This past Tuesday was my 29th birthday. I still can’t quite wrap my head around being 29, knowing that 30 is right around the corner, but beside that, it was one of the best birthdays I’ve had to-date. I’ve said it before, but 2009 has been a great year and I owe a lot of that to taking the first step in new running shoes last Fall. After that, everything kind of fell into place.

When I learned that I had to have surgery earlier this month, I was feeling all kinds of emotions: bummed, frustrated, upset. Running the gamut of emotions taught me that I’m also an emotional eater. Combining that with little to no activity caused the scale to go up a few numbers… which brings us to the present, in the middle of the holidays where my favorite seasonal high-cal food and drink run rampant. What’s a girl to do?! I thought about waiting until January to “get back on the wagon,” but that’s silly. This is my HEALTH we’re talking about… and that has really got to sink in. Why put off till tomorrow, what you can do today?

I have revamped my old SP page (for those of you who “friended” my other page, please do it again – I’ve consolidated the two!) to reflect new nutritional goals for a less aggressive approach (1lb/week loss). I plan to log cardio 3x/week and some form of strength training 2x/week, leaving weekends open for a little R&R.

There. Now that it’s out and in the open, you have my permission to hold me accountable!

Now… for the fun stuff: pictures!

On Tuesday, I met several of my friends in the 12South district at the neighborhood pizzeria. It was really great to have everyone together… including my parents!

Wednesday, my mom & I took my dad to The Hermitage – the home of President Andrew Jackson. It was a beautiful day for a tour through the plantation.

Thursday was Thanksgiving! I planned a huge meal and timed everything perfectly in the kitchen: sweet potato, apple, pear & spinach salad, sauteed turnips with breadcrumbs and parsley, turnip greens, mashed rutabaga & potato supreme, sausage stuffing and of course, the turkey!

That night, we decorated my place for Christmas and after breakfast the next morning, I saw my parents off.

Such a great week! I am thankful for my friends and family, my freedom, and all the motivation and support you all have given me!

What’re you thankful for?

I miss everyone!   I used to blog.  A lot.  Then life became really difficult for a while.  I am no stranger to difficult times.  But, this was difficult to the 3rd power.   I stopped blogging.  I stopped sewing.  I stopped even looking at Pattern Review, which I never, ever would miss for the 2 years prior to that.  I had even made some ’sewing pals’ who I felt were like friends.  Friends that I had never met, but, held deeply in my heart.  I miss that.

I am happy to say, (Mostly to myself, because I have NO idea whatsoever if anyone else will ever read this, or if it ever will reach those special sewing friends that I care about.)  That I have made it through.  I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel for a long, long time, but, slowly and  surely, it started to appear.  It took work.  (and thank you for the advise that work needed to be done.)

I am well.  I am whole.  I am happy.  I am content.  I used to say, “Someone pulled the plug on my JOY!”  That’s the way it felt.  My joy has been re-plugged!  The future looks bright again!

I will write more later.  I just wanted to start again.  If this happens to reach my sewing pals, please let me know.  I’ve thought about you so often, and have wondered how your life has been.  Please re-connect. I’d love to hear from you!

Love, Kathy xoxoxoxoxo

Un weekend en pleine semaine avec beaucoup trop de rebondissement a cause des 2 folles Clemence et Ludivine… On gardera ca dans nos memoires parce que c’est tellement la honte !!

Donc Monsieur Koray est venu passe 3 jours 2 nuits a Paris pour voir Clemence et moi. Je vous dis pas la panique qu’on a eu avant de le voir. On est arrive a l’hotel et je lui dis de descendre mais en meme temps on prend l’ascenseur sans appuyer et ca nous a ammene directement a lui vu qu’il avait appele l’ascenseur… et la porte s’ouvre personne. Il etait cache mdr il nous a fait trop peurrrrrr !!!! Bref trop guez de le revoir il est trop mimi comme d’habitude ))

On a fait trop de trucs que je ne peux pas raconter… en gros c’etait : Quick, Duplex, Champs Elysees, Tour Eiffel, Galeries Lafayette, dodo, manger, Starbucks, Opera, Charlie Birdy… on etait dans 2 hotels differents Clemence et Lu vers Opera et lui et moi sur les Champs c’etait bien pratique

C’etait trop court… on est meme pas parti vers le quartier latin, Bastille et tout… Bref il reviendra et nous on ira skuatter chez lui en Turquie

Last night. It is easy to misconstrue information and interpret whatever is blurted out in a way that makes sense to the one interpreting, but no sense in the presumed context of the communication. Social media is a great source of confusion as it often generates tons of information on a shifting and hidden context.

Last night I had a longer conversation with Marc. We do this periodically, and when we need to deal with life’s little or big crisis, we call on each other. I had a storm in a glass of water last night, I sought the conversation and exchange with him. After that, my son popped out of invisibility in google chat, and we exchanged a few lines about the family thanksgiving dinner, or how it was to do thanksgiving on the vegetarian plan. Supposedly it was really good and I am not surprised; the cook used my kitchen this summer, and it was delightful! Of course, we exchanged our common quips on social behaviour, or as the saying goes, the apple does not fall far from the tree. Whatever…

But! There is always a but. What does the world care about me? It does not, deal with it. What I preached to the social scientists a week ago, it is good advice for me too; the onus is on you to make yourself relevant to society.

Does anybody really care? They will care that they did not care when accompanying you on your death bed. That is the one aspect of death that scares everybody; seeing somebody die reminds us all how very selfish we can be, and it were not for that, it does make us feel helpless and uncared for if we imagine that we too will die. Relief exists in the fact that not all of us, not all the time, are we so very self-centered that we do not care about the others; sometimes we care. We are – as a species – a bit odd and off-kilter for the most part. Evolution meant well with us, it intended absolutely nothing, it just happened and it gave us complexity, but it left us to our devices to navigate through the very complexity. We are solution seeking automatons to problems that we can barely define because we never know what the frame of reference is.

So, last night, Marc and I we continued our in-depth conversation. He put the finger on something that I do not quite want to accept because it makes me uncomfortable to deal with it. The issue is how to deal with other’s aggressive behaviour. I immediately burst out that that is another element of the economics of the hidden. We are all bursting with aggression and pettiness. Are we? All? Let’s say many.

But! Is it discomfort what I feel when I deal with aggression? What is it that I feel when my words cut like the sharpest of all katanas? Easy!

You think you can trust your girl friends, right? You think that the people who are with you through thick and thin — literally — wouldn’t turn on you. You think that the only people — besides maybe your husband – who know what you look like without makeup would not set up a trap for you. But that’s exactly what happened to me: Three friends turned on me … and forced me to learn how to play bridge, a game I had long declared to be on my list of things-I-hate-more-than-lima-beans. Go to my weekly TimesDaily newspaper column at http://www.timesdaily.com/article/20091127/ARTICLES/911275000 to find out how I was the victim of a (friendly) bridge-napping.

As I was NOT preparing for the market, I cooked quince jelly (-jam, -marmalade, -…?). I got some quince from my mother-in-laws neighbour, kept it for a while because I like the smell and had even less time to cook, borrowed a steam-juicer from my husband’s colleague and finally made it, just cooking the juice and a good amount of jelling sugar:

Then I printed some nice freebie-labels from eatdrinkchic and voilá: the finished loot:

Da ich mich ja mitunter NICHT für den Markt vorbereitet habe, habe ich unter anderem Quittengelee gekocht. Von Schwiegermamas Nachbarin kamen die Quitten, die lagen eine Weile so rum weil ich den Duft mag und noch weniger Zeit zum einkochen hatte, der Dampf-Entsafter wurde geliehen von einer Kollegin meines Gatten und dann war’s soweit: der Saft mit genügend Gelierzucker zusammengekocht, gratis-Etiketten von eatdrinkchic ausgedruckt und voilá: die fertige Beute.

Last night Jason and the missionaries stopped by. I asked for a blessing. Out of three priesthood holders, none of them had any consecrated oil. They consecrated some and left it in my freezer! To me, that is soooooooo cool!!!

During the blessing, Zeke put his head on my lap. I prayed that he would feel better, too.

Wow! We went to sleep and neither of us had gut distress ALL night long! When I woke up, I had to touch Zeke to make sure he was alive. Once I got up, he was very frisky During the night I had soaking night sweats. I feel much better

Also….yesterday we were under a winter weather advisory. We were supposed to get 3 to 7 inches of snow….more in the higher elevations. We usually qualify as “higher”. It did snow and it did start to pile up. When I woke up this morning there was no snow. Not what I expected!

kawan lama kat tagged tapi baru now we talk to each other via ym..huhu.. bertemu kembali di facebook. seorang interior desiger. and this is his blog! bukan apa senang nanti akan datang aku boleh rujuk… aku nih pelupa sikit sey..huhu. minat backpacking gak..ok ok satu kepala nih.

I got way too drunk for my own good last night. I ended up getting wasted on a couple of bottles of wine, removing various items of clothes and then dancing and singing to old reggae songs. It wasn’t my finest hour, but I had fun anyway. Paid for it this morning though when I woke up and vommed. Bad times. I woke up to 4 very lovely texts from Jay. He was drunk, but it obviously loosened him up a bit because he was being such a sweetheart. I thought he would go all shy and deny them this morning but he was cool about it and said he meant the things he was saying. Bless!

Anyways, there is a point to today’s post. I was chatting with a guy yesterday (you should all check out his blog HERE) and I promised him that I would right my coming out story. And so this is it….

I will try and keep it short and sweet.

I was 15 when I cam out to my mother. I had known all my life that I was gay and it was never one of those things I suddenly had to come to terms with, I just always knew and accepted it. I come from a family made up mainly of men. I have 4 older brothers and so I kinda had a lot to live upto in terms of following them into sports and ‘man stuff’. My dad skipped out on us when I was 2 and so I never really bothered with him much, and my mum was both parents and my main role model, and we have always been amazingly close. I would say she is like a best friend to me.

Anyways, I probably would have come out when I was about 13 had it not been for the fact I felt I was letting my brothers down. I had had sexual encounters with guys and knew that that was what I was into, but I always kept it as my secret. One night when I was about 14, me and a friend got drunk on a bottle of whiskey we found at her house. I remember for some reason admitting to her that I was gay. She didn’t believe me at first, but then I started telling her some stuff about what I had done and she was soon convinced. I remember how free I felt, telling my best friend and having her not give a damn in the slightest. Once I sobered up the following morning though I was mortified and immediately rung her to say it was only meant to be a joke and I couldnt believe she fell for it. She was having none of it though, and my secret was out for good.

Everything was fine for a few months, I used to confide my stories in her, and she always kept them to herself. We used to go around in group, as kids do, of about 15 or 20 of us. We used to hang around the park or whatever, not causing mischief, just being teens. Anyways, this guy started hanging around with us called David. He was a few years older, as camp as tits and a screaming homosexual. I became fascinated with him for being so out there. Every guy I had ever been with was sharing my closet, so to meet and befriend someone so open with their sexuality was refreshing.

One night we were walking home, just David and I, and we were talking about random stuff when he asked me if I had ever kissed a guy. I lied and said no, and he asked me if I wanted to try it. I said yes, probably a little too eagerly, what with my hormones kicking in, and we stood there in the middle of the street making out. I didnt find him attractive. It wasnt a sex thing at all. To ask me now, I have no idea why I kissed him, but I was 15 and horny I guess, so I did. i went home and thought nothing more of it.

Now, most people come out. I think I was dragged out kicking and screaming. A few days after our kiss, David had told everyone. It’s one thing keeping a secret from friends, but I wasnt willing to lie, so when questioned (see: Spanish Inquisition) I admitted that his story was true. Some of the guys didnt believe it at first, others thought it was hysterical, but despite the barrage of questions, not a single one of them said anything negative about it. I realised then how great my friends are, and how much I love and value each and every one.

I knew that with so many people knowing, and living in such a small town as I did, that it wouldnt be long until the rumours would get back to my mum, and I knew I would have to tell her. I left it a couple of days, but I thought I owed her the respect to hear it from me and not someone else.

On the day I decided to tell her, things were pretty shitty. I had had a crap day at school, had rowed with my mother the night before, and was generally just nervous as hell. In what was probably the least smart move of my life up to that point, I managed to get myself a flagon of cider and got wasted before going home that evening. I had two of my friends on standby incase things got ugly, and I went home intent that I wouldnt leave again until my mum knew everything. What I had forgotten however, was that my mum was having a dinner party that evening, that I was supposed to be there for. Her, me, and 8 guests. I genuinly had forgotten, but she thought I missed it on purpose because of our arguement the night before.

As soon as I got through the door she knew I was drunk. She gave me that look that only a mother can give and I knew things werent going to go smoothly. She calmly told me to sit down at the table, but then changed her mind and told me to get upstairs. I have never seen her look so embarrassed. I was falling about everywhere and mumbling rubbish to myself. In the end she lost it a bit and started raising her voice. I started storming up the stairs, banging each step as I went. I heard her shout something to me about being grounded and without even registering what was going on, I stood at the top of the stairs, in full view of everyone and screamed

“You just hate me because I’m gaaaaaaaaaaaaaay”

I barely managed to register her expression before tripping over my own foot and falling down the stairs and passing out drunk against the door. The next thing I remember was being propped against the sofa with my mum staring at me. Everyone had left except for Susan, my mums best friend and I could tell they were waiting for answers. I didnt really know what to say so I started giggling to myself.

From there on out, it all got a bit horrible. My mother gave me the ‘I will always love you, but…’ speech and I lost it. My mum, the person I was closest to in the whole world, wasnt scooping me in her arms and telling me that everything was going to be alright. We ended up having a blazing arguement and I told her I was leaving. I phoned up my friend and stayed at hers. It was January 11th 2001 and I remember walking through the snow, drunk and crying my eyes out. I cried my eyes out all night.

The following day I went back to my mums and spoke to her soberly. She told me that she wasnt annoyed with me that I was gay, but that I put her in a very awkward situation by telling her in front of everyone else and just expecting her to deal with it, which years later makes more sense than it did then. Things were a bit odd between us for a while. Neither of us knew what to say to the other, and the subject was never raised again until about 3 years later. I spent that whole time thinking that it was because my mother was in denial about it, but when it was brought up again, and I questioned her about it, she told me that it was never an issue for her, so she never felt the need to bring it up for no reason, and sinse I never raised the subject, she thought I didnt want to talk about it. I think sometimes it is easier to just to be open about things and that way wires can’t get cross.

I am happy to say that in the end everything worked out brilliantly. Me and my mother are closer than we ever have been and me being gay means nothing more than my eyes being blue. Its a part of who I am, not the whole of who I am.

I suppose the only thing more daunting than telling my mum was having the rugby boys find out. In a very heterosexual sport I thought I would be thrown off the team, but that also went really well. My first day back at training after everyone found out was one of the scariest things of my life. I needn’t have worried though. Every single guy on the team was fine about it and when I got to the changing room they had taped the soap to the wall with duct tape and written in shaving foam ‘nobody bends over for the soap unless Ryan wins us the game this weekend’. They then continued to wind me up for, well, they still havent stopped.

Every morning our staff gathers around in the break room.  We start our day with tiny cups of coffee made the you-better-not-say-it’s-turkish-IT’S-ARMENIAN! way.  Armenian coffee is thick and dark, and the grinds become a dark, gritty cream at the bottom of every cup.  You don’t drink that creamy bit.  Most people leave it, but occasionally we read the grinds.  Rarely does the event take place as you might hope, with an old lady with a deep wrinkles and hair wrapped in a tattered handkerchief.  But still, it is a fun game to play, to see what the grit says about your future from the bottom of your cup.   To do it properly, you must first tip the cup away from you and let a few creamy drips slide onto the dish.  Then lean it back towards you the same way.  Finally tip it away from you again and let it fall to the dish.  Wait for ten to fifteen minutes making conversation.  And finally, let a friend pick up the cup and tell you when you’re going to find  you spouse, have a baby, find your fortune, meet an unfortunate occurrence (always unnamed), etc.

I’ve been keeping track of my readings in my journal.  A man was chased by a speedy swan.  A pregnant woman stood in a cemetary on a moonlit night.  A man prayed beneath a cluster of grapes.  I don’t know how to read these signs, of course; I have no idea how to interpert them.  But the fortune gained is in the telling, the gathering around dried coffee, peering into each others’ lives, discovering through our predictions the actual hopes and fears of the read.

Recently, the whole organisation had to go for a 2D1N corporate retreat at Camp Sembawang.

When I first heard of it, I admit that the first thought that came to mind was – How do I get out of it? Yes, not setting a very good example, but I simply did not have time to finish my work, much less “waste” two days at an ulu camp with no internet access, just for team bonding. It also didn’t help that pictures of the campsite and dorms really brought back memories of my school days’ camps where a high degree of tolerance for dirt, sweat and smell (besides your own) is crucial.

However, senior management “decreed” that unless we have a very good reason why we cannot attend the retreat, all staff must go and also to spend the night.

Ok, so the part about team bonding, especially with colleagues from other divisions didn’t really apply in our case (because when we had to spilt into groups, the COM division people somehow sorta stuck together – but that didn’t turn out to be a bad thing since our division was big and I didn’t know a lot of them well anyway). Neither was my team the most “on” (case in point, we failed to win any of the team activities or games. Ha). And of course, you have the usual detractors who after the first day, decided to simply leave because at their age, they shouldn’t be made to look silly and participate in activities that will leave you wet, dirty and smelly.

But as you have already guessed, I actually had fun. True, we weren’t the most “on” team however, we did display a degree of team spirit and co-operation. We participated and we tried to do our best & we encouraged one another. Sure, I know some of us were disappointed that we didn’t win anything but it was never about winning only. And I learnt things about my colleagues & friends that I never knew – that Kel was such a good sport after her “epic” fall, that Harold was a natural leader who had the ability to motivate & inspire, that Naiz was a good catcher and didn’t flinch when he got wet countless number of times during one of the games, that Peiling was such a reassuring motherly figure to have around and many, many more.

Oh and at night, there was booze and music (and for a short while, they played mambo music! J ) and it was such a nice feeling to just chat with some of my colleagues in the wee hours of the morning. I was reminded of my school days’ camping trips and I realised that I really missed those days. Of course, gone were the days when I could pull an all nighter (although I remember when I did that during my uni orientation camp, I was so sleepy the next morning that I nearly ended up with my face in a bowl of fishball noodles at breakfast as I nodded off to sleep!) but it still felt good.

I am not naïve enough to think that the retreat did wonders and all of us now get along famously. But at least it showed that we could do a lot together if we choose to. And it also showed, once again, that things, people, situations and experiences that I had resisted in the beginning, usually turns out to be not so bad after all.

I heart Grace’s little boys

It’s been nearly two months and two weeks since my last relationship ended…Well, it’s not exactly a boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but I guess you could still call it a relationship. It didn’t end well, since I was betrayed and he replaced me with a friend of mine. I was angry, but I didn’t cry cause I was actually more relieved that I’ve never given my heart to the likes of him.

And so, I went on with my life with the hopes of finding a new inspiration this semester. Call it weird, crazy or shallow, but I’ve been praying to have some hot, handsome and friendly transferee in school. I dunno, I just wanted a fresh change and some sort of new chance at love. And by some weird play of destiny, someone did come…I did meet someone like that at school when the second semester started. He was nice, friendly and from what I’ve seen during the time I spent with him, he had a lot of the characteristics I’ve been looking for in a guy.

I was ecstatic and enlivened. The sparkle came back to my eyes, cheery smiles upon my lips, the inspiration and excitement in my being, and it was all because of him.  I haven’t fallen in love but I was well on my way to doing so.

But every wish has its own drawbacks, every fairy tale has its end and eventually you’ll have to wake up to face reality after such a sweet night’s dream. I couldn’t have to my myself forever, and we were just friends in the first place. Eventually, a certain girl caught his eye, and he started including her in our group of friends.

Seeing her with him made me feel worthless, and even though I don’t want to admit it, they do seem more suited together than he and I will ever be. I know I shouldn’t be but she made me feel so insecure about myself because she seems to be the kind of girl he’d like. The kind of girl who would fuss about hair, clothes and stuff for hours on end. And I wasn’t anything like that nor would I ever be like that.

I don’t know if I should be depressed about losing a chance to have him because of that girl, or if I should be happy. Because seemingly perfect he might be, I know and I’ve seen sides of him, vices that I could never accept and that I doubt I could change in him even if we could be together.

Losing a friend is more painful than losing someone you like, so despite the  pain of remaining by his side, I’d rather have that than to lose him forever in  my life.

——–

“One of the hardest things in life is watching the person you love, loving someone else.”