2005 Xmas Wish List, redux.

From a post I made last year, in response to a What do you want for Xmas thread on a message board somewhere;

-a Smart Car (eco friendly, I want the sporty coupe, convertible)
- a laptop. (i mac)
- mp3 player (creative Zen)
- Plane tickets to London and Canada.
- a few grand to blow on books.
- Hookers and blow. Ok, so I'm not ~that~ greedy. Anal will do. But he has to wear a Santa Suit and call me Ho.

The first 6 items are dispensible.

I found it today with some amusement.

I bought a car some month ago. Looked very seriously into Smart Cars, but in the end the enormous cost factor detracted from their benefits, and I wound up with a sunshine-y, screamingly bright yellow Hyundai instead. Still guzzles about half the petrol that the monster truck I drove before did, so I feel I did not totally sell out on the environmental concerns portion of this one.

The IMac. Yeah...still with a strange unexplainable desire to own an apple, but have moved on now to the MacBook Pro. And will make this one a reality in the new year. Gotta love the Australian "Salary Sacrifice" scheme...wherein you can purchase high ticket items that can be justified as partially work related by obtaining item right away, and paying for it in installments from your pay, PRE tax.

The Creative Zen. Never got it. Sort of. I made the mistake of telling the Bastard that I wanted a new MP3 player...and what does he do? Buys a Ipod for himself. Then bores of it and buys a goddamned Creative MP3 player....and wonders why I am a touched miffed at him showing off his toys. And I STILL don't have a decent MP3 player. Not that I am bitter, or anything. I've just appropriated one of his for the time being. That'll learn him.

Plane tickets to London and Canada. Check. We leave Saturday. And Have managed to throw The U.S and Bangkok into the mix, as well. Have I mentioned "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!", yet?

A few grand to blow on books. Hmmm. While I doubt I've spent quite THAT much, we've added to our collection considerably; and next month I'll be sorting through some of my things in storage in Canada and ship a number more books here.

Hookers/Blow....immediately replaced by anal on second thought. I'm pretty much guaranteed to get this one if I ask nicely. Hell, even if I demand bitchily.

Which reminds me.....I need to go shopping for a Santa Hat.

I was thinking of you today...

For T.


The window was open, the early morning air was clean from an overnight thunderstorm. I could hear the kids next door splashing in their pool. The macaw was back and feeding on the seed I leave out for him...or her...I don't actually know.

I was standing at the kitchen counter, cutting open avocado's to make guacamole, and suddenly, I feltt myself back in your flat, remembering the day I first made you guacamole and it launched a discussion about how British people ruin it by adding tomato and onion.

You were so close I could smell you. But when I went to touch you, it all dissolved.

Next time I will try to hold on tighter:)

Miss you.

Better then Books?

A friend of mine covets the Sony Reader. Basically, a hand held electronic storage device with the capability of holding about 80 books on it's memory card, displaying them on a scrolling screen for reading pleasure.

While I am a total junkie for new toys, and readilly admit to this, the Reader is one device that passes me by. I just don't get it.

I don't get the same innate pleasure from reading words on a computer screen. The texture, the smell, the experience of a book in my hands cannot be duplicated in the digital format.

Google news (customized) is my homepage. I spend the first hour of every morning skimming news articles.

I also read one print paper every day, and about three days a week, another print newspaper as well.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking digital media in any way. 99% of my job is carried out through the internet.

I check online for movie tickets, travel bookings, first stop for any research, for directions and maps, for phone numbers, I check ebay for an estimate of cost before buying pretty much anything of value.

But I love my books and newspapers. The internet is convenient, and versatile, and able to keep up with my 2 second attention span, and my need for info NOW. And that is alot of "ands".

But I hope it never completely replaces print media. Reading books in digital format is only half an experience for me. And nothing can replace my leisurely saturday morning coffee and newspaper ritual.

I....

AM: Excited
WANT: A cannon Eos and a MacBook
WISH: that travel was cheap
HATE: Bigotry
MISS: London
HEAR: Gottan Project
WONDER: if it will snow for xmas in NF
REGRET: nothing.
AM NOT: managing my time effectively
DANCE: far too little these days
SING: to nearly everything
CRY: when i need an emotional de-pressuring
AM NOT ALWAYS: confident
WRITE: not often enough
CONFUSE: the sensible
NEED: love
SHOULD: be at the gym

26 days to go!

So the tickets are paid for, the hotels and rental cars are reserved, and everything is a go for the big upcoming trip. Just over three weeks to go and we've already packed out backpacks, which are sitting expectantly at the end of the bed, reflecting the anxiousness that is us.

And as an added bonus gift, I have learned that when I return, I no longer have a job. Company is being sold, and out we all go. How's that for a send off gift? "Enjoy your holidays! and subsequent unemployment"!

I'm fiddling with the idea of starting a small business on my return. The boi is terribly supportive, and certain it will explode and we will be rolling in success and money inside a year. He's already planning to quit his job and make me his sugarmamma, coming to work as my biatchboi while finishing his degree.

Not that there's any pressure, or anything.

I'm mixed about it all. With 5 grand for new equipment and marketing, I'm more then confident I can pull it of. As things stand, with no capital, and second rate (in my opinion) equipment, I'm really fucking nervous about wetherI will have the balls to pull this off. Doubting myself will not lend itself to a good sales pitch, either.

Stress over money and plans to move again in the near future means my face is broken out and splotchy like a teenagers. Sexy!

And yet, several days ago, I tossed all cares and concerns out the window. I am determined to enjoy the trip with every ounce of my being, and debt be damned. I've waited too long as it is, and the travel bug and friend-sickness will wait no longer. So off we went today for vaccinations (to protect from all the nasties on the Asian portion of the trip), and giggly-excited we are about the entire thing.

Our credit cards will smoke and combust by the time we are through, but damnit, we are in for a riot of a time.

Clear your calendars and pack away your breakables; hurricane Nikki is on it's way.

The captain goes down with the ship.

The point of diminishing returns often sneaks up on us, unawares. We plod on, extending more and more effort, invest time, money and emotions into a situation; or a person, and wake up one day to find that our effort is going out at an exponential rate, but the returns have dwindled to the point that the balance is completely off.

To give is a wonderful thing; but no person should be expected to give everything. There needs to be a replenishment of self, of happiness.

It’s so easy to get caught in the spiral; to extend just a little bit more with each crisis, to roll up your sleeves and chuck in something extra when the situation warrants. But some situations; some relationships go constantly down the drain and a very slow and steady rate.

It is incredibly hard to recognize this phenomenon when it is happening. And it is very easy to shrug off the words of others, well meaning in intentions when they tell you the ship has sunk and you are just doing a dog paddle to stay afloat. Titanic was unsinkable, remember?

“Don't always follow the bright lights, sometimes they ain't as shiny as they might seem. P”

She (P) is honestly the most astute and logical person I know when it comes to summing up the situation of another person, and spitting things out the other end in a blunt, but entirely correct fashion. She leaves no room for interpretation, no room for argument or rebuttal. Because she is right. Absolutely.

And yet, somehow, when it comes to herself, she buys into the romance of it all everytime. She chases that shiny light like nothing else exists.

“Sometimes relationships end because they are done. Most things don't last forever. They last only as long as necessary, to teach us something- or to bring us something we needed...even if, at times, we aren't aware there is something lacking. Me”

For a much-needed time, it brought her happiness. And she deserves happiness. Problem is, the happiness it offered is limited in scope. It’s constrained by othering things, other people, and theres nothing she can do to conquor those things. They are unmoveable rocks, the fioundations on what makes him him.

She has trouble living in the here and now of a relationship. Love is like that; it sweeps you up in the headiness of it all, and logic no longer has a place. You can’t run a relationship when focusing on what might be, what could be…what you want it to be. The only way to maintain balance in a relationship is to appreciate it for what it is this day, right now.

Is it enough? Can you go on, knowing that this is what it is? Don’t account for all the “what if’s”…focus right now on what IS?

To constantly expect things to live up to the unreal expectations that you set for it, based on the ideal thing you wish it was, you set yourself up for failure. And every time something goes wrong, it is easy to overlook the simple fact that what went wrong never actually was in the first place. It is an alternate thing, a reality removed from the one smacking you in the face. It’s not an always and forever, white picket fence sort of deal. It can’t ever be that.

There will always be external forces beyond your control. There will always be kids demanding time, there will always be work, there will always be a life outside of the rose-tinted romance.

I watched my own personal Titanic go down while sitting in P’s bathtub some years ago, snotting and bawling while she talked me through it. I grasped at every possibility, every external factor, every variable I could imagine. Anything, just to make it work like I so desperately wanted. But nothing I could have offered would have been enough to keep it aloat.

When you strip it down to the bare essentials, P, is it enough? Forget the dreams of him coming home to a clean house, a cooked meal, and a naughty smile. Is it enough to be forever living for those few precious moments snatched between other concerns?

Because this is the way it is. And it is the only way you can count on it ever being.

Aging; the good, the bad, the ugly.

The Good;

-I’m a better judge of character, because I just learned to listen to that inner voice that tells me something is wrong.

-Sex is better. Seriously. In my teens and twenty’s, I just went along with whatever my partner wanted, out of fear of being thought of as a slut. With age comes the ability to effectively communicate, and the recognition of what things you really like, and what things just don’t cut it, as well as not really caring if they think you are a slut, just so long as everyone’s happy.

-People take me (more) seriously. No more of that automatic dismissal based on age and a perceived lack of wisdom. I don’t always feel such a need to prove my own worth.

-Life is simpler, on purpose. Drama-laden friendships that were the norm when I was younger started to take a toll on me, so I purged them from my life.

The Bad;

-Without glucosamine supplements, my knees creak when I use the stairs.

-Unless club nights are chemically enhanced, by 2-3 am, I want to go home to bed. I miss watching the sunrise while still sweaty from a dance floor.

-I still get asked for I.D. I could have put this under “good”, except that sometimes I will forget to bring the damned ID.

-Constant fucking questions about when I am going to have kids. I don’t stop you on the street and ask when you plan your next shit, so why the fuck is it ok for you to ask something as intimate as when I plan to procreate?

-I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. And at my age, selfishness is no longer an indulgence that is acceptable to most. People have an odd desire to talk to me about things like retirement savings and investments, when I am still delighted that someone pays me to do next to nothing, thereby funding my weekends. I suspect they also wish I would grow up and stop with the pink/purple hair and the piercings, too.

The Ugly;

-Why the fuck do I have a single chin hair that erupts in the same damned spot over and over again?

Stupid Nikki tricks.

I've given myself a papercut. By accident.

On my nipple.

A big one, right across the very centre.

It hurts as though a thousand pint-sized sadists are on there jabbing it with hot pokers.

My nipple is deformed. It's flapping open; looks similar to when I had a piercing reject and was too stubborn to give in and remove it; eventually it ripped out when it caught on something.

Oh yeah, that "something" was one of those evil olive picker-style wire gripper clamps.

Why do I hate my nipples so? They've never brought me harm...quite the opposite in fact. They have done nothing but love me.

So why is it, in my clutziness, that I try to kill them?

Where is ~MY~ slave, goddamnit?

I'm at that breaking point again; where the pressure of being so many things to so many people is building up and every little task seems like a monumental mountain.

You know what I mean; full time employee. Cleaner. Cook. Buyer of presents. Laundress. Chauffeur. Proofreader. Researcher. Personal assistant. Doer of homework. Trip planner extraordinaire (don't even get me started on the bloody trip planning). Ebay seller. Fucking car mechanic. Vet. Sex kiten. Bill payer. Shopper.

The never ending, constantly increasing demands for my time, my energy, my very fucking lifeforce.

I want someone to step in and start doing things for me. I want an entire week wherein I can pass on every task, big and small, to someone else. One week where I never have to hear the sentence "could you please......" or "Where is my..." or "have you..."

Do it your goddamned self...are your legs broken? I don't know where it is, keep track of your own possessions, and no, I bloody well have NOT. It's hardly an appropriate, expected, dignified, fair, or even called for response. But holy fucking hell, have I ever THOUGHT of such things.

I feel as though I am expected to know the answer to every question, there whereabouts of every item, the perfect solution to every problem....and to do it all with a grateful smile. The pressure is overwhelming me. I'm drowning, and I seem to have missplaced my snorkel.

I'm a strong person. I have huge shoulders, and am used to lots being carried thereon. I even enjoy being relied on. I like feeling usefull. It gives me purpose, and great satisfaction. I like feeling needed.

But good god, there are times when it all seems so huge. Like even one more tiny request is going to result in my screaming or falling into a crying heap.

I want help, but I am a perfectionist bitch for whom anyone else's effort would not be enough, and I would wind up redoing it anyhow.

I'm losing the ballance, and I need to bring everything back into perspective, but I don't know how to make it right. I feel overextended in every direction, and yet, I know I can't quit (anything) or it will go undone...and in all likelyhood require more effort to fix further down the track as payment for neglect.

Anyone have a slave they can lend me for a few weeks?

X-Mas Travel Plans

The Boi and I have a rather hectic, Visit-the-Friends-and-Family trip planned for the holdays this year.

It will be the first time he meets my dad, and the first time he sees snow. Other then a small trip to the middle of Ohio a few years back, it will also be the first time he's left Australia.

We're making brief stops, therefore, in a bunch of places, to try to give him a quick overview of as much as possible, with longer stops for my beloveds in Newfoundland and in London.

Rough itinerary to follow below; anyone enroute who wants to meet up for a quick coffee and chat feel free to weigh in.

While I'm a seasoned traveller, with lots planned for the adgenda already, feel free to weigh in with your favourite memories/ plans/ warnings/ reccomendations/ horror stories for any of the planned stops.
__________________________________________________________________
Sun, Dec 3: AIR NEW ZEALANd
From: BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA (BNE)
Departs: 11:40am
Departure Terminal: INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL
To: AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND (AKL)
Arrives: 5:40pm Arrival Terminal: INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL
-----------------------------------------
Sun, Dec 3: AIR NEW ZEALAND,
From: AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND (AKL)
Departs: 7:30pm Departure Terminal: INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL
To: LOS ANGELES, CA (LAX)
Arrives: 10:25am
Arrival Terminal: TERMINAL 2
*note; in process of changing this leg, as we would be comfortable with more time to claim luggage, clear customs and transfer to next leg.*
-----------------------------------------
Sun, Dec 3: UNITED AIRLINES,
From: LOS ANGELES, CA (LAX)
Departs: 1:00pm Departure Terminal: TERMINAL 7
To: NEW YORK JFK, NY (JFK)
Arrives: 9:10pm
Arrival Terminal: TERMINAL 7
-----------------------------------------
Note; two nights with a friend in NYC, then one night in NJ (in order to make the morning flight out without having to arrange transport in the wee hours of the morning)
-----------------------------------------
Wed, Dec 6: AIR CANADA,
From: NEWARK, NJ
Departs: 9:25am
Departure Terminal: TERMINAL A
To: TORONTO ON, CANADA (YYZ)
Arrives: 11:00am
Arrival Terminal: TERMINAL 2
------------------------------------------
Two nights in Toronto with my brotherTwo nights in Kingston with Geoffie.Two nights in Ottawa with my ex. One night in Montreal (Hotel somewhere downtown; have not booked yet)
All the above on land (train)
------------------------------------------
Wed, Dec 13: AIR CANADA
From; Montreal, QUE
To; St. John's, NF
------------------------------------------
Two nights in St. Johns with friends.14 nights in Central NF with family. 4 nights in St Johns with friends
-----------------------------------------
Tue, Jan 2: AIR CANADA
From: ST JOHNS NF, CANADA (YYT)
Departs: 8:40pm
To: HALIFAX NS, CANADA (YHZ)
----------------------------------------
Tue, Jan 2-Wed, Jan 3: AIR CANADA,
From: HALIFAX NS, CANADA (YHZ)
Departs: 10:55pmTue, Jan 2
To: LONDON HEATHROW, UNITED KINGDOM (LHR)
Arrives: 8:30amWed, Jan 3
Arrival Terminal: TERMINAL 3
---------------------------------------
5 nights in London (housesitting a freinds vacant apartment because she is loffly and generous and we luffs her) 1 night in Kracow (hotel not yet booked; planning visit to Auschwitz/Birkenau) 5 nights london (again, housesitting)
---------------------------------------
Sun, Jan 14-Mon, Jan 15: THAI AIRWAYS INTL LTD,
From: LONDON HEATHROW, UNITED KINGDOM (LHR)
Departs: 11:50amSun, Jan 14
Departure Terminal: TERMINAL 3
To: BANGKOK, THAILAND (BKK)
---------------------------------------
2 nights Bangkok(Hotel unbooked)
---------------------------------------
Tue, Jan 16-Wed, Jan 17: THAI AIRWAYS INTL LTD,
From: BANGKOK, THAILAND (BKK)
Departs: 11:40pmTue, Jan 16
Departure Terminal: TERMINAL 1
To: BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA (BNE)
Arrives: 11:45amWed, Jan 17
Arrival Terminal: INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL

Screamingly Yellow

I bought a "new" used car recently. It's a 99 Hyundai Excel GX Twincam...and before you get up my arse about "Bloody asian imports" let me remind you I am in Australia; 90% of the automobile market consists of imports, and the few Australian built models are either big trucks designed for off roading and tradesmen, or huge old man cars which guzzle gas like its air.

The car replaces, in fact, a monsterous big truck/van thing (2.4 m high, 5 m long and more then a tonne in weight) that I've been driving 75 K a day to and from work...and which does not fit in parking grages anywhere due to its height.

My dad was a backyard mechanic. I was a tomboy(only child till i was 8, then he remarried). I knew where all the fluids were (not as dirty as it sounds) and how to change spark plugs and oil filters before I could do long division.

Sean's a borderline metrosexual. He'd come ask me about his car as a first means of information. Ok, me or his mommy. So that left me all to my own to shop and negotiate for a car, without interference or imput from hubbydude. Yay!

I spent three weeks (3-4 days a week) scouring car dealers looking for that elusive one that would not treat me like an idiot cause I happen to have boobs.

I'm amazed that people can still run a business and exclude half the population.I had one grandpa actually tell me I was "wasting his time, to run along home and come back tommorow with my husband". I had FUN with him.

Somehow, my "I'm looking for a small sedan or hatchback; preferably between 2 litre and 2.5 litres with cruise and aircon in the 7 grand range" got morphed repeatedly in translation into "I have the perfect car; come look at this cute little festiva; it's pink and has a vanity mirror with LIGHTS!"

A fucking festiva. I was offered at least two dozen of the little shitboxes.I found only two dealers out of 40-50 who took me at face value and showed me what I actually asked specifically for. I negotiated down from 7900 plus on road costs to 7400 with on roads included, registration for 6 months - and had him throw in a 5 year all inclusive, tinted windows, new battery and tires and an full flush of the oil, which was gunky.

...And then after all this careful shopping around, research and negotiation... I was a total girl and bought the pretty buttercup yellow one.

A letter to my husband

We thought that this whole working out on the back deck thing was cute. We thought you were silly to think you needed to slim down...you are so perfect already. Then we saw your newly muscled arms, after just a week of your new weight program. Fuck you.

Suddenly the twice daily activity was more then just a good excuse to go perve on your random grunts and groans. We decided we wanted to take part, too.Fuck you.

You fucker. We hurt, and it is all YOUR fault. Like so much jelly, we are, when she attempts to stand. We protest each step when she walks. We scream your name at every moment.Fuck you.

Lunges you said; without the weights, as it's just the first night and you wanted to go easy on us. It seemed so innocent and innoculous. And so we scoffed at your piddling notion of having to treat us with kid gloves. Fuck you.

Look, the things you tormented are things you depend on. We cook your meals, we drive your car. We do your shopping, we wrap around you when you fuck. Do not... fuck with us.

We know where you sleep.

Love and kisses,
Nikki's legs.

I’d like to be her when I grow up

So there’s this woman I know, who sort of recognized that I was slowly breaking, and though she barely knew me, stepped in and helped me out. She gave me a cosy cave I could escape to when I needed to check out from life for a while. She is the best practitioner of “tough love” I have ever come across. She is refreshingly honest and blunt when it’s needed, and always manages to impart that undercurrent of care and concern that is sometimes necessary, but would be overwhelming if let loose entirely.

She always managed to maintain the balance, and gave me what I needed to prop myself up again, without ever letting me off the hook, forcing me to make my own decisions. Shows me the door, but refuses to help me open it.

She’s seen me up, she’s seen me down. She’s made me laugh and cry. She has inspired me, and she has made me despair.

She’s restored my faith in women.

My close friends have always been male. I’ve just always found it easier to understand how their head’s work, and women have rarely made sense to me. Unpredictable, I guess.

Living with them is even worse. She managed to change my perception on all of this, and on so much more.

She helped me be strong, once more. I had forgotten how.

Now we are continents apart, and I miss her like mad. Her counsel has proved invaluable, and her company remarkable.

Now she’s hurting, and I can’t fix it.

I know it will pass. I know that soon enough, she will have collected herself and take another step forward, gathering energy and happiness as she goes. But me knowing does not help her any at all.

I can’t shake her and tell her she’s being silly, and is melancholy because of her upcoming bday and all the silly things society attaches to round numbers. I can’t pamper her. I can’t taker her out and make her forget for a while. I can’t hold her if she wants to cry, and I can’t make her laugh.

All I can do is tell her how much I love her.