Warning: OpEd coming ...

Warning: OpEd coming ... 

Lately I've gotten sucked in to politics. I used to be interested and well read in politics. I read and listened to wise people speak and believed that I was truly making up my own mind. I was not sheep and would bi partisan see both balanced views!! But the truth is no one in the world is informed. The "truth" is buried in lie after lie after shifting of the truth, after lie. The information and communication that the world makes decisions and judgements on is just one global giant adult version of the game "Telephone". But adult Telephone starts with two people in a room shifting the truth they pass on, while they cut a deal with each other. And then the next person adds their manipulation tax. And the next person adds their self serving bit of a slant on the truth to fit their particular need. Or someone omits something because of fear. By the time the so called truth reaches the public, the only wholesome kernel of truth left is a copyright footnote about the advertisement sponsor. Or perhaps a bit of truth is leaked and quickly the media work and spin that truth once again. By the end; by the time truth or politics or opinion or facts are printed and become news, no one really knows who said or did what, if they were not in the room. In the end, we will only end up looking back on our personal history and judging if we acted humanly towards our friends and neighbours. If we opened our mouths to protect our employees. If we tended a sick friend or were polite to the guy on the corner. All of which collectively can have an enormous impact on the world if we chose to have faith in each other. The Political Power People are not listening. Your Constituent voice is not counting. I don't know about you but I didn't vote for certain people and they still got a spot in office. So how many of us are actually being heard? Maybe it's time we started trusting each other more. 

I realised about 6 years ago that after leaving a certain large banking corporate that I was blessed to work with some of the BEST talent and awesome people that I ever worked with, but the Executive Management was corrupt and had no idea who their hard workers were. I believe the same thing about world governments. It's not the people. It's not the citizen of countries of the world that are making wrong, scary decisions that are plunging us into world crisis. It's the 1% in power. 

The Constitution of the US was brilliantly written to support "By the People and For the People". But the only people who vote are those who get picked for the electoral collage. And not one of those guys asked me what I wanted.   So how is The American Government upholding the constitution?  How are they proving to me that they are voting the way I asked them too when I see proof of the contrary, All. The. Friggen. Time. 

The last few days I've been asking myself how I can be a better person?  How can I lead and live with my heart as well as my intelligence and my conscience? Can I trust my governments to make the right decisions based on what they think my needs are? Can I trust them to do the right thing AND protect me? Can I trust them to do the humane thing and protect all those that are innocent, citizen or not?  The answer is plainly no. 

So who do I trust. Well for starters; I trust you. My friends. I trust that I have a good group of friends and acquaintances that just want to live happy hard working lives. And I trust you to make solid, humane and smart decisions.  It's a beginning. 

The next step is finding a way to dethrone the powerful, elite. Unfortunately that will probably take organising a very, very large majority out of a paper bag to dethrone a very, small and scary minority.  Easier blogged then done. 

Hedging

Finding my blog
Feeling vulnerable
Not feeling brave
Feeling very unsure on how to proceed

It's an update
It's a haiku

Change

Almost two years later, some things change, some things remain the same.

Sometimes you yearn for the old you; the one who danced the night away. You plan to return to the party just as you left it. But then you remember that you actually never danced the night away. More like; you danced for an hour and spent the rest of the time looking for a car park.

Some time ago, while I wasn’t looking, the girl in the mirror grew into a woman and I am not quiet used to her reflection yet. There are so many things about her that I really like and had always hoped I would become. But there are a few things that I am not used to and never expected to see. I feel like I am looking out and the reflection that I am scrutinizing is not me, but someone else. When I close my eyes, I can see the girl that I looked like before; the one who found worth in the eyes of those that never really saw her. The one who believed that sitting at the captain's table meant you had arrived. I once believed that happiness was attained by my ability to tick off the things that I accomplished. I viewed my failures and my successes by the yardstick held up by those around me. Either by force or by need my views on a successful life have changed.

It began with closure, which is a great relief. It is also a great equalizer. I could still love him, if I didn’t have the knowledge that he is dangerous and narcissistic and treated me with as much empathy as you would a vase. I could still love him; if I only remembered the way he smiled or said my name. But that is not all I remember. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. It does however give you the distance to not loose your mind when you remember how it ended. You stop talking about it way before you stop thinking about it. You recognize the flaws that you saw the whole time with blaring clarity. You forgive yourself and then you finally move on.

There are some things that you will never get over. Some hurts that will stay with you like a red stain on white carpet. You can scrub the hell out of it, but there will always be that ting of pink in the pattern reminding you of what was spilt there. It is a reminder of how little you valued yourself and is a testament to surviving it.

Some changes are welcome. You change your view on love and compassion, partnership and stability. I love someone now just as much as I have ever loved a man, but it is paved with far different intentions. The passion of my 24 year old girlfriend, who wants that man with ego to make her crazy, is a notion that I find cringe worthy. I would rather have a reliable man in my living room than a self possessed novelty that will break my heart. Lust only lasts for so long, but friendship and commitment are worth coming home too.

The woman I have become recognizes the value of stillness and the honesty of silence. I now see arrogance as a mark of weakness instead of a bridge to adulthood. Strength is not owned only by those that take the lead, but is more often found in those that are willing to quietly walk away.

Flatmates

Not only did she bite my head off, but she asked for condiments as well.


"Claire. Wake up."

"WHY!?!?!?!"

"Because it's 7:45 and you have to be at work at 8:30."

"oh, true that."

An Incredible Love of This Kind

I am in love with an incredible man
An overwhelming love of this kind
It’s the kind of love that is torture
It’s the kind of love that is mine

It’s the kind that drives me to see him
The kind that makes the crease by green eyes seem sweet
It’s the kind that keeps me charmed by his laughter
The kind that does not know defeat

It’s the kind that keeps me up in the evening
With thoughts of him in my head
It’s the kind that wakes me up in the morning
The smell of him in my bed

It’s the kind that makes me cry when my heart is broken
Wishing he would love me a little bit more
It’s the kind that keeps me his friend like I’m frozen
And will steal me away like a whore

It’s the kind that will wrap itself around me like paper
And will watch him walk out the door
It’s the kind that won’t allow me to let go or to hate him
But loathe that he'll reach for her hand as I am fighting a war

It’s the kind of love that is torture
It’s the kind of love that is mine
It’s the kind of love that I know here
It’s the kind of love that I find

And when it’s all said and over
When Valentine’s Day has gone by
It's the kind that will keep me here with my lover
An incredible love of this kind

Running on empty

Running to a place where your heart just hurts.
For last two years there has been not much beyond empty.

Too many nights with a partner-less, empty space in my bed.
Too many evenings eating canned dinner over the sink.
Too many moments, even if they are funny, laughing alone.

'They' say over time it hurts less.
I think 'they' are wrong.

I think it just hurts different.

Profound and Prolific

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."

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.

• 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Mail Man's Child

She was sent to us via aliens; hence the drool and the big eyes.

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.

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.

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.

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

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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.

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.

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.