I feel so embarrassed right now.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this embarrassed until now!

Okay, so here’s the story.

So, it’s after lunch and I have Hypermedia class (Day B). When I went inside, my teacher seemed happy to see me. I went to log in to my computer and he comes up to me and says, “Oh yeah, Haley, I saw your blog.”.

First thing that came out was, “Eh? What do you mean?”

He was then all like, “Oh yesterday I was searching pictures of kanji characters on Google Images (his brother has studied in Japan before) and for some odd reason, there was a picture of you and it led me to your blog!”

Next thing that came out from me was, “Oh god! Are you serious!?”

He was indeed serious. He said it was pretty cool that I have been doing it for 2 years and I just felt totally embarrassed the whole time.

Now I feel weird that my teacher knows I write a blog. I wonder if he’ll still read it? Because if he’s reading it right now, he might tell me next class I meet him… xDDD;;

So, now that I’ve told you this story, I can tell you this story.

I started to watch Hana Kimi during the Thanksgiving break!

It’s pretty funny! Kind of like Ouran in a way! ;D

Plus Otsuka Ai’s “PEACH” is the ending theme!! <333

And while I was watching…it seems that…

I’ve fallen in love (again)! With an actor from the drama!

It was…

Yamamoto Yusuke, the role of Kayashima Taiki!

Kyaaaa!! Yusuke-kun’s so handsome!

His adorable smile captured my heart!

Super cute, desho??

I also found out that…

He like Winnie the Pooh! Heck, he even collects Pooh goods!

OMG, cute, cute, cute, CUUUUUTE!!!!

Now it makes me love Pooh even more! <333

I love boys that have cute sides this!

Now you might ask, “Hey, Rika, what about your extreme Kei-chan obsession? Are you over him?”. Actually, I’m not! I still LOOOOOVE Kei-chan to bits! And a love like that just can’t be broken, ne? :3

It’s finally December! Yaaaay!

Wow, ‘09 is almost over already? That was fast!

It’s almost been a year since I became a JE fan! *claps*

And now that it’s December, Christmas is coming!! Only 24 days to go!

I’m definitely gonna be extra, extra good for Santa this year! x3

Plus I got an advent calendar like I do each year from my aunt and uncle so I can count off the days!

And now, the Kei-chan Picture of the Day revives~

Ooh! He’s got a big bag there! I wonder what’s inside?

Maybe there’s something in there for me! x3

Just kidding, just kidding~ xDDD

Ciao!! ;D

No, I didn’t kill Dick. LOL.  The hard drive on my pc died a slow death friday morning.  I am using Oldest’s laptop while she is home on break and out observing in a classroom.  I would have posted sooner, but I couldn’t remember my wordpress password and had to wait untilI could figure out how to find it.

Thank goodness I have been regularly backing up my hard drive on an external HD.  Won’t be losing much, if anything, but it is damn inconvenient.  Especially this time of year.  Of course, havening no PC made me paint a lot over the weekend, and I got MANY orders done.  Still many to go.

I could have just replaced the hard rive in my PC, but I ordered a new computer from Staples.   Old computer is 7 years old, going on 8 and has had many things replaced in it.  The thoughts of a new, updated computer are well, maybe better than sex.  LOL.  Might put a new hard drive in the old computer after the holidays.  For now, I just have to get back online and keep up with the business.

Been thinking about all of you guys….don’t know my google reader log in to read all your blogs.  If I have time, I’ll read you all from my blog roll.  If I can get the laptop from Oldest later.  For now, I have to get to work.  TTYS!

Great news!  Fabulous news!

Those rings I lost?  The ones I’d reported missing at the local police station? The ones I’d spent a lot of time queuing to ask about, on several occasions, at customer services in a certain large store?

My husband found them tucked in beside the mattress in my son’s room when we were taking the place apart prior to having some building work done.  They must have come off my finger when I was making the bed, just over a week ago.

I’ll be taking much better care of them from now on, just like I’ll be taking better care of our marriage.  They were just wee bits of metal – but highly significant symbolic ones.  In losing my original wedding ring, it felt like I’d thrown away thirty years of marriage, most of which were really good years.  I’d happily lose the last year – or at least re-do it, leaving out the mistakes.  Alas, such an opportunity is denied us and in any case, would we be in the place we are now without all those traumas?

I sent an e-mail to The Boy yesterday asking if he wanted sexing yet.

Sent an a-mail to my sister congratulating her for 100 on a mid-term test.

Sent two different e-mails to two work clients in regards to jobs.

Every email I sent from my phone yesterday, for some reason showed up on my screen this morning in multiple resends!

I wake up and see this and immediately my brain says, “WTF, WTF, WTF!?”

I sent out one email BCC: to everyone asking forgiveness. My sis comes back with, “I never even got one e-mail from you!”

So if you are one of the people who got 40825708750917869087167890156-891784168971460158976 resends from my fucking smart phone…I’m really sorry. Neither Terry or I were trying to stalk you.

Even The Boy… and that’s the worst, because if I want something from him, I’ll let him know. ONCE. Which I did, followed by 40825708750917869087167890156-891784168971460158976 resends.

Crap.

I though I was doing quite well in getting it back together after all the crap of the last year but losing those rings seems to have set me off again.  I’ve spent the last few days vacillating between sadness, morosity and blubbing my eyes out. 

My husband can’t understand what’s going on and thinks he must have done something wrong – well he did, but not recently.  He wants to forget what he did and put the whole business behind us and can’t understand why I’m unable to do the same.

We have another counselling appointment tonight.  Perhaps L will be able to give us some new strategies.

Yesterday, thanks to my own stupidity and carelessness, I managed to lose both my own original wedding ring and that of my mother.  In monetary terms, neither of them is worth a great deal.  My own was a simple 18 carat wedding band, which cost all of £23 at the time, and my mother’s was also plain and simple.  Each was engraved with the relevant initials and dates.  Of course, factoring in the current world gold price and inflation,  their values would be higher today.

It’s not their monetary worth which is important.   Part of me hopes that whoever finds them really needs the money they will raise and that it will make a difference to them;  the other less philanthropic part feels little kindness towards anyone who would profit from something that didn’t belong to them.

As I lay awake last night, it occurred that my own ring was highly symbolic  of my relationship.  I rarely took it off, apart from short spells during the advanced stages of three pregnancies, when my fingers swelled uncomfortably.  Like our marriage, it was an integral part of me.    Almost two years ago, due to this unpleasant disease, my fingers became so swollen that it was impossible to remove the ring and I had to have it cut off by a jeweller.   I wanted  to have it enlarged and repaired and back on my finger asap but was advised to let the digit settle for several months before resizing.  It’s just slapped me in the face that I spent about the same amount of time without that ring on my finger as my husband did working abroad. 

In March of this year  I found out about the  first lot of infidelity which happened in December.  After much discussion, I asked that he buy me a new wedding ring and make a fresh committment to our relationship.  I also asked him to promise that there would be no more infidelity and he did so.

I didn’t wear the new ring until we’d renewed our vows  in late April,  on the roof of a buddhist temple in China.  Although neither of us is particularly religious, it was a spiritual place and, for me, was deeply significant.  The new ring was  symbolic of a fresh start and I wore it on the ring finger of my left hand.  Once I got round to having the old ring repaired, I wore that on my right hand; it represented all the happy years I didn’t want to forget and  was a reminder that relationships can be repaired too.

By the time I got to the third instalment of trickle-truth in June, I realised that he’d found it all too easy to betray me again by having an encounter with a call-out massage girl after I’d gone back to the UK.  He said he didn’t think of it as having sex.  Yeah – you and a certain US past-president.  Then it turned out that what I thought of as a fresh start was actually tainted by lies of omission and commission.  I wondered at the time if he was just going through the motions to keep me happy.  Once someone’s lied and deceived it’s all too easy to doubt them.

Thinking about those rings last night made me revisit all the lies and deceit – and the pain – of the last seven months.  It feels that, just as the wounds were beginning to heal, the scabs have been ripped off and a good dose of salt has been rubbed into them.  After not having cried for a couple of weeks, I wept buckets last night.

The damage and loss of that ring is highly analagous to what’s happened to my relationship but I know that my husband’s behaviour while abroad was  aberrant, brought about by teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown, due to stress and loneliness.  He’s been a generous, loyal and steadfast mate for more than thirty years and I believe him when he says that he never strayed until December of last year.  He’s deeply ashamed and truly remorseful for his few months of madness.  If I can forgive him for his errors,  I can surely forgive myself for a bit of stupid carelessness over those bits of metal.

I have cocked up.

Whilst logged in on this account, I made the mistake of posting a comment on a friend’s blog.  This caused a bit of consternation as said friend didn’t recognise the name or email address  but, I’m almost sure, recognised the style of writing as mine.

This is a problem, hence  the reason this blog has been down for a few days.  Apart from one person, none of my family or my RL or internet weirdo friends are aware of my recent problems with J.  And that’s the way I would like it to stay.

What J did was completely out of character and I don’t want him villified over such untypical behaviour, or for people to change their view of him.  Apart from anything else, I’ve forgiven him and we both want to try and put it behind us and move on; not so easy when other people are in the loop.

Even more importantly, neither of us want the kids to know of our recent travails.   Me, because I don’t want them to see their father any differently and him, because he’s deeply ashamed of what he did.  Nothing would be gained by them or anybody  else knowing.

So – if my friend does decide to do a bit of detective work and comes across this blog, I hope she will undertand my reasons for keeping schtum and forgive me for not sharing this with her.  And if you do find it, S, I’d be extremely grateful if you’d let me know but otherwise keep it to yourself.

I’ve been trying to analyse why, apart from the above reasons, I want to keep these problems so private and anonymous.  The only thing I can come up with is that it’s a matter of me retaining some control over the situation.  I don’t like being out of control – and I very much was when those infidelities were going on;  being able to control who knows about this somehow redresses the balance.

Secretly, as a little country girl growing up in the middle of rural Oklahoma, I dreamed of becoming a big-city magazine editor by day and a bawdy burlesque performer by night. Burlesque was the antithesis of everything around me. There was no hay or open prairie or self-restraint or comfortable jeans or roadkill. It was all gluttony and lace and color and fun and sexuality and artifice and bigtop. It was the kind of spectacle I was taught to avoid. It was the kind of spectacle classy ladies didn’t even look at, much less participate in. This crazy idea was so secretly, privately tucked away in my mind that I didn’t even think on it too long for fear I would speak it. For fear I would do it.

As soon as I caught a glimpse of a model such as this:

or this:

I had to turn away. The fire, the life, the audacity was too much for my virgin mind to handle.

It is really no wonder, then, that my soiled adult mind has been obsessing over burlesque of late; I can’t stop staring. I can’t stop fantasizing. I’m like some insecure politician’s wife who has been on a silly diet her whole life and can’t stop eating Twinkies when she’s alone, in her closet.

It’s all so yummy! And, if burlesque is my naughty Twinkie, the cream filling is Molly Crabapple’s art:

And, OH! the things I would do, the lengths I would go to for one of her books:

Listen to her life story here, her self-described rise from “low-rent nude model” to empress of her own art empire titillatingly named Dr. Sketchy’s Anti Art School. Come one, come all! Get lost with me in endlessly fascinating details of nipples and bulge…

Spring

It isn’t passed yet, it is close. And I have my fears that it will pass but we still have hope. Just not sure how much time. Republican Olympia Snowe voted for it, time for her to be voted out up there in Maine.

Health Care Bill Is Passed – The Political Jungle

Technorati Tags:
Healthcare, Politics, Liberals, Olympia Snowe

God did not create them man and woman

And it took a fast, badass

woman from South Africa

to make the rest

of the world realize this.

And I, for one, think this is what you get!

For trying to make every flesh and bone

fit into two stuffy little molds.

Girl. Boy.

Doll. Toy.

For telling the ones born without a penis that they can’t vote,

Can’t pray in church, can’t read, can’t write, can’t drive, can’t show some hair.

Can’t apply for a loan…

Can’t run a business of their own.

Can’t run here.

Can’t run there.

And I think, this is what you get!

For trying to read it in Genesis, and believing that God would write it down.

In a storybook.

A book where men are better, and men save the world.

A world where men can’t vote,

Can’t pray in church, can’t read, can’t write,

Unless they’re white.

This is what you get!

Now where are you gonna run?

Back to your birth certificate?

Back to the hospital that issued it?

Back to your mama?

Back to the doctor who got it wrong?

Back to the book or the publisher?

Back to the singer or the songwriter?

Back to the hammer or the nail?

Back to the proof of ownership?

Or the proof of citizenship?

Back to bed

To rest your head.

This is what you get!

For trying to figure it.

For trying to categorize it.

For trying to test it.

For trying to stop it.

And I’m not hating anyone.

But think twice next time you pray

‘God sent His only begotten Son…’

Think twice

how you’re gonna call this One.

This One saving the world?

This One badass girl.

The title of this one is “for the birds.” And what kid hasn’t given them a chase when the opportunity has presented itself? Seems like pretty simple fun and while annoying to the birds, hardly dangerous as you will never catch them.

As the end of summer draws near, we had a nice three day weekend (Labor Day) to Bar-B-Q and get outside, that is, where it was nice to be outside. I am fortunate enough to live in an area the weather was nice and typically it is rather HOT this time of year, it was pleasantly in the 80’s and crystal clear.

Feeling neglected in my garage was my 1965 Mustang convertible. Being busy was my only excuse for not having gotten it out earlier, but this was now the time. It was time to get out and “chase the birds.” While I guess that could have a variety of meanings, it is as simple as enjoying the simplicity of what entertained us as kids. The sky was beautiful as I could see by looking straight up where the roof would have been. The trees and landscape were alive and crisp, the weeds of course were dead and dry, and yet a pleasant tone of carmeled brown, with a plethora of god’s creatures skittering around.

The road led to a river which looked very inviting but I hadn’t thought to “pack a suit.” It wasn’t quite remote enough to strip down and take the plunge in the buff, but it was a thought. Of course, had I done so I probably would have scared the fish right out of the water!

On the return trip the sun was easing it’s way down toward its nightly bath in the Pacific Ocean (way over there) and the shadows long, the colored light soft; it was beautiful. Once back in town there were various activities at various public spots and it was fun to see people out and about. So what? Sew buttons. The point of the story is in a past life I likely would have spent the day at a pub somewhere (nothing wrong with that) or putting ‘em down somewhere with friends (nothing wrong with that) or even on my own (now there’s a question), and I’m sure I could have told you I had fun…but this time I decided to have a different kind of fun. I sliced off a piece of that reality “stuff” I was talking about and enjoyed it. What about you?

Christ! I can’t remember what it’s like to get up that early. Many thanks to the summer for screwing up my sleep schedule. Again. It was well worth it though! Anyway the day started off as so many school days do, in a sleepy haze, as I stumble my way towards the kettle to make some delicious coffee. I hate Mondays.

The thought suddenly became very real, “I am going into 6th year, this is my last year of second level education, this time next year I should be heading into college with a bit of luck.” The prospect of another year of secondary school seems very daunting. I don’t know about you but I feel a lot older than I actually am. Most of my friends are 18 at this stage, whereas I won’t turn over to the bright side of life until March. MARCH. I also work in a Café during the summer, and just working with people so much older than me makes myself feel older I guess. Half way through 5^th year I was already sick of school, and having to go through another year feels very frustrating.

Every year in my school, we have to put up with an incredibly long, boring speech from our Principal who has a penchant for using crappy metaphors and similes. This year was no different, and probably the best speech yet. All the usuals, “Knuckle down now lads,” “The economic climate is very bad at the moment” and the infamous Roy Keane quote he insists on repeating every single god damn year, “Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.” *Shudder*

Strangely enough, not a word was mentioned about swine flu. I don’t know whether this is a good sign or a bad omen to be honest. There is the odd poster up around the school but apart from that, nada.

So we have a new year head! Our previous one has seemingly vanished. Well not really, early retirement or something, no one seems to know for sure. This new year head seems equally hell bent on confiscating hoodies and other non-school uniform items of clothing. Oh joy!

After assembly my class was taken to a classroom by our class tutor who again reiterated all the points made by our Principal, Vice-Principal and year head. That’s the same lecture FOUR TIMES. It was hell. Then we were given our timetable, and it’s actually probably the nicest timetable I’ve had in all my years at this school. All of my dreaded classes are broken up by pleasant classes. Excellent. I also have 5 classes of computers/P.E a week. We can choose which we want to go to. Yay for Portable Counter-strike 1.6 is all I’ll say. Important dates to remember were given out, such as Christmas tests from the 16^th to the 22^nd of December, and our Pres (Or Mocks as most people seem to call them) from the 22^nd of February to the 5^th of March, right after the Midterm. Gutted.

Whilst waiting for the journals to arrive our class tutor, who also happens to be our German teacher decided to go over some tenses. You know, a gentle reminder to get your arse in gear. I didn’t mind so much as German is my favourite subject and I was pleasantly surprised at how much I remembered. Seeing Inglourious Basterds a few days beforehand must have helped (Excellent movie by the way). The journals never arrived so we were told we’d get them the next day, and were set free.

The day as a whole, was fine but really brought the whole Leaving Cert home. It all seems very real now, whereas before hand it was a case of “Sure, it’s still summer, we won’t even think about THAT yet.” We were only in for an hour and a half, so our real school day, with actual classes (OH NOES) starts on Friday. With Business Studies. Bollocks.

-Darren

K: if i were an animal, i’d want to be a whale.
…
Me: i would want to be a whale.
i meant i wouldn’t.
K: what would you be?
Me: hmm.
i never though about it though.
OMG…
K: you should.
Me: thought*******
K: THIS IS MSN. NOT AN ESSAY.
Me: READ THAT ALOUD K.
JUST READ THAT ALOUD.
K: HAHA.
Me: I NEVER THOUGH ABOUT IT THOUGH.
K: HAHAHA.
well i heard NS does that to a person.
i guess it’s true.
Me: apparently only to me writing/typing prowess.
K: maybe you’re just a careless typer.
Me: OMG…..
MY*******

Yeah I’ll let you know what animal I’d be after I though about it K.

SIGH.

Sometimes even the biggest sacrifices aren’t enough. What will be will be regardless of your relative intellectual capabilities or other superior skills. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how badly you want something and how far you will go to get it. Some things are out of our hands, beyond reason and essential for moulding us into the versions of ourselves we are destined to be. I just wish the process didn’t have to suck quite so much.

It’s been a very busy day today. CD is away, senior planner away, pitch-a-plenty in the 3rd quarter of the year. But no matter how busy, I love getting emails that make me howl with laughter. Normally they’re utter tosh, but this made chuckle. Thanks to whoever sent it me. I can’t remember now.

Thanks to Michael for spotting this gem:

A new restaurant opened in south Tulsa in April called Twin Peaks. It’s a regional chain that already has stores in Dallas, Austin, and Albuquerque, and it’s billed as the main competition of Hooters.  (The Urban Tulsa Weekly has a review of a typical dining experience on page 27, if you’re interested.) Here’s a picture from their main website. It’s the only picture I could find of their food:

Get it? Twice… cuz there’s two boobs. Two unoriginal boobs.

But before I go philosophizing, here’s a picture of some of the wait staff at the Tulsa restaurant with, I presume, a young birthday boy:

Ha!

First, I will say that I want to hate these restaurants, but I don’t want to hate the women who choose to work at the them or the people who patronize these places. That said, why do people work at these places?!?!?! I don’t understand. I would love to sit one of these lovely young ladies down and interview her. They look like they’re having fun. They look reasonable healthy (except maybe the one that’s a little sun-burnt). They look like they’re clean and making an okay living. SO, why do I care? Why do I still hate these kinds of restaurants?

My main complaint is that this particular chain of restaurants, which promotes it’s hyper-sexualized waitstaff to attract and arouse hetero male clients, is so UNORIGINAL! Why do we need another Hooters? Or is this restaurant a real alternative because this time the outfits cover even less skin?

Mostly I just have questions: Is this exploitation? Is it gross because it reflects a microcosm of our current culture at large? Or is it gross because it harkens back to primitive times when women were just supposed to smile, look hot, and bring men food? Does it even sit wrong at all with you?

I dunno…

What do you all think?

Spring

2.0: Bad news… (closing the front door behind him)
movita: About?
2.0: The house.
movita: What?
2.0: I’m not sure if I should tell you… you might want to move.
movita: Never.
2.0: I really don’t think you’re going to like this.

movita is now thinking that either the water system is contaminated and she’s been drinking high levels of arsenic, the roof is about to collapse upon her, or the neighbourhood has been taken over by gangs.

movita: What? What’s wrong?
2.0: We moved into a baby factory.
movita: I’m sorry… what?
2.0: The man next door just told me.
movita: Told you what?
2.0: That we moved into a baby factory.
movita:
2.0: They’re gunna be watching you. The whole neighbourhood will. Retired Guy jokes about it with his wife. They figure we’ll be having a baby in no time. This place is a baby factory!
movita: Did you tell him I’m dead inside?
2.0: Nope!

Turns out that 2.0 has been making friends with Retired Guy next door. Retired Guy is a very nice fellow who told 2.0 a little about the history of our house. Retired Guy and his wife are convinced that our house is a baby factory… that something about our house makes all who live in it want to reproduce.

1. A single woman moves into the house (which was brand new at the time) about 50 years ago. She “takes up” with “some man,” has multiple children and they have to move out to accommodate their brood.
2. Some famous sports dude (apparently movita was supposed to recognize the name) moves in with his wife, adds an en suite bathroom, spawns three children and they have to move into a bigger house.
3. A couple moves into the house, child-free, plant a crap-load of gardens, hatch a couple of kids and have to move to a larger property.
4. 2.0 and movita move in.

The next day, 2.0 is removing the door from the top of the basement stairwell – it’s always in our way.

2.0: We’ll probably have to put this back on when we have the baby.
movita:

.

Yeah – it’s a blurry, crappy picture - but it’s the best I could manage after I found a spider as big as my hand crawling across the kitchen floor tonight.  The fiendish beast was huge - the four inch kick at the bottom of the pantry it’s lurking next to provides scale.  My gawd.  I’ve eaten crabs that were smaller that.

I *know* wolf spiders aren’t poisonous.  I *know* that if I could have somehow mustered the courage to capture the eight-legged horror and take it outside it would do a lovely job of pest control…  but there’s something deeply and inherently evil about things with eight legs.  Besides, this monster was big enough to eat the baby robins nestled under the deck  [shudders]

If husband hadn’t been here to valiantly suck the diabolical beast up the vacuum cleaner - I’d have rounded up a pack of peeps and sic’d them on it.