totally unpredictable. Usually involves shopping on Saturday and home renno stuff on Sunday. But typically also include visits to the beach or dog parks, sometimes a clubbing/dancing expedition, and always decadent extended periods in bed for movies and unmentionables.
Life is good.
6:30-7:00 am; Drag ass out of bed and stumble bleared eyed into bathroom, usually tripping over the dog in the process who is too dumb to clue into the fact that as a speedbump, he is remarkably suited. Turn on hot water, then radio to tune into breakfast show. Stand in shower and gasp as scalding water hits me. Fiddle with cold till temperature is right.
7:00-7:30 am; Breakfast while checking email. Coffee and toast. Yes, always. Wash down a mouthful of vitamins with last of coffee.
7:30-8:00 am; Makeup/hair/pack bag for the day
8:00 -8:15 stand in living room or driveway for a quick snuggle with the boi as he gets home and I leave for the day. Bitch that its not long enough and giggle about the stories from his worknight.
8:15-9:00 am- drive to work, dance to radio and sip another coffee while stuck in traffic.
9:00-12:00 am- jot random notes as boss mentions absentmindedly what needs to be done, Check post, email and faxes, and send same, make sure boss knows who needs to be called, what needs to be done for the day.
12:00-5:00 deal with the jotted list of notes from the am, make a bank run, sort rental property/tenant issues.
5:00-6:00; drive home in traffic, dancing in seat and drinking coffee.
6:00-6:30- sort something for evening meal
6:30-7:00- go jump on the sleeping boi, steal snuggles.
7:00-7:30 shower together
7:30-9:30; eat in front of the TV, snuggle while watching crime dramas or something, chat about my day, get him packed for work during commercial breaks
9:30-midnight- laundry, more email/surfing, read papers while snuggles with the kitty, sort lunch for next day.
That’s my workweek. Sometimes duck out early on Thursdays to join the mom-in-law type for shopping and coffee before heading home. Often duck off for a few hours on Friday, as the boi will often come to the office as a way to avoid falling to sleep when he gets off in the am; the longer he stays awake on Friday the more likely he is to sleep through the night and therefore be awake during the day on weekends.
Today I feel spoiled. Message from him in am to say he was still at work and would not make it home in time for morning visit. So off I go to work. Only to be jumped in the parking lot. We love on the north end of the city, boi works in centre city, I work on south end. Since he would not catch me at home, he braved morning traffic to see me at the office. AND he brought chocolate.
Weekends are totally unpredictable. Usually involves shopping on Saturday and home renno stuff on Sunday. But typically also include visits to the beach or dog parks, sometimes a clubbing/dancing expedition, and always decadent extended periods in bed for movies and unmentionables.
Life is good.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Beating a dead horse
Just a quick note for those concerned about recent roadblocks and whatnot.
Former partner has gotten a little legal advice which says that he should launch an appeal of the decision, supplementing the application with evidence backing up the length of our estrangement.
So this morning was a flurry phone calls and emails and signings, with me scanning my passport to back up how often and for how long I was out of Norway, the writing of affidavits attesting to the fact that our break up occurred long before we got around to actively signing a separation agreement, along with documentation showing my intent to marry here in Australia; which should put to rest any concerns the Norwegian government might have about a possible reconciliation.
He’ll submit all of this in the afternoon, in person, and then begins the process of…well waiting. Yipeee!
Have, in the meantime, gotten divorce papers drawn up and officially witnessed for an application to be made here in Australia if the Norwegian appeal does not work. It will be an even longer shot here; I’d have to find a way to prove I consider Australia home; difficult as I’ve only been in the country 9 months, and will be booted out in three more. But tis worth even a slim shot, I suppose.
If only Las Vegas WERE around the corner! All countries should have their own Vegas; a centre of debauchery, in which citizens from all over could flock, like Mecca, to waste away their hard earned cash, get a headache from flouro lighting, get married by Elvis impersonators and be divorced with the snap of their fingers. I’ll just grab my polyester leisure suit, adopt a loud, annoyingly piercing voice and stock up on disposable cameras now, just in case.
Former partner has gotten a little legal advice which says that he should launch an appeal of the decision, supplementing the application with evidence backing up the length of our estrangement.
So this morning was a flurry phone calls and emails and signings, with me scanning my passport to back up how often and for how long I was out of Norway, the writing of affidavits attesting to the fact that our break up occurred long before we got around to actively signing a separation agreement, along with documentation showing my intent to marry here in Australia; which should put to rest any concerns the Norwegian government might have about a possible reconciliation.
He’ll submit all of this in the afternoon, in person, and then begins the process of…well waiting. Yipeee!
Have, in the meantime, gotten divorce papers drawn up and officially witnessed for an application to be made here in Australia if the Norwegian appeal does not work. It will be an even longer shot here; I’d have to find a way to prove I consider Australia home; difficult as I’ve only been in the country 9 months, and will be booted out in three more. But tis worth even a slim shot, I suppose.
If only Las Vegas WERE around the corner! All countries should have their own Vegas; a centre of debauchery, in which citizens from all over could flock, like Mecca, to waste away their hard earned cash, get a headache from flouro lighting, get married by Elvis impersonators and be divorced with the snap of their fingers. I’ll just grab my polyester leisure suit, adopt a loud, annoyingly piercing voice and stock up on disposable cameras now, just in case.
Friday, April 22, 2005
Grarr! Fecking Governments!
So the wedding is on more or less indefinite hold.
Immigration application is on more or less indefinite hold.
Divorce is more or less on indefinite hold.
Former partner and I, both Canadian citizens, married in Canada…but left the country in 2001 to spend a few years in Norway. Split, I bugged off and spent a while in London (as a visitor), he remained in Norway. Then I moved to Australia on a year long visa.
None of the countries involved, it seems, will grant us a divorce; even though we have been separated for years, and want a no muss no contest divorce with no mucking about to divide assets. That’s all sorted. We just need a judge to proclaim us no longer married.
Norway is the only country I have ever heard of who require that the government be notified formally of a separation. And, due to obvious barrier of language, we were not aware of this and therefore did not lodge an official notification about our separation agreement signed and witnessed back in 2003. When they were approached a few months back to grant the divorce, the clerk told my former partner that notification of the separation should have been launched, but then gave him all the papers for filing divorce anyhow, telling him to attach a copy of our separation agreement. The implication was since we were non citizens, who did not get married in Norway and were unawares, they would accept divorce application.
Only after filing the divorce application, they would not process it and grant a divorce. Instead, they want a separation application launched, and then, a year from now, they will consider the divorce application. Now; the Norwegian government maintains strict controls on their borders, and stricter controls still on non-nationals entering and leaving the country. They KNOW when I left the country. They KNOW, therefore, that we have been physically separated by distance.
Canadian law states that to file for a divorce in Canada, one of the parties in question must reside for a period of 12 months in the province in which they file, immediately before the application is filed. Despite being Canadian citizens, who hole NO citizenship in any other country on the planet, we can’t file in Canada because we have not resided there since 2001.
Australian law states that to file here you must be a citizen or consider Australia your permanent home (this to allow for permanent resident who do not take full citizenship). And you know what? If I could get a bloody divorce Australia WOULD become home, as I would be immediately marrying an Aus citizen and remaining here.
How’s that for a right royal headache?
It’s sad that in this global age, when humans move about the planet for work and pleasure, there are not considerations made for processing legal arrangements such as divorce. Instead, the various governments involved wind up causing situations wherein people remain bound to a former partner, both unable to formalize relationships with new partners, and new partners (like the boi) are forced to move from their home country in order to stay with their partner, who remains unable to apply for immigration while thusly bound to former partner.
The solution? I think embassies in foreign countries should be allowed to assess applications for things like divorce for citizens abroad. Not necessarily be allowed to grant divorce, but to assess individually and recommend application be heard in home country in absentia.
Madness.
Immigration application is on more or less indefinite hold.
Divorce is more or less on indefinite hold.
Former partner and I, both Canadian citizens, married in Canada…but left the country in 2001 to spend a few years in Norway. Split, I bugged off and spent a while in London (as a visitor), he remained in Norway. Then I moved to Australia on a year long visa.
None of the countries involved, it seems, will grant us a divorce; even though we have been separated for years, and want a no muss no contest divorce with no mucking about to divide assets. That’s all sorted. We just need a judge to proclaim us no longer married.
Norway is the only country I have ever heard of who require that the government be notified formally of a separation. And, due to obvious barrier of language, we were not aware of this and therefore did not lodge an official notification about our separation agreement signed and witnessed back in 2003. When they were approached a few months back to grant the divorce, the clerk told my former partner that notification of the separation should have been launched, but then gave him all the papers for filing divorce anyhow, telling him to attach a copy of our separation agreement. The implication was since we were non citizens, who did not get married in Norway and were unawares, they would accept divorce application.
Only after filing the divorce application, they would not process it and grant a divorce. Instead, they want a separation application launched, and then, a year from now, they will consider the divorce application. Now; the Norwegian government maintains strict controls on their borders, and stricter controls still on non-nationals entering and leaving the country. They KNOW when I left the country. They KNOW, therefore, that we have been physically separated by distance.
Canadian law states that to file for a divorce in Canada, one of the parties in question must reside for a period of 12 months in the province in which they file, immediately before the application is filed. Despite being Canadian citizens, who hole NO citizenship in any other country on the planet, we can’t file in Canada because we have not resided there since 2001.
Australian law states that to file here you must be a citizen or consider Australia your permanent home (this to allow for permanent resident who do not take full citizenship). And you know what? If I could get a bloody divorce Australia WOULD become home, as I would be immediately marrying an Aus citizen and remaining here.
How’s that for a right royal headache?
It’s sad that in this global age, when humans move about the planet for work and pleasure, there are not considerations made for processing legal arrangements such as divorce. Instead, the various governments involved wind up causing situations wherein people remain bound to a former partner, both unable to formalize relationships with new partners, and new partners (like the boi) are forced to move from their home country in order to stay with their partner, who remains unable to apply for immigration while thusly bound to former partner.
The solution? I think embassies in foreign countries should be allowed to assess applications for things like divorce for citizens abroad. Not necessarily be allowed to grant divorce, but to assess individually and recommend application be heard in home country in absentia.
Madness.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Bet ya didn't know...
Koala pee smells like skunk spray. See, I bet a lot of you reading this did not know that, did you?
Something else some of you might not know? I’m getting married. Small, very informal ‘do; we will just grab a couple friends to act as witnesses and head to a local JP. After its all done we will call round to other friends and some family and drag them all out to a pub for steaks and pints. No fuss no muss. We don’t want to make a big deal over something that’s not going to change the relationship any. Save the stress involved with planning a big thing, and save the cash to maybe travel a bit later next year. I want to show the boi what London is all about.
And I have a new job. An actual, salaried job I mean….had forgotten what that was like, having worked contractually for a few years now. When the job offer was made, I took it on the assumption I’d have to play growed-up; take out some of the piercings, do something with my technicoloured hair. But nope! Was flattered as fuck when the boss compared me to Pauley Paulette, as she appears in the “Abby” character from N.C.I.S. So I’m doing the corporate goth thang. It’s working well. New dreads soon, too. Yay!
I’ve acclimatized. The summer heat has passed, and I was disgusted to find myself heading to the office in a cotton shirt AND a fleece jumper. The temperature was 26 degrees celsius. That’s just not right. 26 is summer weather back home, and would have been enough to have me bitching about the heat. And yet, here I am, clothing shopping and checking out wool jumpers and leather jackets. WTF?
I’ve been thinking about school again. I miss being a student. Think I will look into some courses for the new year. Problem is there is so much that interests me. Before I look into more serious schooling, I’ll think I will hunt around for a short course in digital photography basics though. Mine’s busted, I don’t like the boi’s cam, and so I’ve been coveting a couple of new models for a month or two now; buying a new one should be enough of an excuse to do a proper course.
Something else some of you might not know? I’m getting married. Small, very informal ‘do; we will just grab a couple friends to act as witnesses and head to a local JP. After its all done we will call round to other friends and some family and drag them all out to a pub for steaks and pints. No fuss no muss. We don’t want to make a big deal over something that’s not going to change the relationship any. Save the stress involved with planning a big thing, and save the cash to maybe travel a bit later next year. I want to show the boi what London is all about.
And I have a new job. An actual, salaried job I mean….had forgotten what that was like, having worked contractually for a few years now. When the job offer was made, I took it on the assumption I’d have to play growed-up; take out some of the piercings, do something with my technicoloured hair. But nope! Was flattered as fuck when the boss compared me to Pauley Paulette, as she appears in the “Abby” character from N.C.I.S. So I’m doing the corporate goth thang. It’s working well. New dreads soon, too. Yay!
I’ve acclimatized. The summer heat has passed, and I was disgusted to find myself heading to the office in a cotton shirt AND a fleece jumper. The temperature was 26 degrees celsius. That’s just not right. 26 is summer weather back home, and would have been enough to have me bitching about the heat. And yet, here I am, clothing shopping and checking out wool jumpers and leather jackets. WTF?
I’ve been thinking about school again. I miss being a student. Think I will look into some courses for the new year. Problem is there is so much that interests me. Before I look into more serious schooling, I’ll think I will hunt around for a short course in digital photography basics though. Mine’s busted, I don’t like the boi’s cam, and so I’ve been coveting a couple of new models for a month or two now; buying a new one should be enough of an excuse to do a proper course.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
The voices inside my head.
Question;What do you think about. When you are just sitting around thinking about your life.
I think alot about finances. I'm horrible with money. I simply don't respect it. I piss it away without concern, and then find myself struggling to support myself later.I think about how my inability to handle money affects the people around me. How it led to a massive student loan that suffocates me.
I also think of the upsides; I think about the fun I had being a student, the people I met and the lessons I learned. I think how ironic it is that I have two degrees, and yet, I learned more about myself and he world around me then I did anything acedemic.
I think about my weight...hey I'm female, its obligatory. I think about how I'm a fat chick who really does not care or even think about it when left to my own devices. I'm healthy, even if I am not fit, and overall I'm content, because I've never had a lack of partners nor had reason to think that as a person, I'm not attractive/sexy. Still, there are times that I catch a look from a stranger on the street and feel embarased about my body.
I think about shiney things and flutterbyes. Of toys that lights up and make me clap with delight. I think of rain and how much i like spashing in puddles. Things that go Grrrr in the night.I think of ice cream on my nose. Snowflakes on my tongue. Of fuzzy bunny ears and bois that purr. I think of glitter and synthetic dreads. I think of blowing soap bubbles. I think of how sad it is that most adults I know leave so much of their childhood in their past.
I think about my lust for a new camera. Of all the things I want to learn and experience in the future. And about those I've buggered up in the past.
I think about travel. I think with a touch of awe about all I have seen and the places I've visited and lived in the past 5 years. I think about being grateful to friends who I've met along the way that helped me out and made it all possible.
I think of the children I will probably never have.
I think about my friends most of all. The incredible people that have found a place in my life, who honour me by sharing their lives with me. About those I love. About how these truely amazing people see something in me that makes them want to know me.
I figure, based on these friends and loved ones, that I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve such richness in this.
I think alot about finances. I'm horrible with money. I simply don't respect it. I piss it away without concern, and then find myself struggling to support myself later.I think about how my inability to handle money affects the people around me. How it led to a massive student loan that suffocates me.
I also think of the upsides; I think about the fun I had being a student, the people I met and the lessons I learned. I think how ironic it is that I have two degrees, and yet, I learned more about myself and he world around me then I did anything acedemic.
I think about my weight...hey I'm female, its obligatory. I think about how I'm a fat chick who really does not care or even think about it when left to my own devices. I'm healthy, even if I am not fit, and overall I'm content, because I've never had a lack of partners nor had reason to think that as a person, I'm not attractive/sexy. Still, there are times that I catch a look from a stranger on the street and feel embarased about my body.
I think about shiney things and flutterbyes. Of toys that lights up and make me clap with delight. I think of rain and how much i like spashing in puddles. Things that go Grrrr in the night.I think of ice cream on my nose. Snowflakes on my tongue. Of fuzzy bunny ears and bois that purr. I think of glitter and synthetic dreads. I think of blowing soap bubbles. I think of how sad it is that most adults I know leave so much of their childhood in their past.
I think about my lust for a new camera. Of all the things I want to learn and experience in the future. And about those I've buggered up in the past.
I think about travel. I think with a touch of awe about all I have seen and the places I've visited and lived in the past 5 years. I think about being grateful to friends who I've met along the way that helped me out and made it all possible.
I think of the children I will probably never have.
I think about my friends most of all. The incredible people that have found a place in my life, who honour me by sharing their lives with me. About those I love. About how these truely amazing people see something in me that makes them want to know me.
I figure, based on these friends and loved ones, that I must have been a saint in a past life to deserve such richness in this.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Ghosts of the past
You think you've sorted through it. You pretend you've found peace about it. You convince yourself that you have dealt with the issues. You imagine you've moved on with life. You are arrogant enough to assume you can bury the past.
Humans are funny creatures. We adapt to new surroundings and situations with ease, and convince ourselves that the past will remain in the past. Close that closet door as if the bones won't rattle when you walk away.
Maybe you will be sucsessful...for a year. For five years. And then suddenly an emotional hurricane rips the door of it's hinges, and its all there in your face, raw as ever.
Past relationships. Past dynamics. Past mistakes. Smacking you up side of the head with a vengance, reminding you that the past never dies. It just festers.
I'm consistently awed by how the energies of me and those I am closest with intertwine and mesh on levels that seem inexplicable. Patrick dealing the the residual anger of a relationship past. The boi feeling uncomfortrable about an old fling and a unfinished ending. And me, with a mountain of regret and no way to fix it for any of us.
Fairytale endings are remarkably hard to achieve when ghosts of the past keep stomping on your glass slippers.
I'm going to add to my list of Inventions That Should Be (dehydrated, shrunken friends - slip 'em in your pocket and add water to reanimate!) Life's Little Teflon Coating - scrape it off, toss it out, wipe and start again, residue free.
But Wenchiegirl! Past experiences build chartacter! Adds flavour! Teaches lessons and adds maturity! Fuck off. Past experiences also result in denial, guilt and a squick factor that reappears at the most innopportune times.
I'm going to check out of life for a few days. Load up the ute with a cooler full of water, toss a mattress, the dog and my journal aboard and just fuck off to god knows where till my head stops screaming at me.
I'm taking every past ghost i can rustle up off to the outback, tossing them into the sun and letting the fuckers fry.
Humans are funny creatures. We adapt to new surroundings and situations with ease, and convince ourselves that the past will remain in the past. Close that closet door as if the bones won't rattle when you walk away.
Maybe you will be sucsessful...for a year. For five years. And then suddenly an emotional hurricane rips the door of it's hinges, and its all there in your face, raw as ever.
Past relationships. Past dynamics. Past mistakes. Smacking you up side of the head with a vengance, reminding you that the past never dies. It just festers.
I'm consistently awed by how the energies of me and those I am closest with intertwine and mesh on levels that seem inexplicable. Patrick dealing the the residual anger of a relationship past. The boi feeling uncomfortrable about an old fling and a unfinished ending. And me, with a mountain of regret and no way to fix it for any of us.
Fairytale endings are remarkably hard to achieve when ghosts of the past keep stomping on your glass slippers.
I'm going to add to my list of Inventions That Should Be (dehydrated, shrunken friends - slip 'em in your pocket and add water to reanimate!) Life's Little Teflon Coating - scrape it off, toss it out, wipe and start again, residue free.
But Wenchiegirl! Past experiences build chartacter! Adds flavour! Teaches lessons and adds maturity! Fuck off. Past experiences also result in denial, guilt and a squick factor that reappears at the most innopportune times.
I'm going to check out of life for a few days. Load up the ute with a cooler full of water, toss a mattress, the dog and my journal aboard and just fuck off to god knows where till my head stops screaming at me.
I'm taking every past ghost i can rustle up off to the outback, tossing them into the sun and letting the fuckers fry.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Random thoughts
Alcohol is best mixed with milk. don't ewwww until you have tried it.
Yay for the Rubenesque ideal. Long overdue for a recall.
Orson Scott Card's Ender series, while ok, is overblown, IMHO. Far under-publicised is his fantasy series based on the character 'Alvin Maker'.
I miss snow. And I miss wearing leather. And snuggly sweaters.
Kitten feet smell like Fritos. Or corn chips, if you aren't in North America and therefore have no farking idea what a Frito is.
Multiple moose should be called Meese. Like geese, only with horns. and less honking.
Nothing is so upsetting that it can't be overcome with one or more of the following; Good coffee. Good chocolate. Good sex. A good book. A good friend. A good cry. A journal and a pen.
Words I like; Mine. Oogeous, Scrummy. Oodles. Seductive. Feet. Plethora. Indulge. Fundamental. Trollop. No.
Words I detest; No. Wait.
Sacrasam is a widely abused form of humour; far too many asshats attempt to pull it off in a half-assed fashion and fail miserabely, while those who have mastered the art to perfection often go overlooked and unrecognized.
Even after years of travelling and living overseas, I am still startled when someone finds a canadian accent exotic.
I feel like every teenaged "puppy love' cliche was written about me, personally. Like all those silly sayings (I never knew love like this exsisted", "I see forever when I am with you", "I don't remember what there was before there was us", etc etc, gag, gag,puke) were written specifically to describe the vomituous drivelI am experiencing right now. And I am loving every second.
Hommeade pipe bombs planted in garbage bins at the McDonalds around the corner from me? Are still enough to make me jump and bang my knee. (and what did you do this evening, kids?)
Yay for the Rubenesque ideal. Long overdue for a recall.
Orson Scott Card's Ender series, while ok, is overblown, IMHO. Far under-publicised is his fantasy series based on the character 'Alvin Maker'.
I miss snow. And I miss wearing leather. And snuggly sweaters.
Kitten feet smell like Fritos. Or corn chips, if you aren't in North America and therefore have no farking idea what a Frito is.
Multiple moose should be called Meese. Like geese, only with horns. and less honking.
Nothing is so upsetting that it can't be overcome with one or more of the following; Good coffee. Good chocolate. Good sex. A good book. A good friend. A good cry. A journal and a pen.
Words I like; Mine. Oogeous, Scrummy. Oodles. Seductive. Feet. Plethora. Indulge. Fundamental. Trollop. No.
Words I detest; No. Wait.
Sacrasam is a widely abused form of humour; far too many asshats attempt to pull it off in a half-assed fashion and fail miserabely, while those who have mastered the art to perfection often go overlooked and unrecognized.
Even after years of travelling and living overseas, I am still startled when someone finds a canadian accent exotic.
I feel like every teenaged "puppy love' cliche was written about me, personally. Like all those silly sayings (I never knew love like this exsisted", "I see forever when I am with you", "I don't remember what there was before there was us", etc etc, gag, gag,puke) were written specifically to describe the vomituous drivelI am experiencing right now. And I am loving every second.
Hommeade pipe bombs planted in garbage bins at the McDonalds around the corner from me? Are still enough to make me jump and bang my knee. (and what did you do this evening, kids?)
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Bellylaughing.
Unabashedly stolen for a message board i post to;
What does your partner do that makes you laugh?
He gives me a series of peckish kisses, declaring between each one "mine *smooch*mine*smooch*mine"...mimicing the seagulls in Finding Nemo.
He installs pimpassed red furry seat covers in the car.
He sings and dances with me in coffeeshops, ending with a boobgrab to make me honk aloud to amuse passers by.
He stands nekked and waves his weiner about in the air.
He "tickles" me by attempting to insert his own body limbs into my bellybutton. (your elbow does not fit! No, not even with an extra shot of lube!).
He wears wings around a shopping mall.
He jumps like a girlie girl when i yell "boo".
He reads in the loo (why? I just don't grok this)....and gets involved enough in his book that he loses track of time and spends aaaages in there.
He tries on silly hats, bunny ears and whatever else catches my eye.
He blows raspberries on my stomach to the tune of the Star Wars theme.
He smiles at babies, even though he does not want one.
He brings me to the ocean.
He swims up underneath me and bites my ass when we are swimming.
He makes time to detour to the pet shop to oogle the puppies.
He tells me he loves me.
What does your partner do that makes you laugh?
He gives me a series of peckish kisses, declaring between each one "mine *smooch*mine*smooch*mine"...mimicing the seagulls in Finding Nemo.
He installs pimpassed red furry seat covers in the car.
He sings and dances with me in coffeeshops, ending with a boobgrab to make me honk aloud to amuse passers by.
He stands nekked and waves his weiner about in the air.
He "tickles" me by attempting to insert his own body limbs into my bellybutton. (your elbow does not fit! No, not even with an extra shot of lube!).
He wears wings around a shopping mall.
He jumps like a girlie girl when i yell "boo".
He reads in the loo (why? I just don't grok this)....and gets involved enough in his book that he loses track of time and spends aaaages in there.
He tries on silly hats, bunny ears and whatever else catches my eye.
He blows raspberries on my stomach to the tune of the Star Wars theme.
He smiles at babies, even though he does not want one.
He brings me to the ocean.
He swims up underneath me and bites my ass when we are swimming.
He makes time to detour to the pet shop to oogle the puppies.
He tells me he loves me.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Pimpmobile!
So the boy bought a Ute a few weeks ago. Thats a pickup or just a truck to the rest of you lot. Wanna see? Voilla!
Being the considerate and accomidating sort (shhh! he does not like it when i ruin his tuff and gruff Grrry man reputation (psssst! heas all fluffy, really)), he actually went out of his way to only look at automatic vehicles. They are rare here; but I don't drive manuals. I feel so spoilled.
But the best part is coming. Not only does he tolerate my sense of humour; he actively encourages me. So we are partway through decking it out till it OOZES cheese. Red plush seat covers! Wheee! Fuzzy dice and disco balls, here we come!
It's the little things that make me smile, i know. But still. You can't help but sit in this thing and grin at the sheer screamingly obnoxiousness of it all.
We r teh classy.
Please note; this entry reads much better if you copy and paste the address into Gizoogle! and hit the "translate" button.
Being the considerate and accomidating sort (shhh! he does not like it when i ruin his tuff and gruff Grrry man reputation (psssst! heas all fluffy, really)), he actually went out of his way to only look at automatic vehicles. They are rare here; but I don't drive manuals. I feel so spoilled.
But the best part is coming. Not only does he tolerate my sense of humour; he actively encourages me. So we are partway through decking it out till it OOZES cheese. Red plush seat covers! Wheee! Fuzzy dice and disco balls, here we come!
It's the little things that make me smile, i know. But still. You can't help but sit in this thing and grin at the sheer screamingly obnoxiousness of it all.
We r teh classy.
Please note; this entry reads much better if you copy and paste the address into Gizoogle! and hit the "translate" button.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Get thee to an aeroplane!
Whirlwind few weeks. My ex was in town, and staying with me and the boi. Yeah...no potentional for anything to go horrifically wrong there, huh? Sorry to dissapoint you; but no Jerry Springer show arose from the visit; the ex was on good behavior (relaively speaking), and the loved-up shmoopy boi himself was playing it up by wisely being his most positive helpful self. I'm thinking of apponting him for sainthood.
Finally got to Sydney. Spent two days congradulating myself on having perfect intuition yet again regarding accomidation; the place i picked online turned out to be PERFECTLY situated right in freak central, but one block over making it absolutely quiet when we wanted to sleep, yet only steps aay from 24 hour people waching. Got to do most things on the adgenda; but did not make it UP the bridge; the observation center was closed when we were there. Also missed out on a nighttime harbour cruise, due to sloppy planning and exhaustion.
Spent a weekend north, flaked out on a beach. Spend some time on a boat tour, which took us dolphin, dugong and sea turtle watching, as well as snorkelling on some shipwrecks. Cool as fuck; but also more then a little scarey at times. I'm a dork. Things looming up at me from out of the deep kept making me panic, resulting in me floundering about and sucking in water. The boys had a minor testosterone competition when bravely atttepting sandtoboganning form a fuck off big dune. The boi was only hurt a little and hid it very well, so his ego remains intact.
Valentines day was a quiet one, free from the hallmark -inspired trappings that i detest so much. It was still my most enjoyable one to date. And i further thumbed my nose at convention by going off and buying the boi a ring. Ha! I laugh at your gender conventions!
pics of all the adventures to appear shortly, i promise.
Finally got to Sydney. Spent two days congradulating myself on having perfect intuition yet again regarding accomidation; the place i picked online turned out to be PERFECTLY situated right in freak central, but one block over making it absolutely quiet when we wanted to sleep, yet only steps aay from 24 hour people waching. Got to do most things on the adgenda; but did not make it UP the bridge; the observation center was closed when we were there. Also missed out on a nighttime harbour cruise, due to sloppy planning and exhaustion.
Spent a weekend north, flaked out on a beach. Spend some time on a boat tour, which took us dolphin, dugong and sea turtle watching, as well as snorkelling on some shipwrecks. Cool as fuck; but also more then a little scarey at times. I'm a dork. Things looming up at me from out of the deep kept making me panic, resulting in me floundering about and sucking in water. The boys had a minor testosterone competition when bravely atttepting sandtoboganning form a fuck off big dune. The boi was only hurt a little and hid it very well, so his ego remains intact.
Valentines day was a quiet one, free from the hallmark -inspired trappings that i detest so much. It was still my most enjoyable one to date. And i further thumbed my nose at convention by going off and buying the boi a ring. Ha! I laugh at your gender conventions!
pics of all the adventures to appear shortly, i promise.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Closing a chapter
Finally. The ex dude is here for a visit...we've taken him all over the place and played tour guides (more on that later). It';s all going great. Easy going freindship thing, for the most part. couple minor slip ups into slightly uncomfortable territory; but any conflicts get resolved fairly fast without undue fuss.
Tonight, we finally managed to tell his parents that we are getting a divorce.
A few days ago, we agreed its time to actually get started filing for divorce, after several years of separation, and both of us being in serious relationships with others.
I don't know how i feel. I feel little. Telling the in laws had been a major want of mine...and a major fear. When the ex and i split, i was far more anxious over the thoguht of saying goodbye to his family then worry about what would happen to him and i. Guess thats normal; we'd both had time to adjust, and we knew we would sort things out to a good friendship.
But I'm worried it will be hard for the family to do the same.
I want to make them stay right where they were in my life. but know it is inevitable that things will change alot from here on in.
I feel lost.
And I'm glad it's done.
Tonight, we finally managed to tell his parents that we are getting a divorce.
A few days ago, we agreed its time to actually get started filing for divorce, after several years of separation, and both of us being in serious relationships with others.
I don't know how i feel. I feel little. Telling the in laws had been a major want of mine...and a major fear. When the ex and i split, i was far more anxious over the thoguht of saying goodbye to his family then worry about what would happen to him and i. Guess thats normal; we'd both had time to adjust, and we knew we would sort things out to a good friendship.
But I'm worried it will be hard for the family to do the same.
I want to make them stay right where they were in my life. but know it is inevitable that things will change alot from here on in.
I feel lost.
And I'm glad it's done.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
The rain hurts my forehead.
Grrr. Typing this from memory now cause my first attempt got eaten by a blogger eror when i tried to post. Death and pox to them!
Arrived back home this morning exhausted, crispy crittered, sore and achey with feet that screamed murderous thoughts at me...and a huge assed smile.
This weekend was Big Day Out. The boi and i booked a room in Surfers Paradise for a couple of nights, to avoid the early morning traffic jams down to the venue, and to have the luxury of crashing nearby instead of making the trek back after the show.
With a line up including The Chemical Brothers, The Donnas, The Beastie Boys, Slipknot, System of a Down, The Streets, Eskimo Joe, Bexta, and dozens of popular Aussie acts, it promised to be an intensive event.
I spent the week before slaving and sweating and cursing over the making of a pair of raver pants for the boi. I had forgotten just how intensely i hated fucking sewing machines. It all came rushing back about 5 minutes into said slavage. Black cotton, with red mesh panels down the outside of each leg, and red fur pockets. They look fucking spectacular now that they are done...but he came perilously close to waking up unpleasently at several points during their making, to find me astride his chest forcing reams of material down his throat while cackling gleefully "eat this, bitchboi!"
Combined with the red demon wings i bought a few months back (which he had initially wanted to modify before wearing cause they were too girlie) and his newly dyed blonde crewcut/red mohawk/sideburns/racing stripe down goatie hair job (also done by me...I should run a business!), he looked rather smashing.
Single men, make note; he could have been laid dozens of times over by cuties with great boobs has it not been for having me along. Pictures are available at a fee if you would like to copy the look.
My own raver pants/block gothic fairy wings/electric purple hair barely even registered on the scale next to the Complete Attention Whore that is my boyfriend.
We were however groped by random strangers, posed for pictures with people who found us particularly cool looking, and even posed upon request for Virgin Phone and The Bulletin, a local paper.
The wings made it a little hard to manouver in big crowds, so had to be removed for a few shows. But people even bowed! You think i'm joking.
We arrived at 10:30 am...and by midday the crowds had grown to the point that finding shade was next to impossible. I was grumpy and miserable. And the boi has the attention span of a toddler suffering ADD and hyped on speed (erm...the hypothetical toddler,that is, not the boi himself), making sitting in one spot impossible. Added to the oppressive crowd of 50,000 bodies was the fact that I am now positive that somewhere along the way something I did produced enough bad karma that I died and went to Hell. No one was nice enough to inform me of the fact, but Hell I am in, nonetheless. Fire and Brimstone is not THAT far a stretch from Tropical heat and unending home renno/housebitching, i tell ya! And the bastardly boi, who looked so ~right~ somehow in his devil wings is evil enough at times to make me wonder if he is not in fact my own personal Lucifer incarnate.
By late afternoon my skin had fried to the point where it had produced a thick crunchy outer layer and could not absorb anymore heat, and so things got a little better. By the time the sun went down entirely, and i could break out my shiney-things-that-go-whirr toys, i pulled a Jekel and Hyde and became one happy bunny indeed. Horay for raver toys! Three cheers for venues that make it ok for me to walk about with a delighted expression while totally entranced with the lights and vibrations of a toy pushed up against my own nose.
Shortly after the Beastie Boys we made our way out to the shuttlebus back into the city - and found that the party continued from there into the streets...so i got to indulge my people-watching fetish a while longer when we took to the street in search of food.
By the way, for anyone looking to spend a cheap weekend in Surfers, I reccommend The Islander Resort; its a combination hotel/backpakers hostel, convenient clean and cheap.
Took the train back into Brissy this morning, promply crahsed out for the afternoon, dragging my ass out of bed at 6. My body still hates me...but it was worth it.
Arrived back home this morning exhausted, crispy crittered, sore and achey with feet that screamed murderous thoughts at me...and a huge assed smile.
This weekend was Big Day Out. The boi and i booked a room in Surfers Paradise for a couple of nights, to avoid the early morning traffic jams down to the venue, and to have the luxury of crashing nearby instead of making the trek back after the show.
With a line up including The Chemical Brothers, The Donnas, The Beastie Boys, Slipknot, System of a Down, The Streets, Eskimo Joe, Bexta, and dozens of popular Aussie acts, it promised to be an intensive event.
I spent the week before slaving and sweating and cursing over the making of a pair of raver pants for the boi. I had forgotten just how intensely i hated fucking sewing machines. It all came rushing back about 5 minutes into said slavage. Black cotton, with red mesh panels down the outside of each leg, and red fur pockets. They look fucking spectacular now that they are done...but he came perilously close to waking up unpleasently at several points during their making, to find me astride his chest forcing reams of material down his throat while cackling gleefully "eat this, bitchboi!"
Combined with the red demon wings i bought a few months back (which he had initially wanted to modify before wearing cause they were too girlie) and his newly dyed blonde crewcut/red mohawk/sideburns/racing stripe down goatie hair job (also done by me...I should run a business!), he looked rather smashing.
Single men, make note; he could have been laid dozens of times over by cuties with great boobs has it not been for having me along. Pictures are available at a fee if you would like to copy the look.
My own raver pants/block gothic fairy wings/electric purple hair barely even registered on the scale next to the Complete Attention Whore that is my boyfriend.
We were however groped by random strangers, posed for pictures with people who found us particularly cool looking, and even posed upon request for Virgin Phone and The Bulletin, a local paper.
The wings made it a little hard to manouver in big crowds, so had to be removed for a few shows. But people even bowed! You think i'm joking.
We arrived at 10:30 am...and by midday the crowds had grown to the point that finding shade was next to impossible. I was grumpy and miserable. And the boi has the attention span of a toddler suffering ADD and hyped on speed (erm...the hypothetical toddler,that is, not the boi himself), making sitting in one spot impossible. Added to the oppressive crowd of 50,000 bodies was the fact that I am now positive that somewhere along the way something I did produced enough bad karma that I died and went to Hell. No one was nice enough to inform me of the fact, but Hell I am in, nonetheless. Fire and Brimstone is not THAT far a stretch from Tropical heat and unending home renno/housebitching, i tell ya! And the bastardly boi, who looked so ~right~ somehow in his devil wings is evil enough at times to make me wonder if he is not in fact my own personal Lucifer incarnate.
By late afternoon my skin had fried to the point where it had produced a thick crunchy outer layer and could not absorb anymore heat, and so things got a little better. By the time the sun went down entirely, and i could break out my shiney-things-that-go-whirr toys, i pulled a Jekel and Hyde and became one happy bunny indeed. Horay for raver toys! Three cheers for venues that make it ok for me to walk about with a delighted expression while totally entranced with the lights and vibrations of a toy pushed up against my own nose.
Shortly after the Beastie Boys we made our way out to the shuttlebus back into the city - and found that the party continued from there into the streets...so i got to indulge my people-watching fetish a while longer when we took to the street in search of food.
By the way, for anyone looking to spend a cheap weekend in Surfers, I reccommend The Islander Resort; its a combination hotel/backpakers hostel, convenient clean and cheap.
Took the train back into Brissy this morning, promply crahsed out for the afternoon, dragging my ass out of bed at 6. My body still hates me...but it was worth it.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
What things are important in your life?
Answers in the guestbook, please.
What things are near and dear to you? What things, no matter ow munumental, or how seemingly insignificant, improve your life by their mere presence?
What things would you not want to live without, even if you could?
____________________________________________________________
Coffee(Iced, cappucino, vanilla syrup).
Rain (warm, mist, fog)
Toys (geeky, childlike, or people)
Chocolate(coconut, milk, praline).
Friends(compassionate, open, inteligent)
Sex(hard and fast).
Snuggles (leisurely, tactle and thorough)
Thunderstorms(loud and furious).
Books, newspapers, music(sheer escapism)
Sparkly, shiney, fuzy, whirry things.
Ocean(the sound and smell).
Anything that makes me smile, or in some cases, cry with happiness.
Life is too short to waste worrying too much.
Sometimes we get so caught up in planning how to live we forget to live.
What things are near and dear to you? What things, no matter ow munumental, or how seemingly insignificant, improve your life by their mere presence?
What things would you not want to live without, even if you could?
____________________________________________________________
Coffee(Iced, cappucino, vanilla syrup).
Rain (warm, mist, fog)
Toys (geeky, childlike, or people)
Chocolate(coconut, milk, praline).
Friends(compassionate, open, inteligent)
Sex(hard and fast).
Snuggles (leisurely, tactle and thorough)
Thunderstorms(loud and furious).
Books, newspapers, music(sheer escapism)
Sparkly, shiney, fuzy, whirry things.
Ocean(the sound and smell).
Anything that makes me smile, or in some cases, cry with happiness.
Life is too short to waste worrying too much.
Sometimes we get so caught up in planning how to live we forget to live.
A year in review
New things is did that scared me in 2004;
-Learned a lesson in patience. Gave up control; handed a relationship over to the fates and hoped for the best, instead off fighting tooth and nail to save things.
-Accepted that I am not responsible for the happieness(or lack thereof) of my ex.
-Drafted, re-drafted, re-re-drafted, finalized, then signed, an official separation agreement.
_Became a single person for the first time in my adult life. Revelled in the freedom once i stopped being terrified.
-told my father my marriage was over.
-tried casual sex, casual relationships, being the beta in a poly relationship. Failed at all three. Learned from all three too.
-Threw out belongings. I've alays been a packrat- trust me, this was scarey.
-Had my clithood pierced. Discovered i could spiderwalk in the proccess.
-Rode a rollercoaster. Had eyes closed from the first rise all the way to the end, but still.
-Touched a crocodile.
-Began a relationship in which i was not in control.
-packed my life into a couple of bags and moved around the world; with no plan, no job, no apartment. No clue.
I loved the year, overall. I learned more about myself and my abilities then I had learned any other year of my life. I can't wait to see what 2005 will bring.
-Learned a lesson in patience. Gave up control; handed a relationship over to the fates and hoped for the best, instead off fighting tooth and nail to save things.
-Accepted that I am not responsible for the happieness(or lack thereof) of my ex.
-Drafted, re-drafted, re-re-drafted, finalized, then signed, an official separation agreement.
_Became a single person for the first time in my adult life. Revelled in the freedom once i stopped being terrified.
-told my father my marriage was over.
-tried casual sex, casual relationships, being the beta in a poly relationship. Failed at all three. Learned from all three too.
-Threw out belongings. I've alays been a packrat- trust me, this was scarey.
-Had my clithood pierced. Discovered i could spiderwalk in the proccess.
-Rode a rollercoaster. Had eyes closed from the first rise all the way to the end, but still.
-Touched a crocodile.
-Began a relationship in which i was not in control.
-packed my life into a couple of bags and moved around the world; with no plan, no job, no apartment. No clue.
I loved the year, overall. I learned more about myself and my abilities then I had learned any other year of my life. I can't wait to see what 2005 will bring.
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