June 30, 2005
I Sit and Hold My Fingers in the Moudra Position
In the office in London on Monday, I stood up and felt every single muscle in my legs screaming in agony along with me. I gingerly walked to the ladies' feeling about one hundred years old and walking with the grace of a stork on steroids. Wincing, I sat down on the toilet and let flow one of the hundreds of visits my tiny bladder and I would be making to the loo that day.
I was so sore as I hadn't been to yoga in over two weeks and I had done double duty with ashtanga yoga on Saturday and yoga on Sunday.
Punishment, man. Real punishment.
I have been thoroughly enjoying yoga. As the instructor says, it's one hour when the whole focus is to focus on relaxing and taking care of ourselves. With a depression like the one I have been investing in, this hour has become sacred, has become what I need to try to clear my head. As time passes I can see a real difference in my flexibility, although I have to say, I've seen no evidence of a leaner and trimmer Madonna-like body, unless you're talking a Raphaelite Madonna, and then I am only a few kilos of Emmenthal away from that.
Any more stressful projects like the one I am on and I'm going to look like a poncy Renaissance chick.
Yoga is not without its challenges. Besides the whole noxious gasses worry, I have had to learn how to keep a straight face when I am asked to go into the Sun Salutations, a part of which contains Downward Facing Dog (it's basically a position where you are an inverted V, which your ass to the sky, arms straight and your feet flat on the ground. Besides having a stupid name, it can strain some serious fucking calf muscles.)
When I started yoga it was with the knowledge that I needed to do something new. I walked away from my pugilistic past of hockey, tae kwon do, and boxing, and embraced a new world of Zen and shiny happy mantras holding hands. I figured that yoga, a sport that one does on one's own, is a sport that I need.
It helped that one of the yoga instructors, a very nice woman named Jocelyn, told me on the first day that yoga is strictly non-competitive. I was raised to be competitve. I used to be so competitive that I had to win at all costs, rather like my father, who is so competitive that board games fly should he lose at them. Whole countries have slid off the map at his loss of a basketball game. Chef Boyardee nearly created a new tin of ravioli, one laced with tranquilizers, when he faced my father in a bake-off. Yeah. Competitive. This has all largely passed on my behalf-I used to be a real fighter, but as time moves on I not only don't care who wins I am not particularly interested in the game, so I figured this was something for me. This is a singular act used to focus on taking care of the self.
I was right.
But I was also wrong.
I started yoga about four months ago, and a week or two after I started another woman joined. She's maybe mid to late 40's, with peroxide blond hair and very tight yoga clothing, and according to her a recent divorcee. She drives one of those pointless Mercedes 4x4s that we all know will never go off road in the duration of its entire vehicular history. Her name is Reena.
And she's starting to drive me nuts.
She and I both go to all the yoga classes on offer-Thursday night, Saturday morning (Ashtanga) and Sunday mornings. I can't always make the Ashtanga ones, and my rocket riding gerbil and Monaco saw me miss a few weeks of yoga, but in general I am a fixture. I love going to yoga. I hate being late. And since the class is in an old converted 17th century barn, I like to get there early with my mat and look out the window at the countryside.
Now Reena has started getting there even earlier and taking up so much space that she's the only one with access to the windows, despite there actually being room for three to look out the windows. It must have something to do with her feng shui needing to fuck up other people's karma or something, but she spreads out right across the window access, so the rest of us are facing exposed beams and whitewalls. Nice.
I sit and hold my fingers in the moudra position and follow Jocelyn's instructions to breathe in energy and life, and breathe out the stress and (annoyance) sadness.
And now Reena has taken to reading yoga books and challenging the instructors with her newfound knowledge.
'I've just read Yoga for People Who Want to Suck Up,'� she'll start. 'And it says that a complete and perfect mind-body harvest should be completed when the Hindu Moon hugs the Buddhist Moon as we cycle through the Third Chakra. What do you think about that?'�
The rest of us sit in silence as the instructor gets caught up talking about yoga with Reena, while the rest of us look at our toes and make mental notes to change the color of the polish. Red is the new black after all. It is summer.
As more time has passed, I've been able to do harder and harder yoga positions with one exception-I still have a very bad back and so have to tread carefully with it. If I do too many positions which involve turning my back into the spinal equivalent of a Tupperware bowl, then I am a crippled chick for the next few days. So while I can do the severe variations of anything involving arms, legs, various Warrior positions and whatnot, I am a pussy when it comes to back poses.
But Reena. Oh, Reena. She has to take every opportunity to do the most severe back positions and she looks over at me and smirks with a smug superior smile: I'm like a Slinky Toy. Her position taunts. I have no back problems at all. Your life sucks. I am way more bendy than you.
I smile back benevolently. I am one with the Zen. I am at peace with myself. I smile and my smile says: Yes, your back is more bendy. Congratulations. But when I go home tonight I'm going to get laid, which is more than I can say for you.
She blinks.
My smile politely reinforces my position. And it will be multi-orgasmic.
I face forward. I am one with the Zen.
On Saturday though, the last nerve, she got stepped on. We moved through the Sun Salutations with the room's heater turned on Turkey Baste (the point of Ashtanga is constant movement and pig-like sweat. I think Ashtanga is translated to 'Thermometer Popping Out of Ass Pain'�, however I might be wrong about that). Then the Ashtanga instructor turned to us to demonstrate the next sequence. She started off, then stopped.
'Oh, not Warrior 1!'� she exclaimed, giggling in embarrassment. 'What am I doing?'�
'That's what I thought!'� crowed Reena. 'I knew we were meant to do Inverted Triangle! What were you thinking!'�
The instructor laughs and turns to me. 'This is what I get. Reena took me out for drinks last night.'�
What is this? You went drinking with a student? You are fraternizing with a student? Does this mean you will go to a Washington prison and serve a sentence while demonstrating a criminal taste in bad haircuts, only to be released to a People magazine spread and a lifetime of embarrassment?
We continue on, and at the end we get our shoes and socks back on. Reena claps her hands.
'I've just signed up for a life course.' She says to us, acting like the Shaman of the County. 'I would be happy to provide some literature to all of you to join. It's excellent-two weeks of organic vegan macrobiotic food.'�
Organic vegan macrobiotic food? Two weeks with no alcohol? With no cheese? With no alcohol and no cheese? Is that possible? Isn't that called 'Prison'�, not a 'Life Course'�? She looks pitying at me, like I am the one who needs to be served a meal of silence, lentils and hazelnuts with a side of hot water with lemon. I hide my Herpes Hand and try to look un-stressed.
'And it's two weeks of complete silence and meditation to ensure a healthy holistic soul. Men and women are segregated to ensure inner peace.'� She continues.
Hah. Two weeks of silence? Count me out. I can't shut up for two hours, let alone two weeks.
'It's wonderful, I can't wait. It's only £10,000!'� she says, acting like it's Christmas.
We look at each other. £10,000? £10,000, which is about $20,000 USD. That much for two weeks? Babe, I can have my dream holiday and have it on Business Class flights for £10,000. If I were going to be spending £10,000, there better be sex, alcohol, sea and cheese, and not all in that order.
I sit and hold my fingers in the moudra position and follow Jocelyn's instructions to breathe in energy and life, and breathe out the stress and (hatred) sadness.
-H.
My secret for today: When I am home alone, when Angus is away and traveling, I sleep with two stuffed animals. One of them is a yellow teddy bear, and the other is my own stuffed black lab toy from Sporty. And when I fall asleep I have to tuck the two of them tightly around my neck cause, you know, that's where a vampire would go should one sneak into the bedroom. You never know, people. You never know.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
To paraphrase the Late Sam Kinnison...
"If you can afford $10,000 for drug treatment you don't have a problem!!!"
Posted by: LarryConley at June 30, 2005 07:55 AM (yzaFi)
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he spreads out right across the window access, so the rest of us are facing exposed beams and whitewalls
Why. Why is it always someone? A simple rudimentary workout was ruined for me by a thin, tan, petite blond chick who wouldn't get off her cellphone.
While she was runnin' that treadmill 'bout 100 miles an hour, of course. Just to remind me of how portly I am, I'm sure.
Then again, that's why I'm in the workout room, isn't it?
Oh, how I could go on about Reena and what I'll just term Her Kind. But I love how you handled her--you recognized that Reena's problem is that Reena has to be Best at Everything, else There Is No Reena.
If you can't integrate your failures into your sense of self and own them, learn from them, even love them at times . . . you wind up Reena, with no point to living save to win.
Oh hey, but thanks for making me crave Emmenthal. GAH!
Posted by: ilyka at June 30, 2005 08:49 AM (g4AkI)
3
i've got a secret now, the first ones i couldn't tell my husband. yes... it's true... it's that type of secret. and i can share it here because... you understand.
Posted by: we all have secrets at June 30, 2005 11:16 AM (fLRGX)
4
Ha! What should do is make up some absolute bullcrap about macrobiotic food and how it kills valuable microbs or something and really give it to her next time.
A secret right backatcha: Once I got a gift from my partner and i was so disgusted with him and his gift that I took it out to the highway and smashed it to bits.
Posted by: That Girl at June 30, 2005 01:25 PM (gu1Ur)
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RE: sex, alcohol, sea and cheese
*scratches head*
I don't know...that looks like the right order to me ;-)
These days the only excercise I get is 12oz curls.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 30, 2005 01:38 PM (muLIB)
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No, ilyka. She nailed Reena's problem on the head, so to speak. Reena isn't gettin' any! :-)
Posted by: Ice Queen at June 30, 2005 01:40 PM (Ct/0E)
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I think Reena needs to be pitied.
Then kicked in the ass.
Posted by: scorpy at June 30, 2005 02:13 PM (9uvA4)
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I sleep with a stuffed animal, too. It's an ugly brown bear that I've had since I was nine. What can I say, I live by myself and I get scared. I close my closet door at night and sometimes I wake up in the morning and it's open. What in hell is that about? I'm convinced that that bear is the only reason I'm not in some monster's belly right now.
Here's my secret for the day: I'm terrified of clowns. Like, freakishly scared. (I'm totally blaming my grandma for that. She sewed me a handmade clown when the movie "Poltergeist" came out. Remember the clown that pulls the kid under the bed? Yeah, I love you, too Grandma! Thanks for the therapy!) I'm not too fond of IceCream men or porcelain dolls either. Don't even get me started on Jack-In-The-Box toys.
And my secret for yesterday: I'm a little tiny bit jealous of my sister. Everyone talks about how beautiful she is and in the next breath, they'll say how different we look. The hell?
Posted by: Lindsay at June 30, 2005 02:23 PM (9AP/4)
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"I hide my Herpes Hand and try to look un-stressed."
Hilarious!
Posted by: Mike at June 30, 2005 02:26 PM (fX+A1)
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LOL H! Funny I just had a vampire dream last night. It's the only thing that still scares me at night. I can be completely uncoverd but, if it creeps into my mind at night, not the neck. My boyfriend bit my neck one night (ya know as one does) while I was asleep. I went completely off my rocker and almost gave hime a black eye lol. I guess thats my secret for today.
Posted by: justme at June 30, 2005 02:41 PM (9Kwji)
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Hey, where´s the most traveled bear in the world, Luuka? Followed her brothers path, Luuk?
Posted by: Miguel at June 30, 2005 03:23 PM (YaKXb)
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In the yoga class I used to go to, there were a few school teachers in the class. For a while, they were bringing this student of theirs who was like 16 or so. I know it's not supposed to be competitive, but I was going to burn in hell before I let that little 16 year old who giggled the whole time and destroyed my concentration hold any pose longer than I could. It led to many sore mornings, but my pride was pain-free!
Posted by: donna at June 30, 2005 03:34 PM (Vdy8C)
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I love that you sleep with stuffed animals when Angus is gone! And I love that bit about vampires! If it makes you feel any better, I have this Humpty Dumpty pillow I got when I was about 1 that I sleep with on my head - so that no bugs can get into my ears. I know. Strange and stupid.
Posted by: amy t. at June 30, 2005 03:54 PM (zPssd)
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two weeks without cheese is like, yeah... no.
STOP STOP!!! Make the thought go away. Make.it.go.away.
And now i must think good thoughts, about the fresh new chive goat cheese I have sitting in my fridge.
Posted by: sporty at June 30, 2005 04:22 PM (NsnoE)
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Apparently Reena never got the point to yoga, but there is one in every crowd. I actually had someone come up to me one a cruise while I was doing bikram and she had the audacity to tell me that my form was all wrong. After snapping out of my dream state where I was breaking her neck and throwing her overboard, I simply smiled and told her that she need not worry about others as she already has enough to worry about. I love the puzzled look on a person's face when I say that. And, for $20,000, you would think that you would get some action. Inner peace is not enough, you should want to get a piece, too.
Posted by: Sir Henry at June 30, 2005 04:42 PM (G0Uar)
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It helped that one of the yoga instructors, a very nice woman named Jocelyn, told me on the first day that yoga is strictly non-competitive.
They only say that because they know you're going to kick their ass. It's the same as "We're just playing for fun".
Posted by: Jim at June 30, 2005 05:45 PM (tyQ8y)
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so funny, i was just talking about this competition thing with a friend last night. yeah, i struggle so hard not to compare myself to others in yoga class. it's hard but i try my best because otherwise i'd feel like a loser at the end of every class (just about anyone can out perform me at this point as i'm pretty unflexible.) but my teacher reminds me that it's not about getting somewhere, it's about being where you are. gah, why is that so tough!
Posted by: kat at June 30, 2005 06:40 PM (xJGrF)
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I have to wonder if your yoga teacher talked her into two weeks silence, while they were out drinking - sort of a hidden purpose.
A good teacher would notice that the woman was upsetting the students/nullifying the point of the yoga, surely?
I can also imagine this silly woman drove her husband bonkers before she drove him away and she seems desperate for someone to look down on so she stops feeling so shitty (pardon) about her own life.
On the other hand, if I was in class with her I would have publicly told her that whatever her husband thought of her when he left, he must have been pretty thick to take that long to notice how bloody aggravating and vacuous she is. That or I would have thumped her.
100 brownie points to you for self restraint :-)
Posted by: Cheryl at June 30, 2005 09:03 PM (f6B4v)
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Great site. I like the skins. I can't even figure out how to do the 'read more' expand collapse thing for posts so this site is awesome!
Reena sounds like one of those life-competitive people. They have done everything you've done, just better, longer, faster, better and for more money/pleasure. Depending on who they're talking to it can be amusing to hear what they've done and when, and how it probably contradicts everything they ever said to you, ever. Those people bug me, mostly because I can't make friends with anyone one whose sole purpose in life is to feel better about themselves, no matter what they have to do - whether it's taking up the whole window area, the whole class talking or the teacher's whole brain with alcohol.
These people need attention more than air. I bet if you didn't look at her all class she'd come over and talk to you, just to get YOUR attention, she really needs it, she might disappear if everyone wasn't looking
Posted by: amber at July 02, 2005 04:37 AM (9OSDu)
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June 28, 2005
I'll Put 10 on Red, Please
Monaco was stunning.
Pretty fucking hot, but stunning.
It was apparent right after we landed that Angus and I are not cut from the same cloth as the people that party in Monaco. I have never seen so many Ferraris and Lambroghinis in my life. I have never seen so much Prada, Armani, and Bulgari in one area outside of a tax free shop.
This is just the harbor. What you can't see is the Lady Moura, the third largest privately owned boat in the world, with its own helicopter pad. This baby is owned by the accountant to the King of Saudi Arabia, who incidentally owns the world's largest private boat and his son has the second largest. Now, maybe it's me, but if I were a Queen and my accountant had the third largest boat in the world, I'd be smelling an audit, but then I am not a Queen (unless you count that one episode in college, but I am so denying that whole escapade).
This is the Grand Casino, and apparently the oldest casino in the world.
Angus and I went in and watched a while. I thought about playing a few rounds of roulette, but after I found out it cost €300 for just the privilege of sitting my little white ass on a roulette stool, I decided the slot machines were for us. We bet €10. We won €12, which we promptly lost. But we didn't care-we only lost €10, and that's about the cost of a lunch in most European countries, so we were ok about it.
The first day we were due to tour Old Town and see the tombs of the late Prince Albert and his wife, Princess Grace, but we were just too fucking tired. We begged off a tour and slept in. We had sex. We had a huge meal. We had more sex. We have pictures of that, too, but some things aren't meant for posting. We swam in the hotel's saltwater pool warmed to a temperature that made me fall madly in love with said pool. We drank too much Rose wine (because that's what one drinks while in Monaco, don't you know), and then attended a black tie dinner, with him looking stunning and me in that dress again.
The next day the tour had arranged for a series of vintage cars to take us to the medieval village of Eze and to the seaside town of Villefranche.
Who could resist the chance to ride in a large American chopper, imported all this way and celebrated?
In the end, we started off the tour with this car, a 1962 Excalibur.
I chose it because it looked like a cartoon. I felt like Cruella DeVille. Tourists and tour buses took photos of us riding in it, and I felt like waving and saying: Why yes! We work in telecom!
Eze is a fantastic Medieval town snuggled high on the cliffs of the French Riviera. It is stunning, tiny, and full of nooks and crannies that just beg exploration.
It didn't get much more perfectly French than that.
And of course the views over the harbor were amazing. All I could think of was how luscious that water would feel over my skin, how tantalizing it is to swim out in the hot fresh sea.
Of course, the boy turns me on, too. It helps.
We took this little number back to the hotel, a 1969 Buick Skylark that just screamed Starsky and Hutch. It was fantastic, but it didn't help that it was black leather interior that had been open to the sun all afternoon. My ass DNA is still all over that backseat I think.
Even though we were told that all our expenses-bar gambling expenses-would be covered, we didn't milk the company. We could have had helicopter tours, bathed in champagne, or hired yachts, but Angus and I just felt like relaxing and being together. Monaco was beautiful and amazing, but it was a whole world away from us. I'm a Gap and FCUK kind of girl, not a Chanel chick. Not even if I had the money to be otherwise.
I mean, how else could I go without knickers as often as I do if I had paid £5000 for a dress?
-H.
PS-My secret for the day:
When Kim and I went to Venice, he bought a gold ring to have blessed in a church there. He slid it on my finger and told me that spiritually, we were married. After we'd parted and when I was in Bali, I realized that I couldn't have this ring on my finger anymore. I took it off and, running to the ocean, I winged it into the sea as far as I could. This set a precedent for me-now when I leave someone, I throw their jewelry into the water. And now when I am daydreaming, I sometimes pretend that Kim walks in the room and tells me he's sorry, that he never really died, and that he wants me back. In my daydream, I always tell him that I love him and I'm glad he's alive, and then I walk out the door and never see him again.
I'm not sure what this daydream means.
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1
Angus looks like he's putting on weight.
My secret for today: so am I.
Posted by: Simon at June 28, 2005 08:07 AM (UKqGy)
2
Monaco is pretty neat, isn't it?
Great piccies, Helen
Glad you had a good time
C.
Posted by: croxie at June 28, 2005 09:30 AM (Bu9fp)
3
::hugs:: Be strong Helen...
Definately sounds like you have much nicer vacations then I....
Posted by: LarryConley at June 28, 2005 11:25 AM (Rd72B)
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Even describing your great weekend, your unhapiness seeps through. I wish there was some way I could cheer you up.
Posted by: That Girl at June 28, 2005 12:54 PM (gu1Ur)
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Nice cars!!
The '69 Skylark almost made me forget your mention of nekkid pictures. ;-)
Posted by: ~Easy at June 28, 2005 12:55 PM (muLIB)
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What nice pic's of you, Angus, and Monaco. Glad you had a great time there. I love that cartoon car. I think it screams Jessica Rabbit. I see you more like her that Cruella lol.
As far as the daydream? I suck at trying to figure out dreams. Maybe you want to be the one to leave because it hurts more to be left behind?
Posted by: justme at June 28, 2005 01:54 PM (Pa9Dj)
7
My secret is: I love being naked outside of my house. I've streaked through my old neighborhood at 2am, gone bottomless through a fast-food drive thru, walked naked down a hotel hallway, and skinny-dipped in public places. But I'd rather my family not be embarrassed by me getting caught, so I don't do it anymore.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 02:00 PM (k1sTy)
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Beautiful pics, and happy Helen and Angus. Monaco looks like a great place for people watching, and Eze like a spot I could love visiting. Someone once told me, act like you want to feel... something to think about when you're blue (as of late). Hey, how do you get flowers to grow out of your head like that?
Posted by: Annette at June 28, 2005 04:06 PM (ATjVO)
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love the car! although..i think it says a little less Cruella Deville and a little more
P.Diddy. Too bad you didnt have a posse in the back, you would have ended up
in Entertainment Weekly.
Posted by: h at June 28, 2005 04:09 PM (4dWnl)
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You're gorgeous, Angus is gorgeous, and Monaco is gorgeous. Thanks for sharing!
Posted by: Lisa at June 28, 2005 04:37 PM (MzcD8)
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Gorgeous photos of two beautiful people. V+Glad you had a good time there.
Posted by: kenju at June 28, 2005 05:42 PM (Ze7zw)
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First off, I've been a long time reader & never commented. Guess I am a bit of a wallflower. I enjoy reading your blog because it seems that you have dealt with some of the same issues in life and some that are much worse. Despite this, you seem so much more together than I am.
My secret requires a little build up of things that may or may not be a secret depending on how well you know me.
-My father left us when I was 4.
-When I was 7, a man my mother was dating raped me. Rather than his face, all I can remember about him is his big belly.
-The last time I saw my father alive (when I was 14), he had grown VERY fat.
-The man I am currently with is overweight.
-Despite the fact that he & I have had a great & varied sex life for a number of years, something horrific has happened to me in the past year and a half. For some reason, I can no longer get off unless I am imagining that it is my father doing these sexual things to me and telling me that this is how fathers show their daughters that they love them. That if I love him, I will do these things he enjoys.
I have never had fantasies of this nature before. When other teenage girls might fantasize about being raped in order to avoid the stigma of wanting sex, my fantasies were about beating rapists near to death.
I realize that this father fantasy was triggered when I learned that my father had died a few years back, homeless and alcholic, by the side of the road. I know that there is some psychological desire for my father's love that has somehow gotten twisted up with the rape that happened to me as a child. But it doesn't change the fact that it makes me physically ill. I try to not fantasize, and I feel totally uninvolved in what is going on. I do fantasize and then I get off, but dissolve into a puddle of tears.
This is the first time I have let all this get outside of my head. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to put it into words.
Posted by: KG at June 28, 2005 06:15 PM (m1pQ7)
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Mmmmm Monaco
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 28, 2005 06:52 PM (+OvEk)
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hhhmmmÂ… loved the flower hat, in the pic were you and Angus are dressed up for dinner ;-). Monaco sounds waaaaaaayyy off my league, but looks very nice.
Posted by: Miguel at June 29, 2005 12:05 PM (c2jjr)
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I think the dream means that he will always be in your heart and that you will always love him in a way, but that you have moved on and that your heart now belongs to someone else (symbolized by you walking away and through the door into another life).
And I think that this is natural and healthy. Someone who has been so close to your heart cannot just be forgotten or the feelings for him. But they tend to turn into different feelings. Just like love comes in a lot of varieties (for friends, for parents, for siblings, for your children, for your pets, for your partner....)
But that is just my guess as a "hobby-psychologist"....
Posted by: Tarantulady at June 29, 2005 01:53 PM (ipvGd)
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Thatgirl, I'm not very happy, no.
I'm working on it.
But if any ideas come to mind, let me know.
Posted by: Helen at June 29, 2005 04:48 PM (6DKcA)
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An anonymous question - Helen have you ever considered you suffer clinical depression? If so have you/are you being treated for it?
Posted by: at June 30, 2005 06:41 AM (puvdD)
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June 27, 2005
It's Secrets Week
I got an email this morning from my father. My father, the man whom I am closer to now than I likely ever have been. My father, with whom I have a relationship that is perhaps not the usual father-daughter relationship, but it works for us and I love him.
In his email he included the infamous saying: Time heals all wounds. Time heals all wounds. I had to think about that one, and I have been thinking about it all morning. He wasn't referring to our relationship, it was another matter, but there it was. Time heals all wounds.
I've decided I think the expression is complete bullshit.
Time doesn't do a fucking thing besides come running with rebar and concrete pilings to shore up the dam walls of resentment and awkwardness. When you are someone like me, with a Swiss cheese memory and the inability to let pain go, time only makes life worse. Time is the enemy. Time is the one you spend time circling in the tiger pen, hoping to catch it by the tail.
Time has passed and I still can't get over what happened at work. I am still very depressed about it, and I still have apathy the color of yogurt painted all over me. I can't focus, and I am now afraid to be myself, when previously I have been so proud that who I am at work is who I really am.
Time has passed and I continue to miss my Grandfather, Kim, and Egg and Bacon. I light candles for them in churches I pass by. I continue to long for Egg and Bacon to be tumbling by my side, holding on to my ankles and taking up space in my smile. And as far as my Grandpa and Kim go, I just wish I could talk to them both and say hello. And I wish I could forgive them for dying on me.
When it comes to some other areas of my life, time isn't healing the wounds. It's making the scars thicker and more permanent. It's making a callous form so that I can't even feel the pain anymore.
Time doesn't heal. It just covers up. And that cover up never goes away.
I've decided that it's secrets week. Secrets, which tear through the skin, get to be revealed this week. I am sick of my secrets and I am sick of the fact that for so long I had to choke on them, because I can't talk about things, because I wasn't allowed to talk about things. For this week I am removing IP tracking on my blog and allowing anonymous comments, so you can leave a comment with impunity and under a secret name if you want. Any comments that attack Angus or that have come from my family will be removed, but the rest can stay. This week I am going to let out one secret everyday, and if you want to join me, that'd be great, as this is something that I think will help me right now. Any kind of secret, be it dark or light. Mine will be both.
Today's secret, it turns out, is a bit dark.
January 2003 saw me try to kill myself in the darkness of an upstairs bathroom. It was a mistake, but one which made me wake up. It was the last time I will try to kill myself.
But it was not the first.
Welcome to the Fucked Up Cafe, can I take your order?
-H.
PS-I have been interviewed by Teens for Teens, which you can read here. Teens for Teens is a wonderful website for teenagers across the world to try to reach out and talk to each other. I wish this site had been around when I was a teenager. I wish I had been able to talk like they can.
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1
This is all a little like that
Postsecret site.
On time heals all wounds, you need to think through it a little more. While the initial pain of the wound may ebb, the scars remain forever.
Posted by: Simon at June 27, 2005 10:19 AM (GWTmv)
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That interview was the coolest. I always thought you were just one of those people who "naturally" opened up and shared bits of herself--I guess I had no real idea how much fear and anxiety you overcame to write this thing. That's both a confession of my ignorance and a compliment to you--you make it look so easy and natural.
Secrets: I really did mull this over for at least 15 minutes. I don't think I really have any. I talk too much and I tell everybody everything without thinking of the consequences. I have things that are very private but I don't know that even those are secrets, since a handful of people I trust know most of those too.
Nonetheless I am sure I will enjoy dining at the Fucked-Up Cafe. I have a bad feeling it is going to be one of those weeks, you know? I'll need all the Fucked-Up appetizers I can get.
Posted by: ilyka at June 27, 2005 10:36 AM (PSav6)
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Some days are worse than others. But some days I have to keep myself from going into the bathroom and stabbing myself to death. Some days I want to die very badly, Instead I smoke a cigarette and feel really terrible about myself.
Well, you started it.
Posted by: That Girl at June 27, 2005 11:28 AM (gu1Ur)
Posted by: LarryConley at June 27, 2005 12:00 PM (Rd72B)
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Postsecret did come to mind. And I have been thinking about secrets alot in the recent past. Heres one: Sometimes I imagine I have superpowers, like the ability to stop time and keep moving. I´m past 30. I´ve been told that mentally I just reached 12.
Posted by: M at June 27, 2005 12:18 PM (uEc6O)
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All wounds heal, whether they are physical or mental. However, if they have not healed correctly they can be debilitating.
We're all a collection of scars.
*big hug*
Posted by: ~Easy at June 27, 2005 01:15 PM (muLIB)
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Thats not a secret... you have elluded to it before in previous posts... ie the reason you started this blog...
Posted by: pylorns at June 27, 2005 01:40 PM (FTYER)
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I suspect that my middle child is actually my ex-husband's cousin's.
I almost aborted my youngest child but couldn't go through with it.
Sometimes I have flashes of my children laying in pools of blood, having been stabbed over and over.
Sometimes I want to kill myself, especially when my oldest and I fight.
My father molested me when I was little.
I pinched a little boy's penis hard when I was 7.
That's enough secrets for today.
Posted by: at June 27, 2005 02:03 PM (8ePZ6)
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I have a blog but I don't tell anyone. Only a close friend and one other person that I don't personaly know has the IP address. I am afraid that if I give it out people will know just how messed up I am, and my life. And that they will confirm my biggest fear. That its all my fault, I did it to myself.
I am not suppose to be messed up.
Posted by: justme at June 27, 2005 02:30 PM (NIGUW)
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I've always hated that expression too. time will never completely heal all of the shit that my father put me through as a child. time may help me forget some of it, but the wounds will never be completely healed.
Posted by: girl at June 27, 2005 02:44 PM (olEaj)
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.. great interview, Helen... excellent...
Posted by: Eric at June 27, 2005 03:02 PM (YlwMq)
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Whenever the urge to have another child pops up, I masturbate while my daughter is asleep then clean up and look at her. *Poof* I have a 2 year old, without having to go through the pregnancy.
It keeps the urge to have another child subsided for awhile.
Posted by: ba at June 27, 2005 03:03 PM (s6K2p)
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Pylorn-the fact that I attempted it once is a common fact on my blog. The fact I have attempted it more than once I have never talked about.
Posted by: Helen at June 27, 2005 03:28 PM (6DKcA)
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My dad once had his girlfriend live with my mother and the rest of us when we were young.
I feel uptight sexually. I really wish I wasn't.
I called my ex repeatedly at horrible hours. I wanted to talk to him but when he answered I was too chicken shit to say anything.
Posted by: at June 27, 2005 03:57 PM (YGSVA)
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((((Helen))))
You have given me a lot to think about.... how I hurt for the woman who didn't want to be alive anymore.
Thank you for being brave enough to say so.
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 27, 2005 04:10 PM (+OvEk)
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Helen, well done on the article.
As a long time reader i feel 'attached' to you, i am so utterly sad that you had to go through this terrible sadness, lostness, more than once. I hope this doesnt sound patronising or insensitive as i don't really know you at all.
I once blogged but was never really brave enough to write as you do, maybe another time, however until then i don't think i am brave enough to post a secret.
Abs x
Posted by: abs at June 27, 2005 04:12 PM (+gJH8)
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I'm a 26 year old female virgin. I've been a virgin so long that it's almost been too long. It's difficult for me to tell someone that I'm a virgin and that just keeps me a virgin longer. Yeah, major issues. I know.
Posted by: at June 27, 2005 10:16 PM (9AP/4)
Posted by: at June 27, 2005 11:08 PM (4dWnl)
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I told a lie which caused someone to be killed... and I live with that everyday.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 01:02 AM (puvdD)
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I want to see you naked.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 01:29 AM (sW2xV)
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I have had 25 jobs that I can think of, offhand. I've been fired 5 times. The last time I was unemployed, I spent 6 hours in my car in a parking garage, hiding from my roommate. That was two weeks ago. I'm 30.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 02:20 AM (JfOCG)
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I really don't like Helen personally. I think that she seems conceited, so I take joy when bad things happen to her (as they are want to do). I wish I had a good job like that.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 07:49 AM (6DKcA)
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i first thought of committing suicide when i was 12 or 13. did not do it and have contemplated it eversince.
i am close to being incontinent. my insides are filled with shame with this and other things about me.
Posted by: at June 28, 2005 07:36 PM (hRxUm)
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June 24, 2005
Picture Pages! Picture Pages! Now It's Time For Picture Pages! Time To Get Your Paper and Your PEN-cil!
My apathy with work is stunning right now. Since last Wednesday and then the return from Monaco (which I will be blogging about once I get my head back on), I simply haven't been motivated. 180 emails in the inbox? And? At the end of the day 18 voice mails? So what?
I have also been incredibly forgetful. I promise to send someone an email about something then completely forget about it, waking up at 2 am thinking Fuck me, I forgot to send that email! which I then race up to send first thing in the morning. I will start writing things down. I will start getting my head on straight again. I will start to try to care.
It hasn't been easy. Yesterday I took 7 hours out of my day to ride a train to Ipswich for a one hour meeting, and enjoyed a 45 minute stop on the tracks on the way back in a train with no AC and no opening windows. And it's about 90 degrees Farenheit here right now, so it was really like sitting inside a great big shiny bullet while enjoying rivers of sweat down my back and neck.
Life has me wondering. I wonder when Angus and I can go away next. I wonder if Angus will buy me that ring I like (please, Angus? Pretty please?) I wonder if we will get a house and I wonder when it will happen. I wonder if Best Friend and K will calm down and love each other's company as much as I think they can, and push aside the ragged demons of their pasts. I wonder what Angus and I will do this summer (besides not attend Live8 as we didn't get tickets. Curse you and your altruistic kindness Bob Geldof! Curse you! And since when did ebay become the moral majority instead of a business? Am I missing something?)
I just don't give a fuck right now. My head hurts and I just want to sleep all the time. The sun is out and I want to sit in it and not miss a second of the sunshine. I want to IM with friends and I want to read blogs and I want to let it all go.
In the meantime, I offer a visual piece of my life. You know. Cause the literary side isn't so hot just now.
This is the view from my desk. Observe the many orchids (which Angus is sick of, so likely no more of those for a while). Ignore the overflowing in-tray.
This is an antique rack that hangs on our kitchen wall. The assortment of things on it all have a meaning for us, something small or interesting that we have picked up. The top shelf has an antique light bulb that Angus nicked from his old school before parts of it were demolished. The pitcher next to it is an enamel, turn-of-the-century working family's pitcher that I bought because I love holding things that supplied someone else's lives (brace yourself Elizabeth and Jen! I'm in love with these!) There is a candle and then an antique pint jar for milk, the kind that deliverymen used to use, then a watering can.
The second shelf is our boring eating ware. Plain white. Vanilla. We're boring.
The third shelf has many treasures-a painted tile from Venice. Three ducks from a Scottish company called Dragon Pottery that I have fallen deeply in love with. An empty glass yogurt jar from France, 10 antique Elnglish copper pennies called tuppence, and then the glass jar from the 1920's that I found under the stairs in Angus' and my first house together, then a Swedish crystal bowl I bought when Angus and I were in Sweden to get my lovely girls last November.
This is a close-up of the ducks. I fucking love those things, something about them speaks to that inner child in me, and since my inner child and I have never been close I just have to try to speak to my inner child any chance I get. Making up for lost time and all.
In my kitchen window sits another antique enamel pitcher which I keep filled with fresh flowers-this time sunflowers. And next to it is another Scottish Dragon Pottery special, this time a sheep. If you look out the back window you can see the bamboo poles which I am growing sweet peas up. I feel very proud of those sweet peas.
And on those nice days when I get to work from home wearing pajamas and drinking copious amounts of coffee, I am often graced with the presence of my assistant Maggie. She's rubbish at bringing me coffee but if a fly gets in the way, she's great at helping me re-organize my desk.
I am so thankful every damn day for my wonderful cats.
And finally, since I have likely bored you with my workplace depression and my penchance for pottery barnyard animals and working man antiques, I give you the action shot.
Ladies and gentlemen-The Hand Herpes.
Go on. Tell me that rash turned you on. Makes you want to run right out for a hand job, doesn't it?
-H.
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1
Petal, your poor hand!
You have the cutest cat though!
Abs x
Posted by: abs at June 24, 2005 10:12 AM (+gJH8)
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I thought you were calling it the shingles?
I have to say your house (or the snippets thereof) looks lovely. Very homey and very very english ;-)
Posted by: Rob at June 24, 2005 11:11 AM (kXZI6)
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yes we damn Bob Geldof together....
Picture parade is lovely.
After everything with work, you deserve the time down. More than anyone I know!
and for your ever loving kindness and wonderment... I'll shake your herpes hand any day
Now to go hyperventilate in that brown bag between my knees
Posted by: stinkerbell at June 24, 2005 12:13 PM (ZznPv)
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NOT ME!! I ain't shaking no hands with herpes with herpes on it...cyber friend or no cyber friend. In fact, I'm typing with rubber gloves on right now
You can never be too careful you know.
The "boring" posts are part of being cyber friends. Just like every conversation and outing with in-person friends isn't lively, eventful, and action-packed; neither should every post or comment. The non-lively ones might be where we get to know you more intimately. I enjoy your lively, funny posts exceedingly; but I enjoy the low-key ones as well. Just keep blogging
It's fun to hang out with you and your other friends.
That reminds me, did Best Friend ever start up his own blog?
Posted by: Solomon at June 24, 2005 01:07 PM (k1sTy)
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My bad. I meant to type "THE herpes" and ended up putting "with herpes" twice. Please pretend I typed it the right way when you read it. It'll make it funnier if you do...or at least it'll make it make sense.
Posted by: Solomon at June 24, 2005 01:11 PM (k1sTy)
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DO you have a link for the duck company. I know someone who would love those.
Hope you have a good weekend.
Posted by: Drew at June 24, 2005 01:39 PM (CBlhQ)
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I'm on board with Solomon here, these low-key posts are the ones that make me feel like I'm getting to know you. Does it scare you that all of these strangers consider themselves to be your friends?
When I was a kid, my older sister had a penpal in Russia. He would send her records and I was insanely jealous. You're not Russian and you don't send me records, so it's not exactly the same thing. But you do show me pictures of the herpes and antique light bulbs.
Somewhere, someone is pea green with envy and insanely jealous of me.
Posted by: Lindsay at June 24, 2005 02:01 PM (9AP/4)
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Drew-I wish I did, but they are a wholesaler only. I buy their things at a gallery called the Strawberry Fish Gallery, which is about the best name I can think of.
Lindsay-If I ever come across any Russian records, I swear-they are coming your way.
Posted by: Helen at June 24, 2005 02:09 PM (t0Yic)
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Oh Helen, touch me there.
Posted by: Ms. Pants at June 24, 2005 02:20 PM (PQfF5)
Posted by: Marie at June 24, 2005 03:24 PM (PQxWr)
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Ok, while I'm sure you don't want the hand herpes....on your hand, it doesn't look near as bad as I pictured it in my head. But all the same, I hope it goes away soon.
Posted by: sporty at June 24, 2005 03:32 PM (NsnoE)
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Uhmm...I'll pass on the hand job. Unless you're abidexterous...;-)
The boring day-to-day posts are all I've been doing of late. My life just lacks excitement.
I love the pictures. they really are worth a thousand words. Or at least a couple of hundred, anyway.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 24, 2005 04:40 PM (muLIB)
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Looking out your window made me so homesick for England that I'm nearly in tears.
Thank you for letting us into your home. You have such a welcoming and generous soul!
Love,
Elizabeth
The Founder and one of the Candle-Holders of the Helen Admiration Society and Society for the Prevention of Hand Herpes to Ducks
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 24, 2005 05:58 PM (+OvEk)
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Looks more like impatiego to me, not the herpes. Not sure if I spelt it right, but thats how it sounds anyway.
My son had it once and I asked the doc how does one get this? He laughed and told me that, hes a 9 year old dirty little boy, he just needs to wash his hands more.
So um, maybe after all those hand jobs, you should wash better? LOL.And Angus has it too! You guys have been busy! Ok I will stop now lol.
Posted by: justme at June 24, 2005 09:38 PM (xQxDu)
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i love your rash! I got a beautiful one with lumpy bumps on my neck and arms from all the wonderful calcium deposits in the water in Paris. It's like we match.
Posted by: calla at June 24, 2005 09:59 PM (kAw5u)
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They always told me it would make me go blind. Never mentioned a rash...
Posted by: Jim at June 25, 2005 02:53 AM (oqu5j)
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Dear Helen
Truly honoured. Thanks for the visit to my lowly blog!
I was just in England 2 weeks ago, enjoying the lovely sunshine. There is really nothing quite as wonderful as the English summertime. Those 3 days in June/July, that is.
Next time I'll perhaps take you up on your offer. I'm in a similar line of business, coincidentally!
Posted by: Bore at June 25, 2005 07:52 AM (YxsqB)
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I love the ducks... there's just something sweet and elegant and child like and curious about them, all at once!
By the way, my new address is www.confuzzled.nl!
Posted by: Hannah at June 25, 2005 08:21 AM (DlnyL)
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Pictures like these, well besides the hand herpes...erm shingles...make me miss England even more than I normally do. I will be local in a month (for a month) yay!
Posted by: Juls at June 25, 2005 02:09 PM (8gbv2)
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Cute house!
And I'm with you on the apathy...
Posted by: Snidget at June 27, 2005 03:03 AM (YR771)
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Oh that looks so owie! I hope it clears up soon! Also I read an article that EBay yanked all the g8 tickets. Untrue?
I've found that this time of year tends towards aparthy for some reason.
Posted by: dani at June 27, 2005 02:08 PM (iJe7b)
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June 22, 2005
I Have WHAT?
Because things aren't fucked up and stressful enough at/about work, I had to get a visit from the Health Fairy.
Yeah. That's right. The Health Fairy. And I'm going to rip her goddamn wings off the next time I see her.
Last Tuesday morning (the morning before Trade Journal Nightmare Day) I woke up with a very strange and painful purple rash taking up most of my right hand. Said purple rash was not unlike a port wine stain birthmark, only I don't have a port wine stain birthmark, so I just went about my daily business of trying to survive the corporate world.
On Thursday, the rash was still there, and still painful.
On Friday, blisters started forming a la chemical burn (which I assumed was what happened). And strangely Angus' right hand started getting covered in a thick purple rash.
By Sunday, the blisters were popping.
Tuesday morning the skin on my hand started coming off in sheets, and Angus' formed blisters.
It was time to see the doctor.
Tuesday afternoon I got an appointment with Dr. Henry, as my usual doctor is on holiday this week. I stroll into the office and read a two month old copy of Hello! magazine. When my name is called, I go into his office.
Dr. Henry is sitting on his chair, and I am surprised to see that Dr. Henry is Hispanic. There are not a lot of Hispanics in Whitney Houston, after all. And even more unsettling is the fact that Dr. Henry looks amazingly like the Hispanic character from The Simpsons, the one who is always dressed up in the Bee costume.
"Hola!" calls Dr. Henry cheerfully. I resist the urge to ask him to say "Ay Carumba!" I will not play into stereotypes. "What is the problem?" he asks.
I hold out my hand and sit in the chair next to him. "I have a bad rash." I say, feeling silly. He asks me many questions: Have you been gardening? Using any new chemicals? Feeling bitter and sexually harassed in the workplace? Eating oranges and then lying in the sun? Only one of those are true, and that one wouldn't give me a rash, just a nervous disorder, so he has a quick answer.
"It is the herpes." he says, looking at me.
I look up sharply. "What?" I say weakly.
"Herpes. It is the herpes."
I start to cry. I know that herpes is a common affliction and that the stigma is no longer necessary or warranted, but out of all the illnesses I can think of in my life, herpes is one of the ones I fear the most (likely due to a chick I worked with in a bookstore who had them. The horror stories she would tell! The sheer unmitigated nightmare she would talk about! So...um...yeah thanks, N. You've made a quivering little herpes-fearing mouse out of me).
"I don't understand!" I wail. "I'm in a long-term relationship! I can't have the herpes! I've always been so careful!"
He looks panicked. "No, no, no! Is no genitals!"
I pause in the weeping. "What?"
"Is no genitals! Is no like genital herpes! Is not from sex!"
I am starting to calm down now. "What do you mean?"
"Is a virus, like shingles." He whips open a book of people who are in various forms of putritifcation and rotting from any amalgamation of highly unpleasant disease categorized A-Z. He finds the Happy Herpes section and shows me, amongst pus-ty penises and virulent vaginas, what herpes blisters look like.
"Mine didn't look like that." I say with relief. I am relieved. It is not the herpes. It cannot be the herpes. "I don't have the blisters anymore, although Angus-that's my boyfriend-he does."
"Can your boyfriend come here now? Seeing his blisters will help my diagnosis." asks Dr. Henry. This will be popular. Angus just loves him a slice of Doctor visit.
I call Angus and he warily agrees to come up. A slice of doctor visit is one thing, but if it comes needle a la mode there will be problems. As we wait for Angus Dr. Henry and I chat. I decide I like Dr. Henry (although I now have to work to not call him Dr. Herpes). There is something good and wholesome about Dr. Henry, plus it's hard not to like someone who was named the same name as my childhood crush Henry Thomas (I'll always be right here for you too, baby. Always).
Angus comes in and shows his hand to Dr. Henry. He chooses the seat closest to the door and this amuses me-if he tried to do a runner I think I could take him. Rug burns would be involved, but considering we're in the surgery I imagine there is a waterfall of First Aid cream in the back.
Dr. Henry looks at the hand and looks at me. He nods. Dr. Henry and I briefly are in cahoots about my tragic illness. Angus looks at me.
"Dr. Henry thinks we have the herpes." I say grimly. Angus looks up in shock.
"Is the herpes." Dr. Henry agrees sagely.
"We have the Hand Herpes." I reiterate sadly. I wonder when it will go from Dr. Henry's Spanglish "the herpes" to "herpes", but maybe we need more time to get familiar with our affliction. Maybe buy it a glass of wine to loosen it up or something.
"Is like the shingles." explains Dr. Henry. "Is a virus. No from sexual contact, just contact."
Angus looks at his hand with horror. "What is the most common way of getting it?" He looks as though amputation might be his favorite option.
Dr. Henry considers. "Most common way is to come in contact with someone recovering from the chicken pox. Know someone with the chicken pox?"
I resist the urge to ask him about saying that "Ay Carumba!" quote again. I don't know anyone with chicken pox, and if I did, I'd bitchslap them. I tell him I don't know anyone. He sighs, shrugs, and prints off a prescription. "Is so unusual for two people to have the same rash in the same place!" he said, looking at us. "I have never seen this before! And you didn't start the rash at the same time! I wish I had my camera!"
Yes. That's right. We're medical marvels. Us and our identical Hand Herpes, we are making history. Look for us in a medical journal near you, only there will be a black box over our eyes and we will be repelling 9th graders during a boring study hall for the rest of our lives.
"You happy? Healthy? Eat good meat?" Dr. Henry asks us.
"I'm a vegetarian." I say.
Dr. Henry looks at me in horror, as though me and the Hand Herpes are sprung from the same virus. Then he looks at Angus. "You are the vegetarian too?"
Angus looks at him. "Never!" he swears, straightfaced.
"Is no good! You must eat the meat! The steak!" he says, looking as though the entire beef nation is mourning the fact that I've surrendered my A1 belt. He looks at Angus and hands the prescription to him. "You. You have early stages of the dermatological herpes. You can be helped, but her? She too late. Pills will not do any good now. Helen, you will have the rash for another week or so, but Angus? Angus we can help."
Great. So I instigate the doctor visit and I'm the hopeless herpes cause.
Angus looks at the paper. "I can drink red wine while taking this medication?"
"Absolutely." says Dr. Henry.
"And eat red meat?"
"All the meat you can get!" Dr. Henry crows, looking at me. I roll my eyes.
"My Hand Herpes and I thank you." I say, standing. "Is this contagious? Should we have a Hazmat suit?"
"No contagious. No problem." Dr. Henry says as he reaches for a jar of anti-bacterial hand gel and slathers it on. Bastard.
"If it is no gone in two weeks, you come back in and give me a hard time." Dr. Henry says kindly.
"I will!" I say. "And I will come bearing vegetables!"
Angus and I take his prescription and he goes and fills it. Later, surfing at home, he finds out that the prescription Dr. Henry has asked for the type of anti-viral medication that is also used for the genital herpes. This, while he was making small talk with the cute chicks at the pharmacy.
Better strike those babes off the Helen Replacement List, sweetheart.
We make Hand Herpes jokes the rest of the night, only if anyone asks, we have decided to say that we have shingles.
Yeah, that's it.
Shingles.
-H.
PS-I am back in the Lion's Den today in London, dealing with the same place I was one week ago. But some things may have changed. Some things may (hopefully) be different. I have taken a few steps of action about what was said to me/about me on Wednesday. I'll update tomorrow on what has happened and if it was successful or not, and where I am going from here.
I am still so scared you wouldn't believe it.
And I am still very, very down about it all.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
I briefly considered making a horrible joke about hand herpes and office jerks but thought better of it when I read your last line.
I'm hoping everyone there treats you with the respect and kindness they deserve.
And if they DON'T -- may they contract non-hand herpes.
Damnit.
I (heart) you, babes.
(And I would like to e-mail you, but I seem to have lost your address. Are you still talking to me?)
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at June 22, 2005 11:26 AM (nwEQH)
2
THE RESPECT AND KINDESS YOU DESERVE! ACK! PFFT!
I hate it when I do that.
P.S. It's 3:27 a.m. PDT. Not my fault.
P.P.S. What a dork I am, huh? Sorry!
Posted by: Margi at June 22, 2005 11:27 AM (nwEQH)
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Im sorry life is still being crappy to you Helen. i hope things start to improve.
abs xxxx
Posted by: abs at June 22, 2005 12:32 PM (+gJH8)
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Go around and touch the work bastards. You never know. Maybe the herpes is contagious. Also, give them food. MAybe you can take down the whole floor!
Posted by: RP at June 22, 2005 01:06 PM (LlPKh)
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You know that from now on I'm going to assume that anyone who, says they have shingles actually has herpes, right? And shouldn't you be calling it 'The Shingles'?
The work shit will all work out. Either they'll treat you better or there will be a big settlement.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 22, 2005 01:07 PM (cgRzO)
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You should insist on shaking the sexists' hand with your infected hand while assuring them it's not contageous and then scratching it madly when they think you can't see them watching you.
Hope everything goes well for you!
Posted by: Erin at June 22, 2005 01:37 PM (BuifH)
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Of course, being about 12 years old (mentally), I second/third/fourth/infinity the opinion of wishing vehemently it's contagious, and glad-handing (shaking hands with, at least I think that's what it means) every! one! of the bastards that made you feel this way.
But my more mature side just wishes things would turn around for you, and soon, in ways that would make life fun, again, even with the hand herpes.
Posted by: scorpy at June 22, 2005 01:42 PM (M39/K)
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Loved your entry today : ) About the job... be assertive, not afraid. Don't go overboard, just do the right thing to make yourself feel comfortable. Not that what happened can be excused, but it's possible those morons were just a teensy bit jealous of your accomplishments... or possible that it was their Neanderthal way of welcoming you to the Boy's Club, hah! Hold your head high, and go on about your business... after all, you've proven yourself and have nothing to apologize for!
Posted by: Annette at June 22, 2005 02:08 PM (OGuOv)
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Right before my wedding a few years ago, I got a massive outbreak of cold sores on my lower lip. Not wanting to appear leprous during the ceremony, I went to the doctor. He prescribed pills and an ointment [how I hate that word] that I later found out were generally prescribed for genital herpes. No wonder the hot pharmacy guy looked so horrified when I picked it up.
I had no idea one could contract the herpes on the hands, though. See, you're performing a public service here. *grin*
Posted by: mac at June 22, 2005 03:02 PM (4sb5H)
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turn that fear into anger and kick some ass!
I'm here for you.
Posted by: suz at June 22, 2005 03:03 PM (GhfSh)
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If you've ever had chicken pox, the virus lies dormant in your system until later, usually when you are under much stress. That can be a trigger and you can have a shingles outbreak. You need to REDUCE the stress in your life! Drink herbal tea! Find new, non-sexually-harassing work environment! Take a sabatical. You SO deserve one!
Posted by: Teri at June 22, 2005 04:34 PM (K7jOL)
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You have all our support and love whatever happens. Cold sores on the mouth ARE herpes - herpes is a wonderful virus. In case no one told you, it never goes away, just lies dormant. If it makes you feel any better, the herpes I have on my mouth often go around my mouth and in one horrific incident, covered one whole side of my face from mouth to ear. It sucks - what I think really sucks is you dont even have memories of good sex to make up for it.
Posted by: That Girl at June 22, 2005 04:38 PM (gu1Ur)
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This isn't the same thing at all, but my sister was diagnosed with the Hand Herpes several years ago. We avoided her like the plague. Recently, she went to an actual dermatologist and found out it was a nickel allergy. Lo, and behold, it is gone now because she knows what it is. I would get a second opinion from a dermatologist just to be sure.
Posted by: Ms.Q at June 22, 2005 05:20 PM (WUM14)
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This job thing smells like a giant law-suit. To be honest, the way you have described your doctor, I would not trust him for the world. Go on and ask a second opinion, it is something you have to be careful about.
Posted by: paolo at June 22, 2005 05:46 PM (XBRVY)
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Ooh The Hand Herpes! Dr. Henry sounds really awesome. It is hard to find a practice where there are TWO docs that are cool. You should post pictures of The Hand Herpes!
Posted by: dani at June 22, 2005 05:47 PM (iJe7b)
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Hey Helen... I will break the french bureaucrats bullshit rule and come over to sink a spiked heel into the next person's ass who tries that shit on you... You just call me ok
Posted by: stinkerbell at June 22, 2005 05:55 PM (ZznPv)
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heheh. the herpes. That's priceless. As it turns out I had herpes (the happy kind) in my eye once. Hurt like a motherfucker, but really, not that big of a deal. And dude, I soooo did not get happy herpes in my eye from sexual contact. Just don't go there.
Posted by: emily at June 22, 2005 06:46 PM (QD7++)
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I hope that when you went back into the Lion's Den you went armed with a big load of attack vegetables.
I really hope you're able to make those assholes sweat a HUGE lawsuit for awhile, before getting the mess resolved to your satisfaction without having to go through all that hassle.
Sounds like they were indimidated by your obvious ability and success within the company, and used the only methods available to them to try to knock you down a peg.
They couldn't do it by questioning your abilities, since you've hit homers with everything they've pitched at you, despite having one hand tied behind your back half the time, so they had to resort to the schoolyard level stuff. They deserve to get their asses handed to them for it, but just keep in mind... that's the best they could come up with to attack you; little boys' sniggering innuendo.
Makes 'em look pretty pathetic, huh?
This whole thing says a LOT more about them and their insecurities than it does about you.
That said, from your past performance, I'm betting you manage to come out of this accomplishing what you need, without resorting to acting like an asshole yourself. I've always been impressed by how you've managed to accomplish that in the past (when all I'd be able to think about is machine guns and hand grenades) and I'm betting you pull it off again.
And just in case The Henry is wrong about the contagion, I'm hoping you passed around lots of friendly handshakes all day too.
Posted by: Light & Dark at June 22, 2005 07:13 PM (+Ds2b)
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And I am still very, very down about it all.
Don't be down. Be up! Remember: Is no from sex!
Sigh. All kidding aside?--I
really hope a little sensitivity training is in order for some of your coworkers.
Not because I think sensitivity training actually works, but because men hate sitting in it.
And isn't that just too damn bad for them.
Posted by: ilyka at June 22, 2005 07:59 PM (DD9sk)
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After finally arriving back in NZ I have come down with bloody fucking shingles TOO!! Its the reactivation of the chicken pox virus! Mine is on the left side of my head and my eye is closed shut! And the PAINS in my head are terrible! It was also from stress...I feel for you Helen and Angus and know the pain you go thru!
Posted by: butterflies at June 22, 2005 10:46 PM (M1F7A)
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When I was a teenager, my cousin had herpes on her forehead and the side of her face. She was supposed to stay out of the sun, because it made it worse, but she was CA cheerleader chick and would bake herself. Both my mum and my brother have had shingles -- painful as hell. I read last week that they're testing a vaccine for adults for shingles. As much as I hate shots, I think that's one I'm going to get!
I 'the herpes' clears up soon!
Posted by: Ith at June 22, 2005 11:40 PM (/Kiii)
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Wish you and Angus the best w/ the Hands Herpes. Sucks. But it is not deadly.
Posted by: Marie at June 23, 2005 01:08 AM (DIJ9I)
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If it makes you feel any better, I have a patch of eczema on the ball of my foot that won't go away. We could form a new superhero group: The Ailments.
Posted by: sporty at June 23, 2005 03:04 AM (56gUM)
Posted by: Simon at June 23, 2005 05:20 AM (FUPxT)
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June 17, 2005
In Which I Sunbathe Topless (Hopefully)
And because I have a serious and desperate need to get away from it all and have some sun, sea, sex and sangria, we are off today.
That's right.
Time to collect on that Dream Job award as Angus and I fly off for a long weekend in Monaco.
I'm ready-strappy sundresses, floaty skirts, a new and gorgeous swimsuit (I have moved back into the safety zone of the one piece tank. That time has come again), huge sunglasses, big hat, and for this black tie event we have to attend on Saturday, I am wearing That Fucking Great Blue Dress. Yes. That one. We arrive in the afternoon in Nice and are taken in a special convoy to our 5 star hotel in Monte Carlo (Monaco), where we can chill by the pool before attending a dinner. On Sunday we are taken in vintage cars to some wine tasting event in the French countryside. Saturday will be spent bunking out of activities and just being together, and for both our sakes, I hope we unwind and groove into the romantic zone.
Helen is hopeful for much handholding and doting, really.
Helen is feeling needy and just a little bit blue.
It happens.
We are already walking around the house trying to feel posh.
"Darling, would you like some coffee?" I ask Angus as he gets out of our sit-down shower. I am dressed in a T-shirt and boxers and Mumin is crying for cheese in the kitchen. I know it's her in the kitchen-not only does she always want cheese, but I took Erin's advice and she's currently wearing three bells on her collar (and nope! No mice yet!)
Angus sighs dramatically as he drapes a towel around his waist. "Fine, but maybe we don't need the smoked salmon and caviar until lunch."
I feign shock as I wing an errant tampon wrapper into the trashcan. "But darling! I've already had Geoffrey take them out for our breakfast."
"Oh, fine." Angus says, acting put out. "We'll just have the oysters for lunch then. Have the helicopter brought round, can you?"
I head downstairs, passing Maggie the Wonder Cat as she tries to catch and eat a fly. "I'll just ask Geoffrey about the coffee then, shall I?"
"Indeed."
I walk downstairs imagining I am wearing Prada instead of Gap. It almost works.
We are not posh, but at least we know how to pretend to be.
See you Tuesday.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
Ah, I'm back and you're gone. Such is life.
Bon Voyage, posh lady!
Posted by: redsaid at June 17, 2005 07:43 AM (Zagdc)
Posted by: justme at June 17, 2005 01:47 PM (Y9mRP)
3
Is it completely wrong that I read "See you Tuesday" and immediately thought, "You forgot the
next?"
Have a FABULOUS weekend, dahling!
Posted by: amy t. at June 17, 2005 03:48 PM (zPssd)
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Looking forward to the pics of you sunbathing ;-)
Posted by: ~Easy at June 17, 2005 04:29 PM (cgRzO)
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Have a womderful time; wish I was there.
Helen, why doesn't your comment page remember me? I faithfully check the "remember personal info" every time I comment, but it never remembers.
Posted by: kenju at June 18, 2005 01:14 AM (5U8GF)
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I hope you have a posh, sensuous, warm and wonderful time!
Love,
M
Posted by: Margi at June 19, 2005 04:08 AM (nwEQH)
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I'm glad the bells are working for you! I'm sure Mumin is
thrilled to have them!
Hope you have a great trip!
Posted by: Erin at June 20, 2005 01:26 PM (BuifH)
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June 16, 2005
Blow by Blow Recount Later Next Week
Professionally, a stunning victory and a horrible blow.
Personally, a shattering pain and a humbling high.
I'm going to spend today going to High Wycombe to watch my niece graduate, to get over my hangover, and to figure out what the hell to do.
-H.
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ummm.... hope you're doing alright. waiting with bated breath to hear your news.
Posted by: reflectionary at June 16, 2005 10:44 AM (jIWI1)
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From all the reports, it went friggin' well. Must be all the karma.
Posted by: Simon at June 16, 2005 11:46 AM (UKqGy)
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I hope all is well with you Helen and that whatever the stunning victory is will work out in the ways you need it too.
Abs x
Posted by: abs at June 16, 2005 12:20 PM (+gJH8)
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So now you've taken a page from tv's playbook: give them just enough to peak (or is it 'pique'?) their interest but not enough so they can actually figure it out. In other words, keep us on the edge of our seats in suspense until the next posting.
I hate that
...but, yes, I will be here first thing Monday morning expecting a full report
Posted by: Solomon at June 16, 2005 12:59 PM (k1sTy)
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Hugs and congrats and Id be happy to make the margeruitas for ya - funny how margueritas are appropriate for both highs and lows.
Posted by: That Girl at June 16, 2005 01:25 PM (gu1Ur)
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Enjoy (?) the hangover and tell us about it when/if you want to.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 16, 2005 01:26 PM (9x6LH)
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It looks freakin' sweet! Can't wait to hear the details.
Posted by: Jim at June 16, 2005 02:16 PM (tyQ8y)
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A few hundred scenarios are going through my mind right now. I hope the reality is a combination of the best of them.
As always, you're in my thoughts and the best wishes I throw into the stars.
Posted by: scorpy at June 16, 2005 02:17 PM (n2bhs)
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It's al lot to process, do it in your own time and way. You now we're right behind you!
(((Helen)))
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 16, 2005 03:28 PM (iDUy2)
Posted by: sporty at June 16, 2005 04:28 PM (NsnoE)
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Ahh, High Wycombe and London Central High School. Congratulate your niece from one of your readers who is also an alumni, class of 1986.
I clearly remember my graduation from there. Me and some friends of mine saw a little kid that day wearing a t-shirt that read "Class of 2000." We laughed and joked about how far into the future that was and could not even imagine where we would be in life by then. Now you are seeing the class of 2005 graduate. Boy, does time sure fly.
Posted by: Paul at June 16, 2005 05:29 PM (avr9E)
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thinkin of you love. and best of luck with that hangover!
xoxoxoxoxo
Posted by: kat at June 17, 2005 03:31 AM (DLLH+)
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June 15, 2005
Happy Birthday to My Everyday Stranger
Two years ago today, I started this blog.
I remember it well. I had been debating starting it for a long time. I pondered. I wondered. I checked out Blogger. I sat at my desk that morning, that open plan desk on the 6th floor overlooking the internal guts of Company X's building and wondered how much granite a place could be made of. I signed up for an account and wondered what to call my blog. It didn't take long to think up the name Everyday Stranger. Then I wondered what to call myself, and that took even less time.
Then I didn't wonder anymore. I just wrote.
I didn't know what to do with my blog or what it was I wanted to achieve.
I still don't.
I do know that I was in therapy. I was depressed and unhappy with work, my marriage, my situation. I was so curious about what was in my head and heart that I wondered...if I had a little web page that I couldn't cast in the fire, would it all come out of me?
Much of it has. Not all of it, but much of it.
My blog has made me very happy. To put some statistics on it, it ranks in the top 90,000 most visited web sites in the world, which in the grand scheme of how many web sites there are in the world, is not a bad thing at all (I'm above Aberdeen News but below the BBC. Justice has been served).
I have had over 400,000 visitors since I started counting them. Over 9,000 comments. I used to get more daily comments a year ago than I do now-whether that's because I suck more this year than last year, I don't know.
Statistics aren't my bag-I don't know whether those numbers mean anything or not. Those are just numbers, and numbers don't change my life. What has changed my life are some of the people that I have met through my blog so far. I have met some incredible creatures that spread their hearts in my email box, and I love them for that. I have met wonderful, happy people and people like me-people that have weekends when only Aaron Spelling jokes will do. People that have lost their minds, their hearts, their jobs.
But the biggest thing that has impacted me is this: my blog continues to force me to pay attention, and I can't express how much I've learnt just by paying more attention.
So here's to my second anniversary of blogging.
I'll meet you this time next year, and I'll bring the gin.
-H.
PS- wish me luck. Am wearing my bestest knickers. I'm scared and exhilliarated at the same time.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
Helen, i know that i don't 'know' you but i have been an avid reader a long time now and i cant thank you enough for sharing your thoughts with all of us. Through reading your blog you force me to think about things too and i appreciate that. You are a fantastic writer.
Besides, living vicariously through your life has been fun
Here's to the next year, and i will bring the limes!
Abs x
Posted by: abs at June 15, 2005 10:10 AM (+gJH8)
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My very best congratulations, Helen! With you out there writing, those other 90,000 ought to be nervous about their place in the world.
Best of luck! You know I'm pulling for you and have all available resources crossed!
Posted by: RP at June 15, 2005 10:30 AM (X3Lfs)
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Many congratulations. It warms my heart when I see others getting as much out of their blogs as I do out of my own.
Posted by: MrDan at June 15, 2005 10:42 AM (KF1fi)
4
Big congrats and best of British luck.
Posted by: Simon at June 15, 2005 11:25 AM (FUPxT)
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CONGRATULATIONS on every and all fronts!
Your bestest knickers deserve an newer bester pair to replace them- you are news!
Oh, and I owe you
Posted by: stinkerbell at June 15, 2005 11:58 AM (ZznPv)
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Congrats! Ill bring the nice glasses so we can pretend we're posh and the salsa and chips because they make you drink more.
Posted by: That Girl at June 15, 2005 12:32 PM (gu1Ur)
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Happy Anniversary! I'm glad you've stuck around and I hope you continue to! I look forward to reading your blog every morning when I get to work.
Best of Luck!
Posted by: Erin at June 15, 2005 01:15 PM (BuifH)
8
Happy 2nd blog birthday...again!! Your writing has gotten better not worse, but your life is in much better shape than it was early on. When things are going badly, everyone wants to help by giving you their two cents' worth or offering sympathy. When things are going well, we often sit back and simply enjoy the post.
I hope you find the time and energy to continue posting. This is usually one of the high points of my morning. God bless.
Posted by: Solomon at June 15, 2005 01:24 PM (k1sTy)
9
Happy anniversary. Visits to blogs ebb and flow. But the amount of people commenting could be related to the amount of comments you leave. Give and take you know.
But regardless your blog is about you and your thoughts and expressions. As long as your happy with what your doing then comments dont matter....quality or quanity.
Posted by: Drew at June 15, 2005 01:37 PM (CBlhQ)
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Happy Anniversary!
Regarding the difference in the number of comments from last year, I know that I've been a bad blogger and I haven't been commenting as much as I'd like to, especially in the last few months.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed for you!
Posted by: amber at June 15, 2005 01:39 PM (VZEhb)
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Words can't even being to express what your blog has done for me. How you've crawled into my brain and moved right in. I talk to people and I'm like, "You won't believe what happened to Helen! Oh, you don't know Helen? Hmm."
Sometimes when I'm listening to my ipod, I'll hear a song and I'll just know that it belongs on your soundtrack. (Currently, it's The Damnwells - I Will Keep the Bad Things from you. Trust me, you'll love this song.)
Like Abs said, I don't technically "know" you but I still feel a connection. Maybe it's because my grandmother's name was Adelaide Helen and this makes me feel closer to her. Maybe I just like that someone seems as fucked up as I am.
I don't even know how long I've been reading about your life. It seems like I've been here since the beginning but that could just be because I've read the archives. : )
However long it's been, it's not enough. I'm glad you're planning on sticking around and I thank you for it. As a matter of fact, I want to thank every single person in your life that's had any sort of impact on you because it's made you who you are.
Posted by: Lindsay at June 15, 2005 01:50 PM (9AP/4)
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Happy blogiversary, Helen.
And knock 'em dead!
(not literally, unless there are no other options)
Posted by: Jim at June 15, 2005 01:58 PM (tyQ8y)
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Happy Blogiversary!
No worries about the comments. Sometimes you write so well to where there's not much left to say. I read every new post and am happy that you're in a better place.
I love the feeling of great knickers. It's like my own little secret.
Posted by: PJ at June 15, 2005 02:07 PM (PulSE)
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Happy Blogiversary, Helen. And many more to come, I hope. Your writing inspires me and I learn things from you everyday.
Posted by: kenju at June 15, 2005 02:17 PM (5U8GF)
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Here's to good friends made, lessons learned, hearts felt, and many, many more posts from our not-so-Everyday hardly-a-Stranger.
Happy Bloggyday, Helen.
Posted by: Jennifer at June 15, 2005 02:39 PM (jl9h0)
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Happy Blogiversary to you...
Happy Blogiversary to you.......
HAPPY BLOGIVERSARY DEAREST HELEN!!!
Happy Blogiversary to you.
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 15, 2005 02:39 PM (qmWCO)
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Congratulations and welcome to the terrible two's *lol*
Posted by: ~Easy at June 15, 2005 03:27 PM (/Lhqp)
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Happy Blogday Helen...
Reading what you write is one of the good things in my life.
Posted by: LarryConley at June 15, 2005 03:45 PM (Rd72B)
19
Congrats my dear! I agree with previous mentioned sentiments - your writing
has gotten better. Most days, you awe me into silence. Leaving me in a state where I want to comment but know that there is nothing I can say that will match the beauty of what you've written.
I've been reading for almost the whole two years, and even though we've never met, I've enjoyed watching you grow every single day. Your perspective often has the power to change the way I look at everyday things.
So thank you. I'm glad you get as much out of writing your blog as we get out of reading it.
Posted by: amy t. at June 15, 2005 03:54 PM (zPssd)
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happy blogiversary to you and Everyday Stranger!
It's amazing what we find of ourselves when we sit and let the words flow, isn't it?
Keep on keepin' on, Helen.
Posted by: scorpy at June 15, 2005 04:00 PM (4tuVe)
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Well everyone has already said what I could say - but I wanted to leave you a post!
Typical morning for me is getting my coffee, turning my computer on here at work & going directly to your site. You are the first thing I read every morning.
You are an inspiring writer who has the ability to put into context the things that happen in our everyday lives. awesome.
You have grown. You cheer me up when you are happy. You make me sad when you are upset. That is true writing ability.
love ya, keep it up & happy #2 to ya!
C
Posted by: Christina at June 15, 2005 04:13 PM (axrWz)
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Awe Love - Happy Anniversary. I don't know what I'd do with out you. And Amy T is right. Most times I want to comment but, what you've written... there's just simply nothing more to add. I feel very fortunate that I found your site and have gotten to know you.
Posted by: Tiffani at June 15, 2005 04:20 PM (KE4Gu)
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Happy anniversary! I've left only a few comments over the past year or so that I've been reading your blog (it's the first thing I do when I log on to my computer at work!) but thoroughly enjoy your writing and miss it desperately when I am away from computer access. You are living sort of my "dream" life. I am an American who loves England. I would love more than anything to leave my life here and live in the English countryside (Somerset would be my choice) but I accept that it will most likely never happen unless I win the lottery. I leave my husband home and visit England every year, sometimes twice and love every minute of it. It's like I've lived there in a previous life.
Thank you, Helen, for sharing your life with all of us. I feel like we're friends who have never met.
Hugs,
Kathy
Posted by: Kathy at June 15, 2005 05:05 PM (LY2gu)
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Happy Blogiversary! (That is the strangest word...)
Here's to another year of paying attention. *toasts you with my coconut breve*
Posted by: Tami at June 15, 2005 06:06 PM (akE+H)
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I rememeber reading this blog in its early days and it was wonderful. It has only gotten better with time.
Happy blogiversary, babe.
Posted by: kitty at June 15, 2005 06:17 PM (cyfSY)
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Congrats, and to another great couple of years!I really enjoy reading you everyday!
Posted by: justme at June 15, 2005 06:30 PM (yTMmo)
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Amazing how many of us visit this blog as soon as we get to work each day. You are an inspiration to many. I learn from you each day as your inner thoughts often echo mine and I learn a new way to think about old habits, thoughts, lessons and so much more.
Here's to two years and wishing you many, many more.
Posted by: Ice Queen at June 15, 2005 07:13 PM (Ct/0E)
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Happy Blogiversary , Helen!
I can't believe it has been two years. That means my own anniversary is coming up in a couple of months. Of course, I've erased most of the evidence that I've been around that long... You're a much braver sould than I. Congratulations.
Posted by: Sue at June 15, 2005 08:10 PM (w0joj)
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That should of course read: Much braver soul... I still can't type, damn.
Posted by: Sue at June 15, 2005 08:11 PM (w0joj)
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Hey, congratulations on the anniversary. Keep on going, I can assure you that you're not only helping yourself but others as well.
Take care.
Posted by: Paolo at June 15, 2005 10:59 PM (XBRVY)
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Happy Blogiversary my friend. Whatever the reasons for starting it and continuing, I'm so glad you did. You have taught me a great deal in the past two years and my life is richer because of you and your writing.
Posted by: Serenity at June 15, 2005 11:41 PM (KjnKF)
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Happy Blog Birthday, Helen. You amaze me daily with your humanity and vulnerability. Thanks for keeping this up. Even if I don't comment often, I do read often!
Posted by: Ms. Q at June 16, 2005 12:27 AM (WUM14)
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I'd say "happy blogiversary" too, but like the words "baby dust" and shit like that, it probably creases you and you also look like you could kick my ass so... happy anniversary.
)
Posted by: sporty at June 16, 2005 12:46 AM (56gUM)
34
happy blogiversary!
goes fast...doesn't it?
as far as the comments - i can only speak for myself and say - i have been reading almost a year.
but i tend to be a bit on the quiet side here.
so - always add one to the comment number if i am not there.....ok?
i think that counts. and isn't really cheating....
Posted by: sn at June 16, 2005 03:15 AM (6FCAy)
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I rarely comment, but I've read all your posts for nearly a year now. You have a vivid writing style and honesty which keeps me hooked. I also like all the references to Sweden because I was living there for a while. So I thought it was time to pop my head up and say hello and congratulations!
Posted by: Mike at June 16, 2005 04:09 PM (fX+A1)
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Congrats on the milestone. It's amazing to look back and reflect on all you've done, or how life has changed.
I look forward to keeping up with a blogger from a country I long to visit!
Posted by: Rebecca at June 16, 2005 04:11 PM (ZHfdF)
37
happy anniversary helen! i haven't commented for a very long time, probably since my own blog had to be taken down after i was 'discovered' by my family (ek!), but i still read you everyday. i've gotten my best friend hooked too! here's to many more blog birthdays!
~L
Posted by: Laura at June 16, 2005 05:15 PM (Cwgaj)
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MY turn to be late in wishing you a belated happy bloggin' birthday! But I know that you'll forgive me, because my excuse is that I was travelling (for a welcome change) and I know that you endorse that kind of thing.
This time next year, I'll be here. You can bet on it.
xxx R.
Posted by: redsaid at June 17, 2005 08:00 AM (Zagdc)
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June 14, 2005
Just the Girls For the Day
Angus is in Stockholm, returning today, so it was just Melissa and I yesterday and this morning. She went out with her uncle to see the new Star Wars film last night, and then she returned and we spent time applying Lush face masks that smell like honey and trying to look pretty.
Yesterday I wanted to sit on the couch and watch those home improvement shows she likes so much and snigger with her at the horrible taste in throw cushions the designers inevitably have. I wanted to watch music videos with her and talk about those crazy kids nowadays. I wanted to plant all the flowers we bought as she suddenly loves gardening in the front garden with me, and actively takes part keeping things neat and tidy out there.
This must be what parents feel like. I know I am not a parent. I may never be one. But I think I understand now how sometimes the only thing you may want to do is sit on a couch next to a warm little person and talk.
Yesterday we walked to the corner shop and bought some bread for lunch. We rented some DVDs. We went to a few antique shops in the village and browsed. I bought Angus a small present (and I still want that ring, darling!) We went to the shops later where I browsed for a new business suit and I bought her a book. We talked and chatted and laughed and the thing is, I had a nice time and really enjoyed her company.
I think she enjoyed mine.
I have generally had a very easy time with Angus' 8 year-old Jeff instead of Melissa. Melissa, the penultimate Daddy's Girl. Melissa, who is old enough to be aware of the sensitivities and the emotions that accompany their parent's divorce and so I want to be careful around her and not confuse her. Melissa, the nearly 13 year-old that I never was, with the complete adoration of a father that I never had. Melissa, whose demands sometimes get on my nerves, whose complete siding with her father on everything sometimes irritates me, whose dislike for Americans is hard for me to accept quietly. It's not always easy for me, but I do know my rank in the grand scheme of things.
And the truth is, I am growing accustomed to her being around. She's a good kid, and becoming a cherished friend.
The past two weeks I have had many questions about the bandages on my face and leg (now both removed. I got bored of the stitches and so removed them in a fit of pique in our upstairs bathroom about a week ago).
My favorite reply, on someone asking about my face, was to reply: I cut myself shaving.
You should've seen the looks.
The other standby was: I got in a bar fight. You should've seen the other guy.
I saw Melissa looking at the scars but she never asked. Had she asked, she is the only one that would have had the truth. Life is too short to start losing your faith in the grown-ups, I'd rather not be the one to take that away from her.
So now I am spending the night in London and Angus is home with Melissa. I know they're going to a tack shop to spend money on horse things for her. I know they'll be sitting on the couch cuddled up together. I know their company will be constant. And instead of feeling confused about it, I am just glad for him. I know how much he misses his kids and I know this tiny quality time is a tonic for the soul.
She's about to be a teenager, so I know that all the rules we have now will go out the window as hormones roll the dice and cast a pall on things. It's not a reflection of her, only a reflection of those years that she has to go through, a sign that we all have to buckle up and stick it out. In some ways, I can relate to her more as a teen than as a child-I don't understand parent-child relationships, they're hard for me to grasp. I also know that I am a friend and 'step-parent'Â role only, and that's perfectly ok with me.
For instance, I hope she never gets her first period while she's visiting us. Not because I don't want to deal with it and am afraid of it, because I am not. I would hold her hand and lock the bathroom door and talk to her. I would show her how to fold the wings just so, and I would dole out cramp medicine and understanding smiles.
But I know that the first period is a time in a girl's life when she needs her mother, to understand and to help understand. So for her sake and her mother's sake, I hope she's home to have that experience with her mother. I hope she's home with her mother the first time she meets a boy she likes. I hope she's home with her mother the first time she has her heart broken. These are times when there's just something about Mom that is the first aid balm which heals.
For everything else, I hope I get to be a part of. The graduations, the engagement. The first home. The first time she rolls her eyes at the music I put on the stereo. The inside jokes, the holidays, her first scuba trip. When she falls out of love with Orlando Bloom and graduates to George Clooney territory. When she raids my bookshelf or cooks dinner for all of us.
I hope I get to be a part of it all, but in the meantime, I will enjoy the gardening with her. I will watch the home improvement shows she likes and discuss the cinematic merits of The Grudge versus The Ring. I loan her my robe and my socks and she borrows all of my Lush stuff. It's taken a lot of time, but I am beginning to relax around her and she is hopefully beginning to relax around me.
And when her uncle picked her up last night and I provided her with my phone numbers, asked if she wanted some money and please what time would she be home?, her uncle laughed.
You're just like a mother! He said kindly, smiling and whisking her out the door.
And that was the nicest thing he's ever said to me.
-H.
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1
Helen, i can honestly say that from this lovely post it ic clear that Melissa is lucky to have you as a step-parent/friend
Abs x
Posted by: abs at June 14, 2005 10:18 AM (+gJH8)
2
*shrugs* You sound like a mother to me, too. Besides, you totally get the working parent guilt thing.
Posted by: RP at June 14, 2005 10:35 AM (X3Lfs)
3
Helen, you are the quintessential step-mom and it is wonderful that you care. It would be great if all step-parents felt as you do. You are one smart woman!
Posted by: kenju at June 14, 2005 12:58 PM (5U8GF)
4
I surely hope you have a baby (biological or adopted) some day.
Posted by: Solomon at June 14, 2005 01:17 PM (k1sTy)
5
I would have given anything for a step-mom like you...
You really grasp more of motherhood than you realize, I believe.
Posted by: Dana at June 14, 2005 02:54 PM (Flfvq)
6
Helen, Here's a funny thing - I realize in this moment after reading this post that I like you better than I like many people I currently know and we've never even met....nice to know people like you are out there in the world making it a better place, and I feel like I see that in your posts. Thanks.
Posted by: gigi at June 14, 2005 03:22 PM (FpSXU)
7
Sounds like things are going very well. I hope it stays that way through the teen years.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 14, 2005 06:33 PM (/Lhqp)
8
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
Posted by: diamond dave at June 14, 2005 09:45 PM (3nbmf)
9
Thankyou. That was good for my heart.
Posted by: flikka at June 15, 2005 12:25 AM (puvdD)
10
Helen. I adore you.
There is no law that states only a Mother can be Maternal. In fact, general rules state there are many Mothers who have no earthly clue what being maternal involves.
You have the most maternal soul of all the souls I know. I have a feeling that one day? PTS (Post Teenage Syndrome), Melissa may well turn to you and say those very same words.
{hugs}
And thank you, as always, for infiltrating my day with a ray of pure gold.
Posted by: Jennifer at June 15, 2005 12:43 AM (MbhV6)
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June 13, 2005
An Unusual Sunday
Something a little different happened on Sunday.
On Sunday, my uncle, aunt, and one of my cousins came over to our house for a barbecue.
They brought with them my Japanese grandmother, who has flown over from the States and whom I haven't seen in nearly 10 years.
She's over here for my other cousin's graduation from an American high school on an English Air Force Base near London. Angus and I are both going to the graduation on Thursday, and besides my stepmother and my uncle's family, this is the first exposure he's had of my family. The house was clean, Angus made a smashing leg of lamb and roast potatoes (I had soy sausages, thank you) and we had key lime cheesecake for dessert.
And the thing is, my grandmother hasn't changed a bit in 10 years.
There she was, looking exactly the same. No new lines seemed to have appeared. She still had the same tiny hands, the same tiny waist, the same tiny feet.
And her tiny Japanese shoes don't come close to fitting giant Helen feet.
Her English is still heavily and deeply accented, and she still loses her eyes when she smiles and laughs.
Just like I do.
There is a proposal to have a family reunion on Cape Cod sometime. If they have one, I asked if I could please be invited. I'm not an important family member and I never have been. I am tainted by my parent's divorce, my divorces, and my disappearance to the other side of the pond. My grandmother loves me but it is clear that my two sweet cousins are her favorite granddaughters. If I think about it, I imagine I will get invited-I'm like M&Ms, I guess. You never think about buying them, but if someone else suggests them and hands you a bowl with them, you'll partake and enjoy them for a short while.
One of these days someone is going to be able to explain to me why I've spent my life as the dark horse in the family, the one who always tried so hard to be a good girl and be loved, only to find third degree burns on the inside of her heart. Someone will be able to explain why it is I'm so easily forgettable, why it is that in terms of bloodlines I've only ever belonged to one tiny family unit and why I no longer even belong to that one. When that day comes, there will be some reckoning to be had.
In the meantime, the afternoon was very nice. We all got along extremely well, Angus was charming and was accepted readily, and Melissa (who is over here this week) was even hugged goodbye by my entire clan. Angus, Melissa and Jeff are invited to the reunion as well, and for once, I actually hope it takes place.
My grandmother loved our little cricket village. She loved the houses, she loved the flowers, she loved them playing cricket. She must have taken about a million pictures, but in retrospect, I guess that's expected-after all, at a pub on Saturday night she even took a picture of the menu. It was called the Queen's Pub-she felt that royalty should be respected. I don't think anyone had the heart to tell her there are tens of thousands of pubs in the UK with royalty in the name that had never seen a blueblood darken its doors before.
I told her she was being a stereotypical Japanese tourist, sans the white umbrella.
She laughed.
She calls my grandfather on our phone and shouts down the phone at him. I talk to him, a sweet mild-mannered man who I haven't seen in 10 years either. When I hang up, Grandma tells me that he bought his first cell phone three years ago. He and his friend went to a shop and insisted that they both buy a Company X brand phone, "to show support for my granddaughter!" as my grandfather insisted.
It is one of the kindest things I have heard, and I am nearly undone by it.
We walk around the village and Grandma sees English cricket playing on the country's oldest cricket green.
And in one picture with two sets of disappearing slanted eyes, I am reminded that what I am is also a part of where I come from.
And I am thankful-and frankly proud-for the journey so far.
-H.
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Posted by: Ted at June 13, 2005 11:11 AM (blNMI)
2
Sounds like a wonderful visit!
Posted by: ~Easy at June 13, 2005 12:42 PM (/Lhqp)
3
Helen, this is another wonderful post. I don't see how they could ever dismiss you, or you not be a favored child in the family. If they do that, they do not really know you at all, for if they did, they could never hurt your feelings like that.
Posted by: kenju at June 13, 2005 01:28 PM (5U8GF)
4
Grandmas are cool. I wish I had one
Angel1 & Angel2 have two sets of wonderful grandparents.
Happy two year anniversary (it's upcoming right?) on the blog. I've enjoyed hanging out with you and all the other folks that visit. You really do write well and convey your thoughts and emotions excellently.
Posted by: Solomon at June 13, 2005 01:50 PM (k1sTy)
5
... beautiful... I'm glad to hear that your Grandma made the trip over... maybe this is the beginning of something new...
Posted by: Eric at June 13, 2005 02:02 PM (YlwMq)
6
Sounds like you had a great visit and weekend. I understand about the cousins being the more favored lol. My Grandmother on my fathers side is the same way about my aunts children. And we have completly lost touch with her since my parents divorced. She actually called my house and asked for my cousin, totaly blowing me off when I answered, during a family reunion at my house years ago LOL.
Love the picture of both of you!
Posted by: justme at June 13, 2005 02:51 PM (lnrI3)
7
Seriously, you are just adorable.
Posted by: sporty at June 13, 2005 03:03 PM (56gUM)
8
glad you had some pleasant family time.
Posted by: becky at June 13, 2005 03:50 PM (/VG77)
Posted by: sn at June 13, 2005 05:18 PM (6FCAy)
10
Psst! I lost your email and I have something that I have just *GOT* to share with you!!!! Hit me!
Posted by: Ms. Pants at June 13, 2005 05:30 PM (PQfF5)
11
Wonderful picture - you and your grandmother are beautiful women. I am so glad Angus and Melissa were able to meet the visiting family - and have it such a happy memory!
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 13, 2005 06:59 PM (qmWCO)
12
Im glad you got a chance to reconnect a little
abs x
Posted by: abs at June 13, 2005 07:04 PM (es1oB)
13
I'm like M&Ms, I guess.
Damn straight! Sweet on the outside, satisfying on the inside and chock full of mojo goodness. And lets not forget the stimulant and aphrodisiac properties.
Posted by: Jim at June 13, 2005 09:14 PM (tyQ8y)
14
The American high school that your cousins are attending...
is it in High Wycombe?
Just curious. When i lived in Germany I dated a boy who went there..and I went to their prom.(held nearby in some swanky hotel in London) It was a cool little school. Of course this was over ten years ago...oh jesus, I'm old.
Anyway, lovely pic of you and Gran on the cricket green.
I'm a dark horse too. I tell myself that the beauty of being a dark horse is that you get to choose your family...and can surround yourself with those who love you and contribute in positive ways to your psyche, bloodlines or no.
Sounds like you're doing the same. Good for you.
Posted by: h at June 14, 2005 06:30 AM (IU7wl)
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June 10, 2005
Yesterday, on 'Whistling Pines'...
That does it.
I've had enough.
I've had enough of trying to open the hundred and fifty+ a day work emails as fast as they come in. I've had enough of hurriedly typing my blog posts on trains and posting them surreptitiously. No more can I stand checking my phone at the end of the day and seeing I have 16 voice mails, all of which will generate hours more work. No more can I abide being micro-managed to the very fiber of my micro-thin tights.
Forget it.
I quit.
I guit....reality.
That's right. No more will I be sad over losing the house. I won't be upset over the turkey carving that is my skin cancer woes and I won't spend another moment going over IVF stats. I will not stress that I am not pretty enough, and I will never need to agonize over which book to read next in my study.
I am going to start living my life as a soap opera. I mean a real one, as opposed to the craggy soap opera it already is. It's time that I rushed headlong into my new world, my new soap opera world, and embraced the melodrama that life should be.
*********************************************
I stretch on my white satin sheets, startling Moppet, my white persian cat, who goes to sit on a nearby chair stretched with white damask and watches me daintily. I sit up in bed and catch sight of myself in the mirror opposite-my makeup and hair is as perfect as it was just before I went to bed. I smooth one tiny spot of blue eyeshadow carefully, in case the whole palette cracks, and then I float out of bed.
I swirl into the living room in my pink chiffon gown. My YSL kitten heels with the little feathers over the toes make sweet graceful sounds on the tiled floors of my 1920's Spanish villa, built in 1982. Sighing dramatically, I float down onto the pink chinz couch.
"Are you all right Madame?" comes an accented voice from the door.
"I need my morning ritual, Consuela." I tell my maid. Not one to give in to service industry stereotypes, Consuela is from Norway. Her real name is also Marit but she indulges me and lets me call her Consuela.
"Now Madame," Consuela said, walking forward and whisking a blond braid behind her ear. "You take on too much stress. Organizing this charity tug-of-war is too much for you." She hands me three pills and a champagne cocktail. I look at one of the pills and see that one of the letters has been crossed off, but I can just about make out the word "Xanax".
"Consuela, this is folic acid, right? Remember-Tom Cruise said no one would need to take medication if they had scientology and vitamins. Tom Cruise wouldn't lie to us. He wouldn't be a posing chutney ferret who preys on women's sensitivities or anything. He would only ever speak the truth."
"Yes Madame. Uh...Xanax is uh...the manufacturer! Yes! The manufacturer of a new vitamin, one designed to prevent sagging breasts!"
"Oh....well I'll have four of them then!" I say brightly, and wash them all down with my champagne. I hand her the glass. "I can't remember the last time I was up this early," I say, consulting my watch. It is 2 pm, and I am so tired.
There is a knock at the door.
Consuela goes to answer it. I realize the new maid uniform I bought her from Chanel makes her ass look big. This pleases me, I shall buy more of them for her.
Consuela opens the door and in walks a stunningly handsome and rugged man. He looks handsome now, but time will not be as kind to him and in twenty years the male pattern baldness he has will make his ears look like dinner plates. He glowers at me.
"Chadwick! I say, gasping.
A sudden throng of eerie organ music echoes through the house.
We look around to see who might be playing organ music in my house.
"When did you come back to Whistling Pines?" I gasp, my hand at my throat. Consuela closes the door and walks to her maids quarters. Chadwick starts to watch her but when he sees the size of her ass his eyes revert back to me. Am definitely buying more of those maids' uniforms.
"I came back for Lila. I came back to get her and take her away to my cabin in the mountains."
"You mean the cabin where the militants held her hostage in their protest over GM corn? The one where she had a nervous breakdown before having a raunchy affair with Dingo, the GM corn crop protest leader in a Stockholm Syndrome Patty Hearst moment? The one where Dingo was gunned down and died in Lila's arms, with her swearing to kill 'every motherfucker within a five mile radius', as she said, which then prompted her two years in an institution where she acted like she was an eggplant?"
"Yes, that cabin. The bad memories of that place will have passed for her. She'll be fine there. After all, I've hung new curtains." he growls.
I run my hand on a crystal decanter nearby. "Lila is gone." I say, not looking at him.
"What? What are you talking about, Demeter?" The way he says my name is so vulgar, so common, so incredibly hot. "Where is she?"
I smile. "My evil twin sister can no longer torment the fine people of Whistling Pines. She's gone."
He looks at me. "Where is she? Did you eat her? I see you have something of a tiny pot belly growing there."
I pull my robe closed and tighten the sash forcefully. That asshole. "I couldn't possibly have eaten Lila. I'm a vegetarian. Gwenyth Paltrow advises it. No, it's worse. She's gone...hare krishna!"
"What?" he says incredulously. Organ music echoes again through the house.
"OK, I lied." I reply. He looks at me in anger. "Lila is...she's...well it's just too painful for me." I look away, tears glistening in big fat drops over my perfectly made-up eyes.
I turn back to him and know my mascara is running down my face expertly. "She's become...a soccer mom!"
Chadwick falls to his knees. "No! No! It's not true!"
"In the 15 years that have passed since you left her and was presumed dead after your car was swept off that mountain road and attacked by a crazed pack of freak wild elephants before blowing up, Lila changed! Once we heard your head had been found in an elevator shaft, she had to move on! She married, has two kids, drives a minivan!"
He sobs.
"She wears clothes from Ann Taylor Loft and loves her purple cashmere twinsets!"
He wails.
"And her husband is...he's...he's an orthodontist!"
Chadwick becomes unglued. He stands and grabs me.
"I need you Demeter! I need you like I never needed a woman before!"
"But you didn't always need a woman before, Chadwick! You were experimenting with prime time homosexuality long before Misha Barton!" I reply, scanning his eyes.
"That was different!" he growls. "I need to throw you on the bed and have a long and complicated relationship with you, one with a white wedding in which 40 million viewers will tune in to before we divorce after you have an affair with the cabana boy."
"The cabana boy is so 80's, Chadwick. No one does the cabana boy anymore, it's as passe as Ben Affleck. I'll be leaving you for Mary, a former criminal turned biker chick, who it turns out is actually a man in drag hiding under the witness protection program!" I whisper, running my fingers over his lips.
His face lights up. "I like that." he says, and reaches in to kiss me.
"But wait!" I cry. You're my father's sister's brother's son's nephew! You're also my cousin and half-brother, twice removed! You're also my gardener-"
"But all your roses out front are dead."
"You've been away for 15 years, what do you expect! We can't do this! Think of the church! Think of what the neighbors will say! Think of the genetic mutations this pairing can render!"
"I'm impotent." He whispers. "I use a pump. You'll be just fine."
He sweeps me up the staircase and into the bedroom as the camera focus goes soft and starry and crashing and swelling classical music plays.
*********************************************
With a sigh, I open my email. I turn on my phone and start listening to messages, while dialing in to conference calls at the same time. I have just enough time to juggle two calls before catching a train to London and working late there.
-H.
PS-my blog turns two next week. Scary. Amazing. And you know what? Rewarding.
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1
I hope you enjoyed your little fantasy, it sounded like a lot of fun!
Posted by: Hannah at June 10, 2005 11:46 AM (UdFzX)
2
OMG, Helen. You are too funny! I hope today is a better work day.
Posted by: justme at June 10, 2005 01:17 PM (nSxBx)
3
You are the first thing I read once I reach work. You make my day!
Posted by: Jennifer at June 10, 2005 02:00 PM (lHvU3)
4
I've had daydreams eerily similar to this. Thanks for my Friday morning giggle.
Posted by: Tif at June 10, 2005 05:00 PM (jCFyL)
5
I'm alive & well and finally back in the saddle. I need to catch up with your blog, but my pager just went off....
Posted by: ~Easy at June 10, 2005 09:03 PM (/Lhqp)
6
That is the BEST story I have read lately!! Won't you write a book?
Happy blog birthday.
Posted by: kenju at June 10, 2005 10:43 PM (5U8GF)
7
And here I thought that you'd actually quit. I want your pink feathered slippers.
Posted by: sporty at June 11, 2005 12:42 AM (56gUM)
8
You're just precious, Helen.
Posted by: dawn at June 12, 2005 06:12 PM (Dh1V0)
9
Everytime I think I couldn't possibly love you any more...
Posted by: Sue at June 13, 2005 05:57 AM (M7kiy)
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June 09, 2005
Slow Motion Waves
There are days that are triggered by the drafty air, the lack of light. A race into London only serves to exhaust, the trains whirring by in uncomfortable silence as I try to keep my skirt off the knee of the man next to me, as the man across from me tries to keep from fidgeting, to keep from stepping his scuffed work shoes on my naked sandaled toes. The sunshine sometimes helps, sometimes doesn't.
Tuesday it didn't.
Clad in simple clothes and with my hair laying across my cheek, over the bandage on the right side of my face, I make my way into the city. The hair may (sometimes) cover the one bandage, but the other injury slides down my leg, hidden by a thick white bandage. To further the damage, my right hand had a sort of surgery on it, which was somewhere between many shots and blinding pain. The result is that the hand looks bruised and is curled into a twisted crow-like claw, unable to open the fingers up and expose the fine lines of the palm to the light.
I am a bit bruised inside, too, but those injuries are my own to bear.
There are days when I stand in the midst of the people at Waterloo and wonder what is happening. I turn and face the sea of faces and find that they are moving in slow motion, a pause in their rush, quicksand in their run. I watch as the silver flash of a jacket zipper catches every stream of sunlight on the teeth. I see a woman push a tendril of hair out of her eyes, and it takes her minutes to reach forward, curl the fingers up, take the hair with the fingertips and push it callously to the back of her head, a lone wave rippling up in a sea of bottle blond. A woman is on a call on her mobile, and I watch as her crimson lips move and thrust and take a few minutes to slide down her teeth to form a word.
It's all in slow motion. People running, people checking their watches, a man reaching for his young son's hand. If I hold my breath I can hear the sound of a pound coin set on the counter in commerce for a thirsty water-craving businessman several stalls away. The sunlight streams through the window and clocks the dust particles in the air in front of me, erasing any sign of the train display I am trying to watch.
All I can do is stand there.
A pigeon hobbles next to me, lapping up a large piece of bread next to me. It tilts its head to regard me and finds I am moving as slowly as everyone else around me. This bubble, this celluloid goo, it just wraps us up and locks us in. I see the pigeon has only one toe on one of his feet, and a gust of wind generated from the undercarriage of an arriving train blows him off balance, his toe shortage poor compensation for the unforeseeable.
I look at my curled clawed hand and know the feeling.
Sometimes, I too am caught unaware by the gusts. There are days when I just don't have enough, when I have given all I can to him and them and him. I know that on those days when I think I have given it all I should open the lid on the barrel inside of me, look in, and reach in and give some more. I do this, but the splinters from the bottom of the barrel have buried themselves in my fingers. Infection is spreading.
Another pigeon flutters down and cheekily takes a nip of the bread. I see it has all of its toes but one of them is enormous, swollen and black. The pigeon limps and regards me, and I want to say: You too, eh? The infection is in you too?
Above me the train display shows a display for the Garden of Glass at Kew Gardens, and a ball of yellow light is emblazoned on the screen, backlighting the entire train station and targeting people with a dose of the artificial light. I watch the light bounce off the young punk with the aviator glasses. The man with a briefcase that has seen better days. The young woman in the black dress and black pumps that is trying too hard but she won't know it for another few years. I watch the light touch them but they don't pause in their slow motion ballet to crane their heads up to see this, and if they did, by the time they got their eyes to shift and follow the light would be gone.
I leave my pigeon friends to it and walk to the train platform, and I must be in slow motion too because I am not aware of getting there, I only know that I sit here and wonder about the passing stations, about my right hand, about the sunshine and about my cats. I wonder about my job and why the pace of it is nearly crippling now, about my thoughts, about the whiteness of the clouds. I wonder why it is that the one-legged pigeons go to stay at Waterloo, and what that means for the rest of us.
That's all this is, in the end. It's a slow motion, off-balance infection. It's bandages and puckered skin. It's sandals that you love and a phone full of unheard messages, it's the exhaustion of 12 hour days and too many emails. It's the balance between the happy and the sad, and the indecipherable moments in between. It's carrying home groceries to make a meal from someone that you are thinking about and hoping to proceed. It's watching the passing stations on the train
All that this is-getting through the days, trying to push down the who you were with who you could become if you could just figure out what the fuck everyone is saying.
I am so tired that I can even sleep in the sun now, and I hate sleeping in the light.
-H.
PS-We lost the dream house.
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1
Oh, honey! I'm so sorry.
Here's a {{{{ hug }}}} -- unfortunately not the preferred type.
Posted by: Margi at June 09, 2005 09:51 AM (nwEQH)
2
I'm sorry about the wounds and the house.
Posted by: Solomon at June 09, 2005 01:20 PM (k1sTy)
3
I'm so sorry... both for the wounds and the house.
Posted by: amber at June 09, 2005 01:41 PM (VZEhb)
4
Me four Helen. Big hugs!
Posted by: justme at June 09, 2005 01:49 PM (KE4CP)
5
:::Sending you some vodka and lots of sympathy:::
Posted by: That Girl at June 09, 2005 01:55 PM (gu1Ur)
6
So sorry to hear your down...best wishes to you and the boy.
Posted by: jennifer at June 09, 2005 02:15 PM (lHvU3)
7
This is some of the most beautiful writing I've read from you. I particularly like the bit about the woman pushing her hair back, "a lone wave rippling up in a sea of bottle blond." Congratulations, you are master of the metaphor.
And I'm terribly sorry about the house, but there will be another (hopefully in Whitney Houston).
Posted by: emily at June 09, 2005 02:56 PM (plXME)
8
I am so, so sorry - for all the things making you tired. The wounds, inside and out. The lost house.
It is a sad day, today.
Posted by: Elizabeth at June 09, 2005 05:41 PM (l673m)
9
Oh Helen, I'm so sorry to hear you lost the house. Damn it!
Posted by: PJ at June 09, 2005 06:04 PM (PulSE)
10
I am really REALLY sorry about the house petal
abs x
Posted by: fairyabs at June 09, 2005 06:50 PM (Xwb8q)
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June 08, 2005
The Murderer
Angus calls her The Murderer now, and the name has stuck.
Mumin, my simple, daft cat, has turned out to have a bloodthirst that I never knew was possible in a black cat with the paucity of intelligence that she has. All this time I have been duped. While Maggie was plotting to take over Luxembourg, Mumin had more concrete visions of working on a lower level, of abandoning lofty goals.
Mumin has taken to killing the neighborhood mice.
Vegetarian Helen is distraught. How can something I love so much be so evil? I know it's their nature, but still-can't I train the cats to sit with me and sing Kumbaya as we cuddle and nurture the neighborhood vermin?
Angus insisted from the get-go that the cats be trained to go inside and outside. Seeing as these are the first cats I have ever owned in my life that are allowed outside, I was petrified. How does one train a cat to come back? What do I do if they just take off running? What happens if something horrible happens to them?
Since they were identi-chipped to come to England, I bought them name tags with their names and Angus' phone number on them, as well as the screaming inscription 'I am identi-chipped'Â (that way animal research facilities are less likely to abduct them, knowing that they can be tracked). I updated all their shots and bought flea and worm preventative. Over-cautious doesn't begin to describe me-these are my babies, my perfect balls of black and white fluff.
So we started training them, 'walking them'Â around the house. It felt a bit stupid walking around behind a black and white housecat, but over time they grew comfortable. Now on warm days I simply open the doors and they come in and out, eating grass and checking on me. They are happy, and in return I am happy for them.
But something new has happened.
Tuesday evening, coming off a conference call, I bounce downstairs in my pajamas. Maggie is lounging in the hallway in the sun (ignoring the open doors) and Mumin is in the kitchen. I walk into the kitchen and see that she has one of her toy mice on the floor, and is pawing it. I smile, and then freeze as the toy mouse tries to do a runner out the door.
It was no toy.
It was a real mouse.
I scream and grab Mumin. I know I should praise her-this is, after all, a gift. She is looking at me with an expression that says: Mommy! Mommy! I just found out I like cheese and killing for fun! I really, really do! Just melt some of that Emmenthal over my little rodent buddy here and it will be the best day ever!
I springboard Mumin out of the kitchen and manage to pin the terrified and quaking little mouse in a corner (and it is a baby mouse at that). It looks unharmed, so I scoop it up and run outside, depositing it in my front garden. I know that I should kill it, but I just don't work that way. I just can't do it.
Shaking, I email Angus. He tells me that we knew this day was coming, only we thought it would be the clever Maggie who would be the hunter. Maggie, the elegant cat that was currently busy catching and eating flies in the hallway. Maggie, who was seemingly as vegetarian as I am, albeit with a craving for picante insect.
I call Angus to discuss this and walk back downstairs on the phone, only to find that Mumin has done it again-there is another mouse in the kitchen, only this time, it's dead.
Cue the hysterics.
I start babbling and screaming into the phone in tones only dogs can hear. Mumin looks puzzled, as though I am not catching what she's throwing at me. Dude, her expression says. Dial down the drama. This one is dead, ok? You'll like that better. You threw out my last Mother's Day gift, after all.
Once again Mumin gets springboarded out of the kitchen as I burst into tears and scream a lot. Putting the phone down, I grab some paper towels and pick up the dead baby mouse by the tail. As I am carrying it outside, its leg twitches and hits my finger and in my germ phobic horror I drop the mouse, letting it fall all the way to the concrete.
If it wasn't dead before it certainly was now.
This makes me cry harder. I too have joined the ranks of mouse murdering.
I make the girls come inside and shut the doors.
When Angus gets home it is clear that Mumin has an elsewhere she'd rather be. She's pawing at the doors and mewing pathetically.
'How's my little Murderer? Hmm? Wanting to practice your terrorism?'Â Angus purrs to Mumin, petting her. 'Thinking of killing again?'Â
She meows in response.
I wring my hands. 'Do you think that mouse went to mouse heaven?'Â I ask. 'You know. Since its life ended the way it did?'Â
Angus shrugs. 'I imagine being killed is a good way to earn that punch card, Helen.'Â
It must be my parenting. If I were a good parent my cats would be building mouse sanctuaries and helping me tie dye hippy clothing, not trying on a Tom & Jerry act.
I know I have to let Mumin out again, only this time I'll be standing guard at the doors. I know it's a present darling, but I'm more of a jewelry fan than roadkill, but thank you. Mommy loves you anyway.
Little Murderer.
-H.
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1
things you learn from owning a cat # 1
mice are more robust than you give them credit for and can certainly handle a 5 foot drop onto almost any surface
Posted by: Rob at June 08, 2005 12:27 PM (kXZI6)
2
things you learn from owning a cat #2
Cats are hunters and will hunt and kill almost anything smaller than they are. You are living with little lions and no amound of cuddling can change that. Besides, mice are all germy and disgusting and full of protein LOL
Posted by: Lost at June 08, 2005 01:24 PM (0TguY)
3
A few scientific facts I just made up:
1) Cats, while nowhere near as smart as dogs, can indeed be trained to not kill their prey. Praise for a live catch, scolding for the ventilated ones, and you will soon have nothing but live ones.
2) Mouse feet are absolutly sterile, it has to do with the texture of their skin, and the coeficent of friction of germs. Perfectly clean up to their elbows. Same applies to their tails.
3) Item 1) will be important when Maggie beings putting her plans to action, it will be much easier to deal with her dragging home live heads of state from the neighboring countries, than dead ones
and finally,
4) Its 5:30am here, ignore everything I say
=)
Posted by: Dane at June 08, 2005 01:36 PM (ncyv4)
4
Have you tried a collar with a bell? I always thought it was silly that cat collars came with bells because it annoyed the hell out of my cats (who don't go outside). Then I learned from a friend (who has indoor/outdoor cats) that the bell is a good "early indicator" for birds and stuff that can hear the bell coming. Dunno if it would work for mice.
Posted by: Erin at June 08, 2005 01:41 PM (BuifH)
5
Goobers, the Marlon Brando Macy's Day Parade Float of a 26 pound cat, dropped a live mouse down my ultra cool, loose, ripped, Flashdance-style sweatshirt when I was a kid and he was a kitten. (Recall this cat lived 19 years.) As he graduated into his enormous-ness, he started bringing in huge, fuckoff mocking birds (dooming the rest of the cats to get divebombed in the backyard forever), and then eventually just stuck to gophers. Gophers, dude. Jesus christ.
Anyway--here's the thing. Bringing in the kill is an act of love. They bring it to you to show you how much they dig you. "Here, I caught this--I won't eat it, though instinct says I should. It's for you. You have it." Bringing it in live is the ultimate show of love because it will be the freshest. Creepy, absolutely. But they're working on primordial instincts and unfortunately, they don't speak English.
I actually asked my vet about this as the lizards became gophers and I became more and more skeeved out. Our vet said that any sort of freaking out (sorry to say) only tells the cat that this gift they brought you wasn't good enough and to try harder. When she brings something in, sure, you'll want to freak. Take a deep breath, and, as evenly as you can, say "Oh, good kitty! Thank you!" in a voice that she'll know means you're happy with her. We trained Goobers to know what "Take it outside" meant--obviously, to take whatever he had outside. We'd follow and as soon as he'd let go of whatever it was, we'd begin to pet him to distract him from his critter so that the critter could get away. (I'm a "let it live" gal too.)
It's hard to stay calm, but the more you freak, the more she's going to bring you things to try to make you happy. As soon as we started telling our cats how "good" they were for bringing us presents, the presents tapered off. (Not to say they weren't catching them, but we weren't seeing them. So I'm able to tell myself that all the critters I didn't see are alive and well thankyouverymuch.)
My kitties now (Bel and Phoebs) stick to hunting mosquitos and other bugs. And they know that I prefer my bugs to be dead and well marinated. (Phoebe loves wasps. Bel loves mosquitos.)
Hold tight, Hel. Your babies love you.
Posted by: Ms. Pants at June 08, 2005 02:50 PM (PQfF5)
6
I have three male tabbies who bring home presents all the time: mice, birds, and rabbits. I once clocked one of my cats over the head with a flashlight because the present he was bringing home to mommy was a bunny, still alive and completely terrified, still in the jaws of my beautiful cat Hobbes. After I bonked Hobbes on the head with the flashlight, he dropped the bunny. The bunny freaked out for a while on the deck, but he got away safely.
One of my other cats, Gizmo, once killed a bunny under the window of my neighbor's house. Have you ever heard a bunny scream? It is one of the worst sounds I have ever heard. I couldn't get to the cat in time and the bunny was dead before I got there. Ew...it still brings chills.
Cats are cats though, and left to their own devices, that is what they do. Personally, I'm more concerned about my cats getting hit by a car.
As a side note, animal testing facilities are not interested at all in capturing animals on the street. Animals for research are specifically bred for research only. They can't use domestic pets because it would skew the results of the research. The belief that captured animals are used in research is a urban legend created by PETA.
Posted by: trainy at June 08, 2005 02:53 PM (8K26L)
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Dont deny your cats instincts to hunt.
Posted by: pylorns at June 08, 2005 03:17 PM (FTYER)
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You know, I don't feel so guilty anymore for keeping my cats only indoors...
I think I would make everyone in a 10 mile radius deaf if I screamed after seeing a dead, or live mouse.
Posted by: Rebecca at June 08, 2005 08:17 PM (ZHfdF)
9
They are doing what comes naturally. Mine don't hunt very much; they stalked a possum last week, but they were too lazy to go in for the kill. They do love to chase mice and moles, and I would not be unhappy if they caught one. I do draw the line at bunnies, though. No bunnies will die on my watch!
Posted by: kenju at June 08, 2005 08:21 PM (5U8GF)
10
You are a great writer.
And I'm sorry about the mice...
Posted by: gigi at June 08, 2005 09:29 PM (+Qv5D)
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My wife just called me and told that our dog, a miniature schnauzer, just grabbed a bird out of the air. When I get home from work, I am going to have to "take care" of the bird. She does not know if it is still alive or not. This breed is supposed to be a ratter not a birder! He has been chasing the birds for a few weeks now. We did not think that he could catch one!
Posted by: Dave T. at June 09, 2005 12:55 AM (hkvGr)
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If you understand the psychology of it a bit. . .
They are (and will) bring their kills to you -- because it's a present for you. They love you and want you to be well. It's a "Look how good a kitty I am, Mommy!"
So, don't wear it as a necklace. Say "Good kitty" and put the mice in the trash.
I know you're freaked, but they DO love you, you know.
And lookit this way: This means you won't have the vermin eating your dry goods.
Okay, okay. I'll shaddup now.
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at June 09, 2005 09:55 AM (nwEQH)
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I have a cat we nicknamed Killer Kawalski because of the pet cemetary (birds) he creates each summer in the corner of our yard. I tried belling him but he has a small head and big neck and the collar stays on for a day at best. I don't like it and maybe with the neighbour's tree gone (it provided easy access to the birds) it will slow down or stop.
My other cat hunts earthworms and brings them home to "mommy". He is strange.
Posted by: Canuck Flash at June 09, 2005 06:51 PM (SVlYg)
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My wife's cat recently killed 2 smallish rabbits. Beloved spouse happened upon the furry murderess gorging herself upon the corpses, whereupon she freaked out. I'm a bit more sanguine about this kitty behavior and was able to calm her down by telling her the fable of the fox and the scorpion.
I love my cat. She follows me around and hops onto my lap or chest whenever I stop moving. She curls up next to me when I sleep. And she will kill any small critter that she can sink her claws into. It's just her nature.
Tough to receive those little presents though, isn't it?
Posted by: physics geek at June 14, 2005 03:00 AM (auFn9)
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June 07, 2005
I Can't Bear to Watch
Remember how we had won the house in a tie with another couple, and whichever couple sold their house first and went to contract would be the winner?
The roller coaster has begun.
Yesterday morning Angus got a call from the estate agent to say that the house we had bid on and won in a tie with another couple was gone. A third party had swooped in, offering the same price we did and immediate cash, and thus the home owner took their offer.
I was severely depressed. Angus tried to be cool. "The location wasn't great." he assured me. "The garden would take a lot of maintenance. We didn't like the rendering."
"Are you trying to talk yourself out of it?" I asked.
"Of course." he replied. "I'm depressed about losing it, too."
At the same time, Angus' estate agent for his home in Brighton rang to say that someone loved the house on Saturday and, although there are a few reservations, the very interested party is coming back for a second viewing this Sunday. And this man would be paying cash-there's no chain contingent on his buying the house in Brighton should he choose to do so.
Slam door. Open window.
Then another estate agent rang to say that he'd seen Angus' property in Brighton, and he knew someone that would fall for it hook, line and sinker. The person is being shown the property today, however it's a chain buyer, meaning that if she loves it, she has to sell her house first.
More fresh air needed. Two windows open, albeit one is only cracked open a bit, tantalizing us with the scent of wisteria.
Then the estate agent for the house we want so much rang back. The third party buyer, it was revealed, had lied. They didn't have cash but were also part of a chain and needed to sell their house.
Our dream house was back to being a race between us and that other couple.
Then the agent dropped us down the roller coaster hill-the other couple had had an offer on their house that day.
If we get an offer on Brighton within the next week, we are still in the game. Otherwise, it's back to looking at homes online, although I don't think I can keep looking until we've sold Brighton.
This roller coaster is frightening.
And exhausting.
-H.
PS-if anyone is good at stats, please email me. I have some statistics that I can't figure out how to read!
UPDATE: OK, I'm trying to compare IVF clinics. To the very sweet folks that emailed me and offered help, my web server is bouncing my mails back so I've uploaded the stats below. The stats of the two contenders are attached in the extended entry. I am only looking at the under 35 column, and only care about the following columns:
cycles started
embryo transfers
egg collections
singleton live births
twin live births
But I can't understand all the stats! The numbers all seem to be different as the pool of women used in the clinic are different. I know one has a 77% success rate, but is that only because they have more women at it?
If you can help, I'd be grateful. The bottom line is, I'm trying to find out which clinic has the best success rate for a woman under 35. The stress is whipping me. The files are in the extended entry, if you could please right-click and save as.
more...
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1
I'm just starting the roller coaster like you. But I am selling my house and leaving the country. I need a kiddie ride roller coaster for the UK end.
For apartments in the states I am relying on Colleagues and http://www.housingmaps.com
Both on our adventures, eh?
Posted by: sasoozie at June 07, 2005 09:04 AM (H8Lg2)
2
I hadn't thought of that before. Our house purchase last year (our first) is likely to be nothing at all like what our next one will be like. going from an apartment to a house the only thing we had to worry about was finding a house with a mortgage within our budget.
And I love stats. Did you realize that if 50% of all cats have white whiskers and you have a bag of 3 cats the chance that you'll have one cat with white whiskers is 3 in 8? Crazy shit.
Posted by: Jim at June 07, 2005 10:13 AM (oqu5j)
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I wish you well, dear heart.
It is my most fondest and dearest wish to own my own home.
Some day soon, I hope.
xoxo
Posted by: Margi at June 07, 2005 10:28 AM (nwEQH)
4
Whoa. That is a whole lot of up and down in a short period.
If you need help with stats, I am happy to provide assistance. Just holler, you know where to find me.
Posted by: RP at June 07, 2005 01:01 PM (LlPKh)
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Sorry, I can't email from here. I was a statistician for 6 years, Id be happy to try and help.
Since we seem to be posting fun with stats, my favorite one is that if you have any 33 people in a room, two of them will have the same birthday.
Posted by: That Girl at June 07, 2005 01:17 PM (gu1Ur)
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Helen, just reading that puts my stomach in knots. And you know? It always seems to happen all at once, ever notice that? I hope your buyer comes through for you this week and you get your house!
Posted by: karmajenn at June 07, 2005 02:04 PM (fx1A8)
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Wishing you lots of luck on the roller coaster. I've been trying to think of some clever thing to say wishng you luck and involving roller coasters, but I'm tapped out today. Sorry.
It should say something about my level of brain function today that the biggest thing I picked up on in these comments was that Jim said "and you have a bag of 3 cats." Who the hell puts cats in a bag?
Somedays, I really wish I liked coffee.
Posted by: amy t. at June 07, 2005 03:53 PM (zPssd)
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Helen, i know how hard this is. The Boy Wonder and I are in the ends stages of buying a flat, it has been heart wrenching at every stage.
Good Luck!
Abs x
Posted by: fairyabs at June 07, 2005 04:02 PM (+gJH8)
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Who the hell puts cats in a bag?
Who doesn't? ;-)
Posted by: Jim at June 07, 2005 04:05 PM (tyQ8y)
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Well I think Helen would very much like to put one of our cats in a bag right now!
I am still at the office but have just spoken to a rather hysterical Helen who has just had to remove two baby mice (one dead, one not) deposited by a rather chuffed cat under the PC in the kitchen.
Posted by: Angus at June 07, 2005 06:43 PM (/SIeu)
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Good luck with the house. The IBF is more of a roller coaster ride! The percentage of 77% is for singleton births of the total live births. The actual percentage of births to procedures is the 48%. The higher the number of procedures means that the percentage is more accurate. That means that the first one is almost double the second one but the second one does many more procedures. Let me know when you start so that I can say a prayer for you!
Posted by: Dave T. at June 07, 2005 06:50 PM (hkvGr)
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Argh, I need a translation. Anyone know what "chuffed" means?
Posted by: Lindsay at June 07, 2005 10:11 PM (1QL9N)
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Chuffed means happy, pleased with oneself.
Posted by: RP at June 07, 2005 10:23 PM (LlPKh)
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Ok Helen.. this Is how I read it...
Document one:
It looks like about a 50/50 shot of a successful implantation of an egg...
and THEN about a 77% chance of either a single or twin birth ((I suspect they are fudging things to make it look like once you have an egg you get a baby)) So.. your looking at a total success rate of about one in three..
using live eggs...
With Frozen eggs... It looks like about one in six...
Document Two:
Looks like abut a one in three chance of successful implatation of an egg and the same number fudging with the results...
One thing I would ask about.. is % of miscarrages..
All these numbers show are live births... ::hug:: All the best.. I hope you get your little bundle of terror
Posted by: LarryConley at June 08, 2005 05:03 PM (Bav7s)
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This does bring rememberance of Egg and Bacon :-) I always smile when you mention your named eggs, Helen. It shows how observant people such as yourself think and feel with brand-new experiences.
Posted by: Roger at June 08, 2005 10:10 PM (8S2fE)
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I wish I could help on the stats thing, but numbers? Aren't my bag, baby.
On the other hand, I have moved, bought and sold about 734 times in my short life. If I can offer moral support in any way, up to and including lighting a candle in my window for you, just scream.
You know how to scream, don't you? Just pucker your lips and...oh, wait. Wrong movie.
:-)
Posted by: Jennifer at June 09, 2005 01:02 AM (MbhV6)
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June 03, 2005
Children of the Corn
This morning Angus rode the train into London with me, and we took a later train than usual. Whistling and happy in the sunshine, we park the car to hop on our train, when Angus realizes that he is wearing his business suit trousers and his tuxedo jacket.
Somehow, neither of us caught that as we left the house.
Strange.
He raced home and changed, managing to get back to the train station as we catch our train just in time (and can I just say....damn my boy looks good in a suit). Settling back, we enjoyed the abnormally commuter-quiet train. This week most of the schools have a week off, so the workplaces are empty as parents work from home or have taken holiday time. At Dream Job there are miles of open hot desks. The trains are empty of people in suits. The tubes are deserted of businessmen.
Instead, the trains and tubes are filled with frazzled looking mothers and over-excited children taking a trip into the Big Smoke.
As a woman, I love children.
As a commuter, children are a sign that Satan is alive and well.
A few rows back from us two quiet and interested young girls read a book on the history of the Tower of London. They look amazed, awed, and excited about heading into London. They are also very quiet.
They become my favorite children.
At the next stop two mothers get on the train with two boys about aged 8, two pre-teen girls, and a little girl of around 5. The little girl sits quietly on her Mum's lap, and she is quiet and serene (although I wanted to take a brush out of my bag and brush her hair. Rats' nest hair is so 90's).
The two pre-teens sat next to us playing with their mobile phones. This is not new-all kids here seem to have mobile phones. Angus' daughter has one as well. To be fair, in this day and age it comes in handy-if your kids need to be picked up somewhere, gone are the days I suffered in waiting in the cold if the event ended early and I waited for my parental unit to come get me. Now the message is easier-Mom, this party blew, can you please come and get me?
The two boys behind us, it turns out, are maniacs. Swinging from the luggage racks, jumping up and down on the seats, and shouting. Their mothers would lean over from time to time and insult the boys, calling them useless, a waste, and that they were "On the path to getting a smack, they didn't care who was watching!" Angus and I look at each other. Calling your kid "useless" as a form of control must surely go down in Dr. Spock's parenting books as a rather ineffective method of positive reinforcement. It was no wonder the children were monsters-if I was always called useless, I'd be uncontrollable, too.
The two young boys then got into a punch-up, screaming homophobic epithets at each other (a little bit young for intolerance, isn't it boys?) and punching each others' noses. Mother of the Year #1 wearily looked over at him.
"Shane! You're going to be grounded for another week!" she shouted, adjusting her black bra strap slipping down her arm.
"I don't care!" he shouted, grinding his elbow into the other kids head. "Fuck you!"
I look over at the pre-teen girls and see that they are removing the fluorescent green gum from their mouths and smearing it into the trays on the back of the seats and then folding up the trays and smashing the glue-like gum between the tray and the seat.
I can no longer keep my mouth shut.
"That is seriously un-cool." I say, looking at them. After all, I commute. I ride these trains. I have no idea how many times an empty seat couldn't be used on crowded standing room only trains as gum pockmarked the seat.
The pre-teens stare at me then shrug me off, but I can tell they're embarrassed.
One of the young boys then starts throwing up, and intersperses it with "I hate you!" behind us. I have no idea whom the "I hate you's" are being addressed at, but if they're at me, I don't really care. I'm not too fond of him, either.
The pre-teens then busy themselves with taking new freshly-chewed gum out of their mouths and smearing it onto the seats. Obviously the train trays weren't interesting (or destructive) enough.
We pull into the station and Angus and I rush off, eager to be away from the Children of the Corn.
-H.
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1
It is so true, commuting with amateurs is no fun. On weekends, when I have to go in to the office, I make sure to bring headphones and music, so I can shut myself away from them. That said, yours looks like one of the worst I've ever had the pleasure of reading about. Yech.
Posted by: RP at June 03, 2005 01:06 PM (LlPKh)
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As I've said before, if they came out as 9 year olds, parents would drown them at birth.
Posted by: ~Easy at June 03, 2005 01:38 PM (cpfeI)
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Amen, Easy. Amen!
And if the girls came out as 12-year-olds, (ouch!) we would simply sigh in dispair, the hormones simply too much to bare.
Posted by: Ice Queen at June 03, 2005 01:43 PM (z71bh)
4
Ahhh! This is where we would disagree about corporal punishment over "grounding for a week"?:-) Grounding for a week even though the last 10 grounding are overlapping and not served consecutively. No end in sight. While a short experience in the wood shed would start the boys with a clean slate so they feel there is some hope of not being continuously bad/useless?
Hi Helen, been spending too much time on political blogs but need to come home for a little while:-) The pictures you add are lovely and sometimes thoughtful as your verbage is observant.
Posted by: Roger at June 03, 2005 01:45 PM (8S2fE)
5
As I said in one of my very first comments a long time ago, "Spank early. Spank often." I know everyone here doesn't agree with spanking, but the child who doesn't need a good whoopin' periodically is truly an anomaly.
If I heard an 8 year old say "F--- you" to his mom, I might have spanked him for her
Apparently being put on restriction isn't really a deterrent. As an aside, my mom never put us on restriction (except once), because she said it was more a punishment to her than us
Posted by: Solomon at June 03, 2005 01:45 PM (k1sTy)
6
I keep hoping the earth is proven not round but more like a
Lichtenfels Minimal Surface where there is an undiscovered continent without indigenous people where we could try one more start.
Hi Solomon!
Posted by: Roger at June 03, 2005 02:01 PM (8S2fE)
7
A friend of mine has a remarkably effective method for dealing with preteens. He is about 6'2" 240lb, he leans over to the offending youth and simply asks in a very quiet voice "do you want to keep breathing?" He wouldn't hurt a fly, but they don't know that.
If there are no commuters, possibly the car wouldn't be such a burden in the city? Wait for the porfessionals to come back to the trains.
Oh, and I must say, nothing says "homeless" quite as well as a tuxedo jacket with a suit. Angus may want to sleep in it the night before to give it the full effect. Maybe some white tennies as finishing touch =)
Posted by: Dane at June 03, 2005 02:03 PM (ncyv4)
8
nothing says "homeless" quite as well as a tuxedo jacket with a suit
Now that is funny!
Posted by: Roger at June 03, 2005 02:16 PM (8S2fE)
9
several times I have wanted to say something while in a public place and children are running rampant. If nothing else but to help out the mother. But, I do as good midwesterners do and bite my lip.
Next time, I'm doing what you did. There is no reason that these children should think that the only person they are spiting is their parents.
Ok, it's official I'm an old lady.
Posted by: suz at June 03, 2005 03:18 PM (GhfSh)
10
Hi Roger. We've missed your comments. And I agree, the "nothing says homeless..." comment by Dane was very funny.
What political websites have you been visiting?
Posted by: Solomon at June 03, 2005 03:31 PM (k1sTy)
11
Well Solomon since we like Helen's blog as the sanctuary from cetain topics, you may send an email if you want And I'll return back some details:-)
Posted by: Roger at June 03, 2005 03:35 PM (8S2fE)
12
Ugh. As I normally have a bad habit of saying exactly what I'm thinking, I've had a hard time on public transportation with children like that. My child isn't a saint all the time, but she knows what is right and wrong because of children like that.
Posted by: amber at June 03, 2005 03:39 PM (VZEhb)
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I am so greatful that my children are well behaved in public. I just want to smack the parents of a child missbehaving that badly in public. If I am with my children and we see other kids acting up I always tell them if they ever act that way they will not live to see the sun go down lol. It's worked so far lol.
Posted by: justme at June 04, 2005 03:02 PM (eME52)
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this does make me grateful for the well-behaved child I have been blessed with. How can some parents be so oblivious to how INEFFECTIVE they are?
Posted by: kalisah at June 04, 2005 04:09 PM (C7RFb)
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Kalisah take a bow - you don't get "blessed with great children" you raise them that way!! Kudos to you!
Posted by: flikka at June 06, 2005 12:12 AM (puvdD)
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June 02, 2005
Vive La France! Vive La France!
I have been to France many times now, and everytime I go there I enjoy it, whether it's with Angus, work, or with a chipper
redhead. Many things are said about the French, but if you're willing to give the language a try and enjoy the local cuisine then chances are you're going to get along fine and have a great time. Where else can you enjoy a jug of wine poured out of what looks like a gas tank, which tastes fantastic with a side of gooey cheese? What other country lets you drive around absolutely spotless motorways with art deco lighting and the occasional very bizarre sculpture marking the exits to the side roads?
And so it was that Angus and I joined a host of other English and drove our car to Portsmouth, to take a 5 hour ferry to Le Havre (I was prepared with Tom Wolfe's "I Am Charlotte Simmons", which might explain why I had a thick Southern accent from time to time on the trip). These trips are known as Booze Cruises, as the business case for buying liqour and food in France is incredible-we all come back with the trunks of our cars leaning heavily towards the ground, so cheap is alcohol and food.
The day was unbelievably hot and sunny. After parking the car in the depths of the ship, we made our way outside to sit in the sun. A short while later and we glide slowly away from the dock, and the sea air is so refreshing and cool that I don a light sweater.
Angus, meanwhile, is tough.
It doesn't take very long before the trip gets bad. A trio of Englishmen in their Manchester United shirts stand next to me, looking over the railing. The talking I don't mind, but then they bend over, facing the sea, and their asses are mere inches from my head. I was on guard in case the noxious gasses escaped from sphincter cages, 'cause if that happened some men were going over board.
No gasses escaped, but the men did spend their time consoling one of their party and telling him how to "make his bird understand that he was the man and the one in charge".
I still regret not throwing them overboard.
I decide to go to the girls' room and so make my way inside the ship. Once my eyes get adjusted to the darkness, I am stunned by how incredibly loud it was. Blinking to end the pupil dilation, I am stunned by the sheer mass of teenagers running amok inside. I shake my head in wonder and then realize that we are on a ship full of French teenagers returning from a holiday in England.
The noise...the screaming...the laughter...Incredible.
The teenagers figure out that the doors actually open outward and in no time swarms of pubescent French kids are crawling and laughing all over every part of the ship, screaming and shouting and rudely pushing you in the hallway. The temptation to turn my feet out and walk like Charlie Chaplin is overwhelming, the pull to hear that satisfactory splash of a teenager going overboard is like an ache.
I run into another group of screaming teens, and this time, they're speaking English.
We're on board with two tour groups of teenagers. I find, amazingly, that I am fair and unbiased. I am not prejudiced.
I actually hate both groups equally.
I have become old and cranky overnight.
We get to Le Havre late in the evening and make our way to a faceless business hotel. We crash, but not before wrapping our limbs up in each other and having a quick shag. After all...we're on holiday.
The next morning after a quick round of bedroom jockey we get moving and head into the Cherbourg peninsula. We stop at two grocery stores and buy an overwhelming load of wine and stinky French cheese (oooh...the Camembert! The Pont L'Evec! Heaven!) which we load into a cooler in the back of the car. We buy some Comte cheese and a loaf of French bread, and as we make our way through the day we stop and spread a blanket in a field and picnic on bread and cheese, revelling in the sun.
We also have al fresco loving.
When in France...
We make our way to the hotel at Barneville-Carteret, stopping along the way to see some of the Beaches. Once we get there, we go up three tiny flights of stairs to our room, which faces the sea. Ironically, our room is also the one room with access to the fire escape, and so hanging outside our bedroom door is a key enclosed in glass to break in an emergency-this key is our room key. Our room can be opened by any Tom, Dick and Francois in the hallway. This, we find funny. We also find our 1960's style room funny, because nothing says "High Class Establishment" like walls covered in pink carpeting.
The view outside the room is lovely, made lovelier when the tide comes in. When the tide is low the estuary is empty, but as the night grew on the sea flooded in and we kept the doors to the room open, inhaling the salty air. Breathing it in, we did what any normal couple would do-we opened a bottle of wine.
And had sex again.
We had a nice dinner and then head back to our room where we open another bottle of wine and then sleep peacefully after our Fourth Round of Action for the day.
In the middle of the night, I am awoken by sleepy and loving hands massaging my back. It is excruciatingly lovely and I ooze and squeeze my way between his fingers as he tries to wake me up for some loving. I sigh and giggle and am melting into his embrace and-
OH MY GOD FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHAT IS THAT SMELL?
Like a bolt I am out of the bed. The stench in the room is something like pure unfettered sewage. We look at each other and realize the culprit is the tide going out, and leaving in its wake a sea of dead and decaying seaweed in the estuary. We run and close the sliding glass doors to the balcony.
We are able to recover our lust, and then fall back asleep in sleepy satisfaction.
The next morning it's raining and chilly-clearly al fresco is off the menu for the day. We giggle and get ready, and find when we get to the car the smell of the cheese is pervading the ice box and our car is smelling like something has crawled in there and died, somewhere in the vicinity of the trunk.
We head off to the Beaches again as we may our way back to the area of Le Havre. We stop at Arromanches and see the massive man-made pier that was built in England and towed to France to allow Allied Troops the ability to get replenishments and supplies. We buy crepes and walk hand-in-hand in the rain. The final hotel spot for the evening is in the tiny town of Honfleur, which we manage to get to after playing Petrol Chicken (many places in France are closed on Sundays, and gas stations generally only take French credit cards. Luckily we found an open one, or this story would'veturned out a lot differently).
As we drive I have my feet on the dashboard and for some reason am singing the C&H Purecan Sugar commercial. You know. As one does (When you cook, when you bake, for goodness sake use C&H!)
We had passed through Honfleur on the way to our previous hotel and found it a stunningly charming French village, marked by a 105 year-old carousel that had clearly lovingly maintained and running in the center of the village. We check into our hotel and find that it's a fantastic old inn that had been renovated, to include a massive jacuzzi bathtub with LEDs lining the bottom of it.
That just had to be investigated by the two of us and a bottle of wine.
After our toes and fingers resembled raisins, we headed down for dinner. All around us were English speakers, including an American dad who was obviously divorced with his teenage daughters visiting for a few weeks. The teens looked bored and talked about their private school, and I couldn't imagine being so lucky as a teen to not only be in private school but to visit Dad in boring old France.
The meal was fantastic, and the waiter clearly liked us. We followed all his recommendations and had a fantastic time, laughing and relaxing in the atrium of a lovely restaurant, listening to the rain fall. After the meal, the waiter came up with a large crystal decanter with a liquid a cool clear amber in the bottom. He winks at us.
"It's a special treat. It's Calvados." he said, smiling. Calvados is a special liquer in that area of France, made from apples. He uncorks the decanter. "This is very special Calvados. Very rare. 12 years old, and on the house." He pours us two snifters of it and we taste it. It's like liquid fire going down that explodes into heat blossoms as it reaches the stomach.
We head back to our bed and fall asleep entangled in each other. The next morning we get moving and head back to Le Havre, boarding the ferry (again filled with a gaggle of French teenagers). I finish my book. Angus sleeps. Once we get to England we are let out of the massive ship and drive home, where Angus hops out and drives to Heathrow to catch a plane to Finland.
The wine is put away, the fridge smells like a gym sock, but the memories of the long weekend are still deep inside.
-H.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
08:10 AM
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1
Have I mentioned just how much I hate bubbles sometimes....
Great story H, glad you had fun =)
Posted by: Dane at June 02, 2005 09:26 AM (ncyv4)
2
So what is the weekend sex record for you two? I think I've counted 6 in this episode, but is that the record?
Posted by: Simon at June 02, 2005 10:33 AM (UKqGy)
3
You gotta watch those cheeses - they get everywhere and there isn't a cool box constructed that can contain them - hell even tuppaware isn't up to the job!
Glad you had a good time though.
Posted by: Rob at June 02, 2005 10:52 AM (kXZI6)
4
Mmm, calvados is good! We can get it at home and it's just lovely, always follows the cheese that has a life of it's own nicely.
Glad you had a good time, France is an excellent place to escape to.
AxXx
Posted by: Lemurgirl at June 02, 2005 11:36 AM (jY30K)
5
Simon my dear, 6 is
nowhere near the record
Posted by: Helen at June 02, 2005 11:37 AM (MmtAs)
6
oh the calvados (it is an apple brandy)... him who stares but scares was from that region and once served some up. Watching your dissertation adviser drunk on Calvados... = Experience!
Viva La Bubble Femme!
Posted by: stinkerbell at June 02, 2005 12:00 PM (ZznPv)
7
6 times and you think you're getting old? What, are you kiddin' me? Please. You may be getting cranky, but old. Not a chance.
I hope Angus is taking his vitamins.
Sounds like a really lovely holiday! Great pics!
Posted by: RP at June 02, 2005 01:22 PM (LlPKh)
8
Wow, sounds like you had a great time. I so would love to go to France someday.
Posted by: justme at June 02, 2005 02:16 PM (dnZNG)
9
Okay, correct me if I'm wrong, but when does your fridge
not smell like a gym sock? It's a tasty gym sock, but a gym sock nevertheless.
Posted by: emily at June 02, 2005 03:50 PM (6RZ2o)
10
Helen, in that bathtub picture you are GORGEOUS.
It's gotta be the smile— you smile and it just lights you up!
Posted by: B. Durbin at June 02, 2005 04:08 PM (e+pdA)
11
Hey, you look pretty good in a bathtub covered in bubbles...
And was it the cheese that made you two so horny? If so, send me some.
Posted by: diamond dave at June 02, 2005 09:51 PM (gkwrQ)
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June 01, 2005
A Break in Our Regularly Scheduled French Trip Programming
As I had the "suspicious" mole on my face removed, with a neat strip covering the stitches.
The pleasures of the Skin Cancer tango.
And just for measure, I had some non-cancerous lump on my leg called a Hysterical Esis (or it was something like that, my medical jargon was not covered in Hooked on Phonics) which resulted in more carving on my leg and even more stitches.
Observe the dancing frog socks.
We will return to our regularly scheduled planning tomorrow.
-H.
PS-As Angus is in Finland (and thank God he's back home tonight, although my stuffed G-Dog may not be too pleased to be relegated from the bed to the dresser) I saw the latest Star Wars movie last night with Lance, our old roommate. I have to admit...I actually liked it. It was much better than the previous two, but does anyone else find Anakin's switch to the Dark Side to be way too easy? It was like:
Emporer: Anakin, join me on the Dark Side.
Anakin: Mmm....OK. I had nothing better to do this afternoon anyway.
This said from the woman with poor willpower, really. On some days I'd switch to the Dark Side just for a bar of chocolate and a five minute round with my mini-massager.
Posted by: Everydaystranger at
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1
you are a true beauty m'dear
oh and dont spect no dancing frogs on socks I make ya! Stripes sure, dancing frogs... natch on that
Posted by: stinkerbell at June 01, 2005 02:49 PM (ZznPv)
2
Fear leads to the dark side. On that much, Christians and Jedi Masters agree
It may have seemed a little easier than it should have, but he only had two hours and plenty of other loose ends to tie up. But fear does cause people to do things they know are wrong.
It may very well be the best of all 6 Star Wars movies. My gripe was the (stop reading and go to the last paragraph if you don't want to know anything about the movie...although this is a minor thing) ease with which the Jedis are killed. These guys deflect "bullets" coming at the speed of light from all directions, and they all got taken out by lame-o Storm Troopers. Come on. The rest of the movie was excellent though. End of "spoiler".
My non-spoiling gripe is that I don't think the guy who played Anakin is a very good actor. He seemed very flat in much of his speech. But overall, I think it's the best Star Wars movie of them all.
And as they say in Bingo, I hope your suspicious mole is B9.
Posted by: Solomon at June 01, 2005 03:11 PM (k1sTy)
3
I also thought that Anakin switched over a little too easy. Think of it this way, though. If you knew your spouse was going to die but there was a way to save them AND you would become more powerful AND have a cooler light saber?
Hello, Dark Side. Aren't you handsome?
Posted by: Lindsay at June 01, 2005 06:07 PM (lHcv6)
4
Many buckets of sympathy and wishes for happy scarless healing from one tango-dancer to another. I've lost count at this point but it may be in the double-digits. Feel better!
Posted by: karmajenn at June 01, 2005 06:27 PM (fx1A8)
5
I have pink dancing pig socks!! Aren't socks wonderful!! I hope that you are putting some vitamin E on your recent "cuttings" to help alleviate scarring. Hugs!!
Posted by: Azalea at June 01, 2005 08:12 PM (hRxUm)
6
I have those socks
Sending you "quick healing thoughts"
Posted by: Dee at June 01, 2005 10:55 PM (9atth)
7
hmmm...chocolate and a mini massager? yes please!
i'm glad you've got your lumps and bumps removed. after having one of my own removed this year i'm starting to wonder if this is just the beginning of a long line of procedures. oh dear...
Posted by: kat at June 02, 2005 03:08 AM (DLLH+)
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Hats off to you for taking care of your health!
Out of interest have you spoken too a plastic surgeon about ways to minimise the scarring? They have some great adhesives now that I've found to be terrific.
Posted by: flikka at June 02, 2005 08:31 AM (puvdD)
9
I just think that after Anakin killed Mace Windu (dammit you all have seen the movie already!)
there was just nowhere else to go. What was he going to say, "About the Jedi leader thing...sorry"? How could he atone for that? He was a Jedi without a job at that point, and this was kind of like taking a job at a smelly fast food place only for a little while as you need to pay off some bills. Then flash forward 20 yers later, you're still there as regional manager.
Or something like that. Being a Sith Lord I'm sure has more perks.
Posted by: Kate at June 03, 2005 05:57 PM (C3bye)
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