Home Again

I've been home for 3? 4? days now, and its fucking fantastic.

The kids are awesome, my sister is amazing, my parents are delightful (ask me again tomorrow when I've spent 5 hours in the car with my mum) and I only wish my other sister could be here, but she's busy right now on a cruise ship in Patagonia.

So far I've had 2 pies, 1 meal of fish and chips, 2 L&Ps, one afternoon nap and read half a Neil Gaiman book.
I've done my Xmas shopping, I've gotten drunk with the TBALC crowd (minus the T), I've eaten a delicious BBQ with my best friend, I've been to Riccarton Mall twice, and received Lord-only-knows how many snuggles and cuddles from the children (mostly the girls because Alex is too grown up..... about an inch shorter than me!!!).

Tomorrow I'm off to Wanaka with my parents for a few days then the whole family is off to Gore Bay which Rosie has renamed Bore Gay for Christmas and New Year and I'm going to lounge around and read the 6 books I have with me and then maybe a few more (not remotely school related) and have some more naps and eat some food and drink some wine and explode with happiness.

Yes its all a bit bittersweet but my sister was right. Its so much better being home and seeing for myself how it is all going.
There really is no place like home. Especially when home is the most beautiful place in the world.

And miles to go before I sleep

Blogging from the city of angels!!!
OK, the airport at the city of angels....

I'm in the Koru Lounge at LAX, having thoroughly enjoyed the shower (half an hour, oh yeah!), the food (cheese, salads, breads, cheese, crackers, fruit, cheese, cold cuts, cheese and cheese), the drinks (L&P baby!!!) and am sitting here pretending to write my history paper.
Its nice hanging out in here with the beautiful people.
I, of course, am sitting here in a black hoodie and trainers and am getting all sorts of "what is she doing in here" looks from my fellow travellers, but fuck 'em.

There is a cute Englishman on the phone, its cozy and warm, and earlier to day I could even see the Hollywood sign from the window. This is pretty special, I think I was onto my fourth LA trip before I saw it because of the godawful pollution here.

And I am on my way home to lick my wounds after the twelve car pile-up of the last nine months but before then I have to finish this fricking paper.

The sunset over the Pacific is really something else.

From the lofty heights of one's thirties, come birthday greetings

Benjamin Joseph!
You are hairy and betrothed!
And now you are thirty!
The Rebel Alliance wishes you a happy burpday, you big geek.

Nothing but love, from Shitsville, New York

(this looks like a poem, but its really not)

t-minus 96 hours and counting

Dear American Movies and Television;

Its about time we talked about this Christmas nonsense.
Seriously, just cut it out.
I know how you love to promote the economy at this time of year, and that alone I could almost handle. People need to buy things so that other people can have jobs making and transporting and selling those things, and while I have several objections to that in principle, that's not what I'm here to talk to you about today.

My problem is the gooey, disgusting diabetic-coma-inducing cack that is shoved down everybody's throats in an attempt to promote some sort of meaning to this whole seasonal thing.
We KNOW that the early Christians shifted Jesus's birthday so that it fit in with the pagan winter festivals, they appropriated the Christmas tree and all!
We KNOW that the image of Santa in his red suit and shiny boots is owned by the Coca Cola corporation.
We KNOW that according to the laws of physics its not possible for a fat dude and his reindeer to make it around the world in one night.

So ENOUGH with this "spirit of Christmas", childhood wonder, you-must-believe, saccharine, have faith in miracles, red and green, syrupy, cavity-inducing, corporate sponsorship SHIT you continue to shove down our throats.
There is NO SUCH THING as a Christmas miracle, the whole festival is based on half-truths, appropriations and consumerism.
Its a Wonderful Life is a terrible movie, Tom Hanks is evil and must be destroyed, and if I EVER see little Cindy Lou Who I will be sure to not only tell her that Santa isn't real, but also that the Easter Bunny is a fake, that the Tooth Fairy is a ruse invented to condition her to free market economics, and that her parents lied when they said they loved her.

My blog: channelling Dennis Leary since 2004.

For serious?

There is a huge contemplative post waiting to be written about how I have somehow misplaced whatever it was that I had that made me care about anything*, and how I used to look in wonder at things like snow and stars but now I am just pissed off at them and everything else in the world, but its 8.51pm one week before I go home and I've had 2 small glasses of wine and am feeling a little intoximicated so I'm going to totally break with tradition and lie on my bed and watch CSI then go to bed.
Awesome.

*I am fairly certain that I know where I left it, I just can't look right now. Maybe next week?

In keeping with the general theme of "Things that My Life is Missing"....

I want one of these.
OK that's all for now.
Bye.

But its not my kind of scene

iTunes knows what's going on. I turn it on and the first thing to come on is Powderfinger's "My Kind of Scene", as in "its not my kind of scene".
Cos its not. Not this.

I think I had an epiphany tonight.
Everything is coming back.

Maybe its the fact that its 11.46pm and I have too much work to be going to bed anytime soon, maybe its the rain, maybe its the fact that I haven't seen my family for 317 days, maybe its everything thats happened in those 317 days that has tested us all on an atomic level, maybe its the fact that in 16 days I will be confronted with a truth that is eight months and seven days old for everyone who was there but which for me will be all too new because while in my head I know its true, that he is actually gone in the gone-and-not-coming-back kind of gone, I haven't seen their faces, the faces of those little angels who unbeknownst to them taught me to be a better person, the children who I love more than the sun and the moon and the stars, and when I see those faces and I see him in those faces then and only then will it be real.

I can't go posting things on here before I tell people in person, my people here, the ones here who matter and who have been my family. And its not like I can tell people anything, because nothing is decided yet.

But sometimes allowing oneself the option to decide evokes a sense of relief sufficient to generate real tears. Never underestimate the sheer effort it takes on a daily basis to be a stranger in a strange land.

I find a map and draw a straight line

I have had another friend invitation on facebook, and am unsure of the protocol. I have met this person once, I think, but she just happens to be engaged to the boy who broke my heart 7 years ago. I therefore have very little inclination to want to be nice to her, despite the fact that I have moved on and want everybody to be happy.

Am I too petty? Should I just suck it up? I like to think that I reserve the 'friend' status for people I actually know and like (well, most of the time....)

I talked to a friend about it, and he said I should be her friend, but I think I am just too vindictive and mean. (They're not faults if you know about them, you see....)
I think I want everybody to be happy in love as long as I am happy in love.

Le sigh......

At least I have this to look forward to:


Bring the geekery!

The Definition of Cold

-2 pairs woolly socks
-warm track pants
-long sleeved merino top
-t-shirt
-my sister's big brown woollen cardigan
-merino scarf
-polypropylene lined woollen hat
-pure wool gloves
-big heavy sheepskin coat

and it took 15 minutes of walking before I wasn't freezing anymore.

All so that this little fluffy bum could get another walk. The back yard doesn't look like that anymore. Its covered in this cold white stuff.....

In which Tyratae rocks my world and makes my day

The astute reader may have observed that I went to DC the weekend before last. There, at the National Zoo, I realised that the thing my life was missing (aside from inner peace, a recurring role on CSI and a European sports car) is a panda bear.
Now I has one!!! Thanks to the delightful Tyratae, for whom I have insufficient adjectives. She turned up at my door today on the pretence of coming over for crumpets and a cuppa, armed with a bag of early Christmassy gifty love in the shape of a fuzzy soft panda.
But now he needs a name. I was going to name him after my glorious giftgiver, until I came to the conclusion that he is in fact a boy.
To me all bears are boys, just like all cats are girls (sorry Piddy. And Puku. And Felix. And Sprocket. And George. And Matty...... Hell's bells. You're cats! You can't read! Go back to licking your bottoms) I have no idea where this gendered concept of animal identification came from, but hey. Whatevs.

So help me, you last three people who continue to tune in.
Name my panda, and, well, that's it. No prize, except for my approval (just ask my students, that's a rare commodity there!)

Name the bear!
Suggestions in the box please.

Low Red Moon, how can you sleep like a baby?

Just finished a 20 page paper...... only 2 more of those, and 2 six pagers to go, in 3 & 1/2 weeks.
Then I get to go home, for a whole month!

Needless to say my school Crisis of Faith is still going strong, but right now I am 80% certain I will come back here in January. That is a vast improvement over a few weeks ago, when it was getting close to 80% the other way. Hell, odds have been that way for a solid few months now.
All I need to do now is get all this shit done, and not freak out, and then I get some serious whanau time to try and figure out what I am doing.

It doesn't help that I am still mourning the loss of tv-links.co.uk, and that I am PMSing like you have never seen, and I need to get the little windscreen wiper motor on my car fixed and its 1.57am and its cold and I'm tired and I still haven't been able to cuddle baby Caleb cos I'm sick.

I need to call all my friends and apologise in advance for ignoring them for the next 3 & 1/2 weeks.
I also need to go to Vicky's and buy some hand cream for my mum. She has a Vicky's handcream dependency problem.
Only 25 days.......

In which Claire is overly emotionally invested in TV programmes

Spoiler alert!!!
So I just watched the latest episode of CSI, "Goodbye and Good Luck".
Yep.

There were tears.

I'm not sure if its pathetic or not, the degree to which I get invested in fictional characters. Right now I am inclined to think that its not that pathetic, but that might be the wine/emotional trauma talking.

A long time ago, perhaps 2 years ago, I began compiling a list of my favourite TV characters. Of course Sara Sidle made the top of that list, for a multitude of reasons, and now she is no longer on television. I am sure that in the CSI universe she still exists, and spoilers I have read tell me that she will be back, but for now, I kind of feel cheated.
I'm kind of pissed off that I have been deprived of my weekly Sara fix, because I find her inspiring.
She is strong and tough and damaged and and brilliant and beautiful and complicated and I can identify with that some of that sort of thing.

But now its 10.46pm and I've got a grip on myself and I have to write a 6 page paper by 9.30am tomorrow.
I just wanted to let you know that this may turn into a Jorja Fox fansite.....

Mad Mad Skillz

I'm going through a pretty major omelette phase right now, I can't explain it. When it comes time to eat all I can think about is eggy goodness, and my creative juices just go wild!

Currently I'm sitting here with the post-prandial satisfaction of one who has yet again excelled in the omelette-making stakes. Today's effort consisted of broccoli, spinach, green peppers, sharp cheese, blue cheese, garlic and chilli sauce, complemented by a rasher or two of bacon. Ok, three.

The trick to a good omelette I have recently discovered is to not put any milk in with the eggs when you mix it up. Then, once you have all the ingredients on the omelette, put a lid on it and turn the heat down as low as it can go, and deliciousness shall ensue.

I also must stress the importance of using free-range SPCA/Humane Society approved eggs, because who wants a side order of cruelty in their meal?

This lesson in the culinary arts brought to you by the giant stack of exams I have to grade by midday tomorrow.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.....

I suck at blogging.

Update: Matt, my brother-from-another-mother (and another country...) had a baby. Wee Caleb (thought you'd like that Sarah) is too cute for words, and contrary to his father's opinion, will NOT be playing rugby for England. He will play for NZ. Because I will steal him. Because he is too cute. Its worth noting that today Matt was wearing his NZ rugby jersey, and that Caleb, all of a day old, was eyeing up the mighty silver fern. Good lad!!!

Going to DC tomorrow. Ok, to Maryland tomorrow, to stay with a family friend, then to see some DC sights and museums then J's Gilbert and Sullivan extravaganza...... awesome.

Have to get up 4 hours to finish this fucking paper.
Nighty night.

Because a change is apparently as good as a holiday....



I cut my hair.

Then I straightened it.

So, in the space of a week I have gone from shoulder length blonde curly hair to a short dark straight bob. Fun times.

Also, how much do I look like Alison Janney in that first pic? Quite a lot, methinks...... although that may be the wine talking.

if only I put as much time and effort into my school work as I do my hair....

Remember, remember the fifth of Movember

Movember is here again, beware the handlebars!!!!

The Street signed up for the Aussie one, being a resident of Melbourne-town.
Go and hook a brother up. He has promised all sorts of handlebar goodness.

In other news, I carved my first ever pumpkin last weekend. Of course I couldn't carve a face or anything simple like that, I had to aim high.

So, I carved a butterfly.



Cordell carved a Decepticon logo, that was pretty awesome too.

Next day I woke up blonde and went to bed looking like this
The tattoos were fakes, only for my Fairy GothMother costume.

OK time for CSI now.

Can't blog, too much to do.

erraticism to ensue....

And while you're at it, could SOMEONE please fix the Suck Knob? It appears to be stuck on full.

I know you've heard it all before.....

So much to say....

Sang at Karaoke tonight, it was.... well...... its over. Phew

Carved my very first pumpkin tonight, and might I add, I completely kicked it's arse. Photos to follow.

Party fun-times tomorrow, so lets just see what madness ensues. Hours of fun, no doubt....

Welcome

Grace Lola Robertson, born at midday, 25th of October, 2007.

I have known her mother since I was 12 years old, which was really quite some time ago.....
I have so many good stories about Bee, I can't wait until Gracie gets old enough to hear them!
Things I am going to tell her when her ears are suitably equipped include: stories about the bucket in Amberley, letters from Bolivia, pics of her mother face down on the sofa in Wanaka..... oh too many to share with the internets!

But there is a brand new person in the world and I am very excited about it and its only 49 days until I am home so I can see her.

This blog brought to you by gushing with happiness, and secondary sponsors homesick and joyous news makes a nice change.

Windswept and Interesting



My nephew sent me this vid of Billy Connolly.
I laughed so hard I nearly puked.
One of the bajillion reasons why I love my nephew more than life itself is his comprehensive understanding of the fact that no matter how old you are, how much education you might have, or how sophisticated you might think you are, farts are still funny.

And now you have been educated, you are free to go.