I've been thinking about my part lately, the role that I am playing. Is there a rule book somewhere that I am supposed to adhere too? Will fulfilling others expectations make them more comfortable with themselves or is it simply the thought that I am not doing what they believe is right? I have abandoned their level of control.
At times I feel as if I am moving through my day, checking of a list, sticking to the script. Sticking to the status quo allows me to be at ease with everyone else. Wars are not created and egos are not damaged when I do what I am told.
It is now; a moment in my life where I am filling the spaces in between with dreams that I never bargained for, that my happiness can only be determined by me. The needs of others, those that I greatly love, I am hurting because I can not consider them more. It is not that I am selfish, I simply lack the capacity. I am currently filling my own void.
Today I was reminded of Jacques; the philosopher in Shakespeare's "As You Like It". Jacques is on a on quest to understand his identity and the players at his side. He sees the world as a stage where all the characters must perform. The story unfolds as he questions his own legitimacy: Was each character's dialog written before the play took shape?
In much more simple terms, my girlfriend Catherine likes to ask "So, who's driving the bus today?".
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."
22 November, 2006
07 November, 2006
With Stuff
I have been running the marathon of busy and just now realized that I have not posted or updated and my blog and will end up being one of those blogs that people delete from their bookmarks because the owner of that blog has been lazy or too busy, and really, really tired. I have faith that at least my Mother won't delete me.
Update on the job front: My company promoted me. Like big time. Big huge fat promotion, with a big huge fat opportunity to work a big huge fat number of hours.
Update on the job front: My company promoted me. Like big time. Big huge fat promotion, with a big huge fat opportunity to work a big huge fat number of hours.
- Title Upgrade: VP of Operations
- Number of Employees inherited: 10 in total
- Number that are worth it: 4 and a 1/2
- Number that use 30% of my time during the week retraining, upskilling and begging for the love of GOD "Can you just do your F'ING job!": 1 and a 1/2
The reason I am a workaholic: I am being given an opportunity to run the client services operation of an Enterprise Software Technology company, before I even got a master's degree. An opportunity that I knew I wanted 14 years ago. I would be an ASS not to run with this pigskin. And also, there is that little child in me that enjoys sticking my tongue out and saying "Nah, nah, ne, poo poo" to my third grade teacher who made me feel like I was worthless. Not that I held a grudge or anything.
- Number of hours I am bleeding my soul per week: Oh about ALL of them
Update on the dating front:
- The beautiful Boy with the beautiful smile is winning by a a lot of points and a conversion. There may be a few penalties but we are in the 2nd quarter, at the fourth down; my team is playing traditional defense, his team is playing this new NCAAI offensive line. And those boys can tackle! Damn that Beautiful Boy! Need I say more?
Update on the divorce weight:
- Amount of weight gained due to divorce: 42
- Number of years spent feeling like a fatass: 2
- Number of pounds lost in the last year: 37
- Number of pounds left to loose: WHO CARES I'M SKINNY AGAIN! Damn!
Misc:
Total level of frustration built up over the last 3 months due to job stress and lack of sleep: Huge
Total amount of time spent in New Zealand: 1 year ago on October 25th
Still loving New Zealand: Yes, Awesome, Rockin, LOVING it.
Number of arguments and fights that I have had with my Mother about moving back home: 5,000 and counting
Number of cities she has recommended that I move to that are not two ocean's away: At least 40; Montreal and Pittsburgh being the leaders of this pack. (Dear Mom, please make a note, I AM NOT MOVING TO PENNSYLVANIA, step away from the Liberty Bell!)
Number of times I considered moving back home in the last year: Many
Number of times I reconsidered because my life is good and I am finding a level of happiness that I have not had in years: Many more
Places that I have visited in the last year: Bay of Islands, Taupo, Wellington, 90 Mile Beach, Piha, Qeenstown, Wanaka, Christchurch, Many, many more.
Number of decisions that I have made on my next move: None, I'm not ready
The winter is almost over. It was not a New York Freeze Your Ass of Winter by any stretch, but there was still a level of cabin fever because of the cold and the rain. Summer is on its way and friends and I are planning road trips, weekends, events and BBQ's.
Yeah I am working hard, and playing hard, and ya know it just doesn't suck.
21 September, 2006
Do Over
The waitress at my local needs to be smacked. She is young, beautiful and arrogant. Her popularity makes her unaware of the black spot that must exist on her heart.
And yes, if I were young again, I so would have had attitude.
Instead I was rife with empathy towards others and a need to make a forward thinking liberal social-political impact on my environment. I boycotted prom because of the lack of integrity and the statement that the puritanical traditions of prom created a factious patriarchal society that impeded on my ability to overcome the glass ceiling.
Or some such shit.
God I was an idiot.
Experiment: Tonight I will don self-imposed arrogant self-importance. I intend to mix this with a great heap of infected laughter and the immature belief that the world revolves around me. Add a hair flip and the ability to ignore beings that are not worth the sole of my shoe, and I GUARANTEE YOU that I will be the most popular girl in the room.
Sick, ain't it.
And yes, if I were young again, I so would have had attitude.
Instead I was rife with empathy towards others and a need to make a forward thinking liberal social-political impact on my environment. I boycotted prom because of the lack of integrity and the statement that the puritanical traditions of prom created a factious patriarchal society that impeded on my ability to overcome the glass ceiling.
Or some such shit.
God I was an idiot.
Experiment: Tonight I will don self-imposed arrogant self-importance. I intend to mix this with a great heap of infected laughter and the immature belief that the world revolves around me. Add a hair flip and the ability to ignore beings that are not worth the sole of my shoe, and I GUARANTEE YOU that I will be the most popular girl in the room.
Sick, ain't it.
21 August, 2006
The truth hurts
A large portion of the unraveling of my disillusionment is the concept that I truly believed in men having honor. A man should do what is right, what is honorable and what is just. I think that is the reason that I have been attracted to men in the military all my life. The military holds honor as a code, a standard to live by. The military values ethics that are substantial; justice, patience, honesty, loyalty, courage and commitment. These are not just words to me. They are the ethics with which I was raised on. I am the daughter of a United States Marine. I was raised to have honor and to take pride in every aspect of my life.
I find that I am often so disappointed and let down by everyone around me. The men that I meet have no honor. They have no pride and they have not a shred of commitment. There is no loyalty among us. And they are cowards.
It is an enormous realization that my father was right. I am naive. And I am extremely disillusioned by it.
I find that I am often so disappointed and let down by everyone around me. The men that I meet have no honor. They have no pride and they have not a shred of commitment. There is no loyalty among us. And they are cowards.
It is an enormous realization that my father was right. I am naive. And I am extremely disillusioned by it.
09 August, 2006
Trust
Looking back I realize that my Junior High School was quite progressive. It was a large school that served almost an entire county, had three separate wings and splintered off into two High Schools. During these two awkward growth development years, those ages between 11 and 13, we were taught basic skills. Two classes were mandatory; Home Economics and Shop. Every student was required to take two semesters of each, regardless of whether you were a boy or a girl, which I rather liked. I was good at Home Ec. and should have been because my Grandmother took hours painstakingly teaching me the finer points of sewing. But I loved Shop. Working with machines and wood and metal and becoming involved in a project that had to be precise; had to be exactly to scale. I enjoyed doing the math, figuring out the size and shape of something and then having a physical end result that looked exactly like my original spec. I have never really wondered why later on in life as an adult I have enjoyed engineering so much. It was because at the age of 13 I loved Shop.
And I loved my Shop teacher. For the life of me I will never remember his name, but I have never forgotten him.
He was in his late 50’s, wiry and skinny with a full head of grey hair and heavily rimmed glasses. He wore a pressed button down shirt and khakis with work boots every day. And he was STRICT. Man was he ever strict. I clearly remember on the first day of class after our first ‘safety standards’ lecture that I was sufficiently in awe and afraid of this man simultaneously. He wanted precision. He wanted attention. He ran a tight ship. And he demanded respect. And not one of us, not one single snot nosed adolescent among us was willing to test his patience and see how far we could go.
But it was not just the strictness with which he taught us that I was so in awe of. It was the knowledge that in spite of the fact that at a moment’s notice he could explode and yell at us and tell us that we were not paying attention or that we were idiots; it was the fact that he EXPECTED us to do well. He expected that once he thoroughly taught us the finer skills of a mitre saw, that we would know exactly how to use that mitre saw from then on. It was the expectation that we would work hard and not talk and not screw around and create a project using expensive machinery and respect the fact that at any moment we could loose a finger. I remember snapping in two a very fine saw blade and feeling awful because I knew exactly what I had done wrong. And of course I was issued another one, but God I felt guilty as hell.
One day in class, while creating a project with wood and merrily sanding away, my Shop teacher caught me for one second sanding in the wrong direction. He approached me and I remember so distinctly thinking to myself “He is not yelling at me. He’s not angry.” And I paid so much attention to what it was that he said. So much so, that I remember it to this day. Twenty-One years later.
He said “You can sand a piece of wood along the grain as much as you like. And it will glow and gloss and catch the light the way a beautiful piece of wood should. But if you sand that piece of wood against the grain just once it will take you a lifetime to sand it back in the right direction.”
Those words have stuck with me all through these years. Words that I have rolled around in my head and rolled off my tongue many times in my life. And over time, I have given these words much more meaning and depth than perhaps my Shop teacher ever intended. They have become words that I have held close to my heart. A bit of a mantra for living my life the way I think that I should. For me, these words mean ‘Trust’.
In my life trust is everything. Trust is the bond that binds us. It is a sense of security. Trust is knowledge in yourself and those that you surround yourself with. Trust is the laughter. Trust is holding those that you love close to your heart. And trust is having full knowledge that those you are with and those that you love will be honest and true and will always have your back. For me trust is given implicitly, without fear and without gain.
Trust is also the bind that breaks. It is the awful truth, the mid night phone call, the angry tears and the quite solitude. It is pain that can not be forgiven and moments that can not be forgotten. It is time that is taken away. It is sadness when you realize that someone whom you loved for so long and so hard never really deserved your trust to begin with. It is betrayal and the feeling of awful disillusionment.
It is the knowledge that a beautiful piece of wood was sanded against the grain. And no matter how hard you work to make it right; even if you spend a lifetime sanding along the grain in the right direction, that piece of wood is forever marred. It will never glow and gloss as bright again.
And I loved my Shop teacher. For the life of me I will never remember his name, but I have never forgotten him.
He was in his late 50’s, wiry and skinny with a full head of grey hair and heavily rimmed glasses. He wore a pressed button down shirt and khakis with work boots every day. And he was STRICT. Man was he ever strict. I clearly remember on the first day of class after our first ‘safety standards’ lecture that I was sufficiently in awe and afraid of this man simultaneously. He wanted precision. He wanted attention. He ran a tight ship. And he demanded respect. And not one of us, not one single snot nosed adolescent among us was willing to test his patience and see how far we could go.
But it was not just the strictness with which he taught us that I was so in awe of. It was the knowledge that in spite of the fact that at a moment’s notice he could explode and yell at us and tell us that we were not paying attention or that we were idiots; it was the fact that he EXPECTED us to do well. He expected that once he thoroughly taught us the finer skills of a mitre saw, that we would know exactly how to use that mitre saw from then on. It was the expectation that we would work hard and not talk and not screw around and create a project using expensive machinery and respect the fact that at any moment we could loose a finger. I remember snapping in two a very fine saw blade and feeling awful because I knew exactly what I had done wrong. And of course I was issued another one, but God I felt guilty as hell.
One day in class, while creating a project with wood and merrily sanding away, my Shop teacher caught me for one second sanding in the wrong direction. He approached me and I remember so distinctly thinking to myself “He is not yelling at me. He’s not angry.” And I paid so much attention to what it was that he said. So much so, that I remember it to this day. Twenty-One years later.
He said “You can sand a piece of wood along the grain as much as you like. And it will glow and gloss and catch the light the way a beautiful piece of wood should. But if you sand that piece of wood against the grain just once it will take you a lifetime to sand it back in the right direction.”
Those words have stuck with me all through these years. Words that I have rolled around in my head and rolled off my tongue many times in my life. And over time, I have given these words much more meaning and depth than perhaps my Shop teacher ever intended. They have become words that I have held close to my heart. A bit of a mantra for living my life the way I think that I should. For me, these words mean ‘Trust’.
In my life trust is everything. Trust is the bond that binds us. It is a sense of security. Trust is knowledge in yourself and those that you surround yourself with. Trust is the laughter. Trust is holding those that you love close to your heart. And trust is having full knowledge that those you are with and those that you love will be honest and true and will always have your back. For me trust is given implicitly, without fear and without gain.
Trust is also the bind that breaks. It is the awful truth, the mid night phone call, the angry tears and the quite solitude. It is pain that can not be forgiven and moments that can not be forgotten. It is time that is taken away. It is sadness when you realize that someone whom you loved for so long and so hard never really deserved your trust to begin with. It is betrayal and the feeling of awful disillusionment.
It is the knowledge that a beautiful piece of wood was sanded against the grain. And no matter how hard you work to make it right; even if you spend a lifetime sanding along the grain in the right direction, that piece of wood is forever marred. It will never glow and gloss as bright again.
03 August, 2006
Playing in the Band
Music keeps me breathing. Really. A day without music as a backdrop makes me feel like I've gone a day without say, Orange Juice. And we all know what happens when ship wrecked English people who didn't think far enough in advance look like when they have scurvy. Most probably not a pretty look. Which is the way I feel if I don't have music. I think I should have my iPod surgically implanted into my head.
Daily soundtracks are important, but they also must be interchangeable. Someone recently asked me what my favorite band is. To which I answered "what day is it?". I mean who knows what mood I am going to be in when I wake up, or run, eat my dinner, or when I really REALLY want to scream at that prick who cut me off on my way to work and then usually anything by Linkin Park will do.
Today's selection raged with the eclectic. It started off mellow and moody and well, a bit flashbacky... 'Changes' by David Bowie, followed by 'God Fearing Man' by Ben Harper and rounding of the mellowness was 'Weather with You' by Crowded House. An absolute all time favorite. I then cruised my way to a bit more groovy in flavor and I 'Let Love Rule' by Lenny Kravitz. Ending the work day with attitude to 'Hate to Feel' by Alice In Chains and of course.....
What would a good musical performance be without a killer set of in-office vocals to 'Lithium' by Nirvana.
It was a good show.
Daily soundtracks are important, but they also must be interchangeable. Someone recently asked me what my favorite band is. To which I answered "what day is it?". I mean who knows what mood I am going to be in when I wake up, or run, eat my dinner, or when I really REALLY want to scream at that prick who cut me off on my way to work and then usually anything by Linkin Park will do.
Today's selection raged with the eclectic. It started off mellow and moody and well, a bit flashbacky... 'Changes' by David Bowie, followed by 'God Fearing Man' by Ben Harper and rounding of the mellowness was 'Weather with You' by Crowded House. An absolute all time favorite. I then cruised my way to a bit more groovy in flavor and I 'Let Love Rule' by Lenny Kravitz. Ending the work day with attitude to 'Hate to Feel' by Alice In Chains and of course.....
What would a good musical performance be without a killer set of in-office vocals to 'Lithium' by Nirvana.
It was a good show.
31 July, 2006
The Mail Man's Child
Come to think of it, that drool may actually be inherited. I do recall a time when my brother at the age of ten liked to tackle me, pin me down and let his spit dangle over my face while I screamed for the God's or Dad to come save me.
Oh, you finally get why I need therapy now huh? The spit coupled with the fact that my parents continue to ask why I haven't spawned one of these yet? I keep telling them that I would like to, but I haven't met any alien's that I thought were hot.
The Other Side of Crazy
Dating can be ridiculous. Let’s be honest.
In this wander through the dating world, I have met men who want to date you, but tell you that it’s just casual. Want to sleep with you, but don’t want commitment. Men who buy drinks and then expect a snog at the bar – IN PUBLIC. The guy who asks for your phone number, calls you, makes arrangements to pick you up, takes you out and then tells you that THIS is not a date, because HE does not date. (Okay?). And my all time favourite; the guy you meet in a bar, who has spent the entire evening buying you drinks and chatting you up and then he shrugs his shoulders when he tells you that “yes” he is married, but he just thought that he could come home with you just this ONE time. (I blinked twice at that one, shook my head to clear it out and said “pardon?”).
Okay fine, so dating is a bit rough at times. And of course my usual way of handling all of it is to pick up my mobile, text a message that reads something like “OMG! Meet for drinks NOW!” to all of my girlfriends. (Which is code for “I have ONE hell of a story for you, and we can use that excuse to have Train Wrecks”) And then laugh my ass off. No harm, no foul.
Until I met Crazy.
This is that nightmare story that your Mother always warned you about. This is THAT story that she used on you so she could convince you that her setting you up with her long lost best friend’s single doctor son would be a good idea. Only because he comes from such a “beautiful family”. Well truth be told, if I listened to my mother, I would be married to the nicest man in the world from the most beautiful of families, but God I would be bored out of my skull.
But I guess boredom is better than Crazy.
I met Crazy at the very beginning of my New Zealand travels. Remember that moment of excitement at meeting all these new and interesting people? Remember that boat load of Navy boys I met? Remember when my Mother freaked out on my ass when I told her that story about meeting all those Navy boys? Oh, you weren’t there, sorry. I’ll just tell you that Mom already yelled at me, so you don’t have to.
He was among the group and became one of the drinking buddies. We would meet out on the town, tell stories and laugh. Innocent fun. Stupid me.
Over time it became clear that Crazy wanted to be more than just good friends, Crazy wanted me to become Mrs. Crazy and I was having none of that. After one particularly creepy set of text messages and one hand written letter dropped off at my front door, I informed Crazy that I NEVER wanted to hear from him EVER AGAIN. And his ship was leaving Auckland for six months anyway, so I naively thought that was that. Six months out at sea, he’ll move on, I’ll forget it all and whatever. One more episode to add to my book of “funny things that happened, but that didn’t seem so funny at the time”.
Well, welcome to the world of Crazy. Pass the naive sandwich please, I’m hungry.
Usually when a guy likes me and I am not interested, I get the normal “Okay fine.” Or even sometimes a “bitch!” thrown over a shoulder as they walk away. But I usually don’t get Crazy. I mean not just crazy, but stalker-esk kinda Crazy. The creepy kinda crazy that after you have spoken to the Navy and contacted the appropriate people in the Anti Harassment Department and EVEN call the highest ranked officer on that tug-boat of a Navel base, and AFTER they sat him down and said NO more contact. After ALL OF THIS his comment was (that was reported back to me) “But she’s my GIRLFRIEND, I don’t understand!”
Yeah, that kind of Crazy.
The kind of Crazy who’s ship is docking in my port after being out at sea for six months.
So; with many hysterical phone calls, two weeks worth of not sleeping, evenings spent at other friend’s homes, and one really wicked spell of loosing my shit completely on a Wednesday morning at 4 o’clock AM, I decided that I had had enough and that I was going to fucking take Crazy down.
I called the police and filed a restraining order. Yep, I did. I just filed my first ever restraining order against another human being. And I’m from New York, so I would say that that’s sort of an accomplishment.
And now I can sleep. And date again; with humour, and without the crazy.
A few lessons here learned. The first one being that I will be damned if I become New Zealand’s version of Rebecca Schaeffer. And the second one being my newly developed attitude towards the first sign of Crazy. I have a problem with being to nice sometimes. I am now working on that. And I no longer care if everyone likes me.
And tonight I have a date, for coffee in a well light place, with a cute guy that that doesn’t seem crazy. I’ve already asked him a few questions about himself. He has 7 seven brothers and sisters, and he is the baby. So he is probably crazy. But in a different sort of way.
In this wander through the dating world, I have met men who want to date you, but tell you that it’s just casual. Want to sleep with you, but don’t want commitment. Men who buy drinks and then expect a snog at the bar – IN PUBLIC. The guy who asks for your phone number, calls you, makes arrangements to pick you up, takes you out and then tells you that THIS is not a date, because HE does not date. (Okay?). And my all time favourite; the guy you meet in a bar, who has spent the entire evening buying you drinks and chatting you up and then he shrugs his shoulders when he tells you that “yes” he is married, but he just thought that he could come home with you just this ONE time. (I blinked twice at that one, shook my head to clear it out and said “pardon?”).
Okay fine, so dating is a bit rough at times. And of course my usual way of handling all of it is to pick up my mobile, text a message that reads something like “OMG! Meet for drinks NOW!” to all of my girlfriends. (Which is code for “I have ONE hell of a story for you, and we can use that excuse to have Train Wrecks”) And then laugh my ass off. No harm, no foul.
Until I met Crazy.
This is that nightmare story that your Mother always warned you about. This is THAT story that she used on you so she could convince you that her setting you up with her long lost best friend’s single doctor son would be a good idea. Only because he comes from such a “beautiful family”. Well truth be told, if I listened to my mother, I would be married to the nicest man in the world from the most beautiful of families, but God I would be bored out of my skull.
But I guess boredom is better than Crazy.
I met Crazy at the very beginning of my New Zealand travels. Remember that moment of excitement at meeting all these new and interesting people? Remember that boat load of Navy boys I met? Remember when my Mother freaked out on my ass when I told her that story about meeting all those Navy boys? Oh, you weren’t there, sorry. I’ll just tell you that Mom already yelled at me, so you don’t have to.
He was among the group and became one of the drinking buddies. We would meet out on the town, tell stories and laugh. Innocent fun. Stupid me.
Over time it became clear that Crazy wanted to be more than just good friends, Crazy wanted me to become Mrs. Crazy and I was having none of that. After one particularly creepy set of text messages and one hand written letter dropped off at my front door, I informed Crazy that I NEVER wanted to hear from him EVER AGAIN. And his ship was leaving Auckland for six months anyway, so I naively thought that was that. Six months out at sea, he’ll move on, I’ll forget it all and whatever. One more episode to add to my book of “funny things that happened, but that didn’t seem so funny at the time”.
Well, welcome to the world of Crazy. Pass the naive sandwich please, I’m hungry.
Usually when a guy likes me and I am not interested, I get the normal “Okay fine.” Or even sometimes a “bitch!” thrown over a shoulder as they walk away. But I usually don’t get Crazy. I mean not just crazy, but stalker-esk kinda Crazy. The creepy kinda crazy that after you have spoken to the Navy and contacted the appropriate people in the Anti Harassment Department and EVEN call the highest ranked officer on that tug-boat of a Navel base, and AFTER they sat him down and said NO more contact. After ALL OF THIS his comment was (that was reported back to me) “But she’s my GIRLFRIEND, I don’t understand!”
Yeah, that kind of Crazy.
The kind of Crazy who’s ship is docking in my port after being out at sea for six months.
So; with many hysterical phone calls, two weeks worth of not sleeping, evenings spent at other friend’s homes, and one really wicked spell of loosing my shit completely on a Wednesday morning at 4 o’clock AM, I decided that I had had enough and that I was going to fucking take Crazy down.
I called the police and filed a restraining order. Yep, I did. I just filed my first ever restraining order against another human being. And I’m from New York, so I would say that that’s sort of an accomplishment.
And now I can sleep. And date again; with humour, and without the crazy.
A few lessons here learned. The first one being that I will be damned if I become New Zealand’s version of Rebecca Schaeffer. And the second one being my newly developed attitude towards the first sign of Crazy. I have a problem with being to nice sometimes. I am now working on that. And I no longer care if everyone likes me.
And tonight I have a date, for coffee in a well light place, with a cute guy that that doesn’t seem crazy. I’ve already asked him a few questions about himself. He has 7 seven brothers and sisters, and he is the baby. So he is probably crazy. But in a different sort of way.
01 June, 2006
Ruthless Cock Block
Every Wednesday night the senior partners of my company ask a few to join them for a beer at the pub across the road. Last night I took them up on their offer. Sometime around 6:00 pm we got sick of working and wandered over for a pint. Somewhere around 6:45ish the senior partners paid the tab and left the four of us sitting around the fire place shooting the shit.
And then HE walked up to our table. He was adorable. He looked straight at me and said "You seem like a very outgoing person. Are you in sales? You must be in sales, because this really feels like a wrap up to a sales meeting." and he continued, as we all starred at him "well, I am hosting a conference and I wanted to get the opportunity to talk to you about it, blah, blah, blah." At this point two of my work mates were snorting under their breath, as this cute man chattered away about sales and "you MUST be in SALES!!" as he began to ask for my card. And everyone got the picture, everyone knew that this was the most creative way to get a phone number witnessed in a while. Everyone that is, except George.
George is our new sales guy. George is trying like hell to hawk our product. George saw an open opportunity and George pounced.
George began with a "She's not in sales. She's in Quality. I'M in sales. " and re-routed the young man's attention to him. George went on and on about our product and put pressure on this poor guy to describe the 'Sales Conference' that he would be hosting. And this guy, this poor guy, he actually stammered through some crap that he was making up on the spot about a sales meeting and "Yes, please I would love to speak with you further about your product." while the entire time he kept desperately trying to come back to me and was smiling at me with a sheepish 'please God help me' grin.
After 10 minutes of this perfect display of entertainment, which kept two other work mates in snickers, I forked over my business card and told the poor guy "please do call, I would love to talk about sales." To which I received the BIGGEST SMILE. And as he left he tried to give me his card in return, which was promptly snatched out of his hand by George who was still rattling on about SALES!
When the man finally left and we let George have it. "So, George, you thought he was kinda cute huh?" and George didn't get it until Ian exclaimed "He didn't want to talk about sales, he WANTED HER NUMBER!".
I got cock blocked by a 26 year old hyper newbie sales boy.
And then HE walked up to our table. He was adorable. He looked straight at me and said "You seem like a very outgoing person. Are you in sales? You must be in sales, because this really feels like a wrap up to a sales meeting." and he continued, as we all starred at him "well, I am hosting a conference and I wanted to get the opportunity to talk to you about it, blah, blah, blah." At this point two of my work mates were snorting under their breath, as this cute man chattered away about sales and "you MUST be in SALES!!" as he began to ask for my card. And everyone got the picture, everyone knew that this was the most creative way to get a phone number witnessed in a while. Everyone that is, except George.
George is our new sales guy. George is trying like hell to hawk our product. George saw an open opportunity and George pounced.
George began with a "She's not in sales. She's in Quality. I'M in sales. " and re-routed the young man's attention to him. George went on and on about our product and put pressure on this poor guy to describe the 'Sales Conference' that he would be hosting. And this guy, this poor guy, he actually stammered through some crap that he was making up on the spot about a sales meeting and "Yes, please I would love to speak with you further about your product." while the entire time he kept desperately trying to come back to me and was smiling at me with a sheepish 'please God help me' grin.
After 10 minutes of this perfect display of entertainment, which kept two other work mates in snickers, I forked over my business card and told the poor guy "please do call, I would love to talk about sales." To which I received the BIGGEST SMILE. And as he left he tried to give me his card in return, which was promptly snatched out of his hand by George who was still rattling on about SALES!
When the man finally left and we let George have it. "So, George, you thought he was kinda cute huh?" and George didn't get it until Ian exclaimed "He didn't want to talk about sales, he WANTED HER NUMBER!".
I got cock blocked by a 26 year old hyper newbie sales boy.
26 April, 2006
When you have a broken heart add tequila, then you'll have a hangover too.
Just when I thought it was safe to venture back into the water, my steady and determined lifeboat was suddenly surrounded by sharks and I had to hit one over the head.
5 and a 1/2 years out of the dating pool and I decide to pick my local Kiwi surroundings to venture back in. Fool that I am. Alas, I just don't think it would be any different any where else. This may just be my proving ground.
It's just that I haven't hung up my g-string for the convent yet. So there is still hope left in me. Hope for a guy who can batter up and swing for the fences, if not hit a homer. I am not looking for a homer mind you; how about a nice double-play, with enthusiastic cheers coming from the stands. And well this guy was more like a fat ump who couldn't call the guy safe at home plate. The instant replay was used THREE TIMES and finally the ump made the right call.
Yep, after three crap instances, I finally broke up with this guy's ass. I am attributing this to the mere fact that I have been here before and GAWD no thank you. Can you see the sign on the Garden State: Writing on the wall, next exit.
So after breaking up with him over the phone (don't yell at me, he was the one who left at 3:30 on Sunday to go avert yet ANOTHER crisis in the Wellington and completely blew me off and by Monday morning I decided I had had enough) I called Mom on the phone and whined a bit and then headed to a friends house, who promptly got me drunk and we spent the rest of the day lying on his living room floor listening to James Blunt. Over and Over and Over again.
Nothing outdoes the pain of a break up like the pain of a good hangover. This also gives one the ability to use metaphors way too much.
So in keeping with my determined sense of humor, TONIGHT: Salsa lessons. This should be interesting. There are no Spanish people in this country, so my expectations are not running that high, however I am going with Lyn and the humor factor should be favorable.
5 and a 1/2 years out of the dating pool and I decide to pick my local Kiwi surroundings to venture back in. Fool that I am. Alas, I just don't think it would be any different any where else. This may just be my proving ground.
It's just that I haven't hung up my g-string for the convent yet. So there is still hope left in me. Hope for a guy who can batter up and swing for the fences, if not hit a homer. I am not looking for a homer mind you; how about a nice double-play, with enthusiastic cheers coming from the stands. And well this guy was more like a fat ump who couldn't call the guy safe at home plate. The instant replay was used THREE TIMES and finally the ump made the right call.
Yep, after three crap instances, I finally broke up with this guy's ass. I am attributing this to the mere fact that I have been here before and GAWD no thank you. Can you see the sign on the Garden State: Writing on the wall, next exit.
So after breaking up with him over the phone (don't yell at me, he was the one who left at 3:30 on Sunday to go avert yet ANOTHER crisis in the Wellington and completely blew me off and by Monday morning I decided I had had enough) I called Mom on the phone and whined a bit and then headed to a friends house, who promptly got me drunk and we spent the rest of the day lying on his living room floor listening to James Blunt. Over and Over and Over again.
Nothing outdoes the pain of a break up like the pain of a good hangover. This also gives one the ability to use metaphors way too much.
So in keeping with my determined sense of humor, TONIGHT: Salsa lessons. This should be interesting. There are no Spanish people in this country, so my expectations are not running that high, however I am going with Lyn and the humor factor should be favorable.
03 April, 2006
Don't read this post if you a) truly believe your own propaganda and b) lost all your sense of humor at birth
My Kiwi friend Jeff loves me because I am Italian and from New York and because he truly believes that I am Tony Soprano's long lost daughter. Jeff whips out his version of a Brooklyn accent every time I see him. This is enjoyable for him, since he gets to play pretend Jersey Mobsta and makes me laugh my ass off because the Kiwi accecent is so there and Jeff has NO CLUE what reality actually is.
Jeff, listen up, the show is NOT REAL!
This back and forth also equates to half the conversations we have through email and today's verbal abuse Mobsta style took the work 'suck' to it's enth degree. It also perfectly highlights what every single person outside of the New York\New Jersey Metro area actually believes Italians are like. Everyone is convinced that my Dad is a made man, carries a 9-mm special and has a comb-over. I keep trying to tell them that Dad's comb-over doesn't exist anymore since he has no hair there, but no one will believe me.
_________________________________
11:20 am: Incoming Email
Heya,
Hope you had a good weekend....you busy for lunch?
I was just gonna do the Subway thang!
Righty-O
Jeff
_________________________________
1:30 pm: Outgoing Email
Shoveled it in at my desk today... but will do tomorrow...... :-)
Catch you later baby!
K~
_________________________________
1:38 pm: Incoming Email
Yeah, I had a mad rush to get home, get my visa statement, grab Subway on the way back, get to the ANZ bank, take some money out, pay the damn visa off, then...bank a cheque at the National Bank to replace what I just took out (it was a bank cheque that I hadn't banked for a week!) and get back to the office and relax for 10mins. Scoff my Subway down and now IÂ’m back at my desk!! No rest over here either!
Sweet as, as always.
JK
_________________________________
1:40 pm: Outgoing Email
Sucka!
_________________________________
1:50 pm: Incoming Email
I aint no sucka...sucka!
Suck you and yer suckin dog!
Go suck yourself, you suckin sucker!
Suck you, you suck, you muthasuckin suck, you suckin suckhead!
Ahhhhhhhh guess who's bored today? I think I am no longer stimulated by my job and my employer and therefore will sit here and make up stupid shit via email to entertain us all. I am an idiot.
Sweet as lovey.
Buzz you later.
JK
_________________________________
1:55 pm: Outgoing Email
You forgot:
Suck this
Go suck yourself
Your dog sucks better than you
Suck my big toe
Suck my left bleeeeep
Suck my other one
Suuuuuuuckkkkkkkkk YOOOOOOuuuuuuuuuu!
And in the immortal words of my 5 year old nephew "You SUCK Auntie!" All because I wouldn't give him gum and let him choke and die.
Go figure.
Cheers mate,
K~
Jeff, listen up, the show is NOT REAL!
This back and forth also equates to half the conversations we have through email and today's verbal abuse Mobsta style took the work 'suck' to it's enth degree. It also perfectly highlights what every single person outside of the New York\New Jersey Metro area actually believes Italians are like. Everyone is convinced that my Dad is a made man, carries a 9-mm special and has a comb-over. I keep trying to tell them that Dad's comb-over doesn't exist anymore since he has no hair there, but no one will believe me.
_________________________________
11:20 am: Incoming Email
Heya,
Hope you had a good weekend....you busy for lunch?
I was just gonna do the Subway thang!
Righty-O
Jeff
_________________________________
1:30 pm: Outgoing Email
Shoveled it in at my desk today... but will do tomorrow...... :-)
Catch you later baby!
K~
_________________________________
1:38 pm: Incoming Email
Yeah, I had a mad rush to get home, get my visa statement, grab Subway on the way back, get to the ANZ bank, take some money out, pay the damn visa off, then...bank a cheque at the National Bank to replace what I just took out (it was a bank cheque that I hadn't banked for a week!) and get back to the office and relax for 10mins. Scoff my Subway down and now IÂ’m back at my desk!! No rest over here either!
Sweet as, as always.
JK
_________________________________
1:40 pm: Outgoing Email
Sucka!
_________________________________
1:50 pm: Incoming Email
I aint no sucka...sucka!
Suck you and yer suckin dog!
Go suck yourself, you suckin sucker!
Suck you, you suck, you muthasuckin suck, you suckin suckhead!
Ahhhhhhhh guess who's bored today? I think I am no longer stimulated by my job and my employer and therefore will sit here and make up stupid shit via email to entertain us all. I am an idiot.
Sweet as lovey.
Buzz you later.
JK
_________________________________
1:55 pm: Outgoing Email
You forgot:
Suck this
Go suck yourself
Your dog sucks better than you
Suck my big toe
Suck my left bleeeeep
Suck my other one
Suuuuuuuckkkkkkkkk YOOOOOOuuuuuuuuuu!
And in the immortal words of my 5 year old nephew "You SUCK Auntie!" All because I wouldn't give him gum and let him choke and die.
Go figure.
Cheers mate,
K~
A Little Diddy
I have been here long enough now to glean wedding invitations (no not mine!) to friend's weddings and well weddings of friend's siblings that I just happen to get along really well with.
We've known each other for five months now and we all have far too much fun together. His friends have diverged through my friends and well everyone knows just about everyone in this city. It is very akin to playing 5 movies through Steven Siegal. And now I know the Grandmother, who attached at the hip once she found out that my family is from Calabria and she is from Burno (or some place that I can not spell that is all of about 50 miles from Calabria) and asked me what I put in my sauce and I said "no, you first" and she promptly DIVULGED sauce recipe. To which the friend's Mom gasped and exclaimed that she thought that the sauce recipe was going to the grave with Grandma. And then I somehow got sucked into cooking dinner this coming Wednesday night. To which my friend said "You've been invited to more family barbecues than I have, your amazing". Naw, I just got the natch to talk food and your family is full of foodies and well I have rekindled my love for cooking as of late and sure I will cook on Wednesday night, in fact I will make sauce and tell your Grandma to beat that!
Oh and as for the Wedding on Saturday.... This people, is a family that can wedding really well. As far as the eye could see there was never a shortage of food and food and food and drinks and drinks and drinks. It started at 2:00 pm, I was laughing by 2:15 pm, I was introduced to about 20 new people all whom expected me to remember their names by 4:00 pm, I was a bit tipsy by 6:00, broke a salad dressing bottle by about 8:00 pm and finally called it quits by 2:00 in the morning, this after the SECOND dinner came out. Great party, nice people. They made me miss mine.
And when asked why we get along so well I answered "Because you're an older brother and I'm a younger sister; hence you're responsible and I'm a brat!"
But you all new that.
We've known each other for five months now and we all have far too much fun together. His friends have diverged through my friends and well everyone knows just about everyone in this city. It is very akin to playing 5 movies through Steven Siegal. And now I know the Grandmother, who attached at the hip once she found out that my family is from Calabria and she is from Burno (or some place that I can not spell that is all of about 50 miles from Calabria) and asked me what I put in my sauce and I said "no, you first" and she promptly DIVULGED sauce recipe. To which the friend's Mom gasped and exclaimed that she thought that the sauce recipe was going to the grave with Grandma. And then I somehow got sucked into cooking dinner this coming Wednesday night. To which my friend said "You've been invited to more family barbecues than I have, your amazing". Naw, I just got the natch to talk food and your family is full of foodies and well I have rekindled my love for cooking as of late and sure I will cook on Wednesday night, in fact I will make sauce and tell your Grandma to beat that!
Oh and as for the Wedding on Saturday.... This people, is a family that can wedding really well. As far as the eye could see there was never a shortage of food and food and food and drinks and drinks and drinks. It started at 2:00 pm, I was laughing by 2:15 pm, I was introduced to about 20 new people all whom expected me to remember their names by 4:00 pm, I was a bit tipsy by 6:00, broke a salad dressing bottle by about 8:00 pm and finally called it quits by 2:00 in the morning, this after the SECOND dinner came out. Great party, nice people. They made me miss mine.
And when asked why we get along so well I answered "Because you're an older brother and I'm a younger sister; hence you're responsible and I'm a brat!"
But you all new that.
07 March, 2006
I'm a puppet not a whore
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me.
But I don't need no alibi - I'm a puppet on a string.
I just need this stage to be seen.
We all need a pantomime to remind us what is real.
Hold my eye and know what it means.
I'm out of my mind.
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me.
But I won't be your concubine - I'm a puppet not a whore.
I just need this stage to be seen.
Will you be a friend of mine to remind me what is real?
Hold my heart and see that it bleeds.
I'm out of my mind.
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me.
But I don't need no alibi - I'm a puppet on a string.
I just need this stage to be seen.
We all need a pantomime to remind us what is real.
Hold my eye and know what it means.
I'm out of my mind.
Judging by the look on the organ-grinder,
He'll judge me by the fact that my face don't fit.
It's touching that the monkey sits on my shoulder.
He's waiting for the day when he gets me.
But I won't be your concubine - I'm a puppet not a whore.
I just need this stage to be seen.
Will you be a friend of mine to remind me what is real?
Hold my heart and see that it bleeds.
I'm out of my mind.
01 March, 2006
What Can I Do Fer Ya Little Lady?
“Excuse Me!” I cried over the parking lot.
My “EX-CUSE Me!!!” even had a high lilt to it. That high pitched girly lilt that I only whip out when I either want something from the other species or when I am drunk and bump into someone I haven’t seen in years. Either way, I can make it do the cute thing rather well and work it to death.
Lollie was laughing her butt off like a hyena in heat. SHE was the one who said he was cute and SHE was the one that made the comment on “how do you meet men like that?”. Me? I’m not interested. I’ve already dated enough cops in my life and I don’t EVER need to go there again. But turning on the flirt for a friend? That’s just for a good cause and pure enjoyment to boot. And of course I had a foul proof plan. If only Lollie would stop having a fit into her armpit.
After the scurry-kinda-run-kinda-dash-in-heels across the parking lot Bette Midler style, I ended up panting a bit at the Police Officers patrol car. He was cute damn it. Blonder than a Von Tramp with glassy blue eyes to boot. Mr. Blue Eyed Officer Kiwi Cop rolled down the window and kindly ask “Are you alright?”. To which I responded;
“I have this piece of paper that I have to fill out."
<insert hair twirl here>
"For the car that I just bought."
<big smile>
"And there is a box here asking for a VIN number."
<insert batty eye stupid look here, plus a head cock>
"So um, where do I find the VIN number thingy?”
He smiled.
Well of course he did.
A) I am an American and therefore everyone around me assumes that I have a pig’s clue about geography and B) I am an American WOMEN so naturally everyone here assumes that I know crap about anything mechanical or car related.
Heh! Little do they know who raised me.
Commence flirt.
Blue Eyed Officer Kiwi Cop kindly asked me where my car was and I kindly pointed to “over there” where Lollie was standing practically bent over in convulsions from laughing so hard. And her laughter got worse. BEOK Cop actually got out of the car like big-ol'-John Wayne and I swear - Hand To GOD - I kid you not - HE HIKED UP HIS BELT.
A gander over yonder later and a “Pop the bonnet Love” BEOK Cop was kindly reading off the VIN number of my brand spanking new 1997 Ford Green Piece of Shit to me. And then actually did a lean into the hood and whipped out his radio so he could “call it in.”
Lollie of course stood there the whole time snickering and coughing. I worked my best flirt for her and the girl could barely move an inch to make an audible noise that could pass for a voice word one. Not even a lean with boobs hanging out over the radiator and asking “What’s that?” in a dumb-ass voice.
Nothing. Sheesh. You teach your friends your best tricks and they leave you SO hanging!
And then BEOK Cop drove away with his plainly NOT MARRIED wedding band-less hands on the steering wheel.
What a waste.
My “EX-CUSE Me!!!” even had a high lilt to it. That high pitched girly lilt that I only whip out when I either want something from the other species or when I am drunk and bump into someone I haven’t seen in years. Either way, I can make it do the cute thing rather well and work it to death.
Lollie was laughing her butt off like a hyena in heat. SHE was the one who said he was cute and SHE was the one that made the comment on “how do you meet men like that?”. Me? I’m not interested. I’ve already dated enough cops in my life and I don’t EVER need to go there again. But turning on the flirt for a friend? That’s just for a good cause and pure enjoyment to boot. And of course I had a foul proof plan. If only Lollie would stop having a fit into her armpit.
After the scurry-kinda-run-kinda-dash-in-heels across the parking lot Bette Midler style, I ended up panting a bit at the Police Officers patrol car. He was cute damn it. Blonder than a Von Tramp with glassy blue eyes to boot. Mr. Blue Eyed Officer Kiwi Cop rolled down the window and kindly ask “Are you alright?”. To which I responded;
“I have this piece of paper that I have to fill out."
<insert hair twirl here>
"For the car that I just bought."
<big smile>
"And there is a box here asking for a VIN number."
<insert batty eye stupid look here, plus a head cock>
"So um, where do I find the VIN number thingy?”
He smiled.
Well of course he did.
A) I am an American and therefore everyone around me assumes that I have a pig’s clue about geography and B) I am an American WOMEN so naturally everyone here assumes that I know crap about anything mechanical or car related.
Heh! Little do they know who raised me.
Commence flirt.
Blue Eyed Officer Kiwi Cop kindly asked me where my car was and I kindly pointed to “over there” where Lollie was standing practically bent over in convulsions from laughing so hard. And her laughter got worse. BEOK Cop actually got out of the car like big-ol'-John Wayne and I swear - Hand To GOD - I kid you not - HE HIKED UP HIS BELT.
A gander over yonder later and a “Pop the bonnet Love” BEOK Cop was kindly reading off the VIN number of my brand spanking new 1997 Ford Green Piece of Shit to me. And then actually did a lean into the hood and whipped out his radio so he could “call it in.”
Lollie of course stood there the whole time snickering and coughing. I worked my best flirt for her and the girl could barely move an inch to make an audible noise that could pass for a voice word one. Not even a lean with boobs hanging out over the radiator and asking “What’s that?” in a dumb-ass voice.
Nothing. Sheesh. You teach your friends your best tricks and they leave you SO hanging!
And then BEOK Cop drove away with his plainly NOT MARRIED wedding band-less hands on the steering wheel.
What a waste.
24 February, 2006
Yep, I Live Here!
A link this morning to the MSNBC Travel page with an outstanding picture slide show of New Zealand and all it's beauty.
And while you're at it.... go to the New Zealand Travel and Tourism website
http://www.newzealand.com/travel/souvenirs/video-library/super-tvc/super-tvc_home.cfm
Plug your headphones in, sit back for a minute and take a mini holiday. The song is by Kiwi icon Dave Dobbyns, New Zealand's version of James Taylor.
And yes, this is what I am doing. Except I haven't yet had a bath in an outside tub. I need to do that too!
22 February, 2006
I promised Mom I wouldn't bundgy jump, but I didn't say nothing about the canyon swing
Recap of the recap, I was reminiscing to a friend about my ten day sojourn to the South Island of New Zealand over the Christmas Holiday and proudly exclaimed "and I climbed a glacier, a freaking glacier! Can you believe it!"
Ten days in the South Island. Ten days with intermittent mobile phone connections, with mountains and valleys as far as the eye can see and with views so green and so unbelievable you would think that this country swallowed a can of Kelly Green tempera paint from elementary school.
Somewhere around day three of my marathon trip the bedraggled group of ten and I landed in a small town above Wanaka on the West Coast. We stayed in a backpackers lodge that doubled as a pub for the oh twenty or so locals that lived within a fifty mile radius of nothing. A five minute walk up from the huts that we would call home for the evening, we stood in awe on a beach that was just beach. Not to be seen for miles around; not one single house, beach venue, hot dog stand, cable wire, or other living soul besides our group. Just teal blue waves, cool clean wintry white foam, fine grain white sand, sleek black rocks and sun bleached driftwood. With the song "Run" by Snow Patrol playing on my iPod and blasting in my ears, I heaved a sigh that could have been heard on the East Coast.
That evening we dressed up to the letter "P" at the pub and I the "Princess" was joined by my travel mates in their very inventive attire. One of them during the drip down the coast made a stop at the local version of K-Mart (here affectionately known as the Warehouse, or the WadiFadi in Maori) bought a roll of wrapping paper and dressed himself up as a "Present". I am sure that you can see the kind of creative thinking that goes into drinking games in the South Island. One among my group scored extra points for drawing lude pictures with marker as tattoos for his representation of "Popeye".
Two days later we landed in Franz Josef. A quaint town in the middle of the mountains and a must stop on the way to Queenstown. On either side of the RainForest Cafe; the backpackers lodge we stayed in, are mountains. And on top of one of these is the glacier. A glacier mind you in the middle of New Zealand. A country in the Southern Hemisphere. Something my East Coast mind still does not accept. And with my team of ten and my Mother's warning voice whispering to not do stupid things in my ear, I signed my self up for a hike. Up. The. Mountain.
The hike started normally enough. We had a guide. We were given crampons and cold weather gear. I even got issued my own pick axe. But I am still a bit gutted that we didn't get sled dogs. Sled dogs would have been cool.
And up the mountain we started. Our hike began with lush green things being intersected by cool running water coming off the glacier that loomed above us. The glacier is the size of ten football fields and is cold and blue white with a wicked wind coming off the peak.
Looking ahead I could make out workers using picks and shovels digging out stairs into the side of the glacier. I distinctly remember this being the first time since I signed my life away WITHOUT insurance, thinking "Heh, I am about to climb a glacier, this might be stupid". But no worries. I shoved it off and moved on. My group was in a cheerful mood. This part of the trip was all we talked about for the entire four days prior to getting here. We were excited. We were adventurous. We were going to make a personal moment in our lives mean something. It was like Everest without the extra oxygen.
So we climbed, and climbed, and climbed. And I took moments to look around. It was beautiful alright. Incredible even. But my mind whirled. As I looked down into the mouth of a crevice that dove ten miles below and started at the edge of my foot, I was nagged by one thought "I work in IT and hike on the weekends, what the FUCK AM I DOING UP HERE!".
Four hours later; tired and wet and cold and tired and hungry a small group of us came down off the mountain together. We had agreed we had seen enough of ice and would also like to get some hiking done in the rainforest as well. Hiking a glacier is about one of the neatest things I can say I have ever done, but after about four hours of ice, well that is what you are seeing, ICE. So onto the rainforest we went. Which is pretty darn cool as well, that I hiked a rainforest and a glacier in one day.
The next day I could barely walk and sat uncomfortably cramped on the bus ride to Queenstown.
And in Queenstown, the adventure capital of the world, I felt like I was in my college home town. Queenstown is like college, except switch studying for adventure sports. Everything that you or your over adventurous teenage son could ever want to do is on the menu in Queenstown. Bundgy jumping, skydiving, snowboarding, skiing. And as all my mates signed themselves up for doing the bundgy at the largest bundgy in the world (a full 8 seconds of free fall), I stood there like a lump. Like an old women. I got slamblasted for my wimpy-ness and cried "But my Mommy said I couldn't".
And then with a glint in his eye, Greg leaned over and whispered in my ear "But she didn't say anything about the canyon swing" and winked.
Ten days in the South Island. Ten days with intermittent mobile phone connections, with mountains and valleys as far as the eye can see and with views so green and so unbelievable you would think that this country swallowed a can of Kelly Green tempera paint from elementary school.
Somewhere around day three of my marathon trip the bedraggled group of ten and I landed in a small town above Wanaka on the West Coast. We stayed in a backpackers lodge that doubled as a pub for the oh twenty or so locals that lived within a fifty mile radius of nothing. A five minute walk up from the huts that we would call home for the evening, we stood in awe on a beach that was just beach. Not to be seen for miles around; not one single house, beach venue, hot dog stand, cable wire, or other living soul besides our group. Just teal blue waves, cool clean wintry white foam, fine grain white sand, sleek black rocks and sun bleached driftwood. With the song "Run" by Snow Patrol playing on my iPod and blasting in my ears, I heaved a sigh that could have been heard on the East Coast.
That evening we dressed up to the letter "P" at the pub and I the "Princess" was joined by my travel mates in their very inventive attire. One of them during the drip down the coast made a stop at the local version of K-Mart (here affectionately known as the Warehouse, or the WadiFadi in Maori) bought a roll of wrapping paper and dressed himself up as a "Present". I am sure that you can see the kind of creative thinking that goes into drinking games in the South Island. One among my group scored extra points for drawing lude pictures with marker as tattoos for his representation of "Popeye".
Two days later we landed in Franz Josef. A quaint town in the middle of the mountains and a must stop on the way to Queenstown. On either side of the RainForest Cafe; the backpackers lodge we stayed in, are mountains. And on top of one of these is the glacier. A glacier mind you in the middle of New Zealand. A country in the Southern Hemisphere. Something my East Coast mind still does not accept. And with my team of ten and my Mother's warning voice whispering to not do stupid things in my ear, I signed my self up for a hike. Up. The. Mountain.
The hike started normally enough. We had a guide. We were given crampons and cold weather gear. I even got issued my own pick axe. But I am still a bit gutted that we didn't get sled dogs. Sled dogs would have been cool.
And up the mountain we started. Our hike began with lush green things being intersected by cool running water coming off the glacier that loomed above us. The glacier is the size of ten football fields and is cold and blue white with a wicked wind coming off the peak.
Looking ahead I could make out workers using picks and shovels digging out stairs into the side of the glacier. I distinctly remember this being the first time since I signed my life away WITHOUT insurance, thinking "Heh, I am about to climb a glacier, this might be stupid". But no worries. I shoved it off and moved on. My group was in a cheerful mood. This part of the trip was all we talked about for the entire four days prior to getting here. We were excited. We were adventurous. We were going to make a personal moment in our lives mean something. It was like Everest without the extra oxygen.
So we climbed, and climbed, and climbed. And I took moments to look around. It was beautiful alright. Incredible even. But my mind whirled. As I looked down into the mouth of a crevice that dove ten miles below and started at the edge of my foot, I was nagged by one thought "I work in IT and hike on the weekends, what the FUCK AM I DOING UP HERE!".
Four hours later; tired and wet and cold and tired and hungry a small group of us came down off the mountain together. We had agreed we had seen enough of ice and would also like to get some hiking done in the rainforest as well. Hiking a glacier is about one of the neatest things I can say I have ever done, but after about four hours of ice, well that is what you are seeing, ICE. So onto the rainforest we went. Which is pretty darn cool as well, that I hiked a rainforest and a glacier in one day.
The next day I could barely walk and sat uncomfortably cramped on the bus ride to Queenstown.
And in Queenstown, the adventure capital of the world, I felt like I was in my college home town. Queenstown is like college, except switch studying for adventure sports. Everything that you or your over adventurous teenage son could ever want to do is on the menu in Queenstown. Bundgy jumping, skydiving, snowboarding, skiing. And as all my mates signed themselves up for doing the bundgy at the largest bundgy in the world (a full 8 seconds of free fall), I stood there like a lump. Like an old women. I got slamblasted for my wimpy-ness and cried "But my Mommy said I couldn't".
And then with a glint in his eye, Greg leaned over and whispered in my ear "But she didn't say anything about the canyon swing" and winked.
14 February, 2006
if i ever met him face to face i may just stop breathing.....
because it's valentine's day and because i have loved the same song since high school, I am posting it here.
somebody
by depesh mode
i want somebody to share
share the rest of my life
share my inner most thoughts
know my intimate details
someone who'll stand by my side
and give me support
and in return
he'll get my support
he will listen to me
when i want to speak
about the world we live in
and life in general
though my views may be wrong
they may even be perverted
he will hear me out
and won't easily be converted
to my way of thinking
in fact he'll often disagree
but at the end of it all
he will understand me
i want somebody to care
for me passionatly
with every thought
and with every breath
someone who'll help me see things
in a different light
all the things I detest
i will almost like
i don't want to be tied
to anyone's strings
i am carefully trying to stay clear
of those
things
and when i'm asleep
i want somebody
who will put their arms
around me
kiss me
tenderly
things like this
make me sick
but in a case like this
i'll get away with it
somebody
by depesh mode
i want somebody to share
share the rest of my life
share my inner most thoughts
know my intimate details
someone who'll stand by my side
and give me support
and in return
he'll get my support
he will listen to me
when i want to speak
about the world we live in
and life in general
though my views may be wrong
they may even be perverted
he will hear me out
and won't easily be converted
to my way of thinking
in fact he'll often disagree
but at the end of it all
he will understand me
i want somebody to care
for me passionatly
with every thought
and with every breath
someone who'll help me see things
in a different light
all the things I detest
i will almost like
i don't want to be tied
to anyone's strings
i am carefully trying to stay clear
of those
things
and when i'm asleep
i want somebody
who will put their arms
around me
kiss me
tenderly
things like this
make me sick
but in a case like this
i'll get away with it
10 February, 2006
With The Song I Siiiiiiingggg, What the World Needs Toooodaaaay!
In response to a Tentative Meeting agenda:
Kala: Tentative!!!!!!????? What's wrong with you mate? It's CAKE!
Jamie: Yeah well... what kind of cake is it??
Kala: It's yummy and good and wonderful with stuff... And candles. And if you ever wanted an opportunity to hit Christian in the arm, this is it. I know I want to hit him everyday.
Jamie: Meh, I do that whenever I want already. What else you got?
Kala: I got nothin left. Except perhaps making the world a brighter, happier place to live in because we support each other every single day through the small things, like birthdays. Your contribution to Christian's happy birthday will give him the ability to one day raise happy and healthy children who will in turn provide your children with good friends.
Jamie: Arrgh! Sorry, got blinded by the sunshine beaming out of that sentence.
Kala: That, and maybe I'd like to buy the world a coke and keep it company.
Jamie: There's caffeine involved? That's all I needed.
Kala: Tentative!!!!!!????? What's wrong with you mate? It's CAKE!
Jamie: Yeah well... what kind of cake is it??
Kala: It's yummy and good and wonderful with stuff... And candles. And if you ever wanted an opportunity to hit Christian in the arm, this is it. I know I want to hit him everyday.
Jamie: Meh, I do that whenever I want already. What else you got?
Kala: I got nothin left. Except perhaps making the world a brighter, happier place to live in because we support each other every single day through the small things, like birthdays. Your contribution to Christian's happy birthday will give him the ability to one day raise happy and healthy children who will in turn provide your children with good friends.
Jamie: Arrgh! Sorry, got blinded by the sunshine beaming out of that sentence.
Kala: That, and maybe I'd like to buy the world a coke and keep it company.
Jamie: There's caffeine involved? That's all I needed.
09 February, 2006
Floating in the Palm of My Mother’s Hand
My marriage to my ex-husband. When it was good, it was very, very good. And when it was bad, it was ugly. I am finally dealing with it.
In the beginning I was hiding. I never understood the depth or the level of pain that I was feeling. I pushed it down and pushed it away and never looked at it straight in the face. Not the break up of my actual marriage; but the residual feelings it created and left behind.
Sometimes I think of him; a thought or a moment. Something small and insignificant, like the way his hands looked wearing his wedding ring; my wedding ring. I have missed that. How he looked when he spoke my name and the smile that would glint in his eye. I think of these things and then I cry. Not for the loss of him, but for the hole that it has left in my heart.
And for the first time in two years I am not filling it with anything. I have been lucky in some regard, I was smart enough not to jump into another relationship and fill that hole with someone else and perhaps their problems. However, over the last two years I have been filling that hole with other things; food, driving, self hateful thoughts, friends, my job, the ability to keep going and burn the candle at both ends all the time. But mostly I have filled that hole with my Mother’s love.
Tonight I longed for her. So deeply I can not begin to express my utter feeling of despair that I so desperately needed to feel her place her hand on top of mine and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that I would be okay. Her beautiful, long fingers giving me a great wave of love and support. Her capable hands that always knew how to make everything better. My Mother’s strength is unparalleled and has always had the ability to make me see the light of day. And now I have to do it on my own.
I have put physical distance between my Mother and me. Not because I don’t want to be with her, but because I can’t be. Her love is so powerful and so strong and so supportive that often she takes the burden of truth away from me and relieves me of the pain that I think I have to feel, that I need to feel, that I want to feel. For the first time in my life I am forced to stand on my own two feet. For the first time in my life I am forced to take a look at the greater picture that is my life and what I am making of it. I am forced to take the burden of responsibility and not allow anyone to tell me that I will be okay. Because the only way that I am going to be okay with the pain that my divorce left behind is if I come to terms with my realities and make myself okay again. I need to fill the hole with love for myself.
Tonight, I cried on the bus ride home and made a bit of a fool of myself. And then I smiled because I survived it. My Mother gave me all her love, all her support, so many years of teaching me how to be a person. All this I did not leave behind. I carried her strength with me over an ocean. I am using these tools to grow every single day. And like a boat of protection; even in a far off country, I am still supported by the love of my Mother’s hands.
In the beginning I was hiding. I never understood the depth or the level of pain that I was feeling. I pushed it down and pushed it away and never looked at it straight in the face. Not the break up of my actual marriage; but the residual feelings it created and left behind.
Sometimes I think of him; a thought or a moment. Something small and insignificant, like the way his hands looked wearing his wedding ring; my wedding ring. I have missed that. How he looked when he spoke my name and the smile that would glint in his eye. I think of these things and then I cry. Not for the loss of him, but for the hole that it has left in my heart.
And for the first time in two years I am not filling it with anything. I have been lucky in some regard, I was smart enough not to jump into another relationship and fill that hole with someone else and perhaps their problems. However, over the last two years I have been filling that hole with other things; food, driving, self hateful thoughts, friends, my job, the ability to keep going and burn the candle at both ends all the time. But mostly I have filled that hole with my Mother’s love.
Tonight I longed for her. So deeply I can not begin to express my utter feeling of despair that I so desperately needed to feel her place her hand on top of mine and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that I would be okay. Her beautiful, long fingers giving me a great wave of love and support. Her capable hands that always knew how to make everything better. My Mother’s strength is unparalleled and has always had the ability to make me see the light of day. And now I have to do it on my own.
I have put physical distance between my Mother and me. Not because I don’t want to be with her, but because I can’t be. Her love is so powerful and so strong and so supportive that often she takes the burden of truth away from me and relieves me of the pain that I think I have to feel, that I need to feel, that I want to feel. For the first time in my life I am forced to stand on my own two feet. For the first time in my life I am forced to take a look at the greater picture that is my life and what I am making of it. I am forced to take the burden of responsibility and not allow anyone to tell me that I will be okay. Because the only way that I am going to be okay with the pain that my divorce left behind is if I come to terms with my realities and make myself okay again. I need to fill the hole with love for myself.
Tonight, I cried on the bus ride home and made a bit of a fool of myself. And then I smiled because I survived it. My Mother gave me all her love, all her support, so many years of teaching me how to be a person. All this I did not leave behind. I carried her strength with me over an ocean. I am using these tools to grow every single day. And like a boat of protection; even in a far off country, I am still supported by the love of my Mother’s hands.
08 February, 2006
Cumo?
I am rounding upon the end of month three working for the Kiwi Big Bad Software Company.
While sitting at work with one hell of a headache that was caused by Testing and Quality Assurancing this piece of big bad software I blurted loudly, across the room, across the hall so someone, anyone can hear me "I NEED A BEER!" and whimpered with a flourish of a finish.
To which my bunny slipper clad CEO walked from his desk to the fridge in the conference room, grabbed me a light beer and brought it to me.
Now that's service with a smile!
Not only do I get paid to do a job that I am crazy about but I get the heads of state fetching me alcoholic beverages, AT WORK, as well.
G-D DAMN I love this country!
While sitting at work with one hell of a headache that was caused by Testing and Quality Assurancing this piece of big bad software I blurted loudly, across the room, across the hall so someone, anyone can hear me "I NEED A BEER!" and whimpered with a flourish of a finish.
To which my bunny slipper clad CEO walked from his desk to the fridge in the conference room, grabbed me a light beer and brought it to me.
Now that's service with a smile!
Not only do I get paid to do a job that I am crazy about but I get the heads of state fetching me alcoholic beverages, AT WORK, as well.
G-D DAMN I love this country!
07 February, 2006
Things Our Father's Didn't Teach Us
The three of us loaded into the car on Saturday afternoon to take one last trip to the Coromandal's before my mate had to hand the keys back to the owner. However, this short stint was a bit different; it was just us girls and we were WOMEN EMPOWERED.
Our 'girls only' weekend began when we got in the car and decided that the song "And I had the time of my life" by Patrick Swayze should be our theme song and proceeded to screech that song at the top of our ever loving lungs for the 2 hour drive to the batch. The theme continued as we talked about men, dreams and the cheesey movies that we grew up on, adored and secretly hoped our lives would emulate. Patrick and Jennifer were defiantly getting married in the future. They tango'd way to well together.
We agreed. We made a pact in blood. We bonded as women and swore till then end of time that we would not always need the men around. Gosh darn it, we were on a roll. We can do anything!
Until it came time to hook up the barbecue.
Damn.
Foiled again. A good plan completely gone up shit's creek without a paddle.
You would think three smart women could figure out how to hook up a damn gas barbecue. You would be wrong. We tried mind you. We tried for an hour. We used socket wrench type things and cursed like real men. I think I even made up a few new swear words while not giving in to the plain fact that my father didn't teach me how to hook up a fucking barbecue. Oh he taught my brother all right. Sure, I think there was a bonding moment there when Ray was 12 and Dad taught him things like how to pick up girls, how to use electrical tape for everything and how to go three days without changing underwear, four if necessary. This is just stuff that guys know and girls don't and quite frankly I never would have thought I needed to know until this moment. I mean; men barbecue. Women make salad.
So there we are; three pathetic women, hungry and pissed that we are so sad. Finally I gave in and begged a neighbor to do it for us. Low and behold I now know that in order to hook up the gas barbecue you have to screw the screw thingy in COUNTER CLOCKWISE. Yea, because that should have been obvious.
Two days later I yelled at Dad from 250,000 miles away. "I want to know ALL the things that you taught Raymond, Dad! I want to know what you held back from me while you were so busy teaching me how to be a girl"
Dad's cowering response, lilted with a giggle "What's the password?"
Our 'girls only' weekend began when we got in the car and decided that the song "And I had the time of my life" by Patrick Swayze should be our theme song and proceeded to screech that song at the top of our ever loving lungs for the 2 hour drive to the batch. The theme continued as we talked about men, dreams and the cheesey movies that we grew up on, adored and secretly hoped our lives would emulate. Patrick and Jennifer were defiantly getting married in the future. They tango'd way to well together.
We agreed. We made a pact in blood. We bonded as women and swore till then end of time that we would not always need the men around. Gosh darn it, we were on a roll. We can do anything!
Until it came time to hook up the barbecue.
Damn.
Foiled again. A good plan completely gone up shit's creek without a paddle.
You would think three smart women could figure out how to hook up a damn gas barbecue. You would be wrong. We tried mind you. We tried for an hour. We used socket wrench type things and cursed like real men. I think I even made up a few new swear words while not giving in to the plain fact that my father didn't teach me how to hook up a fucking barbecue. Oh he taught my brother all right. Sure, I think there was a bonding moment there when Ray was 12 and Dad taught him things like how to pick up girls, how to use electrical tape for everything and how to go three days without changing underwear, four if necessary. This is just stuff that guys know and girls don't and quite frankly I never would have thought I needed to know until this moment. I mean; men barbecue. Women make salad.
So there we are; three pathetic women, hungry and pissed that we are so sad. Finally I gave in and begged a neighbor to do it for us. Low and behold I now know that in order to hook up the gas barbecue you have to screw the screw thingy in COUNTER CLOCKWISE. Yea, because that should have been obvious.
Two days later I yelled at Dad from 250,000 miles away. "I want to know ALL the things that you taught Raymond, Dad! I want to know what you held back from me while you were so busy teaching me how to be a girl"
Dad's cowering response, lilted with a giggle "What's the password?"
03 February, 2006
Resurrecting my Oma in my feet
Last night I looked down at my feet and thought "Huh, hi Oma." This only because my feet had swollen into melony-grapefruit sized pudgy, Oompa Lumpa feet because the New Zealand sun spanked my ass on Sunday and gave me one hell of a burn. And my feet; well at this point they look EXACTLY like my grandmother's feet from a distant far off memory when I was five.
It is odd and strange and nostalgically wonderful and really sad as in a "I am never getting a date with a cute man ever again in my life" way as well.
My memories of my Oma sometimes make me cry. I miss that Oma so much.
The Oma that would stand with her hands on her hips, her palms folded to the back and look at you with that look that could make you do just about anything she said to do. Getting this Oma mad and breaking the rules was never a smart thing to do.
The Oma that gave wonderful and powerful and protective hugs so deep and hard that when you pressed your face into her neck you felt like there was no other place in the world that you would rather be.
The Oma that patiently taught me how to crochet a little shirt for my bear and when I was done made such a big deal out of my little accomplishment that I thought for ten seconds that I really was the greatest kid in the whole world.
The Oma that always followed up accomplishments and good behavior with cherry pie or anglefood cake with fresh strawberries and coffee. And I was ALWAYS served my own portion of coffee. This made my good dead TOTALLY worth it.
The Oma that trusted us to get the mail in the morning, put the garbage out at night, sit in Opa's study quietly, run around at the park, sit in the front seat and behave and eat a meal in a restaurant with good manners. I think that is one of the memories that I cherish the most. No matter what, she always excepted that she could trust us and therefore we never wanted to let her down.
And of course I did let her down when I was nineteen. Or perhaps she let me down too. I don't really remember or know how it had culminated and spiraled out of control until we no longer liked each other. Perhaps it was the expectation that our worlds and therefore our role within our relationship would always be the same. Somehow, I don't think that my Oma ever expected me to have an opinion. Which I find funny, because I was one hell of an opinionated kid. And when I did have a grown up opinion, somehow I think that I expected her to be open to it and respect it. Which she wasn't.
Over the years I have thought about picking up the phone to make the attempt to have a conversation with her. But I have also seen what other's have gone through in trying to patch up their relationships with my Oma. She is one hell of a stubborn women and is not so good at the giving of the second chances. So I never tried. I have always been afraid that the sharp tongue that will meet the other end of my apology would be far more than I can handle.
I have preferred to have an Oma in my memories instead. I know for a fact that she will never meet me halfway. I know that she will never hear anything that I have to say. And so I live with an Oma everyday in my own way. Like, looking down at my swollen feet and thinking "Huh, so I have a bit of her in me afterall.".
It is odd and strange and nostalgically wonderful and really sad as in a "I am never getting a date with a cute man ever again in my life" way as well.
My memories of my Oma sometimes make me cry. I miss that Oma so much.
The Oma that would stand with her hands on her hips, her palms folded to the back and look at you with that look that could make you do just about anything she said to do. Getting this Oma mad and breaking the rules was never a smart thing to do.
The Oma that gave wonderful and powerful and protective hugs so deep and hard that when you pressed your face into her neck you felt like there was no other place in the world that you would rather be.
The Oma that patiently taught me how to crochet a little shirt for my bear and when I was done made such a big deal out of my little accomplishment that I thought for ten seconds that I really was the greatest kid in the whole world.
The Oma that always followed up accomplishments and good behavior with cherry pie or anglefood cake with fresh strawberries and coffee. And I was ALWAYS served my own portion of coffee. This made my good dead TOTALLY worth it.
The Oma that trusted us to get the mail in the morning, put the garbage out at night, sit in Opa's study quietly, run around at the park, sit in the front seat and behave and eat a meal in a restaurant with good manners. I think that is one of the memories that I cherish the most. No matter what, she always excepted that she could trust us and therefore we never wanted to let her down.
And of course I did let her down when I was nineteen. Or perhaps she let me down too. I don't really remember or know how it had culminated and spiraled out of control until we no longer liked each other. Perhaps it was the expectation that our worlds and therefore our role within our relationship would always be the same. Somehow, I don't think that my Oma ever expected me to have an opinion. Which I find funny, because I was one hell of an opinionated kid. And when I did have a grown up opinion, somehow I think that I expected her to be open to it and respect it. Which she wasn't.
Over the years I have thought about picking up the phone to make the attempt to have a conversation with her. But I have also seen what other's have gone through in trying to patch up their relationships with my Oma. She is one hell of a stubborn women and is not so good at the giving of the second chances. So I never tried. I have always been afraid that the sharp tongue that will meet the other end of my apology would be far more than I can handle.
I have preferred to have an Oma in my memories instead. I know for a fact that she will never meet me halfway. I know that she will never hear anything that I have to say. And so I live with an Oma everyday in my own way. Like, looking down at my swollen feet and thinking "Huh, so I have a bit of her in me afterall.".
02 February, 2006
The 100 things you should know about me list.....Revised
I don’t have any regrets. I have a few “I wish I hadn’ts”, but no regrets.
I have thoroughly weeded through the “I wish I hadn’t” list and learned a great deal from not listening to my instincts and being to frightened of actually being right about my own future. I no longer make that mistake.
I will agree to disagree.
A Separate Peace by John Knowles has been my favorite book since high school.
Not kissing anyone is better than kissing a bad kisser. Bad kisser's can break your heart too.
I am currently reading work by Friedrich Nietzsche. I am not so fascinated by his writing, but more that I need to see what the big fucking deal is about.
I have a crush on a man. A big crush. When I meet him face to face, I may just stop breathing.
I don’t think I am any more of a pain in the ass then the next girl, but I am willing to explore a more realistic view.
My I.Q. is 145. It is not that I am bragging; it’s just that I took that stupid test and the fact that my I.Q. is 145 has never gotten me anything, nor has it ever landed me a promotion. So, at the very least I should be able to write that fact down on my blog.
I would love to pray in a Buddhist Temple in South East Asia. If G-d is to be found somewhere in this world, I have a funny feeling that he would be there before spending time in the local shopping mall.
I would love to adopt a child.
I love listening to other people curse.
I love lying in bed early on a Sunday morning listening to the rain.
By nature, I am a night person.
I laugh out loud, especially at myself.
I am never lonely.
I have been keeping a journal of sorts since I was in middle school.
I would love to travel the world.
Growing up I thought that being Japanese with long, silky blond hair would be cool.
The best day of my life hasn’t happened yet. And if it ever does, what will I have to look forward to?
The worst day of my life, I lived through and successfully put behind me.
My family comes from Germany, Italy and Greece.
I am a first generation American. I don’t really understand what ‘American as Apple Pie’ means.
I love the fact that I grew up eating deli for breakfast.
I look Mediterranean and it is something that I am finally starting to enjoy.
I love cheesy British, New Zealand and Australian Television Shows.
I can not stand Fettuccine Alfredo.
I am horrible at remembering names, but I never forget a face.
I have amazing night vision.
I would love to own a dog, a cat and a horse.
I want to run the NYC marathon.
I was kicked out of Brownies when I was in second grade.
I will never cut my hair off.
I adore my brother. Much more so than he will ever realize.
I am currently working on a novel.
My nephews call me Auntie.
I would like to learn how to scuba dive … well
My Mother and I are good friends. She is amazing, brilliant and so funny. I am pretty sure she is my hero. She has lived her life with such self respect, such an amazing amount of assurance in who she is. I envy her that.
My favorite place in the world is the beach in the rain.
I am very realistic about my world views and a die-hard romantic about my love life.
I finally have the guts to admit that I am not perfect, that I will never be perfect, that no matter how much I try to aim for perfect I will always let myself down.
I take learning from my failures very seriously.
I love to rock climb and hike.
My favorite colors are the blues that you find in the ocean.
But for some reason most of my clothes are black, gray and white.
I truly believe that most people lie all the time. I don’t have trust issues, I have liar issues.
I have many different religions. I love them all. They are beautiful in their creation; it is usually their execution by man that sucks.
If I fall in love, I tend to be too kind and far too understanding. I have been asking the Universe to send people who will not take advantage of this trait. So far the Universe has been having some fun with me.
Every once in a while I love to crank some good old ACDC, Boston, Journey and Foreigner and play air drums.
I can’t stand reality television. What is so real about it? I want the next TV Reality show to follow the Mom in the projects who has three babies to feed and has to make the agonizing decision on weather or not to go off welfare. If she goes off welfare and takes the minimum wage job, she won’t make enough money for day care and then who will take care of the kids. Now THAT is Reality TV.
I wonder, in 100 years what those generations will think of the horrible things that we did to our bodies in order to attain beauty?
I love Britney Spears. Don’t love her music and she can’t sing, but people like her make the celebrity phenomenon thing in the USA so much more interesting.
I had 27 part time jobs before my career started when I was 20.
I can wait tables like nobody’s business!
Personal favorite: Roller coasters.
Pet Peeve: The non-use of blinkers when driving in front of me, especially when you have the audacity to cut me off.
I loved my second grade teacher. She played the guitar and let me finger paint.
Two ways to tell if I like a guy. 1) I say nothing and hope to God he gets the guts to speak with me and 2) Make a fool of myself while words are incoherently coming out of my mouth and I babble like an ass.
I didn’t stop eating meat because I was being political about it. I stopped eating it because I just don’t like it. Although, I now eats the sushi. We loves the sushi.
It’s stupid, I know, but I get pissed off at the internet when my server is slow.
I have decided to throw my self full force, face first into learning to speak German like a real German. This may never be a boost for my career, but at least it will make my mother happy.
I never intended on becoming a Systems Engineer. In fact my intention was to become an Artist. A writer, a singer, an actor, a painter, a photographer. These are my passions. And when you met me, you will know within 10 minutes that this is what I should have done for a living.
I didn’t become an actor or an artist early on in my life because I was scared to DEATH.
I harbor a secret fantasy. That perhaps one I may just toss my hat in the acting ring. I just may. Only because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
I never go anywhere without; sunglasses, iPod, cash, cherry flavored Labello, the most recent book that I am reading and my camera. Reading this sentence just makes me feel like a spoiled bitch. God, you would think that I would never go anywhere without making a donation to a starving child somewhere and instead I am running around with a camera. Makes you stop and observe the world differently.
I could care less about labels and clothes and who’s who and what’s what. But I must admit that I love my iPod and I never go anywhere without it. So does this make me label conscience?
I trip over the cracks in the sidewalk.
I sneeze loudly.
I will always tell someone when they have food in their teeth. I figure it’s better to know as soon as possible.
I am not naive, but because I am open minded people think that I am.
I am very good at verbal bat mitten.
I am a picky eater.
I could give a shit about restaurants.
Favorite city: Berlin, Germany.
I love rock concerts and live music.
I will always think I am fat no matter how thin I am. And it will always hurt.
I enjoy being a woman. I never want to wear the pants in the relationship. This does not mean that I am not progressive in my ideas. It just means that men and women are different and I really like my part.
Biggest turn on: the way you smell and the shape of your hands.
Biggest turn off: narcissism.
I love the smell of; airports, Florida, Brooks Brother’s cologne, wrapping paper, rain, cut grass, a fresh clean shave, towels from the dryer, my bed in the morning, a musty barn, burning leaves in the fall.
Skydiving is still the most amazing rush of adrenaline I have ever had in my life and my brain is still frapped from it!
Didn’t love bungee jumping.
I sing commercial jingles. You would HATE food shopping with me.
I rock at gin rummy and batgamon and can play for hours.
I feel disillusioned by the American Dream. I feel like it has all been one big fat ploy on the part of the few to lie to the masses and make those few more money all the while the masses have higher debt.
I am still looking for an answer to “Why do all the homes in Bergen County cost more than $700,000? Even the little fucking cape cods cost $700,000! Is EVERYONE in Bergen County a FUCKING DOCTOR?”
If you snort beer out your nose while laughing, I may just laugh at you even if I don’t know you.
I am floored by people who constantly complain about the same thing and then don’t even TRY to change it.
I hate bugs in the house, they freak me out.
My biggest fears in life: Becoming lost for so long that I can not find my way out.
My father just may be my most favorite person in the world to: hug, tell jokes with, make fun of my Mother with, watch TV with, scream with and eat breakfast with.
I love flying. And I love airports. And I love traveling. I however am older and wiser. It is no longer an innocent trip abroad; there is conscious thinking there now. There is a holding of my breath.
I want to love so long and hard and honestly until I bleed and it hurts and I can not tear myself away from that person. Hasn’t happened yet.
I like wine and beer equally, just depends on the venue.
Don’t micro-manage me.
When I have anxiety attacks, I make lists. They make me feel better.
I am not okay with being single. I tell myself that I am. I tell everyone around me that I am. I really do want passion.
I am NOT willing to settle in order to NOT be single. I would rather live without the passion and keep my soul.
I am currently having issues with self-esteem.
I do get jealous. But not in a bad way. In an inspired way.
I am not like any girl you have ever met. I will drive you crazy, make you think, cause you to open your eyes, invite adventure, ask you to dare and push you to your limits.
I have thoroughly weeded through the “I wish I hadn’t” list and learned a great deal from not listening to my instincts and being to frightened of actually being right about my own future. I no longer make that mistake.
I will agree to disagree.
A Separate Peace by John Knowles has been my favorite book since high school.
Not kissing anyone is better than kissing a bad kisser. Bad kisser's can break your heart too.
I am currently reading work by Friedrich Nietzsche. I am not so fascinated by his writing, but more that I need to see what the big fucking deal is about.
I have a crush on a man. A big crush. When I meet him face to face, I may just stop breathing.
I don’t think I am any more of a pain in the ass then the next girl, but I am willing to explore a more realistic view.
My I.Q. is 145. It is not that I am bragging; it’s just that I took that stupid test and the fact that my I.Q. is 145 has never gotten me anything, nor has it ever landed me a promotion. So, at the very least I should be able to write that fact down on my blog.
I would love to pray in a Buddhist Temple in South East Asia. If G-d is to be found somewhere in this world, I have a funny feeling that he would be there before spending time in the local shopping mall.
I would love to adopt a child.
I love listening to other people curse.
I love lying in bed early on a Sunday morning listening to the rain.
By nature, I am a night person.
I laugh out loud, especially at myself.
I am never lonely.
I have been keeping a journal of sorts since I was in middle school.
I would love to travel the world.
Growing up I thought that being Japanese with long, silky blond hair would be cool.
The best day of my life hasn’t happened yet. And if it ever does, what will I have to look forward to?
The worst day of my life, I lived through and successfully put behind me.
My family comes from Germany, Italy and Greece.
I am a first generation American. I don’t really understand what ‘American as Apple Pie’ means.
I love the fact that I grew up eating deli for breakfast.
I look Mediterranean and it is something that I am finally starting to enjoy.
I love cheesy British, New Zealand and Australian Television Shows.
I can not stand Fettuccine Alfredo.
I am horrible at remembering names, but I never forget a face.
I have amazing night vision.
I would love to own a dog, a cat and a horse.
I want to run the NYC marathon.
I was kicked out of Brownies when I was in second grade.
I will never cut my hair off.
I adore my brother. Much more so than he will ever realize.
I am currently working on a novel.
My nephews call me Auntie.
I would like to learn how to scuba dive … well
My Mother and I are good friends. She is amazing, brilliant and so funny. I am pretty sure she is my hero. She has lived her life with such self respect, such an amazing amount of assurance in who she is. I envy her that.
My favorite place in the world is the beach in the rain.
I am very realistic about my world views and a die-hard romantic about my love life.
I finally have the guts to admit that I am not perfect, that I will never be perfect, that no matter how much I try to aim for perfect I will always let myself down.
I take learning from my failures very seriously.
I love to rock climb and hike.
My favorite colors are the blues that you find in the ocean.
But for some reason most of my clothes are black, gray and white.
I truly believe that most people lie all the time. I don’t have trust issues, I have liar issues.
I have many different religions. I love them all. They are beautiful in their creation; it is usually their execution by man that sucks.
If I fall in love, I tend to be too kind and far too understanding. I have been asking the Universe to send people who will not take advantage of this trait. So far the Universe has been having some fun with me.
Every once in a while I love to crank some good old ACDC, Boston, Journey and Foreigner and play air drums.
I can’t stand reality television. What is so real about it? I want the next TV Reality show to follow the Mom in the projects who has three babies to feed and has to make the agonizing decision on weather or not to go off welfare. If she goes off welfare and takes the minimum wage job, she won’t make enough money for day care and then who will take care of the kids. Now THAT is Reality TV.
I wonder, in 100 years what those generations will think of the horrible things that we did to our bodies in order to attain beauty?
I love Britney Spears. Don’t love her music and she can’t sing, but people like her make the celebrity phenomenon thing in the USA so much more interesting.
I had 27 part time jobs before my career started when I was 20.
I can wait tables like nobody’s business!
Personal favorite: Roller coasters.
Pet Peeve: The non-use of blinkers when driving in front of me, especially when you have the audacity to cut me off.
I loved my second grade teacher. She played the guitar and let me finger paint.
Two ways to tell if I like a guy. 1) I say nothing and hope to God he gets the guts to speak with me and 2) Make a fool of myself while words are incoherently coming out of my mouth and I babble like an ass.
I didn’t stop eating meat because I was being political about it. I stopped eating it because I just don’t like it. Although, I now eats the sushi. We loves the sushi.
It’s stupid, I know, but I get pissed off at the internet when my server is slow.
I have decided to throw my self full force, face first into learning to speak German like a real German. This may never be a boost for my career, but at least it will make my mother happy.
I never intended on becoming a Systems Engineer. In fact my intention was to become an Artist. A writer, a singer, an actor, a painter, a photographer. These are my passions. And when you met me, you will know within 10 minutes that this is what I should have done for a living.
I didn’t become an actor or an artist early on in my life because I was scared to DEATH.
I harbor a secret fantasy. That perhaps one I may just toss my hat in the acting ring. I just may. Only because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.
I never go anywhere without; sunglasses, iPod, cash, cherry flavored Labello, the most recent book that I am reading and my camera. Reading this sentence just makes me feel like a spoiled bitch. God, you would think that I would never go anywhere without making a donation to a starving child somewhere and instead I am running around with a camera. Makes you stop and observe the world differently.
I could care less about labels and clothes and who’s who and what’s what. But I must admit that I love my iPod and I never go anywhere without it. So does this make me label conscience?
I trip over the cracks in the sidewalk.
I sneeze loudly.
I will always tell someone when they have food in their teeth. I figure it’s better to know as soon as possible.
I am not naive, but because I am open minded people think that I am.
I am very good at verbal bat mitten.
I am a picky eater.
I could give a shit about restaurants.
Favorite city: Berlin, Germany.
I love rock concerts and live music.
I will always think I am fat no matter how thin I am. And it will always hurt.
I enjoy being a woman. I never want to wear the pants in the relationship. This does not mean that I am not progressive in my ideas. It just means that men and women are different and I really like my part.
Biggest turn on: the way you smell and the shape of your hands.
Biggest turn off: narcissism.
I love the smell of; airports, Florida, Brooks Brother’s cologne, wrapping paper, rain, cut grass, a fresh clean shave, towels from the dryer, my bed in the morning, a musty barn, burning leaves in the fall.
Skydiving is still the most amazing rush of adrenaline I have ever had in my life and my brain is still frapped from it!
Didn’t love bungee jumping.
I sing commercial jingles. You would HATE food shopping with me.
I rock at gin rummy and batgamon and can play for hours.
I feel disillusioned by the American Dream. I feel like it has all been one big fat ploy on the part of the few to lie to the masses and make those few more money all the while the masses have higher debt.
I am still looking for an answer to “Why do all the homes in Bergen County cost more than $700,000? Even the little fucking cape cods cost $700,000! Is EVERYONE in Bergen County a FUCKING DOCTOR?”
If you snort beer out your nose while laughing, I may just laugh at you even if I don’t know you.
I am floored by people who constantly complain about the same thing and then don’t even TRY to change it.
I hate bugs in the house, they freak me out.
My biggest fears in life: Becoming lost for so long that I can not find my way out.
My father just may be my most favorite person in the world to: hug, tell jokes with, make fun of my Mother with, watch TV with, scream with and eat breakfast with.
I love flying. And I love airports. And I love traveling. I however am older and wiser. It is no longer an innocent trip abroad; there is conscious thinking there now. There is a holding of my breath.
I want to love so long and hard and honestly until I bleed and it hurts and I can not tear myself away from that person. Hasn’t happened yet.
I like wine and beer equally, just depends on the venue.
Don’t micro-manage me.
When I have anxiety attacks, I make lists. They make me feel better.
I am not okay with being single. I tell myself that I am. I tell everyone around me that I am. I really do want passion.
I am NOT willing to settle in order to NOT be single. I would rather live without the passion and keep my soul.
I am currently having issues with self-esteem.
I do get jealous. But not in a bad way. In an inspired way.
I am not like any girl you have ever met. I will drive you crazy, make you think, cause you to open your eyes, invite adventure, ask you to dare and push you to your limits.
01 February, 2006
This is gonna be about the stupidest thing that I have EVER done.
I am about to let my friends and family have access to my web blog. Yes, I know that this opens up a whole host of opportunities for those in my life to really have access to the thoughts in my life, a prospect that I find frightening.
And yes, I have not updated as well as of late; but I have been lurking and editing. And you will probably see that I have deleted a good many posts. Not that I believe in editing content mind you. I do however believe in sparing people's feelings. So a few of the posts were deleted because their content was either political or involved a personal opinion or a feeling or moment in my life that I quite frankly would rather not be so open and honest about. Funny, I can share all of my feelings under the guise of being anonymous, but when faced with the prospect of those who know me best REALLY knowing me best, I get scared and run for the hills. Perhaps I will consider a gradual invasion of my thoughts and rants slowly.... Very slowly.
And I have missed posting terribly. It has come down to the fact that I am either going to post and write about all of this crap called 'my life' here, or I am going to email. I can't do both. I don't have time. I would have no life to write about if I didn't get away from the computer, so I have to pick one. And until I pick one I will end up doing nothing.
I have a few posts that I also very much need to catch up on. You have missed my South Island 10 journey and the glacier that I hiked, my trip to Wellington, and now my trip to the Coromandels.... and well a whole host of observations, rules to break, dating exposes, friends, and all around killing myself to keep up with a daily routine of getting my fat ass back in the gym. See! Don't you feel that this is important crap to write about?
That was rhetorical, don't answer.
And yes, I have not updated as well as of late; but I have been lurking and editing. And you will probably see that I have deleted a good many posts. Not that I believe in editing content mind you. I do however believe in sparing people's feelings. So a few of the posts were deleted because their content was either political or involved a personal opinion or a feeling or moment in my life that I quite frankly would rather not be so open and honest about. Funny, I can share all of my feelings under the guise of being anonymous, but when faced with the prospect of those who know me best REALLY knowing me best, I get scared and run for the hills. Perhaps I will consider a gradual invasion of my thoughts and rants slowly.... Very slowly.
And I have missed posting terribly. It has come down to the fact that I am either going to post and write about all of this crap called 'my life' here, or I am going to email. I can't do both. I don't have time. I would have no life to write about if I didn't get away from the computer, so I have to pick one. And until I pick one I will end up doing nothing.
I have a few posts that I also very much need to catch up on. You have missed my South Island 10 journey and the glacier that I hiked, my trip to Wellington, and now my trip to the Coromandels.... and well a whole host of observations, rules to break, dating exposes, friends, and all around killing myself to keep up with a daily routine of getting my fat ass back in the gym. See! Don't you feel that this is important crap to write about?
That was rhetorical, don't answer.
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