Fine Print
I am in a bit of a frustrated snit today.
As some of you may recall, two weeks ago Z's name came up to receive a loan for a certain amount from the government towards the purchase of a home for us. The loan amount is repayable at very reasonable monthly installments for what seems like forever. A great opportunity, huh?
Yeah, we thought so too. But it would seem there are a few snags. Or speedbumps.
Man is that the understatement of the month!
Snags my sweet ass. The fine print is a bitch, I tell you. What follows is sure to give my Bahraini readers a real chuckle, since I rarely rant on the situation here (ok. Other than the currently changing and re-done infrastructure.) But I just HAVE to get this off my chest, cause, well, I'm pissed.
Great. They will give us BD (Bahraini Dinar) 40,000. which is the maximum amount given to purchase an existing house. Thank you very much. Awfully kind of you. It is most appreciated. Granted it IS more than we have to hand, but still, there are a few weeee problems.
Ready for the catch (es)? Here you go:
1) You have 3, yes THREE months to find a place to buy that the government approves of. (yes, they must do an inspection and approve the purchase.)
2) If at the end of 3 months, you have not found a place to purchase, you must go to the Ministry and do some SERIOUS ass kissing to get a 3 month extension that they may or may not give to you. If they don't give you the extension guess what happens? (see 3 below)
3) They take the money they have allotted for you away and give it to someone else. Well shit. Move your ass then Scarlett, right? I HAVE BEEN! I HAVE BEEN! But I'm not quite done yet.
4) The government started this program in the mid-late 70's. With the same amount allotments. (See where I'm going with this? You're smart. I bet you do!) Yeah. The allotments have not been increased in a coon's age. Unfortunately or fortunately for people that bought up land and houses way back when, they are rolling in it now and making a killing, because property is freaking SKYROCKETING y'all. Good for them. But me and Z and all the other suckers that got their money this year? We're fucked.
5) Because now? You can't buy jack shit for BD 40,000., that's why. I'm serious. Diddly squat. So take a mortgage loan, you're thinking right? Not so fast smarty-pants. Because now we get to some serious fine print.
6) No bank will give you a mortgage loan for the remainder of a house you want to buy because: The government holds the deed to the house until you've paid them off and they don't like to share. Nope. So. The commercial bank wants the deed too. So. NUH-uh. A private loan then? Oh don't worry, we thought of that too. Small, itsy bitsy problem.
7) The new law that takes effect on SATURDAY, January 1, 2005. This law does not let you take a personal loan for more than BD20,000. Which guess what? Still, really isn't enough to buy anything. I. shit.you.not. *grrrrrrrr, cussing, grrrrrr* I saw a house that was almost as old as I am (and not in as good a condition! Heh. Ok, seriously? It looked like it was gonna fall down any day now.) that was… BD75,000. (For those of you that thought you heard cursing on the wind, it was me, don't worry, you're not hearing things.)
8) The company you work for has to be on an approved "list". Of which, Z's company, is not. Hence, we've gotten more "sorry Z, you have a great salary, but Fock off cause we don't recognize XYZ Co." remarks from the banks than I care to admit. (and Bahraini's, yes, this is WITH wassta – translation: Connections) We are still waiting to hear from one last one. Pray, willya?
Overall, the Government needs to wake the hell up and realize that these loans, while given with all good intentions, DON'T REALLY DO SHIT ANYMORE. They need to up the anty, basically. If you want to help the people, HELP THE PEOPLE, don't fuck them anymore than they already are. Jeez.
Anyway.
So my job, beyond finding a house and calling what people I know? People I've called. Wracked my brain for a solution I've done. Houses? I've got a couple picked out but the price is increasing by the week and they are selling like hotcakes. Seriously. There is still the house I've been enamored with for 6 years but now? The owner is being kinda bitchy and wants to play games. Ugh. Does that sound very smart on her part seeing my mood and my experience in the real estate market in the US? Um, no. I can rattle off to her FACE 20 reasons why she shouldn't even TRY and up the price on a house that she hasn't been able to offload in 6 years despite the fact that it is very well designed and built. (No 1 is that it is more a western style, which doesn't really appeal to all that many locals) She probably thinks I put "the eye" on it and that is why it hasn't sold. Pshaw. It isn't my fault that when I walked in there those years ago when it was under construction I felt I had come home and instantly fell in love with it? No, it sure isn't. Z felt the same when he saw it.
But wait, I'm jumping ahead of myself, because guess what? That house has never cost 40,000! So, before I whip her butt into submission, I need some ammo, ie: money, ie: the damn loan from the commercial bank.
*sigh*
Then, tonight,Z had this bright idea for the umpteenth time that I should ask my Dad for the money.
After I inquired if he was high on something,HAAAAAAH! ,in my head I thought "Sure, he will give me that money to hand over to you to buy a house that cannot legally have my name on it!" So I explained the following to him. That honestly? I know better than to ask for more than one reason. 1) His standard answer is "you have a husband now, it isn't my job any more." which, really, is true. 2)Not that I really ask him for anything, because, well, I know my Dad like the back of my hand. Dad is an excellent one for excuses. I mean, when I really needed some help and was in a bad way, he knew it, and just said "oh, that's too bad" and changed the subject. Not that I asked, cause, well, I'm not STUPID, and why set myself up? But I did hint strong enough to knock an elephant over. 3) His second favorite reply to or about me is "She made her bed, and now she has to lie in it..." yadda yadda yadda. This is standard reply for all 4 of his children once they hit the age of 18.
Also? What I DIDN'T tell Z so as not to hurt his feelings, was that in case I did ask him to give money for the house, there is another reason he wouldn't give it, no matter how many painkillers he had injested that day. 4)He would ask" Is SHE going to live in it?" (MONSTER) and, all of you know the answer, so, his answer, when he stopped laughing would be" HELL NO! You want me to give money to you to buy a place that doesn't have your name on ONE share of the deed, to give a place for that witch (ok, he uses the B word to refer to her) to live and continue to make you miserable? I know you are smarter than that!" SO, I also had to deal with Z pouting like a 3 year old that didn't get a toy he wanted because I refuse to humiliate myself in that way. Trust me, there is nothing worse than MY Dad laughing at me and wondering when I got hit up the side of the head with a stupid stick when he wasn't looking.
So, no loan from Daddy. (If my Mama read this, she will laugh her butt off, cause she knows NO WAY he would help and that I'm right with all my reasoning!!) Because, well, he is smart and logical. Oh btw dad, can you just wire over 115,000 bucks? Thanks a lot.
Stupid stick indeed! Now back to more logical and intelligent plotting.
Just so you know, we did have the idea that if we can't buy a house with that money, perhaps we can buy a piece of land. Small, itsy problem. It's almost impossible to find a piece of land for sale for less than 60,000. So still? We are Screwed, with yes, a capital S.
If anyone has any bright ideas, let me know, hmmm? Cause I'm fresh out, and in these things, I'm usually pretty damn good.
HELP!
At the strike of midnight on December 31, I'm watching my dreams of a house disintegrating. Fucknugget.
Happy New Year Y'all. *smooch*
12/31/2004
Horror
I am completely blown away by the sheer magnitude of what I see on CNN and BBC World hour by hour.
Something like 160,000 people dead and thousands still missing. I watch the home videos, and listen to the stories in macabre fascination. Watching video of the water overtaking the beaches, hotels, streets, people, cars, everything in its path.
Tonight I listened to a beautiful little American girl about 9 years old describe the sound of the water coming behind her as she and her 5 year old sister and parents ran. Fortunately, they all survived it. Others were not so lucky. Many, many others still are missing. I'm sure there are areas that haven't even been visited yet with more dead just waiting to be found.
I pray for the people, regardless of religious denomination or nationality that have been affected by this horrible tragedy.
I can only hope, perhaps naively, that the world will learn from this tragedy and come together, or at least try harder, but sadly, I doubt they will. It doesn't hurt to hope though, does it?
I am completely blown away by the sheer magnitude of what I see on CNN and BBC World hour by hour.
Something like 160,000 people dead and thousands still missing. I watch the home videos, and listen to the stories in macabre fascination. Watching video of the water overtaking the beaches, hotels, streets, people, cars, everything in its path.
Tonight I listened to a beautiful little American girl about 9 years old describe the sound of the water coming behind her as she and her 5 year old sister and parents ran. Fortunately, they all survived it. Others were not so lucky. Many, many others still are missing. I'm sure there are areas that haven't even been visited yet with more dead just waiting to be found.
I pray for the people, regardless of religious denomination or nationality that have been affected by this horrible tragedy.
I can only hope, perhaps naively, that the world will learn from this tragedy and come together, or at least try harder, but sadly, I doubt they will. It doesn't hurt to hope though, does it?
12/29/2004
Inquisition Confession – Week 11
I hope that everyone that celebrated Christmas received just what they wanted under the tree.
In the true spirit of the holiday season, and the upcoming New Year's celebrations to ring in 2005, Mare asked me a truly appropriate question this week:
"What is the most embarrassing thing you've done while drunk?"
Well honey. The thing is this. I don’t think I've ever been really drunk. Tipsy like hell, yes. Drunk off my ass, um no. I handle my liquor-when I drink it- pretty well.
How about the most embarrassing thing while tipsy instead?
Hmmmm. Only thing I could come up with was at my going away party when I was moving to Bahrain from L. A. My friends from work and I went to this really happening Italian restaurant in Pasadena that also had a separate entrance for the attached bar. It was a huge bar, I tell you, with….. Karaoke. A huge, full karaoke set up on a stage. The whole shabang.
Anyhoooo, I had been drinking something yummy, something like a whiskey sour, but I can't remember what now…(7 yrs, sue me!). I had ingested SEVERAL. On top of those? One of my friends and coworker, John, kept giving me jello shooters. (This was my first and only experience with jello shooters) Eventually, they got me slappy enough to get up on stage in front of this packed bar with a couple of the girls from work as back up and I sang. I'm seriously trying to remember what I sang, but it escapes me at the moment. I do remember that I, and my back up singers, were really into the song tho.
How's that Mare?
This week, Cheryl b killed me. Seriously. I totally love this woman. She is something else! It wasn't WHAT she asked me, but what she wrote along with her question. Check it out!
What's the nicest present that you have ever gotten (besides Ari)? This year for Christmas Mark got me FOUR of my favorite vibrators since I kind of wore my last one out and he wanted me to have plenty of extras. Does that man know me well or what?
Ahem! Well. I certainly never got such an invigorating gift that is for DAMN sure! (four of your favorite? Out of curiosity, exactly how many favorites do you have?) Why is it that I now have the episode of Sex in the City where Samantha killed her new vibrator from The Sharper Image and argues with the salesman when she goes to exchange it stuck in my head now? *sigh*
The most thoughtful gift I ever received for Christmas was the recipe book from my Aunt Arlene that she had copied my deceased Nana's Christmas cookie recipes into by hand. She did it about two years after Nana's passing. It was probably the best most thoughtful gift. I sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks like Niagara Falls for a good long while, all choked up.
I was very blessed in that my parents and my Nana and Aunt (of the recipe book fame. Dad's sister) were all very generous at Christmas and throughout the year. (Yes mama, if you're reading this, you are STILL GENEROUS! You know what I mean!)
I was a good one for asking for outrageous things for Christmas and they all did their best to get me what I asked for when possible. So many Christmases to think back on.
The one thing that comes to mind is that I answered, when asked by Aunt Arlene again (poor thing. But, she never had kids. So, I'm children and niece all rolled up in one) what I wanted for Christmas, and I really REALLY wanted a fancy schmancy camera. A real camera. You know. The kind with big ass zoom lenses and whatnot. Never mind that she is a real shutterbug as a hobby, so I appealed to that side of her, no? *snicker*. I said that's what I wanted, never really thinking she would get me one so very expensive if at all. But I was of the mindset that ,"Well! You asked!". If you know what I mean?
So I was totally floored when she got me this great Cannon camera! It was so kick ass! I was really blown away with shock Christmas morning.
But, as an aside, my very favorite Christmas memory is my first Christmas with Arianna. (So yes, you were right there!) She was 3 months old. Never mind that she slept through it. That she was so healthy and beautiful and looked just like a little cherub (Nana's nickname for her only great-grandchild) asleep surrounded by presents under the tree with the fireplace roaring adjacent to the tree with all the decorations and pine garland on the mantle was the very best gift of all.
When I look at pictures of Christmas 1993 of me in front of the tree Christmas morning, I had no idea that Arianna was already growing inside me at that very moment. I didn't find out until December 28, 1993 that I was pregnant.
Well then. Last, but definitely not least we come to Carrie Jo. I'll get her for this.
When you start going grey will you dye your hair? And if so, for how long?
I figured if I don't answer Carrie Jo's question fairly honestly, I'm probably going to hell. So. Here goes nothing.
I. Already. Do. (You are SO gonna get it, woman!)
I have been dying my hair THIS shade of red… (Wait. Someone dear to me said that I should not describe my hair as red but as RED!!!) since I was around 17 after much experimenting. It feels natural to me and I forget it isn't. In fact, my hair was this shade of red at birth. My hair was red (!!!) until I was about a year or so when it went PLATINUM. (We are talking Monroe platinum here!) Mama said her Aunties were quite red also, so it's in the familiy!
My natural hair is much the shade of Arianna's with some major differences. (oh yeah. Hers is dark golden blonde) My differences are this: I have a gazillion natural tones in my hair, from platinum to red and lots of shades in between. A load of strawberry, actually. So my hair is more strawberry blonde than anything. But. With my complexion? I look washed out as hell. So washed out that Casper would be an appropriate nickname. I have milky pure white Irish skin. Arianna, on the other hand, has lovely peaches and cream skin tone just like my mom, so her color is perfect on her. My Dad's mother (Nana) was completely white from her 40's I think, and I look a hell of a lot like her. So much so it's eerie and a pic I have of her throws Z every time. He forgets it isn't me!) Maybe I'll be prematurely white like Nana. The daily stress I'm under with you-know-WHAT/WHO, I'm surprised I haven't woken up with a full head of white yet! Heh.
Bottom line is this: If I'm grey/white…no one will ever know. Maybe when I'm much older I'll let it be white (we are talking over 65 people) or whatever, but somehow, I doubt it. Hell, when Nana passed away at 82, she was still putting a dark rinse on her hair and had been for the last 5 years or so! I'll never know what made her start dying her hair after having it white for so long, but she was an awfully feisty thing.
Thank you to my friends that gave me questions this week and to those of you reading the answers, as painful as ONE might have been to answer. In case I don't see you until next week ...
HAPPY NEW YEAR 2005!!!!!!!!!!!
I hope that everyone that celebrated Christmas received just what they wanted under the tree.
In the true spirit of the holiday season, and the upcoming New Year's celebrations to ring in 2005, Mare asked me a truly appropriate question this week:
"What is the most embarrassing thing you've done while drunk?"
Well honey. The thing is this. I don’t think I've ever been really drunk. Tipsy like hell, yes. Drunk off my ass, um no. I handle my liquor-when I drink it- pretty well.
How about the most embarrassing thing while tipsy instead?
Hmmmm. Only thing I could come up with was at my going away party when I was moving to Bahrain from L. A. My friends from work and I went to this really happening Italian restaurant in Pasadena that also had a separate entrance for the attached bar. It was a huge bar, I tell you, with….. Karaoke. A huge, full karaoke set up on a stage. The whole shabang.
Anyhoooo, I had been drinking something yummy, something like a whiskey sour, but I can't remember what now…(7 yrs, sue me!). I had ingested SEVERAL. On top of those? One of my friends and coworker, John, kept giving me jello shooters. (This was my first and only experience with jello shooters) Eventually, they got me slappy enough to get up on stage in front of this packed bar with a couple of the girls from work as back up and I sang. I'm seriously trying to remember what I sang, but it escapes me at the moment. I do remember that I, and my back up singers, were really into the song tho.
How's that Mare?
This week, Cheryl b killed me. Seriously. I totally love this woman. She is something else! It wasn't WHAT she asked me, but what she wrote along with her question. Check it out!
What's the nicest present that you have ever gotten (besides Ari)? This year for Christmas Mark got me FOUR of my favorite vibrators since I kind of wore my last one out and he wanted me to have plenty of extras. Does that man know me well or what?
Ahem! Well. I certainly never got such an invigorating gift that is for DAMN sure! (four of your favorite? Out of curiosity, exactly how many favorites do you have?) Why is it that I now have the episode of Sex in the City where Samantha killed her new vibrator from The Sharper Image and argues with the salesman when she goes to exchange it stuck in my head now? *sigh*
The most thoughtful gift I ever received for Christmas was the recipe book from my Aunt Arlene that she had copied my deceased Nana's Christmas cookie recipes into by hand. She did it about two years after Nana's passing. It was probably the best most thoughtful gift. I sat there with tears rolling down my cheeks like Niagara Falls for a good long while, all choked up.
I was very blessed in that my parents and my Nana and Aunt (of the recipe book fame. Dad's sister) were all very generous at Christmas and throughout the year. (Yes mama, if you're reading this, you are STILL GENEROUS! You know what I mean!)
I was a good one for asking for outrageous things for Christmas and they all did their best to get me what I asked for when possible. So many Christmases to think back on.
The one thing that comes to mind is that I answered, when asked by Aunt Arlene again (poor thing. But, she never had kids. So, I'm children and niece all rolled up in one) what I wanted for Christmas, and I really REALLY wanted a fancy schmancy camera. A real camera. You know. The kind with big ass zoom lenses and whatnot. Never mind that she is a real shutterbug as a hobby, so I appealed to that side of her, no? *snicker*. I said that's what I wanted, never really thinking she would get me one so very expensive if at all. But I was of the mindset that ,"Well! You asked!". If you know what I mean?
So I was totally floored when she got me this great Cannon camera! It was so kick ass! I was really blown away with shock Christmas morning.
But, as an aside, my very favorite Christmas memory is my first Christmas with Arianna. (So yes, you were right there!) She was 3 months old. Never mind that she slept through it. That she was so healthy and beautiful and looked just like a little cherub (Nana's nickname for her only great-grandchild) asleep surrounded by presents under the tree with the fireplace roaring adjacent to the tree with all the decorations and pine garland on the mantle was the very best gift of all.
When I look at pictures of Christmas 1993 of me in front of the tree Christmas morning, I had no idea that Arianna was already growing inside me at that very moment. I didn't find out until December 28, 1993 that I was pregnant.
Well then. Last, but definitely not least we come to Carrie Jo. I'll get her for this.
When you start going grey will you dye your hair? And if so, for how long?
I figured if I don't answer Carrie Jo's question fairly honestly, I'm probably going to hell. So. Here goes nothing.
I. Already. Do. (You are SO gonna get it, woman!)
I have been dying my hair THIS shade of red… (Wait. Someone dear to me said that I should not describe my hair as red but as RED!!!) since I was around 17 after much experimenting. It feels natural to me and I forget it isn't. In fact, my hair was this shade of red at birth. My hair was red (!!!) until I was about a year or so when it went PLATINUM. (We are talking Monroe platinum here!) Mama said her Aunties were quite red also, so it's in the familiy!
My natural hair is much the shade of Arianna's with some major differences. (oh yeah. Hers is dark golden blonde) My differences are this: I have a gazillion natural tones in my hair, from platinum to red and lots of shades in between. A load of strawberry, actually. So my hair is more strawberry blonde than anything. But. With my complexion? I look washed out as hell. So washed out that Casper would be an appropriate nickname. I have milky pure white Irish skin. Arianna, on the other hand, has lovely peaches and cream skin tone just like my mom, so her color is perfect on her. My Dad's mother (Nana) was completely white from her 40's I think, and I look a hell of a lot like her. So much so it's eerie and a pic I have of her throws Z every time. He forgets it isn't me!) Maybe I'll be prematurely white like Nana. The daily stress I'm under with you-know-WHAT/WHO, I'm surprised I haven't woken up with a full head of white yet! Heh.
Bottom line is this: If I'm grey/white…no one will ever know. Maybe when I'm much older I'll let it be white (we are talking over 65 people) or whatever, but somehow, I doubt it. Hell, when Nana passed away at 82, she was still putting a dark rinse on her hair and had been for the last 5 years or so! I'll never know what made her start dying her hair after having it white for so long, but she was an awfully feisty thing.
Thank you to my friends that gave me questions this week and to those of you reading the answers, as painful as ONE might have been to answer. In case I don't see you until next week ...
HAPPY NEW YEAR 2005!!!!!!!!!!!
12/28/2004
Wrong
Sometimes things happen that leave you amazed, perhaps even stunned or disgusted. Something like that happened to me in the car just now while listening to the local radio station.
There I was, driving along and minding my own business when I heard it. The theme song to Sesame Street. Ahhhh, this brings fond and happy memories, right?
HELL NO.
You see, it sounded like the William Heung version of Sesame Street, only, somehow, infinitely worse if you can just try and imagine that. And that? Is. Just . WRONG.
Of course, just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any crappier than it was (yes, perversely, I was listening to it in stunned disbelief. I think I was in mild shock between you and me!), they cranked it up a notch….. or 10. Because then? It turned into something between garage music and speed metal.
It was at this point that I'd had just about all I could take and switched the channel.
You know? It was so very bad that, I would rather, given the choice, prefer to listen to Britney Spears-Federline *gag* butcher her versions of "I love rock and roll" "I can't get no (satisfaction)" AND "My Prerogative" back to back…. for…. hours. And that is something I just can't handle hearing on any given day, ya know? *shudder, gag, retch*
Is NOTHING SACRED, I ask?
Sometimes things happen that leave you amazed, perhaps even stunned or disgusted. Something like that happened to me in the car just now while listening to the local radio station.
There I was, driving along and minding my own business when I heard it. The theme song to Sesame Street. Ahhhh, this brings fond and happy memories, right?
HELL NO.
You see, it sounded like the William Heung version of Sesame Street, only, somehow, infinitely worse if you can just try and imagine that. And that? Is. Just . WRONG.
Of course, just when I thought it couldn't possibly get any crappier than it was (yes, perversely, I was listening to it in stunned disbelief. I think I was in mild shock between you and me!), they cranked it up a notch….. or 10. Because then? It turned into something between garage music and speed metal.
It was at this point that I'd had just about all I could take and switched the channel.
You know? It was so very bad that, I would rather, given the choice, prefer to listen to Britney Spears-Federline *gag* butcher her versions of "I love rock and roll" "I can't get no (satisfaction)" AND "My Prerogative" back to back…. for…. hours. And that is something I just can't handle hearing on any given day, ya know? *shudder, gag, retch*
Is NOTHING SACRED, I ask?
OOOOPSY!
Read that as: "Oh SHIT!".
Damn, I completely forgot to whine.... erm, I mean, remind you all about this weeks' Inquisition! Since I'm a brainless twit this week, I'm extending the cut off time until Midnight Tuesday. Yeah, I know, that's um, TOMORROW night. That's a WHOLE extra 24 hours to ask me something people!
So. I know you are all probably hung over from too much Christmas frivolity, but SNAP OUT OF IT AND ASK ME SOMETHING.
This means you, Cheryl b., Carrie Jo, Mare, Catrina... and the rest of you lurking about. Give me a little late Christmas pressie, hmmm?
Ask me. Go on, you know you want to!!!
Read that as: "Oh SHIT!".
Damn, I completely forgot to whine.... erm, I mean, remind you all about this weeks' Inquisition! Since I'm a brainless twit this week, I'm extending the cut off time until Midnight Tuesday. Yeah, I know, that's um, TOMORROW night. That's a WHOLE extra 24 hours to ask me something people!
So. I know you are all probably hung over from too much Christmas frivolity, but SNAP OUT OF IT AND ASK ME SOMETHING.
This means you, Cheryl b., Carrie Jo, Mare, Catrina... and the rest of you lurking about. Give me a little late Christmas pressie, hmmm?
Ask me. Go on, you know you want to!!!
12/27/2004
A Prayer
To begin with, I would like to take a moment to pray for the souls of all those that died yesterday in the horrible 9.0 magnitude Asia Quake and the resulting Tsunamis. My prayers are with the families of all those that were taken away from them in the blink of an eye as well.
At the time of my writing this, the death toll stands at 23,000 people with thousands still missing or unaccounted for.
I am also very grateful and would like to say a prayer of thanks that two of my friends who happen to be in Phuket, Thailand on vacation are still alive and not two of the many that have perished.
Yesterday, when I heard the news rolling in, I was a mess of nerves trying to call both guys. Neither call would go through. All right, perhaps it would be more accurate to say freaked out of my mind terrified. Thankfully, a few hours later, one of the guys got hold of his mother here and word got passed around that they were shaken up, but otherwise ok.
I can only imagine the stories they will have to tell when the finally get back home to Bahrain.
Unbeknownst to me, the grandfather of the triplets, my SIL's ex who Z and I are actually on very good terms with, is in Madras, India where the Tsunami's also hit. He said he is usually at that beach where all those people were swept out to sea, but fortunately he was still in his hotel that early in the morning, thankfully. He said that the wave came 1km or so inland, and his hotel is 5km inland. Which, when you think about it, is not that far. *shudder*
So today, as I watch CNN in morbid fascination, with new video footage of the devastation of yesterday rolling incessantly, I am eternally grateful that the people that I know are safe.
I hope that none of you lost dear ones.
To begin with, I would like to take a moment to pray for the souls of all those that died yesterday in the horrible 9.0 magnitude Asia Quake and the resulting Tsunamis. My prayers are with the families of all those that were taken away from them in the blink of an eye as well.
At the time of my writing this, the death toll stands at 23,000 people with thousands still missing or unaccounted for.
I am also very grateful and would like to say a prayer of thanks that two of my friends who happen to be in Phuket, Thailand on vacation are still alive and not two of the many that have perished.
Yesterday, when I heard the news rolling in, I was a mess of nerves trying to call both guys. Neither call would go through. All right, perhaps it would be more accurate to say freaked out of my mind terrified. Thankfully, a few hours later, one of the guys got hold of his mother here and word got passed around that they were shaken up, but otherwise ok.
I can only imagine the stories they will have to tell when the finally get back home to Bahrain.
Unbeknownst to me, the grandfather of the triplets, my SIL's ex who Z and I are actually on very good terms with, is in Madras, India where the Tsunami's also hit. He said he is usually at that beach where all those people were swept out to sea, but fortunately he was still in his hotel that early in the morning, thankfully. He said that the wave came 1km or so inland, and his hotel is 5km inland. Which, when you think about it, is not that far. *shudder*
So today, as I watch CNN in morbid fascination, with new video footage of the devastation of yesterday rolling incessantly, I am eternally grateful that the people that I know are safe.
I hope that none of you lost dear ones.
The Sweetest Thing
This morning I woke up to a surprise in my cell phone message Inbox that made me feel so good. What a wonderful way to wake up. It read:
"Good Morning Mom, I love you."
Awwwwwwwwwwww. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy (and no, it wasn't from my new jersey sheets, which are damn good all on their own, thankyouverymuch!!!) inside.
I love my baby girl.
The best thing is? I have it in WRITING… you know… proof… evidence. (hee hee) So that when she is telling me "I hate you" when I've told her "NO!!" twenty times or so to something (since I'm the bad guy disciplinarian around here)I can now say "Oh noooo you don't!!!!! See?"
Heh. Evidence. I love it.
This morning I woke up to a surprise in my cell phone message Inbox that made me feel so good. What a wonderful way to wake up. It read:
"Good Morning Mom, I love you."
Awwwwwwwwwwww. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy (and no, it wasn't from my new jersey sheets, which are damn good all on their own, thankyouverymuch!!!) inside.
I love my baby girl.
The best thing is? I have it in WRITING… you know… proof… evidence. (hee hee) So that when she is telling me "I hate you" when I've told her "NO!!" twenty times or so to something (since I'm the bad guy disciplinarian around here)I can now say "Oh noooo you don't!!!!! See?"
Heh. Evidence. I love it.
The Day After
I hope that all of you had a wonderful Christmas yesterday and received your hearts desire. Or at least that laptop or digital camera you've been dying for!
Now it's the day after Christmas, which means hitting the 'After Christmas Sales' or returning that truly horrid gift that Aunt Mary gave you yesterday. I've heard and seen firsthand some scary scenarios the day after Christmas in retail stores as both one of the minions working retail once-upon-a-time in what seems like another life and as a consumer insane enough to brave going to a store on Dec 26.
For me though, December 26 has a different meaning aside from all the retail and holiday memories.
Today would have been my sister Shelly's 50th Birthday.
She has been gone these past 12 years now and I miss her very much. She died under suspicious circumstances all those years ago and yet it feels like yesterday that it happened. I miss her terribly.
My beautiful, tall, (5'11) slender, charming, intelligent, talented, funny, and oh so sweet big sister with the heart of gold. Shelly was the quintessential big sister in my mind and the one that I had dreamed of, begged for and prayed to God daily for throughout my early childhood before I knew she existed. God apparently DOES answer prayers.
See, Shelly (and my two half-brothers) are from my father's first marriage. It ended quite ugly and for various reasons, Shelly and I were kept away from each other. Shelly and our dad were at odds on top of the brainwashing and controlling attitude of her mother. Joey, the middle child, was problematic and very wild in his mothers care until she just couldn't handle him anymore and called Dad to come in and take him in control. That Dad did. He brought Joey to live with us when I was a little over 1 year old. Thank God for that. I became Joey's shadow, even as a toddler. Joey thrived and improved under Dad's strict rules and the love he got from my Mom and complete adoration from me. He always had time for me. Even so, for as long as I can remember, I had been harping at Mom for a sister. "Mama. I want a sister. Why don't you bring me a sister? Should I have a talk with Dad about this?" This was literally DAILY, a la Arianna. (So yes, I know exactly how she feels)
Joey got older and so did I. When I was about 4 Joey joined the Navy and left home and then I was alone, and my harping at Mom intensified.
I didn't even know Shelly existed… still. She had gone and gotten married very young and wasn't apparently in much contact with the family. Anyway…..
I remember clearly the day I found out about Shelly's existence. Mom was making my bed, (I think I'm about 4 years old) and I was on the other side of it and started my usual sister request and I guess poor mom got fed up. She looked at me across the bed and said quite clearly and full of exasperation: "You already HAVE a sister!". WHAMMO!! "I HAVE A SISTER?YAAAAAAAY!? Where IS she?"
Poor Mom suffered my interrogation, I got my details, but I found out no one knew where the heck she was, specifically. Ok. Close but no cigar. (See? I told you I'm determined! Heh.)
Years pass. Tenacious as a terrier, my desire to know my sister is not quenched. I told EVERYONE, Joey, Dad, my Aunt, and most particularly my Nana, (who, after my mom, was my LIFE) Nana was my confidant and whenever she was around, which was quite often, we were always together, with me nattering about this and that. Unbeknownst to me, Nana, believing that Dad was holding out info on us-and her in particular- feisty woman that she was, decided to hire a private detective to find Shelly for me.
The guy searched and searched until one day, when I was 11, Mama came home from work and told me she received a phone call that day at her office.
It was Shelly. Nana's private eye had found her, and on Nana's instructions, given her the contact info. Nana also spoke to her and told her just how badly I wanted my Big Sister. When Mom told me that Nana had hired a private eye to find Shelly for me and that she wanted to talk to me and write letters and see me, I was so thrilled. I was over the moon. My prayers answered.
We started talking and exchanging cards and letters. She was living back East at the time, had divorced her schmuck husband after 10 years and was getting on with her life. We were in Los Angeles.
As we got to know each other, I realized that she was everything I had dreamed of in a sister, in the flesh, and even more than I ever could have imagined. She was a lot like I wanted to be when I was older.
A professional equestrian rider since the age of 5, she adored horses and talked about them a lot. She, like me, loved all animals (ok, mostly). I talked to her about boys, and school and life in general; she gave advice and shared her own experiences with me. About this time Shelly moved to Europe. First to Paris, then a short stint studying and achieving her dream of training with the Lipizzaner Stallions in Austria, and then on to Malaga, Spain. Shelly was studying languages a little late in life and she figured that while studying at school, it was best for her to be immersed in the language.
She was so good about sending me pictures, and cards, and letters and calling me. She would try to write me a LONG letter at least once a month. We got close and she imparted perhaps not necessarily wisdom as much as her take on life, her good and bad experiences and her wonderful, intelligent and LOGICAL advice.
Eventually she moved back to the US to Virginia where she set up shop… literally. Some more years passed and I got married, which she was very against. I. Mean. Very. So much so that we were actually estranged for a little over a year when she died.
I think that is what hurt the most of all. No chance to say goodbye. (ok, chances missed never to be regained) No chance to mend broken fences. Perhaps we both took time for granted. Assumed we were both young, with our lives ahead of us. No chance to say one last time just how very much I loved her and adored her. But I think, that despite everything, in her heart, she knew. I certainly hope so.
Shelly's was the first death of someone I loved that I had to deal with and it taught me some valuable, painful lessons that, I think, made me a better person.
A year ago, I happened upon an old newspaper article interview on the internet of an old friend of Shelly's since they were teenagers. (God Bless Google!) This friend talked about her, the kind of person she was from her youth up through her adulthood. The way she was with people, children, and even animals. Her easy, infectious laughter. I noticed similarities between myself and Shelly from the description of her. Things I noticed myself and things about me that my friends that know me well say. I felt proud that I have at least some of her good qualities. I still feel proud.
So today, I just want to say: "I love you and always think of you my big sister. Happy Birthday Shelly."
I hope that all of you had a wonderful Christmas yesterday and received your hearts desire. Or at least that laptop or digital camera you've been dying for!
Now it's the day after Christmas, which means hitting the 'After Christmas Sales' or returning that truly horrid gift that Aunt Mary gave you yesterday. I've heard and seen firsthand some scary scenarios the day after Christmas in retail stores as both one of the minions working retail once-upon-a-time in what seems like another life and as a consumer insane enough to brave going to a store on Dec 26.
For me though, December 26 has a different meaning aside from all the retail and holiday memories.
Today would have been my sister Shelly's 50th Birthday.
She has been gone these past 12 years now and I miss her very much. She died under suspicious circumstances all those years ago and yet it feels like yesterday that it happened. I miss her terribly.
My beautiful, tall, (5'11) slender, charming, intelligent, talented, funny, and oh so sweet big sister with the heart of gold. Shelly was the quintessential big sister in my mind and the one that I had dreamed of, begged for and prayed to God daily for throughout my early childhood before I knew she existed. God apparently DOES answer prayers.
See, Shelly (and my two half-brothers) are from my father's first marriage. It ended quite ugly and for various reasons, Shelly and I were kept away from each other. Shelly and our dad were at odds on top of the brainwashing and controlling attitude of her mother. Joey, the middle child, was problematic and very wild in his mothers care until she just couldn't handle him anymore and called Dad to come in and take him in control. That Dad did. He brought Joey to live with us when I was a little over 1 year old. Thank God for that. I became Joey's shadow, even as a toddler. Joey thrived and improved under Dad's strict rules and the love he got from my Mom and complete adoration from me. He always had time for me. Even so, for as long as I can remember, I had been harping at Mom for a sister. "Mama. I want a sister. Why don't you bring me a sister? Should I have a talk with Dad about this?" This was literally DAILY, a la Arianna. (So yes, I know exactly how she feels)
Joey got older and so did I. When I was about 4 Joey joined the Navy and left home and then I was alone, and my harping at Mom intensified.
I didn't even know Shelly existed… still. She had gone and gotten married very young and wasn't apparently in much contact with the family. Anyway…..
I remember clearly the day I found out about Shelly's existence. Mom was making my bed, (I think I'm about 4 years old) and I was on the other side of it and started my usual sister request and I guess poor mom got fed up. She looked at me across the bed and said quite clearly and full of exasperation: "You already HAVE a sister!". WHAMMO!! "I HAVE A SISTER?YAAAAAAAY!? Where IS she?"
Poor Mom suffered my interrogation, I got my details, but I found out no one knew where the heck she was, specifically. Ok. Close but no cigar. (See? I told you I'm determined! Heh.)
Years pass. Tenacious as a terrier, my desire to know my sister is not quenched. I told EVERYONE, Joey, Dad, my Aunt, and most particularly my Nana, (who, after my mom, was my LIFE) Nana was my confidant and whenever she was around, which was quite often, we were always together, with me nattering about this and that. Unbeknownst to me, Nana, believing that Dad was holding out info on us-and her in particular- feisty woman that she was, decided to hire a private detective to find Shelly for me.
The guy searched and searched until one day, when I was 11, Mama came home from work and told me she received a phone call that day at her office.
It was Shelly. Nana's private eye had found her, and on Nana's instructions, given her the contact info. Nana also spoke to her and told her just how badly I wanted my Big Sister. When Mom told me that Nana had hired a private eye to find Shelly for me and that she wanted to talk to me and write letters and see me, I was so thrilled. I was over the moon. My prayers answered.
We started talking and exchanging cards and letters. She was living back East at the time, had divorced her schmuck husband after 10 years and was getting on with her life. We were in Los Angeles.
As we got to know each other, I realized that she was everything I had dreamed of in a sister, in the flesh, and even more than I ever could have imagined. She was a lot like I wanted to be when I was older.
A professional equestrian rider since the age of 5, she adored horses and talked about them a lot. She, like me, loved all animals (ok, mostly). I talked to her about boys, and school and life in general; she gave advice and shared her own experiences with me. About this time Shelly moved to Europe. First to Paris, then a short stint studying and achieving her dream of training with the Lipizzaner Stallions in Austria, and then on to Malaga, Spain. Shelly was studying languages a little late in life and she figured that while studying at school, it was best for her to be immersed in the language.
She was so good about sending me pictures, and cards, and letters and calling me. She would try to write me a LONG letter at least once a month. We got close and she imparted perhaps not necessarily wisdom as much as her take on life, her good and bad experiences and her wonderful, intelligent and LOGICAL advice.
Eventually she moved back to the US to Virginia where she set up shop… literally. Some more years passed and I got married, which she was very against. I. Mean. Very. So much so that we were actually estranged for a little over a year when she died.
I think that is what hurt the most of all. No chance to say goodbye. (ok, chances missed never to be regained) No chance to mend broken fences. Perhaps we both took time for granted. Assumed we were both young, with our lives ahead of us. No chance to say one last time just how very much I loved her and adored her. But I think, that despite everything, in her heart, she knew. I certainly hope so.
Shelly's was the first death of someone I loved that I had to deal with and it taught me some valuable, painful lessons that, I think, made me a better person.
A year ago, I happened upon an old newspaper article interview on the internet of an old friend of Shelly's since they were teenagers. (God Bless Google!) This friend talked about her, the kind of person she was from her youth up through her adulthood. The way she was with people, children, and even animals. Her easy, infectious laughter. I noticed similarities between myself and Shelly from the description of her. Things I noticed myself and things about me that my friends that know me well say. I felt proud that I have at least some of her good qualities. I still feel proud.
So today, I just want to say: "I love you and always think of you my big sister. Happy Birthday Shelly."
12/25/2004
A Sentimental Feeling
First, I'd like to say yet again, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
It's time for me to stick my turkey in the oven and get to work. But first, I have a little post for you I'd like to share.
Today I recieved an email from a wonderful friend that I love to bits who lives on the other side of the world that got me all choked up. He is a great person and a former co-worker of mine here from Bahrain, but is now in Canada freezing his butt off.
It was so very sweet. I just had to post a piece of it it here on my blog so that it is here as a part of my memories.
When we worked together, Sergiy gave me the nickname Diamond. I never really knew why other than he thought I was a bad ass rocking Exec Secretary. (He also loves my cooking and all I have to do is mention either potato salad or caramelized bananna cake, and he will be moved to tears and extreme craving) Anyway,soon he stopped calling me my name altogether and just called me Diamond.
Sometimes, Sergiy would come hang out in my office, since he was a manager of a different division and had the luxury of being able to do it if he felt like it. He would tell me jokes and stories from his time of insanity during his mandatory military service with the Russian Army. These stories are freaking hilarious and Sergiy is so damn funny, especially how animated he is too! He is only one year older than I am, so we have a lot in common age wise as well. He was there for me as a friend the day I found out that my Uncle Bob died suddenly of a massive heart attack. I was a wreck and he was very kind.
Sergiy moved out of Bahrain three years ago when his Canadian residency came through. I miss him. He was so much fun to talk to and be around. To me, good friends are like Diamonds, Emeralds, Rubies, Sapphires and Pearls. (and I love me some jewellry, y'all! Yes indeedy!)
So, today, on a day when I was actually feeling kind of rotten and missing my friends and family and Christmas back home, ok, really sad and like one of Santa's lumps of coal, I had an email addressed to "My Diamond" from Sergiy. Between all his tipsy greetings marinated with too much good red wine and stuffed to the gills with turkey and his looking forward copious (read: more than you could ever imagine ingesting, cause he IS from Ukraine after all!) amounts of Smirnoff vodka Christmas Day, he said this to me:
"God bless you for all the fun that you are to me, for all your loving heart, for your kindness and for being a diamond (it's hard to be the most illustrious, shiny and sparkling all at the same time, but you are!)."
I dont' know if he will ever see this post or not. So I can say only this:
"Thanks a million Sergiy. You're a really wonderful person and friend.
Merry Christmas and lots of love, Diamond"
Now, it's time for me to go make my turkey everyone and watch Arianna's new DVD HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN!
First, I'd like to say yet again, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
It's time for me to stick my turkey in the oven and get to work. But first, I have a little post for you I'd like to share.
Today I recieved an email from a wonderful friend that I love to bits who lives on the other side of the world that got me all choked up. He is a great person and a former co-worker of mine here from Bahrain, but is now in Canada freezing his butt off.
It was so very sweet. I just had to post a piece of it it here on my blog so that it is here as a part of my memories.
When we worked together, Sergiy gave me the nickname Diamond. I never really knew why other than he thought I was a bad ass rocking Exec Secretary. (He also loves my cooking and all I have to do is mention either potato salad or caramelized bananna cake, and he will be moved to tears and extreme craving) Anyway,soon he stopped calling me my name altogether and just called me Diamond.
Sometimes, Sergiy would come hang out in my office, since he was a manager of a different division and had the luxury of being able to do it if he felt like it. He would tell me jokes and stories from his time of insanity during his mandatory military service with the Russian Army. These stories are freaking hilarious and Sergiy is so damn funny, especially how animated he is too! He is only one year older than I am, so we have a lot in common age wise as well. He was there for me as a friend the day I found out that my Uncle Bob died suddenly of a massive heart attack. I was a wreck and he was very kind.
Sergiy moved out of Bahrain three years ago when his Canadian residency came through. I miss him. He was so much fun to talk to and be around. To me, good friends are like Diamonds, Emeralds, Rubies, Sapphires and Pearls. (and I love me some jewellry, y'all! Yes indeedy!)
So, today, on a day when I was actually feeling kind of rotten and missing my friends and family and Christmas back home, ok, really sad and like one of Santa's lumps of coal, I had an email addressed to "My Diamond" from Sergiy. Between all his tipsy greetings marinated with too much good red wine and stuffed to the gills with turkey and his looking forward copious (read: more than you could ever imagine ingesting, cause he IS from Ukraine after all!) amounts of Smirnoff vodka Christmas Day, he said this to me:
"God bless you for all the fun that you are to me, for all your loving heart, for your kindness and for being a diamond (it's hard to be the most illustrious, shiny and sparkling all at the same time, but you are!)."
I dont' know if he will ever see this post or not. So I can say only this:
"Thanks a million Sergiy. You're a really wonderful person and friend.
Merry Christmas and lots of love, Diamond"
Now, it's time for me to go make my turkey everyone and watch Arianna's new DVD HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN!
Santa, etc…
I saw Santa Claus tonight in Bahrain. (for those of you wondering, NO, I was not drunk... unfortunately.)
I guess I have to believe in him again, now don't I?
While driving down a dark road, thinking about not much at all (and WAAY too much at the same time) from my location in the passenger seat tonight I eventually noticed the car in front of us for no reason other than the fact that the interior light was on.
Yeah, so what, right?
I turned my unfocused eyes into the car and noticed someone with longish wavy white hair driving. Wearing red. And a red hat.
Yes dear readers. It would seem that Santa has gotten fed up with those damn moody reindeer and all their games and traded in his sleigh for a sleek white 2004 Honda Civic. (It's called City here) And I SAW HIM!
I'm serious. Santa Claus was driving the car and, as I watched, flipped open his cellphone and let his fingers do the walking. I reiterate, I was not drunk, but at this point was beginning to wish I was! (still am wishing in fact) We followed Santa for a while until he reached his destination. The watchman at the compound laughed his ass off when he saw Santa Claus behind the wheel.
I don't blame him.
Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho
Later tonight, while visiting Daddy J, the father of the triplets who had some mutual friends over, Santa came up again, but in the oddest way.
Daddy J and his friends had been drinking, so everyone was pretty silly by this point. I wanted a drink, but am not really into Chivas Regal or Smirnoff, so I just nursed a soda. Never mind, I'm fun even without alcohol.
Started talking about CPR and techniques which in turn led to us talking about Daddy J's opinion that turkeys are really just inflated chickens ...again, which somehow had me explaining the term for male chicken is Cock, which made the conversation go completely downhill from there, cause then the discussion began about how to inflate the male chickens? Giving the Cock a blow*job to inflate it, which made us laugh all the harder (pun SO not intended there) etc… and then Daddy J, 3 sheets to the wind and then some, looked at Z, and from out of nowhere slurred at him:"ya know? FUKKIT. I wanna buy a Santa suit next year and stick your ass in it." We all stared at him in shock... and then he continued " No? Well then,I'll dress your crazy mom up in it ( his grandmonster in law) and she can freaking play Santa." My reply? "Great. Arianna's gonna look at that and say "What the? Santa is a freaking midget and speaks Persian?" which got everyone laughing. (no dear, Santa isn't a midget, he's a TROLL!)
What came out of Z's mouth next had all of us screaming with laughter and me doubled over laughing uncontrollably. Z said "Noooo, not really a midget/Troll. You mean Santa is a TRANSVESTITE?" All of us ----- staring at Z----- "TRANSVESTITE????"
Me: "Santa's – gasp!!!-a drag – gaaaassssspppp!!!! - queen! Santa's a drag queen!!!!!"
I had a slight problem after that which had me still cracking up. Because now, I had the song "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" in my head.
I wish Santa would leave me a nice big bottle of Amaretto di Sarreno. I've been a good girl this year. Check your list. Come ON Santa! I didn't say that you're a tranny. My HUSBAND did. Leave his ass the coal, not me!
I saw Santa Claus tonight in Bahrain. (for those of you wondering, NO, I was not drunk... unfortunately.)
I guess I have to believe in him again, now don't I?
While driving down a dark road, thinking about not much at all (and WAAY too much at the same time) from my location in the passenger seat tonight I eventually noticed the car in front of us for no reason other than the fact that the interior light was on.
Yeah, so what, right?
I turned my unfocused eyes into the car and noticed someone with longish wavy white hair driving. Wearing red. And a red hat.
Yes dear readers. It would seem that Santa has gotten fed up with those damn moody reindeer and all their games and traded in his sleigh for a sleek white 2004 Honda Civic. (It's called City here) And I SAW HIM!
I'm serious. Santa Claus was driving the car and, as I watched, flipped open his cellphone and let his fingers do the walking. I reiterate, I was not drunk, but at this point was beginning to wish I was! (still am wishing in fact) We followed Santa for a while until he reached his destination. The watchman at the compound laughed his ass off when he saw Santa Claus behind the wheel.
I don't blame him.
Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho
Later tonight, while visiting Daddy J, the father of the triplets who had some mutual friends over, Santa came up again, but in the oddest way.
Daddy J and his friends had been drinking, so everyone was pretty silly by this point. I wanted a drink, but am not really into Chivas Regal or Smirnoff, so I just nursed a soda. Never mind, I'm fun even without alcohol.
Started talking about CPR and techniques which in turn led to us talking about Daddy J's opinion that turkeys are really just inflated chickens ...again, which somehow had me explaining the term for male chicken is Cock, which made the conversation go completely downhill from there, cause then the discussion began about how to inflate the male chickens? Giving the Cock a blow*job to inflate it, which made us laugh all the harder (pun SO not intended there) etc… and then Daddy J, 3 sheets to the wind and then some, looked at Z, and from out of nowhere slurred at him:"ya know? FUKKIT. I wanna buy a Santa suit next year and stick your ass in it." We all stared at him in shock... and then he continued " No? Well then,I'll dress your crazy mom up in it ( his grandmonster in law) and she can freaking play Santa." My reply? "Great. Arianna's gonna look at that and say "What the? Santa is a freaking midget and speaks Persian?" which got everyone laughing. (no dear, Santa isn't a midget, he's a TROLL!)
What came out of Z's mouth next had all of us screaming with laughter and me doubled over laughing uncontrollably. Z said "Noooo, not really a midget/Troll. You mean Santa is a TRANSVESTITE?" All of us ----- staring at Z----- "TRANSVESTITE????"
Me: "Santa's – gasp!!!-a drag – gaaaassssspppp!!!! - queen! Santa's a drag queen!!!!!"
I had a slight problem after that which had me still cracking up. Because now, I had the song "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" in my head.
I wish Santa would leave me a nice big bottle of Amaretto di Sarreno. I've been a good girl this year. Check your list. Come ON Santa! I didn't say that you're a tranny. My HUSBAND did. Leave his ass the coal, not me!
12/24/2004
Christmas Eve Snark
Well dearlings. To all of you that celebrate, Merry Christmas. Also? You'd better have all your shopping done by now, because guess what? You are going to be cursed by EVERY SINGLE retail sales person you come across. Strike that. That works at every STORE you visit. Why?
I'll tell you.
Y'all come barging in and make a freaking WRECK of every single section of the store, that's why. You pick up crap and put it down in another department, and do you know what that means? That means, that poor little salesperson, who makes shit for salary, is gonna have to CLEAN UP THAT DAMN STORE BEFORE THEY CAN SIGN OUT FOR THE NIGHT AND GO HOME. This is usually around 3am for those of you that never worked retail before in your life. I have, once upon a time.
Then, there are those of you that decide to throw a complete hissyfit when you can't find the perfect gift on Christmas Eve, for Christssake. Or the ones that just can't begin to comprehend why this Season's "IT" gift has been out of stock since, oh, HALLOWEEN. No. Sorry if Jimmy or Suzie really want it. You shouldn't have waited, now should you? No. But still, there will be those that think as it just so happens, they are hiding one just for you.Not, sukah!
I won't get into what y'all do to Victoria's Secret, (yes, I worked there too!) cause that's JUST. MEAN. The bra room tho? They all have to be sized, sorted by color, and folded a particular way before anyone can leave. Panties too. It is NOT A PLEASANT TASK for basically minimum wage. And for the record, NO. You will NOT find what is in the catelog, generally speaking, in the store, so stop waving that focking VS Catelogue around in the salesgirls faces, allright? You want what's in the catelogue? Dial 1-800... blah blah blah, or order it online people.
To the male readers of my blog: When you walk into a store with that desperate look on your face on Christmas Eve, HELL, in the days leading up to Christmas, that makes the salespeople with sales targets (and that get-gasp!-comission) VERY HAPPY. Cause you? WILL BUY WHATEVER IS SUGGESTED TO SAVE YOUR LATE PRESENT BUYING BACKSIDE. Heh. Just walk in and prepare to hand over the plastic guys.It'll be a helluva lot less painful than what your loving partner will do to you if you have a truly crappy gift or, Heaven forbid!, nothing at all. To make your shopping experience less painful, I suggest that you have a drink at least before you attempt any puchasing expedition. Take a taxi and get tipsy beforehand if necessary.
I think I've done my duty to the poor retail people of the world for this year. If you think I'm being dramatic, I'm not. Only thing worse than Christmas Eve shift is, Day AFTER CHRISTMAS SALE/RETURNS.
*shudder at the memories*
Now then....
A trip to my neighborhood grocerey store usually gives me some interesting blog fodder and the other day was no exception!
I'm happily meandering down the aisles with my shopping cart listening to the Christmas music being played over the speakers quite loud when I turn the corner and surprise a totally Arab looking dude stocking shelves singing,dancing, and rocking out to Bruce Springsteen singing "Merry Christmas Baby!" Has anyone ever seen the look on a dog or cat's face when they have their temp taken at the vet rectally? That was the look on the guy's face when he saw ME. Heh. Priceless.
I was chuckling my head off for the next 5 minutes off and on. Ok, yeah, and I'm laughing now too!
Then this afternoon, early evening, Z and I are driving around looking at houses and listening to the Christmas Music on Radio Bahrain. DJ plays Elvis singing "White Christmas"... then plays something from the current charts, then plays a Christmas song, then a chart song, then.... Bing Crosby singing.....................
White Christmas.
What the? *Sigh. rolls eyes*
I mean, come ON dude. Pay attention, dammit. White Christmas isn't even the best Christmas song Elvis did man! Blue Christmas by Elvis is beautiful and, well, gets me choked up. And Bing Crosby. The man has sung a gizillion Christmas songs. UGH.
As is. I cannot STAND the new version of "Do They Know It's Christmas" 2004. Faugh. And it gets played.... A LOT y'all. Hello! It is No 1 on the British Charts and... well, we get mostly European charts here. Not all, but most. Somebody give me the original version from ... HOLY SHIT! 20 YEARS AGO.... PLEASE. And Last Christmas by Wham! also. Plus all the oldies. And? A Chipmunk Christmas. Put that on and I will sing EVERY SINGLE SONG FOR YOU AT THE TOP OF MY VOICE WITH A GRIN ON MY FACE.
Just no Mariah Carey Christmas versions please. (the dog whistle pitch makes me wince every time) Or, the new version of Band Aid, ok? I know it's for a good cause, the Band Aid one, just... easy on my ears.......... PLEASE!
Well dearlings. To all of you that celebrate, Merry Christmas. Also? You'd better have all your shopping done by now, because guess what? You are going to be cursed by EVERY SINGLE retail sales person you come across. Strike that. That works at every STORE you visit. Why?
I'll tell you.
Y'all come barging in and make a freaking WRECK of every single section of the store, that's why. You pick up crap and put it down in another department, and do you know what that means? That means, that poor little salesperson, who makes shit for salary, is gonna have to CLEAN UP THAT DAMN STORE BEFORE THEY CAN SIGN OUT FOR THE NIGHT AND GO HOME. This is usually around 3am for those of you that never worked retail before in your life. I have, once upon a time.
Then, there are those of you that decide to throw a complete hissyfit when you can't find the perfect gift on Christmas Eve, for Christssake. Or the ones that just can't begin to comprehend why this Season's "IT" gift has been out of stock since, oh, HALLOWEEN. No. Sorry if Jimmy or Suzie really want it. You shouldn't have waited, now should you? No. But still, there will be those that think as it just so happens, they are hiding one just for you.Not, sukah!
I won't get into what y'all do to Victoria's Secret, (yes, I worked there too!) cause that's JUST. MEAN. The bra room tho? They all have to be sized, sorted by color, and folded a particular way before anyone can leave. Panties too. It is NOT A PLEASANT TASK for basically minimum wage. And for the record, NO. You will NOT find what is in the catelog, generally speaking, in the store, so stop waving that focking VS Catelogue around in the salesgirls faces, allright? You want what's in the catelogue? Dial 1-800... blah blah blah, or order it online people.
To the male readers of my blog: When you walk into a store with that desperate look on your face on Christmas Eve, HELL, in the days leading up to Christmas, that makes the salespeople with sales targets (and that get-gasp!-comission) VERY HAPPY. Cause you? WILL BUY WHATEVER IS SUGGESTED TO SAVE YOUR LATE PRESENT BUYING BACKSIDE. Heh. Just walk in and prepare to hand over the plastic guys.It'll be a helluva lot less painful than what your loving partner will do to you if you have a truly crappy gift or, Heaven forbid!, nothing at all. To make your shopping experience less painful, I suggest that you have a drink at least before you attempt any puchasing expedition. Take a taxi and get tipsy beforehand if necessary.
I think I've done my duty to the poor retail people of the world for this year. If you think I'm being dramatic, I'm not. Only thing worse than Christmas Eve shift is, Day AFTER CHRISTMAS SALE/RETURNS.
*shudder at the memories*
Now then....
A trip to my neighborhood grocerey store usually gives me some interesting blog fodder and the other day was no exception!
I'm happily meandering down the aisles with my shopping cart listening to the Christmas music being played over the speakers quite loud when I turn the corner and surprise a totally Arab looking dude stocking shelves singing,dancing, and rocking out to Bruce Springsteen singing "Merry Christmas Baby!" Has anyone ever seen the look on a dog or cat's face when they have their temp taken at the vet rectally? That was the look on the guy's face when he saw ME. Heh. Priceless.
I was chuckling my head off for the next 5 minutes off and on. Ok, yeah, and I'm laughing now too!
Then this afternoon, early evening, Z and I are driving around looking at houses and listening to the Christmas Music on Radio Bahrain. DJ plays Elvis singing "White Christmas"... then plays something from the current charts, then plays a Christmas song, then a chart song, then.... Bing Crosby singing.....................
White Christmas.
What the? *Sigh. rolls eyes*
I mean, come ON dude. Pay attention, dammit. White Christmas isn't even the best Christmas song Elvis did man! Blue Christmas by Elvis is beautiful and, well, gets me choked up. And Bing Crosby. The man has sung a gizillion Christmas songs. UGH.
As is. I cannot STAND the new version of "Do They Know It's Christmas" 2004. Faugh. And it gets played.... A LOT y'all. Hello! It is No 1 on the British Charts and... well, we get mostly European charts here. Not all, but most. Somebody give me the original version from ... HOLY SHIT! 20 YEARS AGO.... PLEASE. And Last Christmas by Wham! also. Plus all the oldies. And? A Chipmunk Christmas. Put that on and I will sing EVERY SINGLE SONG FOR YOU AT THE TOP OF MY VOICE WITH A GRIN ON MY FACE.
Just no Mariah Carey Christmas versions please. (the dog whistle pitch makes me wince every time) Or, the new version of Band Aid, ok? I know it's for a good cause, the Band Aid one, just... easy on my ears.......... PLEASE!
12/23/2004
The Inquisition Confession – Week 11
Thanks to my buddies for their questions this week. I know everyone is busy with their last minute shopping and wrapping of gifts. I will cut right to the answers!
Carrie Jo asked me an easy one this week. Bless you darling!
What's your earliest Christmas memory?
My earliest Christmas memory would have to be when I was either 4 months old or 1 yr 4 months. I don't know which. But I was tiny enough to be laying under the Christmas tree enthralled with the colored lights in the darkened room. I distinctly remember looking up in the tree. Then, I saw my mom coming towards me in her negligee, smiling and picked me up and that's the end of my memory. It was a feel good memory. It is crystal clear in my mind as if it was yesterday.
Must be why I still like to sit in the dark room and stare (ok, zone out on) at the Christmas tree lights even now. Yes, I'm probably going to go do that once this is posted.
I've always loved Christmas and had many good Christmases. That's my favorite time of the year and one reason that I wanted to get married in December.
Mare actually beat Carrie Jo to her original question and asked me:
What was your Christmas incident ie: All I ever wanted for Christmas was (present) and Santa didn't get it for me and I was so unhappy? And what age were you that you stopped believing in Santa?
Well, I was generally pretty lucky, and I am the type of person to be content with what I am given. But.
The only thing I could really come up with was when I was about 8 or so and I BADLY wanted a Barbie house & furniture. I was really REALLY big into Barbie, I tell you. (I mean, come on, I grew up as an only child cause my half brothers and sister were over 16 years older than me!) I took IMMACULATE care of my Barbies. The clothes, accessories, etc. I was disappointed that Santa didn't come through for me (but poor mama, she was divorced by that time, and things were pretty tight! Those houses were damn expensive. She worked really hard, but still!) "Santa" came through with a Kiss ME Barbie that you press a button in her back and she puckers and makes a kissing noise, which I thought was cool, and a Malibu Barbie (the one with the tan lines and turquoise bikini?) and some clothes, so, I was happy, really excited about that.
Santa screwed me over a year or so later about the Barbie Swimming pool. By that time, I decided to get him but good. I saved up my allowance and b-day money, etc… like a little packrat and had my eye on it at this one store mama liked to go. Every time we would go there, I would go and stare at it on the shelf and plot and plan in my head on how much more I needed to get it.
Then the day came that I had enough. I went to a sales person and asked him to get it down for me. Then I carried it over to Mama. She said "Now Friss, we can't get that today." And I replied "Oh, it's ok, I've got my allowance with me!" So, I got my Barbie pool! Mama was so impressed that I was that determined to get it that I saved so well that she let me get it.
I still have that trait today. If I really want something, I'm just stubborn enough to wait and be patient and find the best way to get what I want. (Which is why this whole infertility thing pisses me off, because so much of it is not in my control) That's how I got Arianna. My stubborn determination. My wedding dress. (Don't ask how much it cost. It cost a ton. Was from Italy Y'all! Hand beaded and made for my measurements. It IS freaking GORGEOUS. Cathedral length train. Ahhhhhh, I love my wedding dress. And yes, Mama said Arianna and her daughter, and any daughter MY granddaughter might have has to wear it. Yes, it is here in Bahrain with me) Mama was muttering under her breath so often during the wedding planning "I should have known when she was addicted to reading Cinderella all the time!"
In fact. I waited, plotted and planned to have my car that I drive now for Two and a half years. Heh. The house I'm in love with and want to buy with the government loan Z got? It's still for sale. See if we don't end up with it. Heh.
About Mare's question when I stopped believing in Santa. I was 10. It was very traumatizing, and this knock down drag out happened between my mom and dad over the phone when I was on my Christmas visitation with him in Florida and Mom called me to see what Santa brought me. It was so traumatizing (ie: dad got REALLY REALLY pissed off at ME) that I blocked out most of it.
It was my last Christmas with him in fact. That next Summer vacation was the last visit I made to him. I didn't see him again until about four years later or so. (way long story)
There you go.
I hope all of you that celebrate it have a wonderful and very merry Christmas!
Love, hugs, and kisses,
Scarlett Cyn
Thanks to my buddies for their questions this week. I know everyone is busy with their last minute shopping and wrapping of gifts. I will cut right to the answers!
Carrie Jo asked me an easy one this week. Bless you darling!
What's your earliest Christmas memory?
My earliest Christmas memory would have to be when I was either 4 months old or 1 yr 4 months. I don't know which. But I was tiny enough to be laying under the Christmas tree enthralled with the colored lights in the darkened room. I distinctly remember looking up in the tree. Then, I saw my mom coming towards me in her negligee, smiling and picked me up and that's the end of my memory. It was a feel good memory. It is crystal clear in my mind as if it was yesterday.
Must be why I still like to sit in the dark room and stare (ok, zone out on) at the Christmas tree lights even now. Yes, I'm probably going to go do that once this is posted.
I've always loved Christmas and had many good Christmases. That's my favorite time of the year and one reason that I wanted to get married in December.
Mare actually beat Carrie Jo to her original question and asked me:
What was your Christmas incident ie: All I ever wanted for Christmas was (present) and Santa didn't get it for me and I was so unhappy? And what age were you that you stopped believing in Santa?
Well, I was generally pretty lucky, and I am the type of person to be content with what I am given. But.
The only thing I could really come up with was when I was about 8 or so and I BADLY wanted a Barbie house & furniture. I was really REALLY big into Barbie, I tell you. (I mean, come on, I grew up as an only child cause my half brothers and sister were over 16 years older than me!) I took IMMACULATE care of my Barbies. The clothes, accessories, etc. I was disappointed that Santa didn't come through for me (but poor mama, she was divorced by that time, and things were pretty tight! Those houses were damn expensive. She worked really hard, but still!) "Santa" came through with a Kiss ME Barbie that you press a button in her back and she puckers and makes a kissing noise, which I thought was cool, and a Malibu Barbie (the one with the tan lines and turquoise bikini?) and some clothes, so, I was happy, really excited about that.
Santa screwed me over a year or so later about the Barbie Swimming pool. By that time, I decided to get him but good. I saved up my allowance and b-day money, etc… like a little packrat and had my eye on it at this one store mama liked to go. Every time we would go there, I would go and stare at it on the shelf and plot and plan in my head on how much more I needed to get it.
Then the day came that I had enough. I went to a sales person and asked him to get it down for me. Then I carried it over to Mama. She said "Now Friss, we can't get that today." And I replied "Oh, it's ok, I've got my allowance with me!" So, I got my Barbie pool! Mama was so impressed that I was that determined to get it that I saved so well that she let me get it.
I still have that trait today. If I really want something, I'm just stubborn enough to wait and be patient and find the best way to get what I want. (Which is why this whole infertility thing pisses me off, because so much of it is not in my control) That's how I got Arianna. My stubborn determination. My wedding dress. (Don't ask how much it cost. It cost a ton. Was from Italy Y'all! Hand beaded and made for my measurements. It IS freaking GORGEOUS. Cathedral length train. Ahhhhhh, I love my wedding dress. And yes, Mama said Arianna and her daughter, and any daughter MY granddaughter might have has to wear it. Yes, it is here in Bahrain with me) Mama was muttering under her breath so often during the wedding planning "I should have known when she was addicted to reading Cinderella all the time!"
In fact. I waited, plotted and planned to have my car that I drive now for Two and a half years. Heh. The house I'm in love with and want to buy with the government loan Z got? It's still for sale. See if we don't end up with it. Heh.
About Mare's question when I stopped believing in Santa. I was 10. It was very traumatizing, and this knock down drag out happened between my mom and dad over the phone when I was on my Christmas visitation with him in Florida and Mom called me to see what Santa brought me. It was so traumatizing (ie: dad got REALLY REALLY pissed off at ME) that I blocked out most of it.
It was my last Christmas with him in fact. That next Summer vacation was the last visit I made to him. I didn't see him again until about four years later or so. (way long story)
There you go.
I hope all of you that celebrate it have a wonderful and very merry Christmas!
Love, hugs, and kisses,
Scarlett Cyn
12/21/2004
Christmas Hysteria!
Got my box of Christmas Pressies from mama!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! JACKPOT!
Also? I got entirely insane happy about the enclosed candy canes. Yes people, I'm a SUCKER for candy canes. Fortunately for me, two broke en route so, a annual 'fix' for me while the rest went on the tree.
Don't believe me? There I sat on the cold-ass tile floor in front of the Christmas tree next to a big ole box of presents and surrounded by them too from Mama. I did indeed turn into a 4 year old at the sight of Christmas candy. I admit it. Then there was the little incident with the jacket Mama sent for Arianna.
Um, Z walks in and finds with my face buried in something royal blue clutched in my arms.
Z: "What on EARTH are you doing?"
Me: "Sniffing!"
Z: ------- blank stare-------
Me: "Sniffing" *inhales deeply*
Me: "Mama sent Arianna a polar fleece jacket unwrapped and it smells like Mama! Come and SNIFF!!!!!!" (did y'all know I'm part bloodhound?NOW you do!)
Z: *sniffs* "Yeah! It does!"
Me: (look of bliss on face) "yeaaaahhhh" *continued inhaling*
That high lasted until I found two things at the bottom of the box. One was the afore- mentioned candy canes. I squealed "CANDY CANES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and wiggled around in a strange dance of joy on my bottom. Second discovery? One of my 60 books Amazon shipped to mom's last year. Yes, I'm serious. It's at least 60. At mom's. Long story. Couldn’t' ship through customs here, cause they are bastards and take EVERYTHING. No contact to send to on base at a lesser rate, until now. YAY!. Except. I need to wire Mom money to do it. Sigh. Waiting for JOB. Sh*t. So, she tossed one in the box. And?
I got ALL HAPPY! Another bottom dance of joy. Then, I clutched it to my chest like a little kitten or newborn puppy. Yes. Books are that dear to me. I immediately started digging to see if there was another stuffed in the carton somewhere. No such luck. Anyway, it's one by one of my very favorite authors, so, I can't wait to get started.
Until then………. There are two broken candy canes calling me….
Got my box of Christmas Pressies from mama!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! JACKPOT!
Also? I got entirely insane happy about the enclosed candy canes. Yes people, I'm a SUCKER for candy canes. Fortunately for me, two broke en route so, a annual 'fix' for me while the rest went on the tree.
Don't believe me? There I sat on the cold-ass tile floor in front of the Christmas tree next to a big ole box of presents and surrounded by them too from Mama. I did indeed turn into a 4 year old at the sight of Christmas candy. I admit it. Then there was the little incident with the jacket Mama sent for Arianna.
Um, Z walks in and finds with my face buried in something royal blue clutched in my arms.
Z: "What on EARTH are you doing?"
Me: "Sniffing!"
Z: ------- blank stare-------
Me: "Sniffing" *inhales deeply*
Me: "Mama sent Arianna a polar fleece jacket unwrapped and it smells like Mama! Come and SNIFF!!!!!!" (did y'all know I'm part bloodhound?NOW you do!)
Z: *sniffs* "Yeah! It does!"
Me: (look of bliss on face) "yeaaaahhhh" *continued inhaling*
That high lasted until I found two things at the bottom of the box. One was the afore- mentioned candy canes. I squealed "CANDY CANES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and wiggled around in a strange dance of joy on my bottom. Second discovery? One of my 60 books Amazon shipped to mom's last year. Yes, I'm serious. It's at least 60. At mom's. Long story. Couldn’t' ship through customs here, cause they are bastards and take EVERYTHING. No contact to send to on base at a lesser rate, until now. YAY!. Except. I need to wire Mom money to do it. Sigh. Waiting for JOB. Sh*t. So, she tossed one in the box. And?
I got ALL HAPPY! Another bottom dance of joy. Then, I clutched it to my chest like a little kitten or newborn puppy. Yes. Books are that dear to me. I immediately started digging to see if there was another stuffed in the carton somewhere. No such luck. Anyway, it's one by one of my very favorite authors, so, I can't wait to get started.
Until then………. There are two broken candy canes calling me….
12/20/2004
I'm DONE!
I am officially done with my Christmas shopping. Presents wrapped (well, excecpt for the Santa Claus ones, cause those don't get wrapped in my house in order to differentuate), tagged and under the tree. Stocking stuffers HIDDEN.
I'm proud of myself. I'm usually dragging around Z on Christmas Eve to find Santa gifts, but I was more organized this year.
Ok, also considerably more strapped for cash and a s*itload of time on my hands since I'm not WORKING or anything... But stilllllll. I'm DONE. Apparently miracles DO happen. Heh.
I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a very happy holiday season, whatever your religious denomination.
I would also like to mention that I NEED QUESTIONS FOR THE INQUISITION THIS WEEK!! HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!????????? Come on! It's Christmas! Jeez.
*drumming fingers on desk*
I am officially done with my Christmas shopping. Presents wrapped (well, excecpt for the Santa Claus ones, cause those don't get wrapped in my house in order to differentuate), tagged and under the tree. Stocking stuffers HIDDEN.
I'm proud of myself. I'm usually dragging around Z on Christmas Eve to find Santa gifts, but I was more organized this year.
Ok, also considerably more strapped for cash and a s*itload of time on my hands since I'm not WORKING or anything... But stilllllll. I'm DONE. Apparently miracles DO happen. Heh.
I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a very happy holiday season, whatever your religious denomination.
I would also like to mention that I NEED QUESTIONS FOR THE INQUISITION THIS WEEK!! HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!????????? Come on! It's Christmas! Jeez.
*drumming fingers on desk*
12/19/2004
Asshole Moments
And I am pretty sure I'm having one as I type. Let me check....... yeah, I am having an asshole moment.
In case you aren't sure what an 'asshole moment' is, it's when a overall loving, kind, understanding, caring, helpful and generous person (in this case, that would be ME) is having 'asshole' thoughts, or otherwise wrapped up in their own things so much that when they hear someone's good news, they realize that they couldn't really give a rat's ass, or find it in them, at that moment, to be the slightest bit happy for them.
Today I found myself DEEP, D.E.E.P. in an asshole moment at the dinner table. It is so unlike me to feel the way I found myself feeling when Z dropped his suspicions on me like a Nuke.
Sitting at dinner, he was telling me "I think Suz is pregnant. Az, her sister almost told me something, and she was talking to her infertility specialist (that would be Dr. Indifferent/Smartass that dumped my ass on Wand Monkey 2 yrs ago, for the record) on the phone, all whispering, and Az started to say something to me, but then shut up when she got 'the look' from her sister. " That would be his neice. The sister of the one that had TRIPLETS this year. And also the sister of the one that had the little baby boy a month after the triplets were born, that stole the name I had planned to use for my as-yet-unconcieved-son. I tend to trust Z's instincts when it concerns women he thinks are pregnant. Why? He hasn't been wrong yet.
Excecpt in MY case, that is.
Well, FUCK.
Like I wasn't in a bad enough funk as is? Like that physically painful desire for another baby isn't ripping my guts apart again, much like the pain of the ovarian cysts, goddamn them ALL, that are ringing my ovaries like "perfectly matched twin pearl necklaces". (For the record, the Doc that made THAT statement to me yet lives, for some strange reason.) That, while I have been taking care of my very sick triplet neices and nephew, whom I love to distraction, even Maya, the firstborn moody grumpy one, and while holding my admittidly favorite, Talya, and Khalid screaming cause he is jealous of the attention his sister is getting from me, I realise yet again just how much I adore babies and little children, and taking care of them, even when they are so badly sick. When I realize that only blogging and writing makes me as happy as sitting in that room with 3 6 1/2 month olds, an almost 3 year old, and my own 10-year old daughter and ME, on the floor in the middle of it all, playing and entertaining all of them. When I see the joy on their little faces when I walk in to the room to see them and they smile that baby gummy smile at me, my heart just melts.
I was holding Talya close to me, massaging her back to ease her breathing (lungs badly infected) and she was nestled so close to me, with one hand FULL of my hair and the other resting on my breast, and she would occasionally lift her head back to look in my eyes, smile, and then put her head back down. I found myself rocking her, humming a song and kissing her sweet head. She, and the other two, are such good babies, even as sick as they all are, bless them.
I love children. I think you get the hint, right?
So there I sat at the dinner table apparently with a funny look on my face that was somewhat dazed. So much so that EVEN Z noticed it and said "um, what's with that look?" I said "you know? I just can't bring myself to be happy for her if you're right. At least not right now. And that makes me even sadder. Cause I can't. I just can't." Then I got quiet (another shocker, that) and continued to gaze unfocused at some vague thing on the table.
He looked surprised because honestly! I am always happy for others when I find out they are pregnant and he knows it. Even when I had cycle buddies during my IVF trials (all 4 of em), and I didn't get pregnant, but some of my cycle buddies did, I was genuinely happy for them. I mean it. I felt joy that at least, if not for me, it worked for someone.
I feel, quite frankly, cursed. I'm frustrated beyond belief. And if Suz is pregnant, it is yet another failure on my part. Why? Cause, she has infertility issues ALSO, like her big sister Az. Because, she has had 10 frozen embryo's in cryo-freeze for 4 years or so. Her son is going to be 3 in February.
I'm fed up with the pitiful looks I get when people hear about another family member being pregnant, but not me. I'm particulary pissed with the comments that flow my way from Monster when another of her grandaughters ends up announcing a pregnancy, yet another pregnancy, and she makes her remarks about me and my womb being useless and lacking. That bitch. When she tells her son, "Yeah, don't hold your breath for that one (that would be ME) to give you another child. She's useless.". (Screw that old broad and the broom she rode in on.) If that comment didn't really hit so close to the truth, and hurt not quite as much as it does every time she says it, I'd probably rip her a new as*hole, but I don't.
I want a baby. So very badly. For me. And for Arianna most importantly. That biological clock you hear so much about, that I have scoffed at as a complete load of crap for years? Well, its ticking deafeningly loud in my head now.
But most of all? I'm dissappointed in myself and ashamed for my asshole moment.
I should be insanely happy. Why? I forgot to tell you all the good news from Dec 16th, which is National Day here in Bahrain.
Six years ago Z and I applied for a housing loan from the Government. They give you a big chunk of money to do a) buy a newly bulit house b) buy a piece of land c) build a house on land you already own or d) give you a piece of crap govt home or apt. We chose option A for a number of reasons.
1) they give you the most cash that way. 2) you get the approval quicker than the other options 3) we don't own any land, so option c was kinda moot, don't you think? 4) some other reasons. 5) doesn't Option d explain itself well enough? Yeah, I thought so.
The beauty is, the loans are peanuts in repayment amounts and interest on money borrowed. Also? Every now and then, His Most Gracious Majesty gets it in his head to 'forgive' 50% of the amount owed and with the snap of his fingers, half of your loan, and thus your monthly payment, is cut in half, which is hardly anything to begin with.
Now, mind you, the money they give is based on male salary income and is nowhere near enough to buy a house outright, but still, in our case, the government part is literally HALF of the cost of a house. So, we would need to take a loan for the remainder from a normal or Commercial bank to pay the rest of the purchase price.
The catch? You have THREE months to find a place. If you beg nicely, you can get an additional 3 month extension for a total of SIX months to find a place. If at that time, you don't have anything, they take the money alloted for you and give to someone else.
So yeah, for slightly more than we are paying in rent, we can be paying a mortgage payment! Yeah, a home of our own is within arms reach. (Yes, the day of the announcement in the paper, later that afternoon, I was out looking for houses driving around in the rain, wandering around construction sites) If I'm anything, I'm proactive. Heh.
So yeah, you would think the excitement of the house would overshadow the lack of figuring out which room could be a baby nursery, wouldn't you? Yeah, you'd think so.
My other problem comes into play here. Monster, it is a given, will be coming WITH US. SO HOW can I get all 'into' the idea of a new home? Of our first home? He knows I don't want this. Can't take this really, but still, each empty home we walk around, he's mumbling/commenting about which room should be his mom's and there goes my pleasure in it out the window. There is one house I fell in love with when it was being built 6 years ago and the whole top floor (its multi-level) is a Master Suite. I keep thinking defensively about that house. Why defensively? Cause that Master Suite is on the whole top floor of the house and is big. I could barricade myself up there concieveably. And that is defineltly a selling point. Well, that and the fact that it is across the street from the sea and all the windows face the water. But every mention of "Mom would probably be scared to live here, or Oh this could be Mom's room" gets another asshole moment starting up with me.
More house hunting tomorrow. I think I'll do this one on my own.
Faugh. I'm not a bitch. I promise you. Really I'm not.
And I am pretty sure I'm having one as I type. Let me check....... yeah, I am having an asshole moment.
In case you aren't sure what an 'asshole moment' is, it's when a overall loving, kind, understanding, caring, helpful and generous person (in this case, that would be ME) is having 'asshole' thoughts, or otherwise wrapped up in their own things so much that when they hear someone's good news, they realize that they couldn't really give a rat's ass, or find it in them, at that moment, to be the slightest bit happy for them.
Today I found myself DEEP, D.E.E.P. in an asshole moment at the dinner table. It is so unlike me to feel the way I found myself feeling when Z dropped his suspicions on me like a Nuke.
Sitting at dinner, he was telling me "I think Suz is pregnant. Az, her sister almost told me something, and she was talking to her infertility specialist (that would be Dr. Indifferent/Smartass that dumped my ass on Wand Monkey 2 yrs ago, for the record) on the phone, all whispering, and Az started to say something to me, but then shut up when she got 'the look' from her sister. " That would be his neice. The sister of the one that had TRIPLETS this year. And also the sister of the one that had the little baby boy a month after the triplets were born, that stole the name I had planned to use for my as-yet-unconcieved-son. I tend to trust Z's instincts when it concerns women he thinks are pregnant. Why? He hasn't been wrong yet.
Excecpt in MY case, that is.
Well, FUCK.
Like I wasn't in a bad enough funk as is? Like that physically painful desire for another baby isn't ripping my guts apart again, much like the pain of the ovarian cysts, goddamn them ALL, that are ringing my ovaries like "perfectly matched twin pearl necklaces". (For the record, the Doc that made THAT statement to me yet lives, for some strange reason.) That, while I have been taking care of my very sick triplet neices and nephew, whom I love to distraction, even Maya, the firstborn moody grumpy one, and while holding my admittidly favorite, Talya, and Khalid screaming cause he is jealous of the attention his sister is getting from me, I realise yet again just how much I adore babies and little children, and taking care of them, even when they are so badly sick. When I realize that only blogging and writing makes me as happy as sitting in that room with 3 6 1/2 month olds, an almost 3 year old, and my own 10-year old daughter and ME, on the floor in the middle of it all, playing and entertaining all of them. When I see the joy on their little faces when I walk in to the room to see them and they smile that baby gummy smile at me, my heart just melts.
I was holding Talya close to me, massaging her back to ease her breathing (lungs badly infected) and she was nestled so close to me, with one hand FULL of my hair and the other resting on my breast, and she would occasionally lift her head back to look in my eyes, smile, and then put her head back down. I found myself rocking her, humming a song and kissing her sweet head. She, and the other two, are such good babies, even as sick as they all are, bless them.
I love children. I think you get the hint, right?
So there I sat at the dinner table apparently with a funny look on my face that was somewhat dazed. So much so that EVEN Z noticed it and said "um, what's with that look?" I said "you know? I just can't bring myself to be happy for her if you're right. At least not right now. And that makes me even sadder. Cause I can't. I just can't." Then I got quiet (another shocker, that) and continued to gaze unfocused at some vague thing on the table.
He looked surprised because honestly! I am always happy for others when I find out they are pregnant and he knows it. Even when I had cycle buddies during my IVF trials (all 4 of em), and I didn't get pregnant, but some of my cycle buddies did, I was genuinely happy for them. I mean it. I felt joy that at least, if not for me, it worked for someone.
I feel, quite frankly, cursed. I'm frustrated beyond belief. And if Suz is pregnant, it is yet another failure on my part. Why? Cause, she has infertility issues ALSO, like her big sister Az. Because, she has had 10 frozen embryo's in cryo-freeze for 4 years or so. Her son is going to be 3 in February.
I'm fed up with the pitiful looks I get when people hear about another family member being pregnant, but not me. I'm particulary pissed with the comments that flow my way from Monster when another of her grandaughters ends up announcing a pregnancy, yet another pregnancy, and she makes her remarks about me and my womb being useless and lacking. That bitch. When she tells her son, "Yeah, don't hold your breath for that one (that would be ME) to give you another child. She's useless.". (Screw that old broad and the broom she rode in on.) If that comment didn't really hit so close to the truth, and hurt not quite as much as it does every time she says it, I'd probably rip her a new as*hole, but I don't.
I want a baby. So very badly. For me. And for Arianna most importantly. That biological clock you hear so much about, that I have scoffed at as a complete load of crap for years? Well, its ticking deafeningly loud in my head now.
But most of all? I'm dissappointed in myself and ashamed for my asshole moment.
I should be insanely happy. Why? I forgot to tell you all the good news from Dec 16th, which is National Day here in Bahrain.
Six years ago Z and I applied for a housing loan from the Government. They give you a big chunk of money to do a) buy a newly bulit house b) buy a piece of land c) build a house on land you already own or d) give you a piece of crap govt home or apt. We chose option A for a number of reasons.
1) they give you the most cash that way. 2) you get the approval quicker than the other options 3) we don't own any land, so option c was kinda moot, don't you think? 4) some other reasons. 5) doesn't Option d explain itself well enough? Yeah, I thought so.
The beauty is, the loans are peanuts in repayment amounts and interest on money borrowed. Also? Every now and then, His Most Gracious Majesty gets it in his head to 'forgive' 50% of the amount owed and with the snap of his fingers, half of your loan, and thus your monthly payment, is cut in half, which is hardly anything to begin with.
Now, mind you, the money they give is based on male salary income and is nowhere near enough to buy a house outright, but still, in our case, the government part is literally HALF of the cost of a house. So, we would need to take a loan for the remainder from a normal or Commercial bank to pay the rest of the purchase price.
The catch? You have THREE months to find a place. If you beg nicely, you can get an additional 3 month extension for a total of SIX months to find a place. If at that time, you don't have anything, they take the money alloted for you and give to someone else.
So yeah, for slightly more than we are paying in rent, we can be paying a mortgage payment! Yeah, a home of our own is within arms reach. (Yes, the day of the announcement in the paper, later that afternoon, I was out looking for houses driving around in the rain, wandering around construction sites) If I'm anything, I'm proactive. Heh.
So yeah, you would think the excitement of the house would overshadow the lack of figuring out which room could be a baby nursery, wouldn't you? Yeah, you'd think so.
My other problem comes into play here. Monster, it is a given, will be coming WITH US. SO HOW can I get all 'into' the idea of a new home? Of our first home? He knows I don't want this. Can't take this really, but still, each empty home we walk around, he's mumbling/commenting about which room should be his mom's and there goes my pleasure in it out the window. There is one house I fell in love with when it was being built 6 years ago and the whole top floor (its multi-level) is a Master Suite. I keep thinking defensively about that house. Why defensively? Cause that Master Suite is on the whole top floor of the house and is big. I could barricade myself up there concieveably. And that is defineltly a selling point. Well, that and the fact that it is across the street from the sea and all the windows face the water. But every mention of "Mom would probably be scared to live here, or Oh this could be Mom's room" gets another asshole moment starting up with me.
More house hunting tomorrow. I think I'll do this one on my own.
Faugh. I'm not a bitch. I promise you. Really I'm not.
Precious!!!!! Ohhhh PRECIOUSSSS!!!!!!!!Come Here Precious!!!
To begin with. I'm really perturbed that my local grocery store has NOT- I repeat NOT!!!! - imported Bordens ™ Egg nog this year. So yes, they are most definitely on my shitlist. No doubt about it. And my cat's s-list as well, since I always share with my fuzzy babies (since no one else likes it in the house but moi).
It's been a while since I've told y'all a good joke and I've decided that it's time that I rectify that sorry fact.
The last one I told was about the Southern Belles and "Mighty Fine". Loyal readers of my blog will know what I'm talking about. (To those that don't have the foggiest clue to what I am referring, scroll down and read through my archives, will you? I'm certainly NOT going to re-write it now! )
This is one of my very favorite 'clean' –well, you know me! It's sort of clean - jokes. Please keep in mind where I got this joke from…. My MAMA. (My Mama is sooooooooo cute and so damn funny too!) Here you go!
There is this very sheltered southern girl from a small town that has been accepted to an excellent college in a big city up North. Before she leaves for college, her Mama takes her aside and tells her to be wary of those big city men and not to let them take advantage of her and whatnot to help her avoid their clutches. With this information stored safely away, little Miss goes on off to college.
Miss Thing comes back home for the holidays from college and one day finds herself sitting with her Mama and Aunties. All this time, her Mama has been worried about her, hoping that she never had to use the advice she gave Miss Thing before she left for school in Autumn. Mama can't take it anymore and asks her daughter how she found the young men up North.
Her daughter dutifully replies "Oh mama, you were right, some of the men up there are just like you said! Good thing you told me about them so I knew not to go anywhere NEAR those types. I saw them coming towards me from 10ft away!"
Mama is happy and smiles smugly at her sisters and was about to make a comment to them when her daughter began talking again.
"But you know Mama? There were some OTHER types that you didn't tell me nothing about!!"
Mama, confused slightly, asked her "What do you mean sugar?" to which her daughter answers:
"Well, there are men up there that don't like makin love with women, but with other men instead! They call them 'homosexuals'. And also! There are some women that don't like makin love with men, but with other women and they call them Lesbians!"
Mama, scandalized, said "Oh, really?" knowing full well about both types when Miss Thing says: "Then there are men that kiss you and taste you between the legs!!" to which her Mama and Aunties all say, completely scandalized "REALLY!?? And what do they call those types?"
Miss Thing replies:" Well, I don't know what they're called, but I called him PRECIOUS!"
*ba-dum dum!* *Scarlett Cyn makes her curtsey*
To begin with. I'm really perturbed that my local grocery store has NOT- I repeat NOT!!!! - imported Bordens ™ Egg nog this year. So yes, they are most definitely on my shitlist. No doubt about it. And my cat's s-list as well, since I always share with my fuzzy babies (since no one else likes it in the house but moi).
It's been a while since I've told y'all a good joke and I've decided that it's time that I rectify that sorry fact.
The last one I told was about the Southern Belles and "Mighty Fine". Loyal readers of my blog will know what I'm talking about. (To those that don't have the foggiest clue to what I am referring, scroll down and read through my archives, will you? I'm certainly NOT going to re-write it now! )
This is one of my very favorite 'clean' –well, you know me! It's sort of clean - jokes. Please keep in mind where I got this joke from…. My MAMA. (My Mama is sooooooooo cute and so damn funny too!) Here you go!
There is this very sheltered southern girl from a small town that has been accepted to an excellent college in a big city up North. Before she leaves for college, her Mama takes her aside and tells her to be wary of those big city men and not to let them take advantage of her and whatnot to help her avoid their clutches. With this information stored safely away, little Miss goes on off to college.
Miss Thing comes back home for the holidays from college and one day finds herself sitting with her Mama and Aunties. All this time, her Mama has been worried about her, hoping that she never had to use the advice she gave Miss Thing before she left for school in Autumn. Mama can't take it anymore and asks her daughter how she found the young men up North.
Her daughter dutifully replies "Oh mama, you were right, some of the men up there are just like you said! Good thing you told me about them so I knew not to go anywhere NEAR those types. I saw them coming towards me from 10ft away!"
Mama is happy and smiles smugly at her sisters and was about to make a comment to them when her daughter began talking again.
"But you know Mama? There were some OTHER types that you didn't tell me nothing about!!"
Mama, confused slightly, asked her "What do you mean sugar?" to which her daughter answers:
"Well, there are men up there that don't like makin love with women, but with other men instead! They call them 'homosexuals'. And also! There are some women that don't like makin love with men, but with other women and they call them Lesbians!"
Mama, scandalized, said "Oh, really?" knowing full well about both types when Miss Thing says: "Then there are men that kiss you and taste you between the legs!!" to which her Mama and Aunties all say, completely scandalized "REALLY!?? And what do they call those types?"
Miss Thing replies:" Well, I don't know what they're called, but I called him PRECIOUS!"
*ba-dum dum!* *Scarlett Cyn makes her curtsey*
12/17/2004
Proof
Well, this is yet another amazing Monster story I have to regale you all with. But first, a reminder to get your Inquisition questions in before 12:01 Pacific Time Tuesday (which happens to be my anniversary, too)
Now, on to the absurdity of my day to day life things that make you wonder WHAT THE HELL?
Proof is what I'm offering you all today. Proof that I am totally justified in my fear of what Monster is capable of. Ok, that or that she is totally out of her f-fing mind.
I also happen to have a witness.
The other day, for NO GOOD REASON, I looked out Arianna's bedroom window and saw the strangest sight.
Monster in the garden with the big broom I use to sweep the front porch and walkways beating the hell out of a tree.
Yes, I said a TREE.
She had that broom in her hands, in the middle of the day, whacking the tree trunk with all her strength for about 5 minutes that I saw with a scary look on her face-yes, scarier than her USUAL look. (Isn't this some scary shit, y'all???) Nooshi is the witness to this insane shit.
She bear the crap out of the tree, kept right on swinging until she got tired, I suppose, cause she tossed the broom on the grass and stood there heaving for breath and shaking.
WHAT THE HELL?
I told her son –you know, the one I'm married to?-about the tree abuse and he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Am I alone in thinking this really isn't all that amusing? I mean, perhaps- OK… MOST LIKELY- I WAS THE DAMN TREE.
Today I was looking at my poor abused tree and at all the scars on the trunk as a result of her –is ass whoopin appropriate here?- abuse the other day. The tree is seriously fucked up people. It's sad. Shitload of gouges and scars and abuse. Why the tree? Hell if I know what brought that attack on.
No wonder I have nightmares every now and then of her stabbing me in my sleep repeatedly and smearing my blood on the walls, writing stuff, which is interesting in itself in that… she can't read or write.
It would seem that anything is possible, as I've always suspected. If anything ever happens to me, I expect you ALL to testify, dammit!
Hold me, I'm skeered.
Well, this is yet another amazing Monster story I have to regale you all with. But first, a reminder to get your Inquisition questions in before 12:01 Pacific Time Tuesday (which happens to be my anniversary, too)
Now, on to the absurdity of my day to day life things that make you wonder WHAT THE HELL?
Proof is what I'm offering you all today. Proof that I am totally justified in my fear of what Monster is capable of. Ok, that or that she is totally out of her f-fing mind.
I also happen to have a witness.
The other day, for NO GOOD REASON, I looked out Arianna's bedroom window and saw the strangest sight.
Monster in the garden with the big broom I use to sweep the front porch and walkways beating the hell out of a tree.
Yes, I said a TREE.
She had that broom in her hands, in the middle of the day, whacking the tree trunk with all her strength for about 5 minutes that I saw with a scary look on her face-yes, scarier than her USUAL look. (Isn't this some scary shit, y'all???) Nooshi is the witness to this insane shit.
She bear the crap out of the tree, kept right on swinging until she got tired, I suppose, cause she tossed the broom on the grass and stood there heaving for breath and shaking.
WHAT THE HELL?
I told her son –you know, the one I'm married to?-about the tree abuse and he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Am I alone in thinking this really isn't all that amusing? I mean, perhaps- OK… MOST LIKELY- I WAS THE DAMN TREE.
Today I was looking at my poor abused tree and at all the scars on the trunk as a result of her –is ass whoopin appropriate here?- abuse the other day. The tree is seriously fucked up people. It's sad. Shitload of gouges and scars and abuse. Why the tree? Hell if I know what brought that attack on.
No wonder I have nightmares every now and then of her stabbing me in my sleep repeatedly and smearing my blood on the walls, writing stuff, which is interesting in itself in that… she can't read or write.
It would seem that anything is possible, as I've always suspected. If anything ever happens to me, I expect you ALL to testify, dammit!
Hold me, I'm skeered.
12/16/2004
Just DO IT, willya?!
In case you haven't heard, there is the upcoming BOB's, or Best of Blogs Awards 2004 coming up hosted by BlogMechanics.com. . *hint hint*
If any of you are new to blogging or just plain clueless (like me half of the time), I highly recommend you check out this site for any and all assistance and it is the result of two really fantastic bloggers putting their blogging genuis together! (Could I really pimp them any more than this? Time will tell, now won't it?) Back to work bitches!
Anyhoo, back to the awards! It's a great thing, since there was a previous awards thingie but they were all asshats and only really considered political blogs, and doesn't that sound BORING AS HELL? Why read a political blog when you can read something infintely more interesting? (If you actually had to move your cursor over that, then you don't know me very well, do you?)
Check it out and don't forget, there is still time to NOMINATE your favorite blog before December 24! (you did it again with the cursor, didn't you?) You could really make a blogger's day by nominating them. Like, say, MINE FOR INSTANCE! So again, with the Gwen Stefani quote because it is really so appropriate: WHAT YOU WAITING FOR?
I'm a shameless thing, aren't I with all this self-promotion and pimping of blogs, aren't I? I must say, I learned from the best!
In case you haven't heard, there is the upcoming BOB's, or Best of Blogs Awards 2004 coming up hosted by BlogMechanics.com. . *hint hint*
If any of you are new to blogging or just plain clueless (like me half of the time), I highly recommend you check out this site for any and all assistance and it is the result of two really fantastic bloggers putting their blogging genuis together! (Could I really pimp them any more than this? Time will tell, now won't it?) Back to work bitches!
Anyhoo, back to the awards! It's a great thing, since there was a previous awards thingie but they were all asshats and only really considered political blogs, and doesn't that sound BORING AS HELL? Why read a political blog when you can read something infintely more interesting? (If you actually had to move your cursor over that, then you don't know me very well, do you?)
Check it out and don't forget, there is still time to NOMINATE your favorite blog before December 24! (you did it again with the cursor, didn't you?) You could really make a blogger's day by nominating them. Like, say, MINE FOR INSTANCE! So again, with the Gwen Stefani quote because it is really so appropriate: WHAT YOU WAITING FOR?
I'm a shameless thing, aren't I with all this self-promotion and pimping of blogs, aren't I? I must say, I learned from the best!
12/15/2004
Disgusted Beyond Belief
While doing my usual visit to my 'sister' networks website- CNN, not cNN (cyn News Network, as I've been affectionately dubbed- I stumbled across yet another story worthy of mention here on my blog.
As I read the article headed "Wife wishes spouse never won lottery" or some such, after which I thought "What a load of crap! Must read!" I found myself with my ass on fire. Read: pissed off.
Was I pissed and, quite frankly disgusted not that his wife said she wishes he never won the money (Although that sounds like a load of malarkey. I'd LOVE to know what she bought herself with his windfall!)? No. Was I irritated that the dude has become a complete wastrel? Um. No.
What got me all bent out of shape was the cut the government took of his winnings, the 'poor' bastard. Prepare yourselves……. Of his $314.9 million dollars, the government taxed him………. $201.9 million. That is 64% (give or take a half a point) of his winnings and yes, as much as I hate math, I was agitated enough to do the math to figure it out. 64% of his lottery winnings went to the GOVERNMENT? That is just excessive in the extreme, dammit.
And while I realize that a take home of $113.million is nothing to sneeze at, and more than most of us will ever see in our lifetimes unfortunately, it sure as hell isn't $314.9 million, now is it?
Perhaps he is a drunk and a brawler, but hell, the dude gave 20 million to CHARITY y'all, so he isn't a complete asshat. To be honest, if I had been taxed that much, I'd probably look for solace in drink also!
I hope that he at least put most of his money in a Swiss bank account or in an offshore account in Bermuda so he doesn't have to pay so much annually to the tax man on top of the money they took from him initially.
Born free and taxed to death. Yeah, no kidding!
While doing my usual visit to my 'sister' networks website- CNN, not cNN (cyn News Network, as I've been affectionately dubbed- I stumbled across yet another story worthy of mention here on my blog.
As I read the article headed "Wife wishes spouse never won lottery" or some such, after which I thought "What a load of crap! Must read!" I found myself with my ass on fire. Read: pissed off.
Was I pissed and, quite frankly disgusted not that his wife said she wishes he never won the money (Although that sounds like a load of malarkey. I'd LOVE to know what she bought herself with his windfall!)? No. Was I irritated that the dude has become a complete wastrel? Um. No.
What got me all bent out of shape was the cut the government took of his winnings, the 'poor' bastard. Prepare yourselves……. Of his $314.9 million dollars, the government taxed him………. $201.9 million. That is 64% (give or take a half a point) of his winnings and yes, as much as I hate math, I was agitated enough to do the math to figure it out. 64% of his lottery winnings went to the GOVERNMENT? That is just excessive in the extreme, dammit.
And while I realize that a take home of $113.million is nothing to sneeze at, and more than most of us will ever see in our lifetimes unfortunately, it sure as hell isn't $314.9 million, now is it?
Perhaps he is a drunk and a brawler, but hell, the dude gave 20 million to CHARITY y'all, so he isn't a complete asshat. To be honest, if I had been taxed that much, I'd probably look for solace in drink also!
I hope that he at least put most of his money in a Swiss bank account or in an offshore account in Bermuda so he doesn't have to pay so much annually to the tax man on top of the money they took from him initially.
Born free and taxed to death. Yeah, no kidding!
12/14/2004
Inquisition Confession – Week 10
I am a happy woman today, regardless of the mind blowing (literally) migrane I woke up with this morning. Honestly, I'm still waiting for my head to expl*de, but it hasn't happened yet. I figured I'd better get this confession posted before it does. So,why so happy you may ask?
Because this week I have Inquisition QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wooohoooo! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!
Let's get right to it, shall we my darlings?
Cheryl b., whom I missed dreadfully last week, made up for lost time with her question this week, I do believe. Seriously, I love Cheryl to bits. Check out what she nailed me with this week:
So at work today there was this really hot guy, and he was really really nice (to me and his son) and I would totally have asked him out, right. He was 4 foot tall. Which makes no difference to me at all. Would it have made a difference to you? (My bet is "no") And as a side question, have you ever seen (or wanted to see) midget porn? Love ya!
Cheryl darling, I love ya babe! You win your bet, sweetcheeks! You are right, his being short, ok, DAMN SHORT wouldn't bother me at all, especially if he was such a hottie as you say. ROWRRR. For me, its really all about personality and looks don't hurt either. Like this guy Albert in my college French class. Sweet Lord was he hot. Okay, he was sexy as hell. And, well, short, but he had the most beautiful smile, turquoise eyes, and golden skin. He also happened to be all of about 5'1-maybe. But he was HOT and charming and intelligent. Did I EVER have a thing for him. We were good friends, and, well, were united in irritating the professor out of her mind, and had many secret looks between us to instigate ultimate irritation for Mme. *sigh*. Now that I think on it, and him, he had a mighty fine caboose too!
As to your side question about midget porn. Did you mean to say TROLL porn?Waahhhhhhhahahahahahahaha. Troll. Heh. Troll! Porn! Hah. Ok. Um, no, I've never seen it, and never really thought on it before. I don't think I would. Z is probably a different thing altogether, since he was all surprised about them reproducing and stuff after that damn Oprah show, bless Oprah's heart! For the record, he says it freaks him out. Me? Well, unless.. naw. Not really. Have you? (Dumb question, I know, you having worked in a s*x shop before… but I had to ask!)
That question answered, it's time to move on to my new friend Mare Imbrium, who has tapped into my fantasy and that of most of the people that showed up to my house tonight. Mare asked:
Oh, here's my question. I had a couple of good ideas but I'm going to go with this one: If there were no consequences, what kind of a trick/practical joke would you like to play on Monster? I thought that would be a fun little imagination exercise for you. :)
Well Mare, you were absolutely right. It was a fun imagination exercise. And marginally depressing also.
The general consensus for the evening by everyone who's last damn nerve she was getting on was…...... Sleeping pills, and a lot of them at once. I swear, everyone kept saying "Anyone got sleeping pills to slip her in quantity? She doesn't shut up, is nagging incessantly and making cracks and remarks about Cyn!"
If you think I haven't seriously considered keeping her medicated secretly (so much for the secret NOW, huh?) day in and day out, you are out of your head. I've thought of it, and it was suggested to me by MORE than one of my physicians. It would seem that there is a medication for psychotic individuals that makes Lithium look like M&M's I could give her that is clear and a liquid and tasteless that would keep her silent and sweet as a baby lamb. A few drops a day in her morning tea and I'd be set. Baaaaa baaaaaa. Ok. She would be stoned to the gills. The only thing stopping me is….
If anything happened to the old witch, I would get blamed and probably all sorts of scary shit done to me by the children that would suddenly decide to give a damn, hence, the daily load of crap I have to deal with which has left Nooshi, my houseguest of almost 2 months who is leaving on Friday (SOB! Waaaaaaaaaaaah) ready to attack her ass….. DAILY. So, I guess Mare, I'd medicate her with this stuff daily. I've got THREE doctors ready and willing to give it to me, all I need do is ask.
*Sigh*
Last but not least is my darling Carrie Jo who asked me the hardest question of all:
What should I get my 13-year-old sister for Christmas? I haven't a clue...
Isn't Carrie Jo cute? Here I'm sitting wracking my own brain for a gift for my 10 year old and coming up with zilch, really.
Join the club babycakes! So far, I've gotten Arianna CD's, cassettes, and DVD's, cause, well, that's her kind of thing, ya know? My plan was for a stereo from Santa, so that ties in well. She is quite into electronics. She was hinting for PS2 games too. And for some squirrelly reason, she wants a water gun.
When I was 13, I was into electronics like cameras and such. Music, makeup and, honestly boys. And books. I was also into jewelry at a young age. Perhaps a bracelet? Nothing waaaay expensive. Just a nice bracelet? Or necklace with a pendant? She will treasure it always.
Did I wimp out on you Carrie Jo? Sorry babe. Best I can do with the exploding brain of today.
Thanks to my lovely lady friends for their questions. Until my next post, I bid you all adieu!
I am a happy woman today, regardless of the mind blowing (literally) migrane I woke up with this morning. Honestly, I'm still waiting for my head to expl*de, but it hasn't happened yet. I figured I'd better get this confession posted before it does. So,why so happy you may ask?
Because this week I have Inquisition QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wooohoooo! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!
Let's get right to it, shall we my darlings?
Cheryl b., whom I missed dreadfully last week, made up for lost time with her question this week, I do believe. Seriously, I love Cheryl to bits. Check out what she nailed me with this week:
So at work today there was this really hot guy, and he was really really nice (to me and his son) and I would totally have asked him out, right. He was 4 foot tall. Which makes no difference to me at all. Would it have made a difference to you? (My bet is "no") And as a side question, have you ever seen (or wanted to see) midget porn? Love ya!
Cheryl darling, I love ya babe! You win your bet, sweetcheeks! You are right, his being short, ok, DAMN SHORT wouldn't bother me at all, especially if he was such a hottie as you say. ROWRRR. For me, its really all about personality and looks don't hurt either. Like this guy Albert in my college French class. Sweet Lord was he hot. Okay, he was sexy as hell. And, well, short, but he had the most beautiful smile, turquoise eyes, and golden skin. He also happened to be all of about 5'1-maybe. But he was HOT and charming and intelligent. Did I EVER have a thing for him. We were good friends, and, well, were united in irritating the professor out of her mind, and had many secret looks between us to instigate ultimate irritation for Mme. *sigh*. Now that I think on it, and him, he had a mighty fine caboose too!
As to your side question about midget porn. Did you mean to say TROLL porn?Waahhhhhhhahahahahahahaha. Troll. Heh. Troll! Porn! Hah. Ok. Um, no, I've never seen it, and never really thought on it before. I don't think I would. Z is probably a different thing altogether, since he was all surprised about them reproducing and stuff after that damn Oprah show, bless Oprah's heart! For the record, he says it freaks him out. Me? Well, unless.. naw. Not really. Have you? (Dumb question, I know, you having worked in a s*x shop before… but I had to ask!)
That question answered, it's time to move on to my new friend Mare Imbrium, who has tapped into my fantasy and that of most of the people that showed up to my house tonight. Mare asked:
Oh, here's my question. I had a couple of good ideas but I'm going to go with this one: If there were no consequences, what kind of a trick/practical joke would you like to play on Monster? I thought that would be a fun little imagination exercise for you. :)
Well Mare, you were absolutely right. It was a fun imagination exercise. And marginally depressing also.
The general consensus for the evening by everyone who's last damn nerve she was getting on was…...... Sleeping pills, and a lot of them at once. I swear, everyone kept saying "Anyone got sleeping pills to slip her in quantity? She doesn't shut up, is nagging incessantly and making cracks and remarks about Cyn!"
If you think I haven't seriously considered keeping her medicated secretly (so much for the secret NOW, huh?) day in and day out, you are out of your head. I've thought of it, and it was suggested to me by MORE than one of my physicians. It would seem that there is a medication for psychotic individuals that makes Lithium look like M&M's I could give her that is clear and a liquid and tasteless that would keep her silent and sweet as a baby lamb. A few drops a day in her morning tea and I'd be set. Baaaaa baaaaaa. Ok. She would be stoned to the gills. The only thing stopping me is….
If anything happened to the old witch, I would get blamed and probably all sorts of scary shit done to me by the children that would suddenly decide to give a damn, hence, the daily load of crap I have to deal with which has left Nooshi, my houseguest of almost 2 months who is leaving on Friday (SOB! Waaaaaaaaaaaah) ready to attack her ass….. DAILY. So, I guess Mare, I'd medicate her with this stuff daily. I've got THREE doctors ready and willing to give it to me, all I need do is ask.
*Sigh*
Last but not least is my darling Carrie Jo who asked me the hardest question of all:
What should I get my 13-year-old sister for Christmas? I haven't a clue...
Isn't Carrie Jo cute? Here I'm sitting wracking my own brain for a gift for my 10 year old and coming up with zilch, really.
Join the club babycakes! So far, I've gotten Arianna CD's, cassettes, and DVD's, cause, well, that's her kind of thing, ya know? My plan was for a stereo from Santa, so that ties in well. She is quite into electronics. She was hinting for PS2 games too. And for some squirrelly reason, she wants a water gun.
When I was 13, I was into electronics like cameras and such. Music, makeup and, honestly boys. And books. I was also into jewelry at a young age. Perhaps a bracelet? Nothing waaaay expensive. Just a nice bracelet? Or necklace with a pendant? She will treasure it always.
Did I wimp out on you Carrie Jo? Sorry babe. Best I can do with the exploding brain of today.
Thanks to my lovely lady friends for their questions. Until my next post, I bid you all adieu!
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