stroppywenchnikki

Nose to the grindstone

2011-05-09T19:00:00.002+10:00

And then the bitch spanked me!

2011-03-29T16:46:00.000+10:00

A cute wee Asian lady just totally made me her bitch- and you know what? I kinda liked it!

I went to have my nails done, but got a little more of a smack- down then I have bargained for.

Her; "I do your nails before, yes?"
Me; "Yes, several times."
Her; (while making clicking noises with her tongue to indicate disapproval) "You no take care of them!"
Me; (looking at my right hand, missing three tips, with two nails bitten till fingers had bled at some point in past few days) "No, you are right, I have not- I bite them- but that's why I keep acrylics on!"
Her; (raps my knuckles with her nail file) "You are very bad- very naughty girl! You should be spanked, yes? No more biting!"
Me; (Meekly) "Yes, Ma'am!"

(I gave her a tip for the sheer chutzpa!)

A year in review.

2011-02-22T17:09:00.003+10:00

The Year of the Tiger 2010 (ending on Feb 2nd, 2011) is a Yang Metal year, and it's a year of much activity, drama, changefulness, crisis, and unpredictability. Tiger years are associated with political and social instability or upheaval. Metal is not a very compatible element for Tiger (Tiger prefers Wood and Fire), and thus 2010 is expected to be challenging and turbulent overall.
(from; http://www.cafeastrology.com/articles/chinese_2010_horoscope_year_of_tiger.html)

I don't pay attention to horoscopes and the like- but holy hell, was the Chinese "year of the Tiger" true to form or what?

it was a year of immense change for me. For the first time ever, I willingly and actively cut ties to several friendships- those that know me will know how rare it is for me to walk away form someone once they are in my inner circle. I protect friendships fiercely. But I've grown to accept that friendship like everything else in life, must find a happy balance to be sustainable. I've used up so much of myself in my own relationship these past few years there was little left to go around, and so I culled those who were costing me more emotion then I could afford- those that cost me to much with little benefit in return. I'm taking back my right to chose who I expend energy saving.

We moved, several times, culling a small mountain of possessions each time- finally we have de-cluttered to a livable amount, and it feels bloody fantastic.

I began a relationship with an utterly remarkable woman. Possible only because I exercised true patience for the first time in my adult life.

I had my first major accident in 22 years of driving. Totally wrote off the car. Hit a guard rail going 100 Kms an hour and walked away with nothing more then bruising, a sore face/jaw and a hand full of broken bloody fingernails. Considering the guard rail was all that was between us and a drop off, and the speed we were traveling, our luck was considerable.

I realized that I have compromised in my second marriage all that I can. Poly has always been a tricky thing for me, and there are some boundaries I just cannot erase. Complete unrestricted access to other sexual partners is farther then my mind can stretch. I'm not sorry I tried it- again- I learned enough along the way to know that- once again- I need to follow my gut instinct the first time round. And so, my second husband and I have separated. I was not ready for it. It hurts like buggery, but we're striving hard to remain friends. We will see how that pans out with a little time.

A year of great loss.
A year of great change.

Absolutely everything in my life is different then it was one year ago. Some changes I saw coming, some sucker punched me when I was not paying attention. All are devastating in their own way.

And so the end of the year sees me suddenly having to shift my focus in ways I never imagined.

With great changes come great opportunity. I'm not sure I understand all the reasons for the ending of my relationships yet- But I am confident that I did all I could. Gave all I could give. I walk away with my sense of ethics intact.

I spent much of the year feeling unloved, un- appreciated, under estimate, unattractive. So it's time to say a big "screw you" to the Year of the Tiger.

I'm ready to see what the next year holds.
I'm ready to great it with a Rebel Yell.
I want to know what's down the rabbit hole.

From; http://www.chiff.com/a/chinese-horoscopes.htm

General predictions for the Year of the Rabbit

The year of the Rabbit is traditionally associated with home and family, artistic pursuits, diplomacy, and keeping the peace. Therefore, 2011 is very likely to be a relatively calmer one than 2010 both on the world scene, as well as on a personal level.

Sexuality, gender and self-perception.

2011-02-04T13:49:00.002+10:00

I've never liked being labeled bi sexual- this still presumes two set genders. Worse, it suggests that the gender of anyone I'm attracted to is important in some fashion. For me, it has always been irrelevant. "Bi sexual" sounds like it is a choice "some days I feel like coffee- some days- tea". It also leads to preconceptions about whether I can "chose not to be gay" or worse yet, that I'd never be satisfied in a relationship with any one gender and would presumably cheat as a means of satisfying my "other cravings". And so I prefer to use the term "queer"- the term describes the whole spectrum that falls outside the standard norms, and makes me feel much more comfortable- and less constrained, less dictated to.

My girlfriend identifies as "Butch". And so she faces similar difficulty in being ascribed to a set of preconceived stereotypes. To "be Butch" is generally defined as being masculine, in every sense of the word. A Butch looks like a man, talks like a man, behaves like a man, walks like a man, emotes like a man. And a Butch does not do anything remotely feminine. Further, a Butch is generally seen as taking the strong "male" role in relationships- in other words- the dominant partner.

Now here's the problem. My Butch dresses like a man. Right down to the underwear. Rides a motorcycle- and not a small girly bike, but a big, low cruiser. Hairy legs. Sometimes, a hairy face. Flattens considerable breasts till they are flat under clothing. Has contemplated gender change surgery several times, but never seriously enough to pursue it through to the stage of starting hormones and counseling. But my Butch also does not stress much about gender pronouns. Loves to cook fussy complicated desserts. Tries to take over my kitchen and drools at every new small appliance we cannot fit into our cupboards. Is clucky as all hell and squeals like a git over baby clothes.

Further to this, some would go so far as to describe her as a"Stone Butch" (those people would limit their definition of stone to those who gets pleasure from pleasing their partner, rather then being touched sexually themselves. Yet others define stone as simply "very butch"- those who do not identify as female in any way and do not ascribe to female pronouns). Because without a well- established dynamic and a considerably hard-won comfort level, my Butch would rather do the touching then be touched. And yet- my Butch is also submissive.

So you can see the absolutely forest of stereotypes I face within our relationship. Because, as it turns out, I'm not immune to bias, either. About a week ago I put my foot in my mouth in a major way completely inadvertently when commenting on how gorgeous I thought she was naked. she made some follow up imply contempt at her naked form, and I expanded in argument, telling her how much I loved her shape, her curves. Yeah, I said that. Complimented that about her which is most obviously feminine.

Moments later, shes in tears and upset, even perhaps angry- not at me exactly, but at the universe for putting her in a female body when she feels more fluid then that. She expressed dismay at being treated like a girl automatically by strangers simply because she has a plethora of curves in the way of arse, hips and breasts. Frustrated that people don't get to know her the person before ascribing a set pattern of norms which pidgeonholes her into something I think she sees as inherrently "weaker". She will read this and protest that last statement- perhaps because she has not examined it enough herself. But she's been knocked back for job after job in the past year because her name is exceedingly Feminine (Most of our social circle however know her only as Tom) and since her chose field is male-dominated, her resume was being discarded before she had a chance to rock up and show how capable- how unfeminine she was. which implies that she feels like she has been treated as "less then".

So with all these insecurities, I had to go and in essence, tell her how I loved her girly bits. Doh! Worse yet, when she called me on it, I laughed and told her she was cute. I never mean to insult. yes, sometimes I do laugh- laughter is not meant to belittle, put down or ridicule. it is rather an expression of my immense delight in everything that she is. It is vital to me that she see she is perfect to me. No less Butch, no less strong- no less because of her body. That is her- not her body. If she changes her appearance- she would be perfect then, too- not a loss, but an evolution- still as endlessly fascinating to me as she is right now. The perfection I see lies not in her body- which I adore- but I adore it only because it houses her. Even if she is not happy with her body, I love it- and her- as she is. I love her because she is Tom.

It is inexcusable to me that I be the cause of insecurity. I want to provide a sense of safety. But this is so difficult- 5 months into our relationship, after several months of living together I had to ASK her if she'd ever considered surgery. She had. But something so major- and she'd never brought it up. She rarely volunteers personal information- it has to be coaxed, teased- or plyed out of her with the application of booze. So closed I never know where the bear traps are until I've stepped into them. No knowledge or clues as to her own self perceptions as a guide.

I don't know how to make her work through her past relationships, past experiences, past disappointments to help her see that I don't see her in any fashion she should interpret as derogatory. I never want to be the cause of emotional hurt or resentment.

I just love her. For all that she is.

Fair and ethical treatment.

2011-02-03T11:17:00.001+10:00

Was reading Paula's entry on Cyclone Yasi this morning, and felt compelled to have my say.

I was surprised and impressed at how often local coverage of the recent floods here compared the local stats to the devastation in Haiti, and in Bali after wild weather in those places in past year or two- and even in the midst of local suffering, there was a tendency to compare those events to illustrate how, in relation, we've been affected so much less then others. It was pointed out time and again the impact of other poorer nations was not properly covered or understood.

The cyclone that hit last night and will continue through much of today is still 11 hours north of me- but, like the recent flooding in my area- the ongoing effects will be tremendous. There are thousands of people already homeless here in South- east Qld- and by tomorrow there will be thousands more homes rendered unlivable. The crop devastation will push prices skyward for basic food staples- some of which will be imported from elsewhere- and some of which will simply not be available. Increasing prices for basic everyday staples will put more pressure on people who have already suffered devastating losses.

But do you know what really gets my goat? Palm Island, off the coast near Mission Beach, which was "ground zero" in relation to Cyclone Yasi coming ashore- is populated by a large aboriginal group. Other islands in the region were evacuated. Palm Island was not.

State government personnel, teachers, hospital workers and the police, they were advised to leave earlier in the week. Some left, some stayed.

Four evacuation centers were announced- but only one of them was above the level of expected sea rise during the storm- and that one was not capable of holding all 3500 residents.

Other area has Army and Emergency Services going door to door urging people to leave, and telling them what services were available to assist them leaving the islands and where they would be able to take refuge on the mainland. Not on Palm Island.

Many of these residents do not read newspapers, and do not have TV's. The next few days will reveal what happened in the complete absence of fair and just treatment.

Pillow Talk, Volume one

2011-01-31T09:09:00.000+10:00

So when either of us (or both of us) are sleepy, we have the most bucket- worthy conversations you can imagine. One or the other of us will out with some spew-worthy gem the likes of which would turn your stomach with the cute-ness. Last night was Tom_Kitten's turn.

Future installments to come!

Me; "you have the cutest dimples!"
Her; (Indignantly) " I do not have dimples. I have dents."
Me; "Well, my extreme apologies- you have the worlds cutest "dents"."
Her; "I got the dents when all the happiness ran into me"

And so I chose to live my life by the sea and sand...

2011-01-27T06:26:00.002+10:00

But more wonderful than the lore of old men and the lore of books is the secret lore of ocean.
H. P. Lovecraft

Am back home from a couple of days spent down the coast. My girlfriend Tom and I disappeared to give my recently ex husband the house and some privacy, as he had his new girlthing over for the first overnight stay. She was still here when we got home, and was apparently quite nervous about meeting me- can't imagine why!

But- any excuse to get me to the ocean, so we took off in the new shitebox (I totaled my car in late November/early December, in the same week that Sean and I split- the two events were totally unrelated!)- its a '96 Magna that I bought for less then two grand- but it seems to be serving it's purpose well for now. I plan to accentuate it in grand fashion thusly;
http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/COOL-SET-4-CAR-FLOORMATS-ZEBRA-PURPLE-GOODQUALITY-_W0QQcmdZViewItemQQhashZitem35a2c6da32QQitemZ230364207666QQptZMotorsQ5fCarQ5fTruckQ5fPartsQ5fAccessories

http://cgi.ebay.com/ebaymotors/FRONT-CAR-SEAT-COVERS-REAR-ZEBRA-PURPLE-HIGHQUALITY-_W0QQcmdZViewItemQQhashZitem35aef1e017QQitemZ230568353815QQptZMotorsQ5fCarQ5fTruckQ5fPartsQ5fAccessories

Awoke on Australia day morning to the sound of Tom's alarm going off at 4:15 am- because she had forgotten once again to turn off her work alarm on her day off. So I decided since I was now awake, so could she be. Spent the world's most perfect morning, sitting with our toes buried in the sand, snuggling with a coffee while watching the sun rise in the sky on a perfect Gold Coast morning. The perfection of the moment impacted so heavily with us that we made a big, possibly life-changing decision on the spot; When we get ourselves sorted out to move, we're leaving Brisbane and moving down the coast.

We are currently in a lease with my now ex until October. It might be possible to move before then in a break lease situation if new tenants can be found. But we've booked a holiday in Sydney for Mardi Gras in March, so the general plan is to do that and then start saving for a bond and for the moving costs after the Sydney trip. Once we can swing it financially, we will approach the current rental agents about finding someone new to take over. There are plenty of vacancies on the coast- it's a bit of a renters market at the moment- and with a good history/references, and the cash to move with finding the new place should be easy enough.

I'm stupendously excited.

Just as the wave cannot exist for itself, but is ever a part of the heaving surface of the ocean, so must I never live my life for itself, but always in the experience which is going on around me.
Albert Schweitzer

To compromise or not to compromise? That is the question!

2011-01-27T06:25:00.000+10:00

What's your deepest, darkest fear? Have you tried to overcome it?

For as long as I can remember, it has always been the same;

That I am not enough.

And I have tried getting around it- always attempting to be better, but have recently re-acquainted myself with the fact that if I change, it has to be for personal growth and at my own incentive.

Forcing myself to change because others wish me to be different is a temporary fix to a bigger problem. Compromise has to come from both ends of the stick if you are to meet in the middle. If only one person is adjusting their outlook, that is not compromise;

it is surrender.

I'm taking back my white flag. Maybe I'll tye- dye it!

Change the clocks, please!

2010-10-29T06:29:00.002+10:00

Queensland does not ~do~ daylight savings. They have had several referendums on the matter, and it is rejected each time, with the overwhelming issues seemingly to do with the fact that people cannot grasp that to change the clocks is not to ADD an hour of daylight, but to adjust when it occurs.

Reasons to reject daylight savings include; kids will get more sunburns, quiet evenings at home will be ruined by people running lawnmowers at night, kids won't go to bed early enough if it is light outside, people won't wake properly if it is dark outside, people will have more accidents because they are tired. There is a joke running around that other reasons included cows will be confused about when to milk and curtains will fade quicker with more sun exposure, but these reasons at least seem to be myths.

But seriously- it is well light bow shortly after 4 am as summer begins here. But it is dark at about 6:30 pm. WTF? My body clock is adjusting an I'm waking far too early to be reasonable.

On the other hand, being awake at that hour has led to me appreciating the spectacular birdlife in my area. In my backyard this morning was a Major Mitchell Cockatoo;

A couple of bellbirds, with the most amazing calls;

And of course, the ever-present but still delightful Kookaburras;

There are some benefits to being alert at this hour- but by 9 pm tonight I'll be yawning and desperate for bed.

Maybe I'm just getting old?

Wanderlust

2010-10-26T08:55:00.002+10:00

I love this track. Sean sent it to me when he and I were still an online promise of things to come, and I fell in love with the melancholic beauty of it's lyrics. It captures so much of what I feel as someone who has traveled so much, lived in so many cities, left so many friends behind.

A few weeks ago, I was missing my grandmother's jam. A couple of days ago I got an invite to my friend's upcoming birthday party home in Newfoundland. Last night, I had a chat with Paula.

All things combined, today I'm restless. I miss my people. I want to bring my husband, my girlfriend on a trip around the world and show them all my favourite places, favourite spaces, favourite faces.

Life is tremendously good right now.I feel blessed, lucky, peaceful and content with my lot in life. Summer is just rolling in, my coursework is nearly done, our social life is, if anything a little TOO full at the moment. I'm surrounded by happiness and love.

So why is it that I have the overwhelming urge to leave it all and go somewhere?

Birthday Reflections

2010-09-07T09:35:00.000+10:00

I turn 37 this week.

In his 37th year, Michelangelo finally finished painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

In his 37th year, Charles Dickens penned David Copperfield.

I don't know what I will do with my 37th year. But I know I've had a hell of a blast getting this far.

I've been in love.
I've been married. I've been Divorced.
I've been married again, knowing the first was not a mistake. It was what it was.
I've been an alpha and a beta in a poly relationship. I'm still learning about that.
I still fall in love easily, despite being picky about who I let into my life.
I've lived in 5 different countries. 10 Cities. Dozens of homes.
I've danced the night away.
I've a working knowledge of 5 languages. I can only speak one.
I've two university degrees.I no longer work in either field.
I've blown soap bubbles in the Vatican.
I've excavated a 4000 year old arrowhead. And the dogtags of a WWII soldier.
I've ridden the rails coast to coast in Canada. And driven the same route.
I am one degree form Kevin Bacon.
I've spend weeks meandering through New England on a road trip with no destination.
I've visited Stephen King's house. And "Dracula's" castle.
I've snorkeled on the great barrier reef.
I've worked as a telemarketer.
I've visited all the tourist traps of London. And of Rome.
I've thrown snowballs on a Glacier.
I've been in Love.
I've touched a whale in the ocean.
I've dived with Seals. And I've been on safari.
I've stood on the CN Tower,The Empire State,the London eye.And I'm afraid of heights.
I've been homeless.
I've been blessed with friends close enough to become my family.
I've fired a gun.
I've watched a child be born. And I've held a loved one as they died.
I've been arrested and held overnight.
I've made a fan belt out of pantyhose. But I've never put air in a tire.
I've been to Stonehenge at solstice.
I've been an extra in a movie.
I've stood on the easternmost point of North America. And the northernmost of Europe.
I've been to Patpong.
I've been fired. And I've quit without notice.
I've hiked the Fjords of Scandinavia. And looked 1 km, straight down a cliff-face.
I've kayaked the ocean at midnight, during 24 hour sun.
I've appeared on-stage. And forgot my line on opening night.
I've rescued a bat. And a baby seagull. Both were successfully released.
I've had 11 different species of pets. 13 if you count people :)
I've broken bones doing something foolish.
I've been in love.

What a wonderful life!

Compulsions

2010-08-15T19:36:00.001+10:00

Everyone's got em. Whether you are on of those people who simply has to straighten up a painting that squish on a wall, have to fold your towels a certain way, must point out incorrect spelling, have to load your dishwasher a specific way. Do you put your socks on first or last?

I wind up being mommy, or a caretaker to just about everyone in my life. I have a compulsion to fix people I love- irregardless if they have asked me for help or if I should keep my fucking nose out of their business.

I've had relationships end because I interfered where I was not wanted, and I've had them end because I could not cope with my own failure when the broken things did not get fixed.

I thought I had successfully overcome this compulsion some years back. I was delusional.

Today I had someone point out that I was being insufferably rude for continuing to push their emotional buttons, and I also had to watch several people I love fall apart a little at the seams while I refrained from demanding they tell me all about it so I could make it all go away for them.

Fact is, I can't fix the world.

And that hurts.

So much sadness, so much self destruction, so much waste of a life that should consist of far more happiness and joy. The world is a place filled with people who suffer more then they need to- and I just feel like if I try just a little harder, try a new tact, find them another option that I can break through their walls and help them through their issues.

Make them happy. They all deserve to be stupendously, amazingly happy.

So why is it I am egotistical enough to think that I can deliver them onto happiness?

A moment in time...

2010-04-08T18:24:00.001+10:00

Traveling down the motorway, hemmed in on both sides by concrete barriers due to construction, rush hour traffic just beginning- when we spot a tiny little foxie-cross dog, three lanes out, hugging the barrier, trotting up the highway to no where.

We take the first exit and circle back- the whole time I'm panicked, wondering how to safely get out of the car, and get the dog's attention without frightening him into the lanes of traffic. I almost don't want to go back- I'm sure I'm either going to find a dead dog- or worse yet, be the cause of one. But I just can't leave it to the unknown, either. I have to try.

We get back on the motorway, eyes peeled for the dog or signs of erratic traffic or an accident. But all traffic is simply stopped. It's quite eerie- just a huge narrow parking lot of bumper to bumper cars. We roll up to the column of still traffic, and can see people about 50 cars ahead, up a hill, out of their card and running about- it's obvious they are trying to catch the dog. Then a man 6 cars ahead jumps out and runs back towards us. Ahead of him is the little foxie mutt- hightailing it faster then I'd ever believed possible from such stumpy little legs. About a dozen cars behind me, it crossed the now stopped multiple lanes of traffic and shoots though a tiny gap between two concrete barrier sections- off through a grass field in a blur of legs and fur.

Hundreds of cars, even more people at a standstill during their busy afternoon, each sharing a moment of compassion, trying to save the life of an unknown dog.

And they say cats have 9 lives.

Just a quick update

2010-03-10T07:51:00.001+10:00

We'll be moving again. The job here in Toowoomba has dried up, and as Sean's contract states he cannot do other IT work in this small town- and we have no desire to stay here- we just came for the job anyhow, we'll be off again.

I've given notice to the agency that we need to break out lease- they have been super nice about it, but they can afford to be- as we need to keep paying rent till there are new tenants! Have arranged to collect a load of moving boxes from a friend tomorrow, leave our growing collection of potted plants at hers, and store the rest of our belongings in a storage unit not this coming weekend but next so we can get the heck outta dodge. There is simply too much to do before then to get it done any faster.

We've been back and forth to Brissy and the Gold coast every few days as Sean's had a rash of interviews already- but they have been with recruiters so there was no immediate sense of how long it will be before he picks up something. But one of the recruiters from monday gone has not fronted up and forwarded his name for 5 jobs- 2 of which has offered him an interview already. One today and another on monday coming.

So we need to get the house packed and stored away and get our arses down to the city where he can be more immediately available without the hassle of the constant driving back and forth. And somewhere in the next week I'll need to drive the dogs a few hours into the outback where they will be staying with a friend till we have a new place sorted out.

I'd like a clone right about now, thanks!

Waiting games

2010-02-22T16:00:00.001+10:00

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
(Lyrics "Waiting Game", Tom Petty)

It's almost 4 in the afternoon. I've been waiting since 8:3- this morning to see if the boy is about to be made redundant and leave us with three months on a lease in a house we do not want and no steady income.

We'd planned to move to the coast in May anyhow, but doing it sooner means we have no safety net in place yet, so we would need to make arrangements to exit a lease early, find money for the penalty for that and the deposit on a new one right away- or put everything in storage, board the animals out with friends, and crash with friends/mother in law/cheapie motel until we sort things out.

All of this is do-able, and really is not panicking me at all.

But fuck, do I hate waiting for the shoe to drop.

6 pm edit; They have told him he will have to wait until Friday for a formal decision, but told him to use the rest of the week making alternate plans for work.

Sneaking the boy's ritalin in the morning=kitchen bitch?

2010-02-15T12:22:00.000+10:00

A quick pop into the shops yesterday for cat food saw me loading up the car boot with a box chick full of mixed vegetables going cheap but needing quick cooking.

And so by noon today as I write this, I've managed to cook the following;

-a large container of eggplant and tomato based cannelloni sauce,
-tonight's Sloppy Joe mix,
-the slow cooker is full to the lid with a hearty beef, pork and vegetable spaghetti sauce for the freezer,
-also, a rare treat for the doggies- a hodge podge of leftover vegetable bits, a mountain of chayote(Aussies call them Chokos) and chicken stock.
-Prawn dumpling soup for lunch today
-the start of a roast veg and chicken dinner for tomorrow night.

I've done three loads of laundry, and I am seriously considering making cookies this afternoon. I think I'm channeling Martha Stewart, but I'm not particularly bothered. Perhaps I should be.

As an aside, I almost did not get this entry written- damned blogger would not let me in claiming I was using the wrong name and password.

I had been trying to log in as "sloppywench"

Give up the Funk

2010-02-11T15:50:00.000+10:00

A number of years ago, when things with my first husband were on the outs, I went through a deep funk. I won't call it depression for reasons too involved to get into here, it was a funk, ok?

It culminated for me one day when I spent some half hour or more standing on the end of a platform in the London Tube network. Trying to work up the energy to fall over. The next train. Ok, so the very next one I'll do it. I still remember the sound echoing in my ears, the wind whipping my hair about my face, and the smell of fuel, damp and stale urine. Each time I froze at a train, I was sure the next one would be the right one.

I'm sure there must have been literally hundreds of people on that platform with me in all that time, but I was alone in my head and did not notice till someone spoke very very softly to me- and still scared the bejesus outta me. Just a normal looking guy, business suit and breifcase, standing about ten feet away and speaking so softly I had to strain to hear him.

"Please don't do it. But if you are going to do it anyhow, please sit down and give me just five minutes of your time".

I assumed he was a jesus freak and wanted to pray for me or some such. So I sat down. I had five minutes, and while I'm an athiest, my Dad's a minister- so I felt I really should listen a while. And so I listened. He was not a religious nutter. He was just a guy who's brother used to be a tube driver. Until he collected a jumper and was out on permanent disability for the shock and trauma of watching some guy splattered over his screen.

The guy never got close enough to touch me. But he managed to haul me away from the edge that day.

The next day, I happened to met Paula, and coincidentally I started to live again.

The past couple of years the funkiness has been building again. I'd feel it coming, push it back and go one. But yesterday I caught myself reading the fine print in the life insurance policy that goes along with my superannuation (Australia's forced retirement savings plan thingamajigger). I was trying to figure out if Sean would get a payout if I topped myself- how much it would be, and if the policy was still valid as I have not worked for a while, but have still paid the fees for this year.

And so I have realized that I'm back on that edge again.

Time to back away and haul myself out of this funk.

Who's with me?

In which I come over all emo-like.

2010-01-21T15:51:00.002+10:00

I've spent half the morning crying, giving myself panda eyes from eye makeup, and generally just being emo- all because of a well-timed email from one of my closest friends on the planet. "Friends" does not even suffice, really. I hope each and every one of you knows what I mean by this. It is my sincere wish that you all knows what it means to have acquaintances, friends, and then there are those select few confidantes that are something more then mere friend. Spiritually connected , maybe. They are the people in your life, that no matter what, know when you need them and manage to somehow reach out at the right time.

Geoff's letter started with him saying he simply HAD to write me, was driven to do so, but what not sure why.

I know why. I needed a connection to something real. I open my email, and there it was.

We live on opposite sides of the planet. We've not seen each other since 2007. But reading his email resulted in an experience much richer then words on a screen. I could hear his voice saying the words, sometimes choking up a little, sometimes with an edge of laughter. And better then that, I could smell him. Right there with me.

Bugger. Now I've gone all emo again.

If you have not guessed it, I've been having a rough few weeks.There's nothing in particular wrong. I just feel overwhelmed by Sean's depression. Guilty if I am happy, but unable to do anything to help him out of his funk.I grow more and more convinced with the passing months that anti depressants were not the answer, and in fact, I question whether he was missdiagnosed from the start and does not have depression at all. He's also been diagnosed with Anxiety and ADHD. Both of which I agree with. But the combination of a strong antidepressant, vallium and now ritalin is doing him no favours. 2 years on antidepressants with no noticeable change- except increasing anxiety attacks and chest pains severe enough to have twice landed him in emergency as we thought he was having a heart attack.

And so, this has been my life. It's only the last couple of days that I have recognized why that is getting to me so much- I'm living his life for him, doing things he needs doe to make him function- I'm not doing anything for me anymore.

I'm just feeling disconnected from life- like things are on hold till he gets better. But they have been that way for a while.

I need to start living for me again. I need to do things just for me, and I need to reconnect with my friends, my family- everything I have is a life shared with Sean.

So it is serendipitous to have words from a better-then-friend in my inbox. To remind me where I come from, what I am, and what I miss. I miss home, I miss the boys. But mostly I miss me.

Think it is time to find me again. And then, when I do, I'm going to go beat the boy with my newly- reclaimed happiness stick till it fixes what ails him.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to Toowoomba we go!

2009-11-01T06:56:00.000+10:00

We only relocated to Ipswich in May, needing a bigger place to house the ever-growing tribe. When we did so, it was a doozey of a move, but necessary, to ensure everyone had their own space- and no one had to resort to sleeping on the couch anymore!

I never anticipated moving again anytime soon, that's for sure.

And yet, here I am this weekend, packing our extensive library which is now threatening to choke out the hallway. I love packing, and the excitement of change and renewal that comes with a move. I love the unpacking and creating a new home out of the chaos of packing crates. I hate the physical move itself, and the loading and unloading of moving trucks.

Scootah has been working for about 4 months now in Toowoomba, and making the hour long drive twice a day for that long. It's become unfair to expect him to continue with the commute which makes his days unbearably long, and gives him no social life or down-time during the week.

So we have made the decision to leave the _House of the Wayward Perves_ and relocate to Toowoomba for 6 months/a year, to allow Scootah to enjoy a better work/life balance. It was in our plans to relocate to the Gold Coast in late 2010, and we will still aim to that, but the drives have become too much for us both to cope with.

We will be moving in three weekends, on the 21st- notice to leave was strategically planned so that we could still attend Retribution in November without being exhausted from moving. I have not actually found a place in Toowoomba yet, and as I will be in classes all of this coming week, locating a property to rent will be delayed until next weekend at the earliest- but I live living on the edge like that...I had to set a deadline to ensure action- on everyone's part!

I have had a look around, and there is plenty available- we will look for a 3-4 bedroom right in the heart of the city. I'm confident I han make this happen within the deadline.

Our boy is looking for work to come with us, and will stay with friends of his here in the interm, as there is no suitable transport available to him to allow him to live with us while retaining his current job.

So look out, Mountain....we are about to invade!

Send me an Ark

2009-05-26T10:53:00.004+10:00

We have moved, and we are now mostly unpacked in the new place.The internet only just got connected yesterday (Monday), but there seems to be issues with both the internet and the home phone line- the phone line worked when they set it up, but stopped working a couple of hours later and they tell us it might be a week before they can send someone out to look at it.

If you have been seeing any news from Australia/Queensland, you will
have seen the news on the flooding and the declaration of the whole
area of South-East Queensland and Northern New South Wales as a
natural disaster area. The flooding was extensive, as over the course of a week of heavy rains, the two worst day had well over 300 cms of rain each! Our place is on top of a hill, and we suffered no damage whatsoever. Our street was extensively flooded, with sections of road washed away. The street was closed down for a few days so we were stranded- Sean's Mom was here for coffee and got stuck for three days! But for us it was just fun, while for the others it was thousands and thousands of dollars of damage to each household, as many had flooded up to 3-4 feet.

Once the rains stopped, it only took a day for the flood to subside in
out neighbourhood- our place backs onto a river, which was able to
wash away the worst of it once it stopped falling from the sky.

There are large parts of the area still using boats to travel from
house to house though.

Click the link below and then when it opens up, click where it says
"Wild weather" for some photos taken in the last two weeks in my area.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/photos/2009/05/20/2575851.htm

Anyway- I'd best get back to the last of the unpacking. I will email as
appropriate once the phone line is fixed so those who need it can get
the new number- since this is the first time we will have had an actual
phone in years, we will be able to call and talk more often- it gets crazy
expensive to call overseas on our mobile phones.

Little-Miss-Sunshine

2009-04-14T21:06:00.001+10:00

Ain't so sunshine-y anymore.

I think I've lost myself somewhere in this past year. Either that or dealing with life and the things that are affecting those I love has simply drained me of lifeforce. I've always been a "glass half full" sort of person- someone who was always able to be patient to wait, because things always get better with time, right? No matter how rough my day, I always went to bed knowing things would be a little better tomorrow.

I cannot remember the last time I went to bed looking forward to a new day. Most nights I don't care whether or not I wake up.

I get out of bed, and some days I can't find the will to shower. Some days I cannot be bothered to brush my hair. Life is too much a bother. I'm too busy un-willingly playing Mommy to everyone around me- because I have to. Because if I didn't, their lives would be worsened. In at least one case, they'd probably decide not to live anymore at all.

I used to be strong. Now I'm just a shell. Empty. I've actually stopped believing that things will improve. They've been so fucked for so long, despite my best efforts to right them, and with future circumstance being what they are, they won't get better anytime soon. And I'm out of energy to care anymore.

This is not a cry for help. It's not a goodbye note. I don't have the energy to top myself, either.

I have been breaking myself into small pieces and packaging them out to people in my life that need help, and accidentally I've given too much. And there are so many people that need my help right now. My niece is here for a few more months, and her mom has just come out of the hospital after major surgery. She's hurting and missing home, and a little fragile. I have a friend and her teen son here because she had a crazy ex who was abusive, so they are here indefinitely licking their wounds. And my husband is shadowed by the depression demon. Husband number two, depression number two. My batting average is just not that great.

All I want is for someone to take care of me. I've been self sufficient almost my entire life. I'm the caregiver. But I think I'm broken. So few people in my life have needed less from me then they have given. Funny to think of it, but Paula was probably the best Daddy I've ever had. One of the few dynamics in my life that never required me to give a mountain of emotions.

So who has the superglue, then? I could use some.

He's not aggressive- he's just...broken.

2009-03-11T16:37:00.000+10:00

My husband's Dr recently changed his depression medication. So on Monday, he hit the big breakdown I have been expecting for months now- maybe closer to a year. And off to the Emergency Department we went.

Hospitals are obviously not a happy place- even if you are not depressed. To their credit, once past the admitting red tape, we only had to wait about 20-30 minutes to see a psychiatrist. The hospital nearest us is in a low-rent area, so the waiting room was full of the usual poverty-striken crowds- a guy being treated for addiction, a teen mother with her gaggle of half-dressed children, and another ranting that no one had given her a voucher for a free taxi home,and so on. I also think that tuning the TV to medical drama soap operas in a waiting room is generally a bad idea. But maybe that's just me. Since we had never been to this hospital before, I first had to go through the process of getting his registered as a new patient.

"Can I help you"?

Me;"Yes- my husband is being treated for depression- he was on Effexor but they have just swapped him to Pristiq, and he's had a breakdown and needs to see a psychiatrist"

"Where is your husband?"

Me; "He's the full grown man man sitting on the floor behind me curled up into a ball crying and sobbing so loud you have to shout at me"

"Well, what's wrong with him?"

Me "He is having a breakdown and needs to see a psychiatrist"

"But what is wrong with him right at this particular moment?"

Me; "He is unable to speak or function in any manner, and he wants to die- now get me a damned psychiatrist"

"Is he aggressive?"

Me; "No, he is not aggressive- he is just... broken. Please help"

After a few more minutes of this, ~I~ wound up getting aggressive, at which point a supervisor come along, took one look at us and directed us to go sit down and she would send a psychiatrist out to collect us shortly.

A while later they discharged him to go home, after a counselling session wherein they decided the best thing for him was to maintain his routine and not disrupt things too much. Which would have been fine, except that on Tuesday, I had to pack him onto a plane to go back to work- at a mine site 4000 km's from here, in the middle of a big fucking dessert with no Dr's on site, only a nurse.And then the fucker forgets to check in with me at night. He called today to tell me he was to tired to talk and fell asleep right away, and to say that he had texted- the texts still have not shown up. He sounds more together. But I won't feel comfortable until he is back in my arms alive and breathing.

I'm so scared. I wish i could fix him. Then again, I tried to fix my first husband too and could not help- he got better only after we were no longer together. Go figure, huh? I'm one of the strongest and most cheerful people I know, and yet, I keep making my men depressed.

And on to other news';

We've listed our home, finally. it goes to auction on May 1st- this is a good thing. it's too small, it costs too much, and it keeps us financially tied to his father, from whom we wish to distance ourselves. So now I have 10 days to make the place view-able. Which will entail renting a storage unit, boxing up and storing everything that is not absolutely essential, clean the place top to bottom, and do a few handyman bits around the place (Re-install a cupboard, paint, etc).

Last weekend we drove to a darling friend of our's property, 5 miles into the outback, and left at her place our two large friendly-to-the-point-of -possibly-being-irritating dogs. The place absolutely echoes now in their absence.

And with all this stuff ahead of me to do, today it is raining so hard that I have decided the best thing for me is to curl up in bed with a book.

Three Monkeys

2008-12-10T10:40:00.001+10:00

Whore your mind
for the good of the
establishment.
Swallow your distaste.
Like so much stale beer.
Turn a blind eye as the spawn of the boss
skims from the corporate account.
To feed his demon.
His eyes red with the hue of despiration.
Plod through another day in this
corp o ration
night mare.
Don't look up, or someone might see
the revusion in your gaze.
Don't open your mouth, or someone might hear
The bitter scorn in your tone.
Don't listen to the whispers in the lunchroom
or you might become
an accomplice
to this
raging machine.

And So It Begins.

2008-06-28T09:00:00.001+10:00

About a month and a half ago my husband and I joined a gym.

I'm a big chick, and I have never been bothered by my weight. Overall, I'm fairly healthy, though inactive. I rarely get sick, and even when I do, my immune system works in overdrive- I have healing powers like wolverine! Yearly physicals revesl great colestrol, normal blood pressure and overal goodness. My first husband pushed me alot to lose weight, which did nothing except piss me off and make me stubborn. My current has never pushed me- because he is happy if I'm happy.

But he was not happy. Depressed and without energy for anything, he needed an outlet. And I knew it. He was a big child, and then in the early 2000's, he suddenly decided he'd had enough and dropped alot of weight. Over the past few years hes slowly gained, and it bothers him.He still sees himself as a fat child when the reality is he is an average man, not fat. Just inactive.

And so we joined a gym. I hoped that with both of us joining, we could motivate each other and therby not be able to flake on the couch each night with the excuse of wanting to spend time together. The gym has a pool, and I've always enjoyed swimming, so I envisioned myself swimming while Sean weight trained.

I have to stress, exersice was not something I defined as fun. I am shocked, therefore at what has transpired. For the first three weeks, I begged off some days, finding trivial excuses to stay home. So I went to the gym 3 or 4 days a week. But rationed that it was better then nothing. I was bored with the pool. I had tried the nightly aquasize class, and found most teachers sucked. Mondays morning class teacher was great, so I'd find myself going to her classes no matter how was feeling.

Ay week 4, I was well and truly bored and undermotivated. I popped in on saturday for a swim to find the pool closed for an event. So I went to the gym instead, rode the bike and cooled down on a treadmill.

Click.

Ten minutes in, hot and sticky, with my thigh muscles burning, I was feeling fantastic. Three weeks on from this discovery and my attendance has gone up to 5-6 days a week, and I'm the one whining at Sean and draging him physically out of the house to go to the gym. I am absolutely addicted. The crappiest sort of day at work, no desire to do anything but crawl into bed, and I know if I get myself into the bike, in 15 minutes I'll be feeling like sunshine is coming out of my ass.

Three weeks later, and my energy levels have shot through the roof. I'm ready to take on anything, and feel super accomplished. I cannot gush enough. My ten minute bike ride and ten minute cool down of the first day has morphed into a 7 km bike ride (8 kms twice a week), followed by half a km of rowing, and 1.5 km treadmill cooldown. Another week of this and I'll have boosted the rower to one km and then will add the evil looking cross trainer machine into the mix. I think that the wee after that, I will also throw in a weights based routine once or twice a week as well.

We've done nothing different in the diet field- we eat a varied healthy range already, with our problem being portion size rather then wrong food choices. But even this is righting itself- for reasons unfathomable to me, I find myself eating smaller portions as I feel full faster. This does not make and sense to me whatsoever- if anything, I expected to be hungrier.

Last week, I noticed my pants are lose and I have to leep hauling them up. Yesterday I bought a new pair of track pants and two tank tops. All items had to be bought in one size smaller then I've been wearing.

And so it begins.

I hope you dance.

2008-06-17T06:16:00.002+10:00

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
I hope you dance
Exerpt from Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance"

We stumbled upon this statue, Dancing Bear (by Pauta Saila) when wandering through Ottawa a couple of years ago. He is the first piece of public art from Nunavut in the far north to be displayed in Canada's capital city.

The Inuit people of the Canadian Arctic use the Dancing Bear as a recurring art theme, typically in soapstone carvings much smaller then this one. The polar bear is top of the food chain, the ruler of his environment, and feared by all. Because of this, it is considered a great honour, and a very desirable thing to come back as a polar bear in the next life. And the Dancing Bear is seen to be just that- a person's soul re-incarnated as King of the World, and understanably quite happy about it.

Today, I feel like Dancing Bear.

Funkiness

2008-06-16T14:50:00.000+10:00

I'm writing here again as a means to drag myself out of the funk I have been smothered by for a few months. But it's time to uncurl myself from my safe little warm ball and venture out into the land of the living once more.

I've largely been frustrated with some things in our life which are completely fixable, but which have gone unattended to because my husband, whom I adore utterly and completely, is sometimes a twit:)

I am being unfair, of course. My husband as Asperger's, and it makes him see life in a very different sort of way. When things are out of control, he just does not function at all...wherein I (and most people, I think), feel the need to wrestle control back, he just gets overwhelmed and refuses to deal with it as though the problem did not exist at all.

We're financially struggling. We have not yet paid off the big trip(18 months ago we travelled around the world), as the credit cards are still full and the bills are absolutely crushing us. We decided months ago to re-finance the house, pull out the equity and use it to clear the bills and start fresh. He's so scared that they will say no to re-finance that he is dragging his heels and being slow to do everything. There are documents he need to gather and such that he keeps "forgetting". For months. Despite daily reminders. It is ENRAGING me to the point that I want to throttle him somedays! I think we have everything ready now, and we will get the papers to the mortgage broker this week. Finally.

I have no intention of making this blog a place to bitch about him- this will be the ony entry in which I will focus on this...but I also need to clarify where my head is at right now- mostly because I feel for the first time in a long time that I am in a good place again. It's all dark and dusty in the corners of my head, and I've spent too much time in there lately with the cobwebs. And recently I had the sudden realization that none of this is his fault. I've been focussed too much on the nit-picky things.

It is partly because I am so far away from MY friends, MY family. I moved here in 2004 after meeting him on the net, and hauled up everything I knew, packed my life into three very large suitcases and boarded a plane. Everyone we have here are OUR friends. So naturally, when the thousand of little things that crop up in a relationship bother me, I've ben sitting on it. I don't want to complain about the petty things to OUR friends.

But, if I had MY friends here, I would bitch about stuff, we would laugh about it, drink a bottle of wine and it would be over and forgotten, instead of me thinking and overthinking,dwelling on it until it grows. Just little issues, miniscule daily routine passing things getting blown out of proportion till they seem like big issues. Once I made that connection, everything got much sunshine-y-er in my head.

And the really big, overwhelming things about him? Are the good things. The patience that is without end, the willingness to go along with my randomness, the ability to deal with the crazyness of a woman with PMS, the astuteness to know exactly when to kiss me, exactly when to tickle me till I strugle not to pee myself, exactly when to surprise me with a bottle of bubbles and a blowing wand.

I've never met a man quite like him. I never even knew such creatures exsisted.

And so, If I have to drag him, kicking and screaming into reality till he gets his shit sorted, then he'd best hang on tight, cause it will be a bumpy ride.

Life....here we come again.

Waxing woes

2008-04-22T20:14:00.001+10:00

So I decided, somewhat foolishly, to try one of those home waxing kits. (Don't the best stories start this way?)

My first concern came when the waxing kit I specially selected (after 45 minutes of reading each and every package available at the super-sized pharmacy) had hidden within its depths a particularly worrysome thing.

What can be so perplexing from inside the recess of a waxing kit you ask? Consider this- I bought a kit specifically designed for bikini waxing. And yet, inside there was a slip of paper warning me not to apply it to my genital region.

I know I am Canadian and all, but where I come from? We don't wear bikinis as mittens or anything. They definitely are worn over the pink bits.

So I spend a few more minutes re-reading the exterior packaging. Yep, definitely a bikini waxing kit. And so on I proudly marched.

The box said "raspberry scented". I'll suggest to the manufacturer that they should more aptly describe the aroma as that of the scent of a Grizzly bear taking his first dump after a 6 month hibernation. Though, to be fair, grizzlies do eat alot of raspberry.

Clamping my nose shut with a clothespeg, I get stuck into it. First strip on, first strip off. Painful, but nothing more then I would expect when ripping out a few dozen hairs by their roots.

As I'm settling up for the next strip, sudden disaster. Like a dozen pint sized sadists were poking my flesh with heated pokers. Pain that was most certainly not of the good variety. And it just gets worse and worse.

So I get understandably worried, and grab the package again. It says to rinse after, but says that soap will not remove residue. Fabulous. Screming on the inside, i stand in a ice-cold shower for about ten minutes till my eyes stop watering and the pain is now just a dull roar that I'm able to think through.

Out of the shower, I survey the damage in the mirror. hmmm. a Perfect wax-strip sized patch of skin on my most favouritest bits is now red and inflamed to the point of being noticeably puffy.

I think I've broked it. this is not good.

I spend the next hour and a half lying on the bed with cold wet facecloth compresses laid over my cunt to try to stop the bee-sting like swelling from closing up shop completely.

Eventually, the urge to cry at the pain abates, and I even have a moment of amusement thinking about the Bastard having to suffer through the afternoon wanting to get home to do exactly what I asked of him in a naughty text earlier, only to find things in less then working order.

ok. So soap won;t help, but I need to figure out something else. Because I can't sit on an icepack all night. If soap and water won't fix it...what about lube?

The dogs both went running in fright and cowered by the back door when the lube hit my skin. Apparently, dogs dogs extra sensitive hearing means screams are extra noticable.

After intitial application, though, the lube worked. I was actually able to get dressed and move around without wanting to kill everything that touched me- including the air.

So here I sit, slip-sliding around on the edge of the couch wondering how long it will be till I'm able to break out the trusty razor and finish the job.

I have a new-found respect for every fucker who waxes. I am not worthy.

She's going to hell, for sure.

2008-01-17T12:12:00.000+10:00

Today, at work.

Ring ring
Pleasent ladies voice; "Good morning, you've reached St Francis of Mary's*, how can I help you?"
Me; "Hello, could I speak with someone in accounts payable, please?"
Pleasent ladies voice; "That would be Sister Angela*. I'll put you right through"
Me; "Thank you"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "Hello, Sister Angela Speaking"
Me; "Good morning, Sister. My name is Nikki and I'm calling from Random Organization* regarding an invoice for St Franscis of Mary's overdue since last November"
Pleasent ladies voice number 2; "fuck"
Me;"..."

* note; names changed to protect the guilty and the innocent.

Going to the Loo is not a Spectator Sport!

2007-11-13T16:03:00.000+10:00

...but I am thinking about starting to charge admission in my house.

My cats are scat and watersports fetishists, it would seem.

Any move towards the hallway, where you could, conveivably, be going to towards the bathroom, results in a stampede of truely impressive proportions.

There are only two cats, you see- well one and a half really as one is still a kitten- but in that moment in time, anyone would swear there is a plethora of shrunken elephants charging you from behind.

Your best bet is to stand still and wait till they pass, allowing a moment for the dust in their wake to settle. But no one every waits. Human instict kicks in and all you can think of is "arghhh! Run! before you are trampled underneath their mighty feet!"

Usually running presents another problem. Both the cats are too dumb to avoid feet. So, inevidably, one will be stepped upon. And, drama queens that they are, they can't simply wince, learn from their mistakes and move on- no- thye have to freak the fuck out, youwling and hollering about like someone is poking hot sticks into their ears.

So then you have to stop and check that they are ok. Difficult to catch a hurt cat, too. They just wont stop wiggling and writhing about. So after you've managed to grasp one of the slithery little bactards by getting the tip of an ear, a back paw and most of a tail in your fist, that tends to set the whole howling process off again.

5 minutes later and you are in the hallway, dancing from one foot to the other because you are busting to pee, and the little furbag is finally calm enough to begin purring contentedly- until you make the move to lay it down. Then its all huffiness and indignation.

Continuing along the hallway, and making it finally to the bathroom with milliseconds before your protesting bladder gives way, you will usually find the door has developed this weird inability to close, and make a strage squeak with repeated attempts.

This usually menas that one - or more frequently, both cats and stuck, halfway in the bathroom and halfway into the hallway, stretched thin in the middle, attempting to hold their spleens in as the slamming door does iots best to guillitine them.

And so begins the epic tale of yowling for sympathy once more.

Usually at this point I allow them in the bathroom- not cause I desire and audience, but becuase I'm mortified at the idea that I might, as a full grown women in her 30s, wet my pants like a toddler.

Cats are supposed to be refined. Dignified. Elegant. Especially ours- both purebreds- one lilac point burmese, one black oriental. Somehow this elevated sense of being does not get bestowed upon those around. They could not care less that you are pising enough to put out a small forest fire. They think nothing of your privacy.

Winding about your legs, standing on hind feet to see under your ass like they don't have any idea what the noise is. Jumping into your lap, head butting your chin and demanding that you treat them as they are your sole purpose in life.

And as if this is not enough, their newest game is to goblin into the bathroom overnight and steal away with the toilet roll.

I find that when this happens, it is best to open the door to call out to Scootah and ask him to find it or bring me another. I do this partly because I really need the loo roll to wipe- but also, I'll admit to finding it amusing to watch the wee furry little bastards ears prickle at the sound of footsteps in the hall, watching them sprint off excitedly, and seeing, a moment later, the Boi coming round the corner full tilt, eyes wide as he tried to change step mid stride as to not step on a stray cat limb.

Perhaps it is a spectator sport, afterall.

Australia; love it or hate it?

2007-11-12T20:44:00.000+10:00

I became an Australian Permanent resident last week. So I've been reflecting a little on my experiences in the “Land Down Under”, and of all its quirks and curiosities.

Hates;

-Australians insist on retaining the use of French words, but completely disregard proper pronounciation of the same. For example “Debut” is used at least daily on various news programs, pronounced “deboo”. I cringe every time. Maybe that makes me a snob. I don't care. it's still wrong.

-The service industry. It completely lacks- well...service. Because there is no tipping, waitstaff simply overlook any attention to detail or even common courtesty. They get paid regardless, and any one daring to rudely point out that their work is not up to snuff would probably regret every saying anything. “So you ordered steak and got chicken? Oh well- enjoy your chicken- and we will still be charging you for the most expensive steak on the menu”.

-The heat. oh my god, the fucking heat. Paradise, my ass! It actually IS the underworld- Yes, Virginia, there is a hell- and the Devil went down to Queensland.

-Women are women. Girls are women. Female toddlers are bloody women. Tomboys just don't exist. Look around the average shopping centre, the average beach, the average playground- you can easily tell the sex of each and every baby from the age of 4 days old because the girls are completely clad in matching Oscar De La Renta handbag and shoes, and are wearing the latest shade of lipstick.

Likes;

-Australia is where the boy is.

-The beach. The ocean. Endless white sand, water warm enough to actually swim in (or fall about helplessly in, in my case), gorgeous enough to make me cry.

- Fruit, nuts and flowers that are common enough to practically be considered weeds. Mangos, Avocados, Macadamias, calla lilies- all grow in backyards without most people giving a second thought to just how good they have it.

-Taxes are built into the price on everything. No more guessing or calculating taxes on the way to the checkout. no more being caught short. What you see is what you pay. Simple.

-the breathtaking wildlife. Nothing quite compares to an early morning coffee on my deck while a flock of several hundred Gallahs sail by gracefully overhead.

- Surfers Paradise- a city that combines all the cheese of Las Vegas with a breathtaking view where city skyscrapers meets white sand beaches that stretch for miles. The glorious wrongness of strolling through the all night open malls that are patrolled equally by hookers and families out for a late night stroll with their kids in tow. Neither thinks the other are out of place.

-Traffic that merges like a zipper. One lane merging into another simply means that the far furthest in front has right of way. None of this waiting on the side of a freeway waiting for a break in traffic cavernous enough to let a car go from 0 to 100- you simply math speed of traffic on the on-ramp, and traffic actually accommodates your entry smoothly.

-The fact that my accent is considered “Exotic”. I've been harassed on several occasions to read simply so I could be listened to. It is a surreal thing to run into a convenience store at 4 am after a night of clubbing to be held up for ten extra minutes, simply to read the ingredients on a package of hot dogs for the clerk or sits enraptured at your every word.

- An economy that has been growing steadily for so long that an entire generation of Australians have grown up not only hoping to achieve all their dreams- but with the security that anything really is possible. No, not even possible- but expected. It's resulted in a delightful positive, laid-back, devil-may-care attitude that is infectious. Que Sera, Sera indeed.

-Australia is where the boy is.

Australia. It seems I love it more then I hate it. But its still not pronounced deboo.

I truely am an innocent...

2007-04-26T22:56:00.001+10:00

Today, I received an unsolicited email from a young American lady, curently on holiday in London, UK, who tells me she "read it on the net somewhere" that I used to live in London myself. And then she asked me to tell her where she could "buy some green".

It took me about three minutes to figure out what she was asking for. I honestly had NO clue. I was sitting and thinking to myself; "Green? Why would she want to BUY American dollars once there? Why not bring them with her? and surely everyone knows about banks and currency exchange places?"

It's a wonder I can tie my own shoes.

Weird Al rocks the house.

2007-04-16T17:47:00.000+10:00

I am Canadian.

Nikki WhereIS

2007-04-04T16:06:00.000+10:00

I've been debating changing my name to Nikki WhereIs. As it is the most commonly heard phrase in our home, particularly in the morning. I don't mind it for things like keys, which could get set down anywhere (except on the actual keyrack, cause that would just be silly, wouldn't it)?

But I do get the littlest bit irritated and sassy when asked on a regular basis things like "Nikki WhereIs the milk?

"Ummm...its 40 damned degrees at 7 am- where do you THINK I might be hiding the milk? Did you even LOOK in the fridge"?

My typical morning involves following in the Boi's wake, picking up things he will need along the way; wallet, car and house keys, swipe card for access to the office, gym clothing, laptop, sunglasses, lunch, books for class. By the time we get out to the car, I'm juggling his gear and mine (A single handbag), a la Octopus Extraordinaire, and he's relaxed and empty handed, save for his bottle of water, stretching and enjoying the morning sunshine while I dance about on one foot trying not to drop anything while unlocking the car door with keys held in my mouth.

I love mornings But I should demand a raise.

2005 Xmas Wish List, redux.

2006-11-30T01:01:00.000+10:00

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...

2006-11-16T23:45:00.000+10:00

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?

2006-11-13T23:29:00.000+10:00

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....

2006-11-07T13:14:00.000+10:00

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!

2006-11-06T21:36:00.000+10:00

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.

2006-09-28T11:49:00.000+10:00

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.

2006-09-27T10:05:00.000+10:00

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.

2006-09-21T22:35:00.000+10:00

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?

2006-09-04T15:55:00.000+10:00

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

2006-09-01T19:55:00.000+10:00

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

2006-07-12T23:46:00.000+10:00

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

2006-07-11T22:33:00.000+10:00

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

2006-01-19T09:53:00.000+10:00

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.

"It begins, as most things begin, with a song"

2005-07-22T13:10:00.000+10:00

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 :)

Elvis has entered the building.

2005-07-21T14:53:00.000+10:00

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.

I need a vacation.

2005-07-21T07:09:00.000+10:00

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.

Snap

2005-05-25T10:49:00.000+10:00

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.

And it's off to court we go...

2005-05-20T09:19:00.000+10:00

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!

Rigging the Bet

2005-05-17T12:20:00.000+10:00

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.

Shifting Gears.

2005-05-13T09:59:00.000+10:00

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.

Email exerpt

2005-05-11T11:52:00.000+10:00

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.

A day in the life

2005-05-05T09:28:00.000+10:00

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.

Beating a dead horse

2005-04-26T13:48:00.000+10:00

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.

Grarr! Fecking Governments!

2005-04-22T12:42:00.000+10:00

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.

Bet ya didn't know...

2005-04-20T12:04:00.000+10:00

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.

The voices inside my head.

2005-04-06T13:20:00.000+10:00

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.

Ghosts of the past

2005-03-25T23:23:00.000+10:00

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.

Random thoughts

2005-03-09T02:12:00.003+10:00

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?)

Bellylaughing.

2005-02-23T01:03:00.000+10:00

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.

Pimpmobile!

2005-02-18T13:45:00.000+10:00

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.

Get thee to an aeroplane!

2005-02-15T19:32:00.000+10:00

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.

Closing a chapter

2005-02-10T01:29:00.000+10:00

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.

The rain hurts my forehead.

2005-01-25T02:46:00.000+10:00

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.

What things are important in your life?

2005-01-05T23:37:00.000+10:00

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.

A year in review

2005-01-05T01:42:00.000+10:00

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.

Ramble Ramble Bitch Bitch.

2004-12-07T21:44:00.000+10:00

In a few days I will have been living in Brisbane for four months.

This is the longest time I have not boarded a plane in more then four years. I've not in fact remained anywhere since the begining of 2000 for a three month stretch.

It feels odd. Last week my suitcase got unpacked and put in storage. I've been living out of it for several years now. Having clothing all in dressers and closets feels so strange. Growed up. Permanent.

I've been transient so long it became a natural state. Unfamiliar surroundings were somehow comforting. Once you've traveled a fair bit, you begin finding similarities in all sorts of very different places. They all blend together and strange places can seem familiar. Every fucking city's just the same.

I'm a very odd mix of homebody and gypsy. I crave the stability and safety and comfort that comes from having a sense of "home", whatever that is. Home has been something I've been searching for a long time.

But I also thrive on the adventure of new places, new faces, new challanges.

They are hard interests to meld, really.

I'm far too easilly distracted by shiney things, i guess is the crux of the problem. I can settle in and adapt to my surroundings quickly. I've done so here; fallen into (and enjoying!) housebitching and home rennovating -last weeks project was a pool! whoot! But its not been warm enough to use the bloody thing since.

On the other hand, there's a bit of wanderlust remaining. I've draged the boi, or had him drag me, over as much of the state as we can feasibly do on his days off. I want to do Sydney while I am here. Maybe New Zealand. And I daydream constantly about dragging him off to globetrot with me.

London to dance at the Electric Ballroom and Slimelight. Shopping in Camden. People watching in Leicester Sq.

Canada, to watch him with family and friends. I particularly want the approval of my boys back home.

Take a car and do a longassed unplanned roadtrip accross the US.

He's treated me to slices of his life here. I've gotten to see where he grew up, hear his stories. Hear his parents tell embarasing antecdotes about him as a child.

I want to show him the places around the world that bring me peace.

I want to push him into the atlantic ocean and laugh when he whinges about the cold (payback for all the amusement he gets from watching me battle the waves here).

I want to teach him how to make a snowman, proper snowballs, and snow angels.

But you know what? I'm not, for the first time in a long time, in a hurry. There's no rush for the rest of my life to happen. I finally have come to the realizaion that my life is happening. It's right now. And I don't want to wish a moment of it away.

There is still the flightly little voice in my head though, nagging at me to not get too complacent. It's hard. The safety and contentment I've found here is very seductive. And letting down my guard is a dificult thing to do. I can't help but to want, occasionally, to withdraw inside of myself, draw the walls back up around me.

I spent the last few years drifting, spending time with friends, travelling about, getting to know myself a little better. And, despite the close friends who helped me through everything, it was a lonely process. The lonliness, however, was not only necessary; it was quite deliberate. I purposefully drew into myself. It was the only way I could work through things. It was a good decision, and on some level, I enjoyed the time out. While sleeping alone sucks ass, being alone also means no one can hurt you, yanno?

Being alone, however, also becomes habit. I've had to learn how to be with someone all over again. And, more then that, I've had to learn how to be with someone in a healthy fashion. The concept of a relationship without fighting is a foriegn concept to me, really. I grew up in a house where fighting was the norm, and moved into a primary long term relationship that could certainly be labelled volatile.

A lifetime of that results in a measure of automatic defensiveness.

I think I've stopped pre-empting things, though, and have accepted that small conflicts don't need to be major blow out events. This open and honest communication thing with a partner is bloody hard, though. For years now, the boys were the ones who got to see my innermost self. It feels unsafe to expose those bits to someone I'm dating, though.

I can imagine thats bloody frustrating! My first reaction remains to curl foetal when something goes wrong. Recent plans to teach english next year in Asia, as a way to skirt around our citizenship dificulties, for instance, have gone amiss. so it's back to the drawing board. My way of dealing with such things is to go off, alone, to think things through. Cry, rant, then think, actually.

Running off to be alone everytime there is an issue is not exactly condusive o a parnership, though. so I've been forcing myself to stay put and get control of my emotions. So things blow over quicker then they did in the past.

More productive, perhaps. But alot of work. Sometimes I just want to let go.

Turn the page.

2004-11-15T11:07:00.000+10:00

How many times must one travel down the same path and have the same result before one can see in advance what the problem is. How many times before trust waivers? How many times before one gives up on the whole damn mess of it? It is certainly what I feel like doing now. I am angry, sad, heartbroken, and drained all at the same time. I feel in one sense betrayed for the broken promise and that hurts most of all. I feel angry at myself for allowing myself to believe, to care, to get involved again and most of all to love. Geoffiepoo, in his blog

I've known him for less then a decade, and more then a lifetime. He's been at varying times and degrees, my friend, my lover, my roommate, and so much more then i could ever put into words, really.

And I've watched him, time and time again, fall in love. He's the only person I've ever met who falls as quickly, and as deeply as i do. He also get crushed from the end of love. We all do, but Geoffie finds it harder then most to brush himself off, stand up and walk away.

Why?

I know. Pat knows. I don't think Geoffie does, though.

So I'm going to tell him.

He finds endings so hard because he thinks, everytime that it was his fault. If only he could try again, maybe he would figure out what he is doing wrong and fix it. maybe this time he could make it different.

What Geoffie does not know is he's not at fault. And neither, necessarilly, is the other party.

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.

Geofie lives his relationships holding fast to the notion of forever. It's an easy thing to do, and a very seductive idea; the notion of having things settled, finished, and therefore, no longer requiring that lonely search for understanding.

I know this because I've done it, too. So have you, in all liklelyhood. Evolutionary speaking, we are pack animals. We survive better when we aren't alone.

But, like relationships, being alone does not last forever, either. And we don't need to be with the same person forever to avoid lonliness. Herds are not static. New members enter and leave, adjusting to the environment around them.

Zen phillosophy is based on the experiences and conclusions of Siddhartha Gautama, now known as Buddha(he who is awake), who realized, during his quest for enlightement, happiness and understanding, that everything is subject to change and that suffering and discontentment are the result of attachment to circumstances and things which, by their very nature, are impermanent entitities.

It's a very healthy outlook to have. To grasp the notion that we should live in thankfullness for what we have today. Not to yearn for things we have not yet achieved. Nor mourn for things that are no longer part of our lives. Rather, happiness comes when we accept that everything we encounter has something to bring us, to teach us. And when the time is right, it too, will finish. To make way for new things.

Regret is an emotion most of us encounter at some stage. But it is also an entirely unproductive one. We are not blessed (or cursed) with the ability to travel back in time and change things. We do have the ability, however, to shake ourselves off and take yet another step forward.

Turn the page, Geoffie. A new chapter awaits.

Can we have a kitty? Pweeeeaaase!

2004-11-15T08:11:00.000+10:00

So the boi's been harping at me since i arrived, dropping hints about getting a kiten, and downright whining about same. I'd been trying to discourage him. I've left pets behind before, in my constant global wanderings, and i hate doing it. And i figured leaving him behind would be hard enough, there was no need to throw a smaller purring kittenlike creature to the mix. Something else for me to love. Something else for me to miss, yanno?

But, he knows me well. Knows I am a sucker. Knows where my buttons are. So I gave in. With one admonishment; "Ok. fine; we will get a kitty...but only if we will love it, and pet it, and call it GEORGE!". So, a week later found us carying home a box from the SPCA containing THIS impossibly tiny little furbag called George.

She's the best entertainment value for dollar I've ever seen. She was 8 weeks old, but really abnormally tiny, with a wee little voice to match. She could sit up in the palm of one of my hands. And i have girlie hands. She was roughly equal to the size of the puppy's (a 4 year old German Sheppard named Tier (no, not as in "level/layer", but as in "beast/animal in German))snout. And he, in all his large gawky clumbsy curiosity, was achingly gentle with her.

3-4 weeks on, shes still tiny, and she's taken after her adoptive dad; she is he goofiest, most graceless cat i have ever seen. She thinks she's a dog. Her miaow is still tiny, she falls off furniture and runs into walls with alarming regularity, and she is utterly adorable.

She is incapable of walking. She just can't. If she needs to be anywhere, it must be gotten too whilst doing Mach speeds, as though, if she does not get there right away, thats it! The world is gonna implode and the couch, which has always been there will just dissapear and be gone by the time she arrives.

She's fearless. Probably comes with her boxing matches with the dog, who plays by bowling her over and gently mouthing her. When she first arrived, that meant she pretty much entirely dissapeared into his gaping maw. Also comes from the fact that he is the best bodyguard ever. No one is allowed to hurt or steal HIS kitty, goddamnit. The cat next door tried. Once. So this tiny assed furball of ours does not know the word "danger", and will climb trees taller then the house (and deftly back down the tree without any trouble), and takes on the neighbourhood cats...and wins!

She's also incapable of not loving you. Instant box of rumble if anyone touches her. We've tossed her about, blown raspberries on her belly, packed her into tingy clear plastic boxes, poster tubes and whatever else amuses us. And she comes back for more everytime.

She's perfect.

Art Gallery

2004-11-15T07:36:00.000+10:00

I've deliberately put off typing this post from paper journal for ages now, because I was a tit and forgot to get the Artist's name. But I have to give in and realize that all my good intentions about returning to properly credit her have gone awry, passed over and forgotten time and again by more pressing things, like smoogling with the boi or yet more home reno stuff (such as this nifty tv room outside on a deck!), so bugger it, I'll post it without her name.

October 24, 2004.

I've a friend visiting from Norway. This is her second visit since I've arived, and also her last, as she's on her way to Tailand and then back home to Norway...so I've been crazy busy trying to show her everything.

It rained all morning, so the default plan was the museum and art gallery. Museum was dissapointing. Art gallery was not. I'd been last here only a few weeks ago, and was delighted to find so many ofthe exhibits are not static ones, and had plenty of new things to contemplate.

I had, on my last trip here, been dissapointed with the aboriginal art section. I had been hoping to be blown away by a large collection of art I'd not be able to see anywhere else in the world. But then, nothing grabbed me. It all hazed into one big similar blob.

Not so this time.

There was a piece by a female artist; digital manipulation, oil, and pastels all added to a pre-exsisting photograph. The pictures themselves she pulls from government archives decades ago. You know the sort of pictures I am talking about. Every country has them. Each cultural drowning seems to be accompanied by the pressing need to document the "transformation" from savage to civillized, contributing member of an higher society.

So a stranger comes into a community, takes hollow, mournfull pictures of the locals, either singly or as a group, all dressed "appropriately", of course, in respectable, taillored clothing.

Such photographs never depict an actual smile. Subject always look morose and uncomfortable. They sit quietly, disjointed, dejected...beaten...as the camera steals yet another piece of their soul.

The eyes always look haunted.

She sees it, too. Capitalizes in her own way on this little rape of her ancestors by reclaiming their essence, taunting the photographer by transforming the photo once more.

She's accentuated the despair of two aboriginal women, posed standing side by side in a faceless studio. Layer upon layer is added to the image. Part of her manipulation includes adding a lonely bleak background; barren harsh landscape that stretches off into the distance, echoing the lonliness. She's painted a delicate trail, like a spideweb, that tracks off over the horizon. The whole thing is then topped with a digital overlay, a misty veil like covering, like a ghost has floated accross the lens.

The end result is creepy, surreal beauty.

Befouling Beach Bums

2004-10-04T01:08:00.001+10:00

http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=5328038815&ssPageName=STRK:
MEWN:IT#ebayphotohosting

I bought a new bathing suit yesterday. I own two currently. Any Northerner reading this is now thinking that is a reasonable amount of swimsuits to own. But I actually ~just~ stopped short of buying two more. And this week I am having the boi drive me to a local shop I found online for more suit shopping.

So why the wardrobe change? We appear to have fallen into the pattern of spending all the boi's days off at the beach. He's been going about the place muttering and grumbling and babbling about the "bloody canadiadian (*note* that is not a typo...That's how he says it. Try to picture Homer Simpson saying "tramampoline" and "saxamophone" and you've about got it.)ruining my perfectly functional gothboi moontan"
So yeah...i am apparently turning us into beach bums. Actually...I'm not sure why ~I~ am shouldering all the blame on this one, really. Seems to me like i can recall most beach days begin with him bouncing on the bed, whining about missing half the day and poking and prodding and pulling at me til i get up and stumble to the shower. And he seems to also be the one who packs the towels and such and bundles me into the car. Least he has the sense to make a pitstop and ply me with coffee and chocolate. That almost makes up for the loss of the bed/snuggles.

I'm managing now to keep seawater consumption down to a cup or two - as opposed to half the bloody ocean. But i'm still hopeless in the waves. On Thursday there was this adorable little teensy pixie child, about 5, and all of 3 foot nothing, with long dreadie hair, draging a runt-sized boogie board behind her who did a wide arching 360 walk all aound us, staring open mouthed at me, obviously unable to process the fact that she, at all of 30 pounds, could amble about in the water nonchalantly, while I, a grown woman, was standing knee deep in the sea, giggling like a feind, and being knocked clear off my feet with each wave...and being babysat by a boi who looked nothing short of amused.

The waves might get the better of me still...but I so own this whole sunbathing thing. Flop out on the blankie, perve on the hotties, giggle at the antics of the kids, snuggle up to the boiflesh, or close eyes and drift off. Heavenly. Amusing, also, how my arctic skin is not the stuff getting fried to a bright pink.

We have, however, made a mental note that, when returning to the beach at night for nefarious purposes, it is necessary to overcome our exhibitionist tendencies (who knew?!*shrugs), and move further away from the couple whom we might think are far enough away that they could not see anything illicit that we may or may not be doing (and may or may not have succeeded at even). We were amused after to find that the couple had totally disappeared without us noticing (it's possible we were distracted by whatever may or may not have taken place). Giggling as we made out way back to the car, we were brushing away sand (it gets EVERYWHERE), and repacking the car when the police arrived. Parking in front of us, they stopped to install a strobe light and speaker on the roof of the truck before proceeding to drive right out onto the beach...exactly where our blanket had been parked just a few short moments previously. Close call. It should also be noted that if I am arrested, my ass gets deported. Oops.

It would have been worth it though. For the mad giggles. For the adrenaline rush. For the full moon and sound of crashing waves. For the look on the boi's face when he discovered I planned the whole thing. And for the shagging that may or may not have occurred.

Water, Water everywhere.

2004-09-26T18:21:00.000+10:00

I turned 31 last week. Got a new hole punched in my nipple (oooh! Shiney boobie!), ate a steak and resisted the rabbit food alltogether, and laughed probably more then is healthy.

Generally I forget my birthday and often my age. It is one of the few traits i share with my father. Generally, we are reminded when someone else calls to wish us a good day. Once I am reminded, I generally spend the day dissecting, contemplating, analysing.

I weigh my actions, my thoughts, my current situation on some great chimerical scale that exsists only in my head. Calculating and assesing my own self worth as though i were Themis herself.

This year I found a pleasent unfamiliarity to the proceedings. There still exsists the familiar second guessing; "You probably could have handeled that better", "You should be finanically established, with clear cut immediate goals" "At your age, you should have this and this andthis..."

But in addition to the background noise of "what-if's", there was something new. A sense of accomplishment. Self satisfaction. Wish I knew why...but I guess it really does not matter. I certainly did not achieve anything with a tangible, material outcome. There is no measure of proof that will corraborate my sense of conquest.

But for the first time in mnay years, i feel as though i have grown as a person.

That last is actually a very heavy sentence.

I was also, last week, reminded of the growth of others.

The boi treated me to a slice of his life. Many small slices, really. Each precious little glimpse snapping into place like pieces in a jigsaw.

It was a simple thing, really. On the surface anyhow. He drove me about the city, pointing out the various houses he lives in as a small child. Buildings. Just buildings, of course...for me, faceless fronts of wood and stone with no more personality then any other on the street.

It was the in between moments that moved me. I remained silent for most of the tour (fuck you, i can too be quiet). But he did not. Lost in though for a while, he'd turn down the stereo volume periodicaly to inteject a story. Each one a small memory, many of which, i suspect he had not dredged to the surface in quite some time. All of which touched me.

I'm an open book. I ramble on and on, and rarely old hings in reserves. I lack the art of secrecy. But he is, for al his warmth and cuddlyness, a reserved person. It took me many mont of frustration to accept the fact that there was nothing i could do to force him to up; that he would reveal only what he wanted as time goes on.

But I think the walls were down that night. Dismantled, or forgotten. It matters not which. The end result is i was fed tiny litle glimpses, like broken segments on a reel of film...each a little gift of it's own.

And here's the bestest bit. Ocean. Beach and a horizon of water that made me cry wih the sheer beauty. And not only did he not laugh at me tears, but he knew to just hold me till the perfection of it all settle in my head, and then? He broght be back again the next day. And again a few days later. AND he fed me chocolae and coffee. Bliss.

He gets extra credit for having a good sense of humour about my utter inability to deal with ocean waves. They look innoculous from the beach. Disarmingly conquorable, wat with all the kids splashing abut happily.

I swallowed enough water in the first 5 minutes that my hair folicles felt like they were bleeding seawater. Unable to stand upright, i kept getting dragged over by the undertow and knocked completely off my feet by each wave. And this was apparently a fairly calm day. I laughed so much my sides were hurting, and strangers were looking at us withsome concern. I'm sure the boi was occasionally getting looks of admiration and sympathy, for having the strenth and courage to take such a SpEcIaEl friend to the beach for the day. People kept looking for my crash helmet.

The constant giggling meant my mouth was always open when the waves would hit, forcing massess of seawater down my throat and robbing me of breath so that i was sputtering and gasping in between waves...when really i should have been concentrating on the backtow and judging the arrival of the next wave so i could draw a breath and prepare for it. No such luck. Every single one dissolved me into a ball of estatic laughter. It was incredibly absurd fun.

Eventually, he took sympahy and stood between me and the waves, grabbing my wrist each time i was bowled over so I would not wash up meters downstream. Course, by that time my good ear was so full of water that I had absolutely no sense of balance anyhow, making it doubly difficult to get my bearings between waves.

I don't know how kids manage it. I kept falling over, and there were 5 year olds walking around me, cheerfully weathering each assult like it was nothing.

Unspeakable fun.

And innocence shall make...

2004-09-26T16:25:00.000+10:00

There are many doors through which we may leave the Garden. Once we’ve left, there is no door through which we can ever return.
(From the Film La Vallée, 1972.)

Shakespeare wrote alot about innocence.Seeing how often his works are filled with violence and tragedy, I suppose it should not be a great surprise he was obsessed with the notion of purity of spirit.

Just when I think I can't be thrown off by a simple comment, can't be startled by how I am seen by others, fate steps in a gives me a big ol' slap round the head for being as egotistical as to think myself above surprise.

The boi apparently is of the opinion that I am an innocent. Not that I occasionally display a moment of innocence, but that i am on some deeper-set level, so profoundly innocent as to be unable to see or accept for myself how integrained this innocence is to who I am.

I don't understand how this can be. How can someone so close to me, someone who knows me so intensely, someone who is aware of all my backgorund, proclaim me an innocent? I long ago stepped through that door, nailing it shut behind me, freeing from the garden. And it from me.

Worrysome that this non existant innocence is a large part of why he loves me. Someday the fool will figure out that what he sees just is not there.

Chaste; Free of sin. . I have a hard time acepting that these things apply to me as a person. I've endured things so beyond the scope of most sane people that it somehow got bottled and remains in my memory, but pushed aside, partitioned off...there, but as though i observed it rather then experienced it. And I'm not without guilt. I've made mistakes. Some fairly major mistakes in the very recent past still have me coming to terms with an immense sense of blame.

"Innocence can be redefined and called stupidity. Honesty can be called gullibility. Candor becomes lack of common sense. Interest in your work can be called cowardice. Generosity can be called soft-headedness, and observe : the former is disturbing,"
(Abraham Maslow, philosopher and psychologist, 1908-1970.)

On another level, I find it amusing that I can't get my head around it all. Cause I am certain if he were to see how I think of him, he would be similarly floored. And innocence would once more work it's way into the conversation.

Perhaps it is an inescapable aspect of love; we are all driven to see loved ones as having a childlike quality of pureness, of vulnerability. Maybe we are all arrogant enough as to cast ourselvs in the role of protector, believing ourselvs capable not only of nurturing our own essence, but self aggrandize and imagine others as being so without ability that they need us to step in and cultivate their personal growth as well.

Occasional moments of naivete, I am certainly victim to such lapses in judgement. Time and time again I repeat mistakes of my past, certin that this time I have a better solution, the magical key that will alter the outcome; the ability to fix everything.

But i don't think that makes me innocent. Just stubborn.

Give me credit give me trust, give me love in small amounts.
Give me guilt and give me shame, give me life and don't explain.
Give me sex, responsibility and trade my hope for doubt.
Give me more, make me your whore,
and give me, give me, give me pain.

Tell me why you put me through this,
Tell me what's a girl to do,
Tell me where the action is.
Wet my taste and let me down.
Tell me what the future holds,
Tell me what's left of this soul,
Hold me down and fuck me over,
Stain this precious wedding gown

Innocence Lost
(From Innocence Lost, By Lust on the album Jezabel Thirteen Three)

Settling in

2004-08-27T21:37:00.000+10:00

Fuck me! Pineapples grow on the bloody ground, and not in trees. Did you know that? please sign the guestbook and leave an "Aye, you daft cunt, of course they do" or a "Get the fuck out?! Blimey, that's clever" message. I really want to know if i am the only one who had visions of them growing high atop a tree. The boi and his mother had a great chuckle at my incredulity at the phenomenon a few days ago.

I have now petted a kangaroo...and a koala... i think that's pretty much and Aussie equivalent of the newfie "screeching in", so now it feels as though i am actually here, and not just dreaming. Will throw up some pics at some point over the next week and link you to them.

Have made a great discovery on how to be rid of little people vermin...when said unknown whiney-arsed snot-nosed rugrat is sitting in front of you grumbing about not being able to see the tiger demonstration being given below? It's a good bet that leaning in to say "well come up and stand in this empty seat next to me" will leave the little bastard first staring wide eyed, then shutting the fuck up but quick and running into his parents arms crying about the "strange lady" talking to him. Works a treat, that.

Have discovered with great amusement how quickly kidlets can become confused. I've always had a weird assed magnet effect with small children, they seemed drawn to me. The boi tends to make small people burst into tears. Watching strange little spawn look from one of us to the other not knowing wether to approach and pet me, or run wailing is a tad amusing.

Running the risk of inviting a multitude of puppy" jokes, it is becoming apparent that i need a chew toy. While the boi asured me before my arrival he likes being bitten, what i have discovered since arriving is "i like being bitten", when translated from wombat to puppy actually means "if you do more then gum me in the gentlest of fashions i will whine like a biatch and show any teethmarks to passing strangers as evidence of abuse." Bah.Ironically, it does not stop him from nearly ripping chunks from me. Fucker bites harder then anyone else i've ever some across.

I also seem to be having some difficulty in convincing him that i am NOT, in fact, a toy put here for his amusment.

On the other hand, i am infinetely amused as the rampant geek in him does inner battle with the perve. A particular favourite of mine is to snugle up to him while he watches one of his random geeky tv shows. He practically gets whiplash turning from tv to me, in an obvious conundrum over the fact that on one side of him lies geekdom in the form of "Stargate" and on the other? There is a woman in his bed. What to do what to do?*snickering* So cute!

In other news, this weird assed rollable rubber mat of a keyboard he boi has? appears to be waterproof. thats what i get for drinking while typing. Ummm...it was due for a cleaning anyway? I only spilled a teeny bit and it's all still working? I love you? bunches? But tia laruso in ice coffee is scrummy.

I probably should considering looking for work soon though. playing hooky while shopping and gardening and housebitching lots probably does not count, huh? I guess its a matter of me becoming bored to the point where i will go crazy unless i find somehing else to do. thus far i've been keeping relatively occupied exploring and relaxing.

pineapples. on the fucking ground, man. it's odd the things that blow my mind.

The din in my head.

2004-08-21T21:07:00.000+10:00

So...um...yeah. Australia. Not sure what to say about that, really. Thus far, The past week has been spent doing regular everyday things, sorting out my permit, agonizing over money stuff, meeting the relatives and friends of the Evil Bastardly One (who really is far more cuddleslut then bastard in person), unpacking and such. I've been poking around Brisbane, and like what i see.

But, for now, it is a city like any other, allbeit a fucklot cleaner then most, and filled with friendly folk. Even the accent does not throw me too much; I've lived away from Canada long enough now to no longer dazzled by the fact that i am surrounded by people who can't talk properly :P

And all my nerves? Mostly gone now. Mostly gone about two seconds after "hello" at the airport, in fact. Some residual squickiness stemming from the fact that I'm trying to fit into someone else's life, schedule, and living space...and not always doing a good job. I tend to be a little overwhelming at the best of times, and somehow the presence of nikki tends to leak out and creep all over the place. I leave books and writing paraphenalia all over the house, my girlie things clutter a bathroom in an eyeblink, hippy food appears by magic in the kitchen, i eat in bed and i hog the space. I'm alot to deal with. And i find it hard to minimize the impact.

I'm also a sucker for puppies...and the pup here had that figured out right away. Already he knows I'll sneak him food when no one else is looking, and he will creep into the bedroom for a quick fussing from me even though he knows he's not allowed in there.

I'm not sure what the family thought about having me here on the boi's birthday, either. As well as he and i knew each others from a couple of years of contact, to them it still meant a relative stranger was present during the celebratory stuff.

Maybe i am overthinking. But i've been a lifetime feeling like i don't belong, don't fit in, am not part of the big picture around me. it's a hard sensation to shake off. The temporary nature of my life only accentuates that. Fact is, my stay here is a time limited offer. It becomes necessary to constantly remind myself of that fact, to reign in my imagination a little and keep things in perspective. No matter how right things seem, no matter how blissfull i am...no matter how deeply i fall...all things must come to an end. I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I'm ridiculously in love, and will enjoy every second...but this time next year i will have to say goodbye in a manner so intensely painful i can't fathom it.

On the upside, i had to buy blistex...serious lip dryness from the overload of kissing. A noteable yayness mention also goes to the wonderful stamina of youth. Screw this thing I've had for older men...young manchild types is where it is AT, I'm telling ya! Buger viagra. Early 20-something libedo is the way to go.

Seriously sickening, how sappy we are at the moment. Addicted to the way he feels, tastes, sounds, looks. And am thoroughly delighted as i discover the unknown things about him. It's like a brand new shiney geektoy, only with unlimited orgasams built right in. I don't remember the last time i smiled this much. Or if i ever have. My face aches, and i think my dimples will soon become permanent.

Am considering building a nest on the floor though. This bed makes way too much fucking noise.

arrived

2004-08-15T16:09:00.000+10:00

am in Australia.Ridiculously happy. full update tommorow.

The nikki has landed

2004-08-09T19:37:00.000+10:00

Back in London once more. Shattered. No sleep since friday night. It is monday now. About to crash out and get some beauty sleep before the big bash tonight. I am sytill a little overwhelmed at the monstrosity that has errupted from what i thought would be a simple little goodbye thing. I'm touched, flattered, and alltogether embarrased by the amount of attention my departure is getting.

I', also nervous beyond all belief about this who affair. My stomach has been doing flip flops since thursday, and i am an odd cross between giddy , frequently breaking out in random "wheeee!"'s that startle anyione around me, and downright scared.

I'm terrified it's all going to go wrong and be a huge dissapointment.

I know thats irrational, but I can't help thinking it all the same.

Mostly its just the good kind of nerves though.

I'm honestly loving every second.

Sleep now.

Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice!

2004-08-01T23:16:00.000+10:00

A few mornings ago, i stumble, hungover, bleary-eyed and cranky into the bathroom at stupid o'clock in the morning (ok ok so it was like 9 or something. But when you are out till 5 thats a fucking stupid time to be up. My neice is to blame), curse aloud as i stub my toe and fumble with the shower settings.

Standing in the middle of the room, looking for all the world like the living dead, on my feet but not alert and functioning only on the most basic levels. Waiting for the water temperatures to level out before stepping into the shower.

Try to pull a towel from the shelf, watch helplessly without reacting as the whole stack slips off and cascade onto the floor, in a riot of pastel colours that offends my eyes. Kick them all to one side cause i know if i bend to retrieve them i will wind up on the floor in an ungainly mess of arms and legs.

Once floor space is relatively free of terrycloth, i turn to the shower..glancing down at the floor, the whole scene changes in about 0.002 seconds.

On the floor is a beetle. I don't like bugs. I like bettles even less. I can handle bugs ok, providing i see them well in advance of them reaching me...that is i contain my reaction and can even work up suitable braveness to remove offending creature from premises.

This particular morning, however, my wits are not present.

I squeak, and immediately begin flapping my arms about while squacking and dancing a statico beat on my tippytoes in an effort to avoid the monsterously hideous creature.

The bathroom here is not only tiny, but it was built long after house, and long after plumbing was sorted. Which means the tiny bathroom has three levels of flooring, in order to compensate for the pipework.

In all my flailing about, i had forgotten this fact. I manage to step off the edge of the floor.

Tipping over backwards, it all went wrong. In one of those surreal moment, time slows down and i fall for what seems like forever, waving arms in a blured cartoon fashion in an attempt to counteract the very laws of gravity.

To no avail. I land, arse into the clothing hamper, legs and arms straight up the air, folded over like a giant paperclip. On the plus side, my legs do still fit behind my ears, i discovered.

I actual sit still for a moment, taking in the sound of the shower, ears prickled to see if i have woken others. Then i remember that i am locked alone in the room with what is surely a killer beetle, and my brain becomes more alert.

Must get out of this death trap disguised as a plastic clothing bin.

Easier said then done. I am truely stuck...i cant get purchase on anything, and i cant bend elbows enough to get a grip on the bin to lift myself out.

I would go into a gigglefit at this point, cept i am panicing about the bug getting me. Verging on the hysterical, i force myself to get a grip and think.

Stetching my neck, i can sort of peer around one knee and the ankle of the other foot, lowering my shoulder carefully, and try get a glimpse of the beetle. It is nowhere to be seen, and i feel like a total fool.

Reason has set in once more.

I still need to get myself out of the hamper, though.

The bathroom has begin to fill with steam, and i do relax enough to finally start giggling. I wish i had a camera. Beter yet, i wish i was still living in my previous live feed fully webcammed apartment of a couple years back. Pure gold, this one.

Striking on the solution, i begin rocking back and forth. Tipping side to side 4 or 5 times, i manage to get enough momentum to tip the basket and me over sideways.

Great. Brilliant. Now i am stuck in a plastic bin over on its side, with my face mushed onto the floor, nose pressed sideways in a painful fashion...and i need to pee from all the giggling.

It takes another few minutes of back and forth wiggling before i manage to extract the nikki from the plastic, and dash for the toilet.

Once sitting, relieved to not be peeing on myself, i look down at the floor.

The glossy "beetle" i had spotted that started this whole thing?

Was my own toenail, painted black.

Anger management 101

2004-07-29T05:32:00.000+10:00

Having lived away from home for some 15 years now, I had actually forgotten how my birth family well and truely suck ass.

My relationship with my father has always been a stormy one...I love him fiercely in some ways...but I will never understand the man. We are too different to ever find true common ground other then the accident of blood.

He decided, somehow, in that foggy depths of space between his ears, that a reconcilliation with my stepbrother, my tormentor and abuser through much of my childhood, was in order. A ~surprise~ reconcilliation, at that.

This after years of dad pretending the abuse did not occur, ignoring all mention of it till last week then shocking me with a sudden heart to heart about it, in which i came away shaken, and somewhat relieved to have been able to finally tell him my thoughts on it all. I shared with him how much it fucked with me, mentally, and how long tit took me to oversome the fucked up ideas it left with me regarding sex. Somehow, out of that talk, dad decided that it was time to toss us into a room togteher.

I have not seen the stepbrother for 13 years. With good reason. And on the last occasion, we parted when i threatened to remove a vital part of his anatomy upon next meeting.

Despite all this, we managed, somehow to struggle through a tense yet argument-free meal. After which my father asked me to drive the stepbrother to a store. I was silly enough to agree, despite being scared. Actually, it is probably ~because~ i was scared that i agreed. I am all about overcoming things.

The ride there was silent. The ride back was not. The fucktard actually opened his mouth and made one of the crudest comments he could have mustered to me.

Now, anyone who has seen me truely angry knows to run.

As i said, hes a fucktard. He stayed put. I think, in some really screwy way, he was secure and assured that i would wilt and cower.

A moment later found the car being slammed into park in the middle of the streeet, me rounding the car on foot and physically dragging him from the vehicle. He called me a crazy bitch and tried to cimb back in. There was a brief scuffle, and i won, as he found himself on hands and knees eating a facefull of dirt. He stood up, turned around, and faced me.

Then I broke his nose.

That was unexpected.

I drove off and left him, with traffic stopped several cars deep in each direction, him holding his face and screaming obscenites at me, and my car splattered in his blood.

Back at my fathers, i stormed in, informing him that i was only there to pack and leave, and did so. Crashed with a cousin for the night. Immediately upon arriving at hers, i went to the toilet and proceeded to puke my guts out. When there was nothing left in me and the worst of the shakes were gone, so i was able to stand again, we got stupid drunk and washed down the car with buckets of soapy water.

My father arrived, explained he had driven off to pick up the stepbrother and deposited him at a friends house, in an attempt to convince me to return to his for the night after profuse apologizing - not for throwing us into a ring together...but apologized for asking me to give hima ride!

I refused, and he left. I went back to his for breakfast the next morning before spitting town. WE talked, but he was still uinable to see that i will NEVER be able to "get on" with him. I am, frankly, blown away that my dad would think this possible in any way.

And i am also reminded of how very alone we are in this world.

I remain, several days later, mixed about everything. I am, admitedly, proud, and smug about standing up to him. I am also feeling guilty, that, yet again, my responce was violence. I have a pattern of being backed into a corner and to come out swinging. Surely there are more productive ways of dealing with problems then maiming other people? I'm tired of being on the definsive, yet glad that i don't wither in the face of threat.

If someone else told me they had physically assulted someone who abused them as a child, i know i would stand and cheer. I have zero sympathy for the abuser in all this. And time does not cover all.

For the record, the abuse eventually ended when i turned on him physically then as well. But there was still something far more empowering about smacking him a good one while an adult, and with a definte measure of free will. As a child, i was merely fighting back. This time, i ~could~ have walked away, unharmed, but chose instead to not let it slide.

But i still wonder if i would have been better off turning and walking away when my father proudly announced we were both there to make nicey nicey.

2004-07-26T21:47:00.000+10:00

RULES
- Italicize what you've seen part of.
- Bold what you've seen all the way through.
- Underline what you own.
- Add three of your own.

01. Trainspotting
02. Shrek
03. M
04. Dogma
05. Strictly Ballroom
06. The Princess Bride
07. Love Actually
08. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
09. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
10. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
11. Reservoir Dogs
12. Desperado
13. Swordfish
14. Kill Bill Vol. 1
15. Donnie Darko
16. Spirited Away
17. Better Than Sex
18. Sleepy Hollow
19. Pirates of the Caribbean
20. The Eye
21. Requiem for a Dream
22. Dawn of the Dead
23. The Pillow Book
24. The Italian Job
25. Goonies
26. BASEketball
27. Spiceworld
28. Army of Darkness
29. The Color Purple
30. The Saftey of Objects
31. Can't Hardly Wait
32. Mystic Pizza
33. Finding Nemo
34. Monsters Inc.
35. Circle of Friends
36. Mary Poppins
37. The Bourne Identity
38. Forrest Gump
39. A Clockwork Orange
40. Kindergarten Cop
41. On The Line
42. My Big Fat Greek Wedding
43. Final Destination
44. Sorority Boys
45. Urban Legend
46. Cheaper by the Dozen
47. Fierce Creatures
48. Dude, Where's My Car
49. Ladyhawke
50. Ghostbusters
51. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
52. Back to the Future
53. An Affair To Remember
54. Somewhere In Time
55. North By Northwest
56. Moulin Rouge
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
58. The Wizard of Oz
59. Zoolander
60. A Walk to Remember
61. Chicago
62. Vanilla Sky
63. The Sweetest Thing
64. Don't Tell Mom the Babysitters Dead
65. The Nightmare Before Christmas
66. Chasing Amy
67. Edward Scissorhands
68. Adventures of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert
69. Muriel's Wedding
70. Croupier
71. Blade Runner
72. Cruel Intentions
73. Ocean's Eleven
74. Magnolia
75. Fight Club
76. Beauty and The Beast
77. Much Ado About Nothing
78. Dirty Dancing
79. Gladiator
80. Ever After
81. Braveheart
82. What Lies Beneath
83. Regarding Henry
84. The Dark Crystal
85. Star Wars
86. The Birds
87. Beaches
88. Cujo
89. Maid In Manhattan
90. Labyrinth
91. Thoroughly Modern Millie
92. His Girl Friday
93. Chocolat
94. Independence Day
95. Singing in the Rain
96. Big Fish
97. The Thomas Crown Affair
98. The Matrix
99. Stargate
100. A Hard Day's Night
101. About A Boy
102. Jurassic Park
103. Life of Brian
104. Dune
105. Event Horizon
106. Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
107. Dead Fire
108. The Neverending Story
109. Resident Evil
110. Lara Croft: Tomb Raider
111. Pure Country
112. The Evil Dead
113. The Stand
114. Head
115. Shoujo Kakumei Utena: ADOLESCENCE Mokushiroku
116. The Ghost Goes Gear
117. Perfect Blue
118. Bring It On
119. Cowboy Bebop: Knockin' on Heaven's Door
120. The Boondock Saints
121. Alien
122. Howard the Duck
123. Star Trek: The Voyage home
124. Vampire Hunter
125. Soylent Green
126. The Craft
127. The Philadelphia Story
128. LA Confidential
129. Eating Raoul
130. Donovan's Reef
131. The Last of the Blonde Bombshells
132. Princess Mononoke
133. Disney's Mulan
134. The Ring
135. The Crow
136. A Beautiful Mind
137. This Is Spinal Tap
138. Amelie
139. Ten Things I Hate About You
140. Fried Green Tomatoes
141. Goodbye Lenin
142. Grease
143. Mallrats
144. My Fair Lady
145. Pulp Fiction
146. Master & Commander: The Far Side of The World
147. American Beauty
148. Monster
149. The Breakfast Club
150. Stuart Little
151. The Sting
152. The Lion King
153. The Virgin Suicides
154. Pretty In Pink
155. Rocky Horror Picture Show
156. The Shawshank Redemption
157. Night At the Roxbury
158. Gangs of New York
159. Schindlers List
160. Philadelphia
161. The Tommyknockers
162. American Wedding
163. Meet The Parents
164. Serial Mom
165. Run Lola Run
166. Porky's
167. Mulholland Drive
168. Talk To Her
169. All About My Mother
170. Bridget Jones's Diary
171. 9 to 5
172. Heathers
173.Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind
174. Willow
175. Hackers
176 Citizen Kane
177 Memento
178 Better then Chocolate

Salmonfest 2004

2004-07-19T02:03:00.000+10:00

Centennial feild, Grand Falls, Newfoundland. I'm penning this sprawled on a blanket, in a tangle of limbs and much giggling. I have the dubious honour of being chaperone to my 16 year old neice and her 4 friends, who all wanted to made the trip into the summer event of the province, and all-day concert, but whose parents decreed an adult must be present before they would give permission. Somehow, i met with parental approval as a passable adult, and also, am cool enough to be acceptable by the kids as well. Go, me. Foolish parents.

The normally hour long drive took 2.5 hours, due to high traffic for the event, slowed further by summer road construction. On the plus side, there was no opportunity to speed, therefore negating the chance of a repeat speeding ticket ( my second ticket being aquired the day previous. And, since it was my second in 6 months, i lose a shedload of license points and face a massively heartbreakingly hefty finacial fee to boot). It also meant a most amusing game of car leapfrog with a carload of cute 20 something boys, which delighted the girls to no end, as they spend the time passing me with windows rolled down trying to attract my attention/aquire a name and phone number/ generally show off as boys are wont to do. "Oh my god, Danny, your aunt is soooo cool...they are flirting! And she's flirting back!". (Jump ahead a little ; got more bonus cool factor points midafternoon, when it turns out I knew one of the featured musicians, found him after his set and draged him back to our blanket to meet the girls and sign autographs.)

The boys followed us to a coffeeshop and found me again at the concert (no easy feat, as the feild normally has upwards of 15,000 bodies), and are now milling about on a couple of blankets nearby, taking turns at making trips into the beer tent, coming back louder each time. Thye are being cool though, and playing nicey with the girls, who are thrilled by the attention from older guys. They've spent much of the day trying to convince me to join them at an after concert party at a nearby campground, and have even gone so far as to arrange alternate transport for the girls back to town so i can stay.

In the end, they settled for a promise of a after concert trip to McDonalds, combined with details of my dancing plans at a local bar next weekend. All in all, i had far more fun playing chaperone then i thought i would.

Sleepover

2004-07-19T01:41:00.000+10:00

From paper journal, Wensday, July 14th.
_____________________________________

What a strange evening. Addrienne and I stopped at my father's overnight, enroute to St. Johns. Always a lesson in patience, time spent with my dad...and always a lesson I fail to absorb, it seems. Arrived at 6pm, bored out of our skulls by 8 pm. The non-stop lecturing (that crossed dangerously close into all-out insult) did not help any either. Apparently, this Australia trip "tops all my other insane decisions to date". This includes (amongst other older infractions too far gone in memory to relive here); my marriage, my girlfriend, my tattoo's/piercings/brandings, and my intersts in BDSM. Funny thing is, I know i have made far worse decisions in my past, and none of the aforementioned things qualify as mistakes.

After not-so-poitely telling him to cram his unasked-for opinions up his holy ass, I proceeded to ignore him till he gave in. Though this rudeness on my part kicked in only after several hours of smiling and nodding or trying to joke him into a lighter mood, i still wound up kicking myself in the ass for it later. It bothers me that time spent with my dad reduces me to a screaming child, and i lose all ability to talk as a rational adult, and instead, go on the defensive and throw a hissyfit.

Not wanting to risk more nastiness later, i made the decision to hide behind the guise of wanting to be silly and relive my youth by borrowing a tent from my Aunt's place and camping out in the backyard. Dad good naturedly put the anger aside and helped addrienne and i set it up, and gave us a flashlight to ward off the boogeyman. (As an aside, I always thought the name "boogeyman" a silly term for something that is supposed to be scarey; I remember wanting to encounter this creature when i was small cause boogie also means snot which is funny and not at all scarey, but in addition, it means dancing, and i therefore surmrised that he'd be a pretty fun dude).

Made a trip to the liquor store for wine, and got asked for ID. It is amusing to me that I am nearly 31 and still, had to go back to the car and have my girlfriend, several years my junior, go and buy me alcohol. It just adds to the whole juvinille theme i have going lately. I wonder if i am having my mid life crisis now?

Grabbed a few minutes alone with dad, and wound up having THE most raw, painfully emotional open and bluntly honest conversations i have ever had. I'll be processing this one for many months to come.

After dark, Addrienne and I decided that a walk into the old swimming hole upriver was in order. The normally 4 minute walk up the trail took about a half hour. The flashlight guided walk in the beyond-pitch-black moonless night meant much stoppage so we could squeal and dance about and nearly piss ourselves in fright in every tiny sound or flicker in the reputably bear-inhabited woods. Once we found the spot (not an easy feat when its dark, and I'd not been there in more then a decade), we sat silently for 20 min or so, making absolutely certain we were alone before stripping off and jumping in. If there WERE bears? They were surely frightened off by the screams and howls from the shock of the cold water.

Eventually made our way back home (running throught the forest clutching each other, pellmell on hyperdrive, arriving out the other end in about a minute thirty, dried down, nd decided to top off the night by removing the weather fly from the tent, and lying inside looking up throught the mesh top at the star filled sky. In true naughty teenager fashion, we rounded outt he experience by drinking crappy assed bottles of fruity cheap wine....straight from the bottles. Several hours of mad giggling and numerous trips back into the skeery woods for pee breaks and we finally passed out just before dawn.

Packed up tent and left in morning before dad returned home to lunch, leaving a note to say I would drop in later in the week.

Interesting though, that my father, the married minister who is several times over a grandfather might have issues with such things as my choice in sexual partners, but he has no problem whatsoever with hitting repeatedly on my girlfriend.

I don't know if i will ever recover.

Fog + Fever = Zen

2004-07-09T10:42:00.000+10:00

A strange calmness has decended, and I'm not exactly sure what to make of it. I feel ballanced, centered, once more. For the first time in over a year, i feel utterly at peace with everything.

I've spent a few days alone in my thoughts now, time to regroup and reshuffle, organize the mess that was in my head. Long walks, views of the ocean that i have missed so much. Fog. My god, how much i love the fog. Spending a few days at Pats, which has meant quiet, and "me" time.I've been reading and sleeping at random moments through the day as the whim takes me, and it's all help restore a sense of internal harmony.

Was sick for a few days, and running a fever, which explains the random sleeping patterns. Also led to some fucky dreams and fevered over-thinking, which resulted in a remarkable moment of clarity at one point, wherein suddenly all my second guessing., self doubting and panic just lifted...i could sense it just melting away. And its not returned. All he anxiousness i was feeling about my recent decisions, about the upcoming trip, and about where i go from here...gone.

A consious decision to stop fussing and worying about what MIGHT be, and to instad just let whatever will be happen, naturally. I've been wracking my brain, trying to imagine every ppossible outcome as though my life were a chose-your-own adventure story, and becoming increasingly frustrated with my inability to jump ahead and read the last page. And suddenly i remembered how reading the last page first always spoiles large aspects of the story. It is the unknown, the unpredicted...the twists that make the story worth telling.

It's a thing more people should do, really...just let go and trust that whatever the outcome, it wil be the right one of it's own virtue.

Reflection

2004-07-02T22:04:00.000+10:00

Doctor’s appointment downtown meant an early rise for me today. Walking the waterfront when alone is so intensely peaceful. Foghorn blaring periodically to cut the silence. Water like glass, without even a tiny ripple. Fog hovering about 30 feet in the air, enough to give me a view of the masts of a fishing boat off in the distance.

Being here always makes me smile, and gives me a general sense of the fuzzies.

I also, despite being with my boys, people I care about so intensely, feel acutely lonely lately. In part due to so many changes in my life; the redefining of relationships with people I have been cleft to for so long. It's not a new thing. For a few years now I have felt alone, even when surrounded by loved ones. It's like there is a barrier of glass; I know its there, but I can't find it.

If I could I'd take a bloody pickaxe out and pulverize the fucking thing.

Part of me is coming to realize that the walls of glass are likely things of my own design. And that the thing I yearn for does not exist. That intangible connection so deep that it is impossible in practice. Something I conjured up in the haze of a dream and steadfastly refused to let die with morning light. Unrequitable perfection.

Entirely unfair, if I dwell on that thought. Can't help but to wonder how many times I have been holding up that dream in an unfair comparison, a measure by which to rate all others. The setting of an absurd standard.

What if this is all there is? It is a thought that has plagued me near constantly for some time now. My inner demon battles the happiness to be found in front of my face; brandishing the sword of futile longing as though gratification might actually be possible.

I've felt this lonely once before. Al through my childhood I lived certain in the knowledge that I was utterly alone, when one really examined it. No one understood, then, all that I was, either. People may, indeed, love the Me They Know. But I have never genuinely shared with another being all of me. The risk in that is far too great.

I am beginning to understand that it is not only unfair, but in fact, it is entirely unrealistic of me to hope for a person who meshes with all of me. I've been so close to perfect happiness so many times, and manage to always find some flaw; something lacking. I’ve teased myself before with the hope of something that, in the end, proves evasive.

And the dilemma remains; do I lower the bar of exalted standards, and accept that the completeness I seek is a fantasy? Or do I swallow the self imposed isolation, resign myself to its familiar ache and step ahead, searching for the unobtainable?

A bond, so complete, that remains, as always, just out of reach. I was once told " you will never stop asking "what's the point?", but, someday, you will stop expecting an answer". It's not yet 'someday'. I dearly want an answer.

And the times...they are a'changin.

2004-06-24T20:26:00.000+10:00

Well...it's almost done now. In a couple of hours i set off for the ferry to England, and after a weekend of more goodbyes, I will set off for Canada for the month of July and then some, befoire hopping a flight back to London for another brief layover enroute to Australia in mid-August.

Was schedulled to go in October, but a bunch of changed circumstances and a rising sense of impatience all combined to make me decide not to come back to norway only to wait around for a fall departure. Waiting. I've spent so much of my life in stasis, dormant and waiting for shite to happen. Made the decision to force feed this seed and see what comes out of it.

The flights were changed only two days ago, prompting a flurry of packing and mad panic that ensued with the effort. Two days to pack up a lifetime of memories. Little time to reminice as shite had to be sorted, which required me getting veyr hardassed and making decisions on the fly. I loved it, really. Exhillerating. One large dufflebag of winters clothing which Duane will take back to Canada for storage for me, and one huge box and two backpacks going with me to England, all to be repacked when i claim the luggage left elsewhere. This is the problem with being a gypsy-my stuff is scattered all over the globe.

The really hard part was what was left last night when said two levels of packing was complete. The leftovers that had to be sifted, sorted and discarded. Duane was nice and told me to leave it and he would deal. But i could not bear the thought of us leaving ( the flatmate is heading to England with me for the weekend), and Duane being left alone to sort though the reaminders and reminders of me. Overwhelmingly sad thought, so last night found me up till ridiculous hours baggin up things for disposal. But it's done. The room that had been mine for the past while is now annonymous once more. So he won't be left having to relive memories while he sorts through bits of me.

The other sucky part aboiut the past two days have been the goodbyes. I thought i was sneakilly avoiding those teary goodbye scenes i hate so much but skipping out of town wearly without teling people. Unfortunately, the flatmate let it slip and word spread quickly. So people have been dropping by for that one last coffee and a chat and I've had to do the goodbye thing way more then is healthy. This has long been an issue of mine. While i am delighted to be picked up at airports, i'm fairly fucking adamant about not letting loved ones drop me off when I leave. It's yet another avoidance tactic. Pretend it's all not happening, yanno? I'd much rahter walk out of the house waving a casual "seeya later" then a quiet reflective ride to an airport and a tear filled goodbye under the scrutiny of strangers. In a house you can pretend the parting is a causal breif dash out. In an airport there is no mistaking the fact, whilst surrounded by my possessions, that I am well and truely leaving.

To make matters worse, there will be two goodbyes for Duane. One today, when i go and he realistically knows that this is it, I won't be coming back here ever again. And another in August, as he is joining me home in Canada in late July. That one will be much worse, as it will come on the tail end of a two week visit with our friends and family, some of whom don't knwo as he has been opposed to telling them until a divorce is finallzed. All those familiar people and surroundings are sure to make the goodbye a little bote bittersweet when it comes.

These are major goodbyes for me- the signalling of somehting truely monumental in my life- the first time i set off on my own as an adult. I was kicked out at 16, but have not, since then, really made any important sort of decision entirely for me, irregardless of how it may affect others in my life.

And I am terrified. Excited, yes, but terrified. Scared I will get to the comfort of home, in the arms of people i love and trust, and just freeze in the headlights of life, to scared to take that next step into the great unknown. While the dare, the risk i look forward to taking has so much appeal, I wonder what happens if the seduction of familiarity lures me in and won't let go.

Stoooooooooooooopid.

2004-06-18T04:38:00.000+10:00

Stupid;
Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless: a stupid mistake.
Dazed, stunned, or stupefied.
Pointless; worthless: a stupid job.

An entire day of my life trying to set a single image as a background that does not tile in Dreamweaver. That's time I will never get back, yanno. A whole day wherein all I suceeded in doing was frustrating myself (and others, with my questions and bickering) to the point that I had to admit defeat because I am too fucking dumb to make a silly little computer progrma to a simple function that I KNOW how to do. And I did it right, it just won't comply, and I have absofuckinglootly no idea why.

Two program manuals at my disposal. A plethora of help files and online tutorials. Nada. Just. Can. Not. Do. It.

I dislike computers almost as much as I dislike sewing machines. I can use them both on a very basic level, but it's like my head is designed to only hold a limited amount of information before brain automatically shuts down and protests the absorbtion of anything new.

The problem, you see, if I am a bit of a control freak. And a perfectionist. If I can't make something work just as I want it, I'd just as soon not play the game at all as have to compromise and do something in a way other then how I had pictured it.

The only problem with this is not completeing the task I originally set out to makes me feel like an utter failure. And...did I mention Stupid?

Globetrotting

2004-06-17T05:53:00.000+10:00

W00t! The tickets to Australia were delivered to Paula's place today. So now it's all starting to sink in. Scarey, in that vastly thrilling sort of way.

It's also forced me to take stock of what needs to get done before then. Cause October sounds like a long way off, till I realize i will only be spending about 4-5 weeks of that time in Norway.

In eight days I am off for England, for a long weekend in London enroute to a trip home to Canada. I will be in Newfoundland for nearly 6 weeks (yay! and w00t! and other such exclamations of happiness and delight!), returning to london for a few days before hopping another flight back to Norway about the middle of August. Then I have a few weeks to close up this chapter of my life; determine what goes with me and what gets tossed/ left in Duane's care for possible future collection.

How on earth am I going to fit enough for a whole year in two suitcases? I mean, I could fill one with shoes alone! I've never quite grasped the whole "less is more" concept.

Once that is sorted, the plan is to spend some more time in England, this time in Dover. So that will be new. I've travelled fairly exttensively through England, but hhave yet to venture to Dover. Might try to fit in a few days in France; seems silly not to, being so close. Add another country to my European experience.

And then, from Dover back into London for a night or two before setting off for the southern hemisphere.

I should start taking notes in my travel logs how much time i spend in transit/in airports. Over the last few years, I'm willing to bet the amount of time thusly wasted is staggering. It used to be that I would try burying my face in a book, write or listen to music in an effort to use such time productively. But I've come to accept that it rarely works out that way. Mostly, I spend my time wandering (the stretching pre and post flight does wonders for tired muscles), people watching, daydreamsing and the like. And, really, I rarely travel anywhere without meeting at least one really interesting person. I DO need to start keeping better and more regular travel journals though.

Can anyone teach me to fly?

2004-06-15T07:08:00.000+10:00

I have about two weeks before i leave norway to learn, and then, to teach this baby seagull i've just dragged home.

Found it abandonded, and could not bear to see the wee little bugger crying alone. Waited for a while first to make sure momma was not hiding somewhere...but it's way to ikkle to have been purposefully left out of nest alone yet anyhow. So somehow it was removed, and then left in the middle of a skateboard park. bah.

Seems happy enough. Cuddled down into my cleavage and slept all the way home, then greedilly devoured about a quarter can of tuna from my fingers, and sipped water from a dish. Even put up with pokings by the puppy-creature without even slight discomfort apparent- just poked the pup once, then dismissed it by turning it's back and shaking tail feathers in her general direction. It tried preening, but it's sort of small and clumbsy so cleaning its unddercoat resulting in it comically tipping arse over head.

I know I will regret this the second it is strong enough to start voicing demands, though right now I keep thinking of the gulls crying "mine, mine mine" from "Finding Nemo" and its making me crack right up. They rocked.

Then again, they were not living in my bedroom.

Now then, see the little "comments" link below? Click it. And suggest a name for the creature. Can't keep calling it "Gull".

Nasty, salacious and depraved. I am a dirty, dirty girl

2004-06-14T21:35:00.000+10:00

Money. It drives most societies. The production, attainment and spending of, that is. And money is really such a vulgar item. The deceit and depravity. The greed that fuels the machine. It's also so very lewd. And not in a good way.

That's not to say I am innocent. I am a good capatilist little whore, in some ways. While i have not, historically, been bothered to all-out pursue and accumulate stockpiles of cash, I will readily admmit to loving the spending part of the outfit. I am a marketer's dream, sometimes, and unfortunately, having placed little value on money, it means I will cheerfully dole out any that i might have. Shiny shiny! It's blue and sparkles? Must have!

At 30, I'm begining to wonder if perhaps my standing might need an overhaul. I began working at age 15...not counting the babysitting stint thats near manditory for teens. But you know what? I would not be able to make even a ball park guess as to how much money I have earned in that time. Honestly, I'ver not even a general guess. I don't have savings. I don't own property, and none of my possessions have intrinsic worth. I did for a time own mutual funds; but that was sheerly because of a lump sum payment that i simply had no clue how to deal with, and so followed the advice of a good friend, who is a banker, and invested it. Withdrew it all a year later to vacation on. And thoroughly enjoyed the process of getting rid of it.

And see, therein lies the problem. While I don't feel any particular drive to accumulate wealth, i do indeed enjoy shedding it. I take great pleasure in the exchange of money for goods and service. Be that a shiny new toy for me or anything that would light up the face of a loved one. I mean, when I have it, i figure its there to be enjoyed...by me, and anyone around me. Isn't that what material wealth is for? No? Damn.

The result of this love for liquidation is a distinct lack of assets, combined with a whopping student loan that sits unpaid. My eventual return to Canada will of course, put an end to the period of arrears, as well it should, and I have no problem with that. I will likely take as much pleasure in sorting myself out and making payments anyhow...it's still spending, right?

I've never really examined my relationship with money until a few years ago, when my life began to change in ways where finacial independance was a major concern. I've been content to drift along unplanned before then. Grew up well below the poverty line, but i never particularly cared about such things. I've always been content with just getting by. All part of my hippy mentality i guess. The things i hold close to me and place value on are not things tied into commerce. Most things i enjoy and take pleasure in do not require an expendeture of a churlish piece of paper as a means of aqquisition. Such a tranfer would cheapen the transaction in a profound manner.

The subtle shift began happening when i began travelling alot more, in an effort to escape my living situation. Sudenly i became more acutely aware of how a lack of money can be very limiting. And I feel rather foolish for having gone three decades without having absorbed that lesson. And for not realizing sooner how the world does not operate on a level that is compatible to my admitedly naieve and limited view of all things fiscal.

Such a vile notion; that something as crass as money can tie into one's ability to enjoy life. While I have accepted that I need to adjust my perception and adapt, shift my focus towards playing the game of a monied establishment, it also seems distastefully seedy to me somehow.

Such a sordid and sullied little game. And yet, one so overwelmingly and inricately tied up in so much else about life as to make it inescapable within most societies. I'm nore sure how it escaped my attention so long, really. I don't think myself a stupid person; so how did i get along this long without actively playing the game? And this far in, I'm not quite sure where to put my feet in all the muck around me. I know I need to. And I do like challanges. But I doubt if I will ever come to think of money and wealth as anything but tacky, really.

Given that the things i enjoy, seek out and find vastly satisfying makes most people shudder with revulsion and distase, I do see the amusement value apparent in the fact that I find money such a morally reprehensible concept.

But it is one I am struggling to gain a measure of comprehension of. I'll let you know how it goes.

Dance floor diva

2004-06-14T00:14:00.000+10:00

Went out to grind and slam a few hours away on a dancefloor with a friend last night; it was her last opportunity to do so, and she is moving from norway to London, and we made use of it well. It was one of those nights when everythiung clicked just right.

Shes been here almost as long as me, and likely has actually spent more time here, considering how much i travel; but still, she knows very few people outside of work. I tend to be a little more outgoing and social, and as such, am fairly well known - as the loud Canadian chick. The club we had chosen proved to be full of people who knew me, even if i did not always know them, so we wre constantly approached and joined on the floor by random people. There seemed to be fewer severely drunken arsehats present as well, and only three times did i have to remove hands of a complete stranger from my personage. The music was well mixed, the crowd was happy -as it was ther first weekend with uni students back home for the summer, plus Norwegians got their yeary tax cashback thingy, typically delivered right now and declaired "Holiday rebate" or summat. All combined, it made for a pleasent night out, and i left the club several hours later sweaty and very very happy after a few hours in which i had checked out from life in general and remembered what it is to feel utterrly blissful.

Long cold shower to bring down the temp and several liters of water once i was home was comvbined with a delightful phone call, whcih meant i did not atually go to bed till 6 am. Was up again by noon, when sounds of the day creeped in and invaded my pleasent dreams of a large kittenish creature. Slkapped on a basebal cap to cover the severe bedhead and went walking with the puppy, sopaking up the sunshine and still on a buzz from last night. Shoped the market stalls for an armful of fruit and returned home to find an oddity indeed...and empty apartment. With Rob still away, and duane off for the rest of the day, you would think i would take full advantage, and abuse such freedom, right? But no. I'm too big of a dork for that.

Instead, i baked. Brownies, then banana bread. Chopped a bowl of fruit into chunks for lunch. Considerably less healthy then it might seem on first glance, once i tell you said fruit was garnished by popping a bite into my mouth, tipping back head and spraying a glob of whipped cream from a can down my throat. Yum, though. Going to do something equally as unhealthy for supper. Pizza maybe.

Doing the girly thing now. Pedicure over, and sitting in a face mask and resisting the urge to dye my hair bright bright electric blue.

It's sad, really. I think I'm entering a midlife crisis. I look at my hopelessly housebitching ways and want to do something entirely unexpected.

I'm off to see the wizzard.

2004-06-11T19:32:00.000+10:00

So the big decision is made.

Recent application to the UK Home Office for a working holidaymaker visa was rejected. No chance of appeal, but also no predjudice; free to apply for other visa's if my circumstances change. Right now, I'm not eligable for anything else.

Which left me facing the decision to return to Canada or apply for similar entry into Australia. Both options meant I would wind up disapointing people i care about.

As much as i love home, and as much as i miss the people there, the landscape and the amazing feeling of peace I get while there, I don't miss the economy, and the distinct lack of opportunities available to someone with my background in newfoundland. I'm also not ready tpo go back and deal with family friends and what will no doubt be a long series of repeated grillings on my so called "failed" marrieage. I don't think it failed. Just ended. To imply failure would suggest it was a mistake.

So the decision was made to attempt entry into Australia; goal being get my ass in the same location os the evil sadistic dude and see if the connection felt online holds true. And if it does not? Confident there is at least a solid friendship there, and time spend in the southern hemisphere is definetely appealing. And the visa was granted the same day. I'm free to enter australia, and work at any time. For a period of one year from date of entry. So, w00t. kinda.

For the first time in my adult life i am free to make decisions and pick up and move somewhere for entirely selfish reasons.

So why am a wracked with guilt? how do I make people believe in what I know is true? That i know through experience that when i leave a place, the relationships forged and established there do not dissapear? That the ones I love back home in canada remain as much a part of an influence in my life now, three years after I left home as they did when they lived with me and saw me everyday?

How do i convince people that love is not a finite measure, and does not require taking from one to give another?

How to make them trust in the fact that once i have forged a friendship, i hold on fiercely and don't let go?

They have no choice but to accept that they are not that easilly rid of me. To plagerize a line from the charactar Smith's dialogue; I am a virus. a disease, a cancer a plague.I am infectious, and geographical distance is not a cure.

More of my friends need to be clairvoyant; they need to be able to peer into my head and see the absolute certainty that lies there. The unshakable knowledge that certain relationships are born of a bond so profound they can't be broken.

And herein lies the real kicker; no matter what, i'm damned if i do and damned if i don't. Had my decision been different, had i made decisions to keep those i care about happy? Ultimately, they would wind up unhappy anyhow. Because they are such incredible people, and because our connection is such that it is, they would always know that they influenced my choices, and would always, therefore, feel guilty that i chose for them instead of me.

Inevitably, if they are to be unhappy no matter which path i chose, I would rather chose the path that leaves them dissapointed in or angry at me. Far preferable to them feeling guilty to have swayed my choices. I have no problem shouldering blame. Strong like ox, nikki. Will carry much weight. Two camels and a goat to the person in the back. (i know...sometimes i should resist the urge to interject humor. It's a problem of mine. I have the NEED to make people smile. It's important to me).

Other people's guilt, I simply cannot abide by. They are worth far too much to me to be able to watch them suffer feelings of guilt over me. But my guilt? *shrugs*. It's familiar. It s something i know i have the ability to withstand. Often, its something i seek out. Taking possession of guilt, making myself responsible gives me a measure of control. And if i have control, then it follows that i have the power to fix it.

Sometimes, people get hurt by the actions of others. And the words "I'm sorry" are wholely inadequate at times. But I trust in my friends to know the full scope and depth of emotion is tied in when i say the words "I'm sorry". And I am.

Please don't let my ruby slippers make you sad. Remember how much I care.

Simplicity

2004-06-09T22:42:00.000+10:00

Simple; (thank you dictionary.com)
Having or composed of only one thing, element, or part.
Not involved or complicated; easy: a simple task.
Being without additions or modifications; mere: a simple “yes” or “no.”

I would dearly love to live a simple life. Even if just for a little while. I do have pleasent memories of just that; a years bliss near the end of my last degree, living with my closest friends, being a student, with a job that was enough to support me, and a car that worked most of the time (as well as a mechanic i knew and trusted for the times it did not). I don't think that i ask for alot, really. I think I have more then payed my dues on the drama front.

A respite from the hassle; a life of ease. One without an overload of undue drama. A period of time in which I did not have to tax my brain fully to ponder out multiple solutions and prethink possible fuckups in advance just because i know the next bomb will drop soon enough.

An span of time without an insane amount of complication. Time to recharge my batteries, replenish my soul, remember what it is to be happy. Truely happy i mean, without an undercurrent of worry, of second guessing, of wondering when the happiness bubble will be punctured by the great fuckoffbig needle of Seti.

I dream of such things nightly. Fantasize about them daily. Such things make me smile stupidly amidst the turmoil. To placidly go amidst the noise and haste

A life, shared with people I care about, where the most difficult decision I will face all week is which beach to flake out on during the weekend, or how many bottles of mix should we have on hand for the saturday night bbq. Which shoes go best with these jeans, and what i need to fix the funky shower faucet that drips. How to keep the new kitten from scratching the doorframe and which train will be the fastest route home.

The reality is right now I am stuck with the monumental decisions. The big, possibly life altering things that only I can set in motion, but whose result will, without a doubt, hugely affect some of the people I care about most fiercely.

Whose bright idea what it to give such power to me in the first place? I mean, how fucking bright is ~that~, huh? Daft cunt. What was s/he thinking? I can't decide on which mug to pour coffee into some mornings. Let alone the extraction or interjection of a whole new person into someone else's life plan.

I need one of those little Mystic 8 Ball chummys that you can ask questions to, shake and get standardized "yes" or "hell no" answers to all the deep and meaningful questions that are being screamed into my head right now.

Or Eenie Meanie Miney Mo, perhaps?

Introduction

2004-06-06T21:55:00.000+10:00

Most of you reading will know me already. But there are bound to be some that don't. So here are the basics of me, right now;

30 years old. Canadian, though I have spent the last three years gypsying around Europe, based mostly in southern Norway and London.

The boobage, and lack of phalic appendage suggests I am female. I struggle to understand most women and identify better with the thought process of men on the whole. As a result, my friends tend to be male; or obnoxious/agressive/striaghtforward women.

Separated, marking the end of a 14 year long relationship. Still mostly friends, and for now roommates. It's not ideal, but its semi-necessary. Recently shot down for a uk visa, so next move is unknown. Could be school in Australia, could be back to Canada. Far too many unknowns in my life. Enought to make me want to hybernate, and be woken when it's all over and done with.

Hideously in love, in a juvenille and thoroughly delightful kinda way. As was recently observed by a family member; "If she had school books I would expect to see wee hearts with his name in all over the front". See? Sickening! I love it.

But I don't do love or anything else simply. Said object of lust is on other side of globe, and out plans to get our asses in the same city are backfiring at an alarming rate. In case this unrequitedness is not enough, theres also the extended poly family consisting of my bitchboi(heh. Ok...so bitchboi on loan?), his wife, his wife's partner, and a plethora of spawn to consider. Who all also retain a citizenship different then my own. Boggled yet? Yep, me too. I won't try explaining the on again off again thing back home in Canada.

It's no wonder monagamy looks so enticing.

I'm a whole bunch of oxymoronic things; Soul of a poet, overly sensitive, i will fight fiercely to protect my loved ones, but on the whole, despise confrontation of any sort. I come off as a loudmouthed bitch, but its really overcompensating for the fact that i feel horrendously shy and self concious most of the time. I'm into kink and like to be beaten and sometimes beat, but what i crave more then anything in my life are those quiet intimate tender moments with the ever elusive "soul mate" ghost. I have two degrees, and yet, am completely unemployable. I am a highly social creature and love my home being the hang out spot for unannounced friends, yet sometimes i have the need to crawl fetal and hide to work out the rattling in my head. I'm a munchkin in a fat chick's body.

I am complusively honest, if i care about you. Entirely unable to lie convincingly to my loved ones, but i can charm and deceive strangers without effort.

I know what I am-and what i am not-obscenely and intimately well. I make no apologies for what i have or what i lack. Either you like me as you find me, or you move on. I adapt to new situations and people constantly, but i will alter of my own accord, or not at all.

So there you are. take it or leave it. Me in a nutshell.

Peer Pressure

2004-06-06T21:35:00.000+10:00

Blogspot. All the kewl kids were doing it. And I am such a poushover. So here I am.