Good Grief (Myspace Blog)

Old story told again. For the first one, read THIS POST.

Now, I certainly don't mind people talking to me and having interesting conversations with me. And I welcome new friends, which is why my page is public. But come on... at least take a moment to READ my page. Obviously happily involved with someone, obviously not only literate but also eloquent enough that people want to read what I have to say. What could possibly make someone think that the way to my heart (a direct route through Stephen, may I point out) is through something like this:

hey u huni. wud love to have a chat with u sexy. du u have msn babes.x

Come on. Get real. Like I am going to just swoon and immediately give you my MSN because you call me sexy. And yes, that is copied and directly pasted from the message.

Today must be my lucky day, because not only do I get that one, but this one too!

how are you?can we meet?pls anser me.are u really 33 ?:))
u look like a model?

If I was 12 and received this, I certainly hope that in today's world I would already know that the answer is H**L NO I am not going to meet you! I don't even know you! Even if I am thought of as pretty (which some days is a very debatable thing...) I am most definitely not stupid. Messages like this are, and sadly people fall for them all the time. I feel it is my duty to point them out and say that these people are not worth even replying to. Perhaps being blatantly shown how silly they sound will convince them that English is a language to be salvaged, and perhaps the next people to message me will actually take the time to read what I have on my page.

Shesh. Just... shesh.

Dear god

I do not know how to let him go. And my heart is already being torn out of my chest thinking about it.

Computer Adventures, Among Other Things

So, yesterday was a busy/good day.

I went to lunch with Chris and Marianna at a Thai place in El Paso. I had green prawn curry (though they didn't know what prawns were, and I forgot to just say shrimp.) It was HOT. Way hot. So hot I wasn't able to finish it and I'm not sure that I want to touch it today. Yum... but ow! We went to their favourite bakery afterwards for empanadas, and I had their 4 year old Ciara in the car. And wouldn't you know that I left my phone behind.

Since I had Ciara and didn't know where we were going, I couldn't turn around when I figured it out (almost immediately.) So I drove all the way to the bakery before turning around to go and get it. The people in the restaurant had it... but there is a funny story that I didn't know about until later. While my phone was AWOL, the people who found my phone called my sister Anna to ask if she knew who my phone belonged to. She said that she did (thank goodness this was not one of those times that she disowned me!) and asked them to leave it with the Thai restaurant people. She then sent my nephew Pat to go and fetch it. I beat him to the phone.

We still can't figure out how they called Anna's number. It was not the top number, nor was it in my called list. Strange.

So, back to the bakery for pumpkin empanadas, which are my favourite. I think I will have to make some at Samhain this year. I'm guessing that Stephen and Ash both will enjoy them. I brought home apple ones too, but not pineapple, because Anna is "allergic" (meaning she hates them.) Mom was upset at the lack of pineapple. They are her favourite. I can't win for losing with the empanadas. ;)

In the afternoon Anna and I went to Best Buy (to deal with broken laptop stuff before my warranty expires on the 25th of August) and Barnes and Noble. (They are right next door, and Anna goes gaga over books. Not me, of course. Never me.) The lines were long at Best Buy but to make a long story short, they took my laptop to repair it. It is not due back until the 24th... BUT since I fly back to the UK on the 7th, if it is not back by the 5th then they will give me a brand new one, free. I will be able to buy an extended warranty on it also. It may not be the best that they have, but they agreed that none of the specs will be less than what I had on the old laptop. They can, and most likely will, be better. I also found out that, if need be, they can make repairs overseas.

The downside is this: I couldn't lose my documents folder, and had no way to back it up at home, being that it was about 27 Gigabytes large. The least expensive external hard drive they had was more expensive than it would have cost for me to have Best Buy back up the folder, and the offer they extended to me was not going to happen if I didn't leave my computer then, so I felt that I had to pay them to back up my documents. It is money I didn't count on spending, nor is the money that I will spend for the extended warranty on a new computer (if it works out that way,) but I think both were/will be vital.

Barnes and Noble afterwards was nice because it was the first time I have gotten time to spend /with/ Anna. We browsed; she bought a whole lot of books. I ended up with two. This trip has been heavy on the reading, and I am really enjoying being able to read for pleasure rather than reading to learn. Perhaps another post I'll give you the lowdown on what I have read and what I think of them.

Tristan and I are really enjoying our time together. I am starting to dream of packing him into my suitcase and taking him home with me. I have dreamed things along those lines every night for the past 4 nights. I don't need a dream interpreter to know what that means. I am really going to hate leaving him.

Enough for now.
*kisses*

Welcome to America - Where Violence Starts Young.

Tristan's birthday party was yesterday, and much fun was had by all. As in every birthday party he has ever had, the crowning glory of the party (besides the awesome bubble-wrap party game: and whoever thought of THAT was absolutely brilliant) was the piñata.

I have never given piñatas much thought. Everyone has them. They are standard fare in the borderlands at birthday parties and other special occasions. But, holy cow, they really teach kids how to be violent.

Child approaches effigy of choice.


Child is handed a baseball bat or a stick.


Crowd screams in what can only be called blood lust, "Hit it! Kill it! Knock it around! Harder! Hit it harder!"

Parents and adults comment on the ability of the child to destruct the effigy. The more powerful the blows, the better. You hear things like, "She's a little spitfire, she is" or "Look at how he hits it, he will be strong when he grows up."

To challenge older children, they can be blindfolded and spun around, thus ensuring that they are capable of violence in difficult situations.

Children take turns hitting until said effigy is in bad enough shape to let out its insides, which happens to be some sort of sweet or toy. There is the mad rush of children to fill bags with goodies fallen to the ground, and a real 'each to his own' mentality. Those who get the most win. Those who don't, cry.

Upon thinking about it, this innate violence is not limited to this culture and the occurrences of piñatas (which may have originated in China and traveled across the world to Spain, and by extensions, Mexican culture.) The world has many types of similar things.

The ancient concept of the sacred king, who is sacrificed for the fertility of the fields at the end of his reign, transmuted into the sacrifice of an effigy. England's Bonfire Night sees children throwing effigies of the traitor Guy Fawkes they have been carrying around onto the bonfire and screaming in delight as it burns.

Historically effigies have represented powerful figures, and even today the destruction of an effigy may be a political statement of discontent.

It is not that I am against piñatas. I have grown up with them, as have my children. But it interests me that there is such a violent undercurrent to them that we don't even really notice. Perhaps violence is in our nature the world over.

References:

Sacred King:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sacred_king

The Piñata:
http://www.mexconnect.com/mex_/travel/wdevlin/wdpinatahistory.html

Bonfire Night:
http://www.woodlands-junior.kent.sch.uk/customs/guy/history.htm

Political Effigies:
http://cultureandcommunication.org/deadmedia/index.php/Political_Effigies

Effigies as political statements:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2006/sep/16/catholicism.religion
http://www.asiantribune.com/?q=node/12225

Hello Bluebells!

Hi Bluebells!

I thought you might want to know what I have done so far on my holiday, so I am sending you this blog to tell you, and to show you pictures.

Mr. Amy and I left on Wednesday night to go to London on a train, because I had to go to the airport VERY early and it was a long way away.

This is me on the train. Mr. Amy took this picture so I could say hi to you!

This is one of the stations that the train stopped at on the way to London. The train stops so that people can get on and off. Can you see what the town is called?

I got up and left our house to go to the train station so early that Mr. Amy was still asleep. I had to catch a bus, then another train to get to the airport.

This was the place I was sitting on the train. My luggage is strapped into the wall of the train so it didn't roll away when the train stopped. I watched it the whole time. It didn't do anything interesting at all. It just sat there.

This is a funny picture of me that I took for you. I was so tired that I forgot to smile.

These are some pictures of the planes I saw. The long tube is where the people walk to get onto the plane. You can see some steps that the people who maintain the planes use to put the luggage and the petrol into the plane and check to make sure it is safe to fly.

Can you see how many wheels are on these planes?

This is the plane that I flew in. I walked through the tube and through a door to get in the plane. It was full of lots of people. Each chair had a TV and I got to watch a film called 'Nim's Island'. I sat on the airplane for a really long time, all day long. Then I was at another airport and I had to wait a long time so I could get on another airplane. When I got off, my family was waiting for me! We all cried, we were so happy to see each other. Now I am at my Mummy's house.

This is a close picture so you can see how many wheels there really are on an airplane. Can you count them? Remember that some are hiding on the other side of the airplane too.

I miss you all, Bluebells, and will write to you again soon. You can ask me questions or write back to me if you want. There is a place at the bottom that says 'comments'. You can write there and I will see it!

The Truth is... Heavenly Hell

The truth of the last 36 hours is that they have been extremely difficult, but all for a good reason. I am in El Paso, I have Boo in my arms, and I never want to let him go. I have had little sleep, I cried more than once (actually, once in each airport) and I discovered that 1. I really hate traveling, especially alone, and 2. I think of England as home. I didn't realise that.

The reason that I am posting this little tidbit of truth is that I am going to use this blog to write to my kids at school about the trip. So you will see the gooshey everything-is-nice version, including pictures. But you all deserve the truth, too.

People so far have been difficult for me. I guess that I developed some sort of larger personal space rules, because everyone seems too close and too loud. Family has been wonderful, though. It is the random strangers that I am talking about. I didn't actually have a decent cup of tea until I got to Mom's house, and I needed it. My body hasn't adjusted to the time at all - I was exhausted and went to bed in El Paso by midnight. I was up at 3. Could not sleep. Because in my head that was 10 and I just couldn't bear to lie abed any longer. So I'm up. Now it is 5 am and I feel like my day is half over. Part of me wants to wake Tristan up and go and do stuff - but it is not exactly fair to make a kid change his schedule just because mine is out of whack.

So, enough truth. Onto the gloss!

And Whose Mad Idea Was This?!

Wow, can I stop to breathe yet?

1. We have a house. Really, a flat. It is a bit smaller (which is good) and a lot less expensive (which is also good.) We signed the papers on Saturday.

Up until Saturday was packing madness in preparation for the hypothetical move.

2. Saturday morning I RENTED A VEHICLE (Ford Transit Luton) from a van rental company and I had the joy of driving in Britain for the first time. I thought the wrong side of the road would be the worst. Nope. It is the shift on the left side rather than the right. And those round abouts are HARD. To signal properly you have to use the turn signal that tells where you will be going rather than the direction you actually start to turn in. It makes no sense to explain it, and it made no sense in my head while driving, but it does make sense when thought through.

3. Also on Saturday, we moved. 1 friend helped for about an hour. Stephen's mum's partner (SMP) helped. That was it. I have never before moved without having a million friends to help. It was such hard work. The old house is on the 3rd floor, as is the new one. Neither has an elevator. By the end of the day, we were both so exhausted that we couldn't think.

4. I am mean to my feet. Friday at work a mom stepped on my foot with her stiletto heels. So that is bruise 1 on the right foot. Saturday I dropped a table. That is bruise 2 on my right foot. I also kicked a box (bruise 3) and tripped on a stair (bruise 4.) The same table on my foot again (blood blister on top of bruise 2.) My possibly broken toe ached all day from the activity. I caught my right thumb on the railing of the new stairwell 5 or 6 times (yup - bruises) and somehow I managed to develop very nasty bruises on both knees. Poor Stephen has been plagued with leg cramps since, and with good reason: he and SMP did all the heaviest lifting without me.

5. Sunday was a shopping day, and I am now ready for my flight on Thursday morning very early. I will see you all then. I am going to collapse now.

The Job Interview

Today I had a job interview. There were 4, possibly 5 other people being interviewed. The job, and the interview were in London.

I had to give a 5 minute presentation, which was almost perfectly timed. The interviewers were running late, so I had the chance to have a meet and greet with some of the team that I would be working with before hand. The actual interview itself went ok. I could have been better, but it could have been worse.

I won't know anything until next week, as there is one person who is not actually interviewing until then.

I feel ambivalently about the whole thing. I'll wait and see what happens.

4th of July - British Style

Happy 4th of July.

British style means.... nothing.

No fireworks, no comments, nothing.

Stephen asked me last night if it made me sad to be missing July 4th, and I honestly had to say yes. Part of me wanted, once upon a time and even now and again, to not be an American. There are times when I am ashamed of my country and what we are doing in the world and to it. But I still love my country. I love it even when I am ashamed. I will never stop loving my country. It is a fundamental part of who I am. I am shaped by being American, and I am sad to not celebrate its becoming. I don't want to not be American. I just want being American to mean more than egocentricity and money. I want being American to mean something good not only to me, but in the eyes of the world.

So Happy 4th of July, friends and family. My heart is with you even though my body is not.

New Street and Memory Lane.

Update: We are moving.

We have been looking for a house to move into for a while, and it was getting pretty close on time. I was starting to get pretty worried that we were going to have no place to go. I started having dreams about houses being taken away from us at the last minute, and being homeless. Classic anxiety dreams.

As of yesterday, we THINK we have a house. It is smaller than what we are in now (that's good) and a lot less expensive too. Not too far away from where we are now. So it is easy to walk everywhere that we need to get to. Closer to my work, actually, though further from the Universities and Ash's school.

I actually slept last night without having dreams that involved houses. Nice.

Notice on the sideboard my little map. I'm quite excited to see where all of you are. If you click on the map, it will take you to a larger version, and from there you can even get more detail and see more accurately where everyone is. I have wanted a map on the blog for quite a while. Stephen-the-Computer-God made it happen. He is a nice man. I think I'll keep him for another day or two, anyway.

An old friend found me via Classmates.com. A friend whom I think a bout every now and again, as he was my first date, and my first dance. The 5th grade dance. I have a picture of the two of us at that dance. If it weren't packed, I would scan it in. Maybe later.

Anyway, talking to him led to his wanting caught up on all the time since 5th grade. That, and the letter from Linda Marie to Kelli that I found in my correspondence box. As many of you know, I don't have very many happy memories of those years. So this is a bit of a warning: the rest of this post is going to take a meander down my memory lane. It is most likely a little unpleasant. You don't have to read anymore if you don't want to. I won't be offended.

My only memory I have of my mother from when I was a child was when I was 5. She had the Carpenters on the phonograph in the living room. It was morning, and I got out of bed and went looking for her. I couldn't find her, and started to get scared. But then I saw her through the window in the backyard. She was cutting flowers off of a bush in the backyard. Small fragrant white flowers. She brought them in, wrapped them in a wet paper towel, and wrapped the paper towel in aluminum foil. She was going to take them to work. I remember the maroon carpeting. It was still thick then.

My first memory of me interacting with Linda Marie was of her throwing me against the chalkboard that Daddy had hung for Kelli and I in the hallway. I don't remember what I had done wrong, but I remember being shocked that she had hurt me. I still didn't know that children were for hurting.

I remember Kelli washing the dishes. I remember that she wasn't doing them right - she didn't have her hands completely under the water. It was too hot. I remember her crying. I remember Linda Marie throwing her on the ground and straddling her and punching her over and over again until I couldn't stand it anymore and I though I was going to explode. I remember that I screamed at her "STOP!" It was the only time I ever stood up to her.

I remember being told over and over that I was stupid and worthless and that I couldn't do anything right. It didn't matter what I did. I was a waste of space.

I remember the knot of sick that my stomach would twist into on Saturday's at about 5:00 pm. I didn't even have a clock. My body knew the time. She would be home at 5:30, and 5:00 meant that I felt sick and terrified, huddled on the couch holding onto myself. I have never been so scared as that since.

I remember not brushing my teeth well enough, and Linda Marie reaching across Kelli to slap me across the face to get me to do it better.

I remember not getting dressed fast enough in the 7th grade, and having to go to school in my pajamas. I hid in the library. The boy I didn't want to talk to and hated because he reminded me of me tried to ask me out on a date as I hid.

I remember a trip to the park with the family, in which we were supposed to fly kites. I had to go because I couldn't legally be left home alone, so I was not invited to participate. We had chicken, and I remember eating friend chicken on the blanket while the rest of my family played and flew kites in the park.

I remember the gun. I remember the broom. I remember telling Kelli that everything was ok, go back to sleep, don't come out. I remember hating that she had a half-door at that moment. And I remember that his telling me that I was his good girl after might have made what he was doing ok. Especially when no one believed me when I told anyway.

I remember having to apologise to him and his parents for lying about him. And watching him smirk at me as I did.

I remember Social Services' coming meant that there would be cookies baked. And that I would not get any of them.

I remember the baby bird I brought home. I remember hearing the squeal as it died in the middle of the night. I remember knowing that she had done it.

I remember her throwing away my Cabbage Patch Kid. Its name was Ruby and it had glasses and brown hair like I did. I loved it too much, so it deserved to be trash.

I remember being locked out of the house for 12 hours a day. I remember being hungry. I remember that 8 glasses of water at one time will make you sick, and that water really does not taste good.

I remember her screaming at me in the middle of the night, standing beside my bunk-bed, light on. I had not washed the knives right. I pretended so hard that I was still asleep. I prayed that she would not know that I was awake. She threw the knives in my bed so I would sleep with them and told me that I deserved to be stabbed to death while I slept.

I remember playing in the sandbox that Daddy built for Kelli and I in the backyard. I played cooking shows. Leaves and sand and locust shells became many things, all narrated for a live studio audience.

I remember growing maggots. I caught the fly, and kept it in a film canister. The maggots ate the body of the fly before they died, too.

I remember being told that my mother hated me, that she didn't want me, and that her family was evil. I remember being told that my mother had burned all of my baby pictures. That I was not important enough to be loved.

I remember being called a liar over and over by the people I told.

I am 33, and she still hangs around in my memory. I still don't know if I hate her or not.