Rainbows and Stuff

The Gratitude Mood! 

31^st May 2012

I’m getting back into my positive and wholesome frame of mind. I do like to use some of the experiences I’ve had to have a laugh, but I don't want to tread too far into Complaining Land.

Was I a little ungrateful regarding my date on Saturday?  Did I focus too much on what didn’t work? Well let me rectify that. Dear Holy Moon Doggies in the sky with shooting stars, I do appreciate a man who actually has the balls to ask you out on an old fashioned sort of date. He wasn't the man for me, but it was still very nice to give it a go. Good to be asked out in a conventional manner.

One day he will meet the woman of his dreams, and she will be delighted with his hard kiss, murmuring "ooh, more tooth". He will invite her to his apartment for some Georgian cooking and they will ravish each other over a meaty dish.


On Tuesday I saw a massive rainbow over K Rd (how perfect!) and then a shooting star in the early evening. 
I was walking into town from Ponsonby at around 4.30, grounding myself after a really good healing session with Tracey of Beyond The Veil. She'd been working on bringing in more masculine energy so that I have a good balance in my life.  It was a really amazing session, had a cry and felt like my heart was bursting ( in a good way). 
Mum was saying to me just the other day "isn't it amazing that when a person is sad that their heart actually hurts? That you can feel it physically?". Yes, I'd have to say I agree. All that 'symbolic' talk of broken or aching hearts is grounded in some kind of physical truth.
So as I walked into Ponsonby over the Hopetoun Bridge, there it was. The biggest, brightest, glowing promise of rainbow I think I've ever seen. Even if I'd had my camera I couldn't have done it justice. The sky was bruised and foreboding, and there was that strange kind of evening light, as if an Alien vessel might swoop by at any moment. I walked briskly and laughed as the rain lightly kissed my face.
Met up with DG and went to the art gallery; Degas to Dali was still on. I enjoyed seeing some of these works in 'real life'; there really is a difference. Courbet's wave was very nice and 'glowy', and I really liked James Cowie's 'Yellow Glove', but it was Dali's Exploding Raphaelesque Head I would have taken home if I'd had to choose. (sometimes the font size changes inexplicably in my blog and I dont' know how to control it).
Twas early evening as I walked back into Ponsonby.  I was sat in my car talking to Lisa, Woodsy Woman of the North. I have no cell phone coverage at home, and she has no land line, so I figured I may as well try and catch her in one of those in-between moments. She told me that her sister Julie is having her brain tumour operation on Thursday. We kept talking and as I looked out into the Ponsonby sky I saw a shooting star. It looked like a very short lived firework. 
It's now Thursday. You know what that means. Yes, Julie's having the operation ... but it's also time for .... CONSPIRACY CORNER with MATHEW DENTITH.


If I get BFM on live streaming, I should hear his dulcet tones in about five minutes. He always makes me laugh.


Enjoy your day. Wishing you rainbows, shooting stars, soft kisses and everything else your aching and wanting heart desires! :)

Music, Ritalin, A German Movie with the Blue Eyed Israeli.

26^th May 2012

 Saturday

Last night I went to BFM’s (Auckland student radio) Fancy New Band Showcase at the King’s Arms with Handsome Rob and The Painter. Matita also turned up, and I saw BFM stalwarts Ren and Phil (AKA The Spunks),  which is always a bit like bumping into rarely seen relatives you actually like.

The Raw Nerves were on first, setting a good tone with some energetic rockabilly.  Autumn Splendour  ushered in pop with an edge and

Tom Lark  were just gorgeous, uplifting and sort of brit-poppy. I’ve already posted the song ‘All night long’ on a previous blog entry, so don’t be shy about looking it up.

I was deeply delighted with The Boxcar Rattle, it was enough to make me wish I still had my steel capped shoes (the 90’s!) for a little bit of a mosh, only I’d probably have ended up badly hurt.  Those kids were really pushing each other around. Looked fun though.  Loui the Zoo weren’t my usual bag, but I did enjoy the contrast between the high pitched pretty guitar boy and the more English-rap inspired lead singer. Good showmanship, very energetic and … happy.

Monday 28^th May 2012

Ritalin update:

Okay, so my dose is very low. I find that if I take it at 7am or so, it lasts till around 12. The effect is one of clarity and calm, though the initial side effects have been some headaches and tingling lips.  

Last week Andrew said he noticed that I moved faster. Isn’t that amazing, that by increasing dopamine, my mind calms down and I’m able to move more efficiently? The temptation is to take more than one in a day, but I’m going to stick to the prescription and then talk to Dr Hanne about it.

On Saturday I helped mum with a few things around her flat. Little could be accomplished as her need to oversee the minutiae pervades everything. Kept my mouth shut for much of it (which was a challenge).

“I know that I’m not making this easy” she said.

She had a panic attack when I offered to put some things of Nanna’s in a bag for the op shop.  It was old track suit pants and a few tops. She couldn’t do it. She was shaking. We finished up one small project and then went for a walk. We had a really long hug. 

I went and met the Blue Eyed Israeli who grew up in Georgia, near Russia. He looked good, more handsome than I remembered. He gestured to the movie descriptions at the Rialto Cinema and said

“You choose which one”.

“What do you recommend?”

“Oh no no no, you choose, just maybe something with no subtitles because that’s hard for me.”

“Ohhh kay  …. what about …. this …?”

“Oh, I have seen that one. It was very good.”

“Ohh kay, what about this?”

“I have seen that too … I come here every weekend, it is what I do on day off. Script writing , it is what I do.”

“Well then wouldn’t it be easier if you tell me which ones you haven’t seen?”

“Oh no no no, you choose.”

Sigh. I kept choosing. He kept saying he’d seen it. He was getting worried because time was a-tickin’. He stood too close to me and I tried not to mind.

In the end I ‘chose’ a German movie by default (I think there may only have been two options in the end) called ‘Happy Happy’. It was excellent. I was really drawn into the characters; I cared for them all, even the one who was surly and unkind. I found the whole thing beautiful, it was like having a good novel come to life. I heard a gentle snoring. I looked over and my date was asleep. We were only 20 minutes into the movie.

The excellent movie I watched as the man from Georgia slept.

He apologised for falling asleep after wards, explaining that he’d been working that day and was very tired. Oh yes, that’s fine I said. I didn’t really care. He grabbed for my hand as we left the movie. I felt nothing.  I wanted to twist away like a cat being made to have a cuddle.

After the movie we went and had a drink. I sort of wanted to slip away and go and see Tono and the Finance Company with Rachalle, but she’d only told me about it earlier in the day, and I felt I should give Mr Georgia a chance.  He told me about growing up in Georgia, then how it felt to go to Israel, that it was shocking and so different culturally.

He kept feeding me chips; forced romantic intimacy in Newmarket. I didn’t mind the first chip, but then it felt weird. I don’t find hot chips erotic.

 ‘No thank you’ I said as he tried to force the third chip into my mouth. He persisted and I had to actually intercept the chip with my hand in case he pushed it right in. “Go on,” he said, as if he were feeding me a strawberry.

“I’m not actually hungry”.

At one point I felt like we were connecting, that he was actually quite interesting. I allowed myself to notice his nice body, the blue-ness of his eyes, how well shaped his hands were. He engaged my mind further, and my body began to follow. Yes, I thought, I’ll kiss him.

He walked me to my car and then made the lunge. I never mean to be too harsh in my judgements of a first kiss with someone, but this was not a good kiss. I could feel his top teeth through his upper lip. I tried to soften, soften, to show him how to do it, but he didn’t get it. He groped my left breast and I pushed his hand away.

He asked in urgent tones if he could see me again (three times), and in that moment, after kissing, I felt saying no would have been a bit mean.

As I drove away I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and wished I had some water. I kept wiping my mouth and thought ‘what the hell am I talking about? I don’t want to see him again.’ Today I’ll text him and let him know that I don’t see it being a romantic connection (that’s a good phrase when you’re on internet dating too).

The best thing is that it’s completely reminded me to go to the Rialto Cinema again.

On Sunday Handsome Rob and I went to his property out near Matakana and picked up a bed base for me to use. I have now come up in the world.

We had a good little day trip, he shouted me a lovely lunch in this place that sold pottery. I’m not into pottery (mum might have liked it) but it was a lovely café.

Rob’s land (complete with little caravans!) felt really peaceful and sacred. Amazing views out to sea and over the land, it felt like there was someone else with us, a presence. I said that to Rob and he laughed and said it was the trees.

I used to be Messier, and the story of Polly the skinny Posh English Cow.

This is the wee painting I scored at the Helensville Hospice for $5

                                               Wednesday 23^rd of May 2012
                                       The Ritalin Diaries (be prepared for detours)

I’ve got the Ritalin. I’m going to take one tomorrow morning, around 6.30am, before I have coffee or breakfast. I’m excited about it to be honest; what if this really does make a difference to my ability to focus, finish projects and tidy my living environment?

My kitchen/dining area. I know I can change, I can change I can ...

I’ve taken a ‘before’ photo of my kitchen and dining area. I’ve lived in this flat for a month, but the truth is, I could live here for a year and this room would look just as chaotic. I’m really sick of it. I do try and make rules for myself, but other things just keep coming up. I’m going to take another one in a month and see if there’s any improvement in my ability to get things done in the flat. I won’t cheat either, like suddenly tidying up on purpose in one month because I have to take a photo of it.

In my twenties I didn’t give a flying monkey’s rectum about being messy. I was a hell of a lot worse than I am now, and I honestly wondered what people were getting so uptight about. I couldn’t explain it properly, but the truth is, I couldn’t really ‘see’ it clearly the way other people could. Every now and then it would seem obvious ‘oh, the bin is overflowing, I’ll attend to that immediately’, or ‘the stove is disgusting, I’ll just spent two hours cleaning it’ (but not do anything else for a week). Turns out that lack of dopamine is a major factor.

The greatest tensions in flatting situations arise due to housework arguments (or someone not paying rent, but that’s another story). About six years ago I had this posh English flatmate. We’ll  call her Polly. She was thin, blonde and earnest, but still boiling with rage at not being treated well by her last flatmates. She seemed to think they had PURPOSELY put their ciggie butts in her burgeoning garden. In revenge she stole their bookcase and a few other things when she and her nice Aussie boyfriend moved out. 

They were cool at first, but as time went on, her stress levels increased. She had this job that was haunting her. It was something to do with preparing documents to present to doctors on women who had been recent victims or possible victims of domestic abuse/rape.

In addition to the stress from her job, she went a bit funny when I started going out with Andrew. Her face went all puckered up when he would come over, like she had not only sucked on the lemons, but then inserted them up her bum hole and was trying not to show it. I felt a bit horrible, knowing she disapproved of my flagrant disregard for the age difference, but I’d fallen in love, so what could I do? I asked her directly if she found it really weird, the age difference. She couldn’t look at me as she said ‘no, it’s fine’. 

He was 19 and I was 35. If I were a man I guess people would say I was a dirty old bastard, and as it was, I got a lot of the ‘toy boy’ kind of commentary. Whatever the case, Andrew and I are still friends six years on,

and I have no regrets whatsoever. Sure, I probably should have been husband hunting or something, but the heart wants what it wants. Our commitment to each other was quite lovely;

 ‘to love each other and learn together for as long as it feels right for us, and to be honest with each other’. That’s what we did.

This is what I had for dinner tonight

It was so good, I was in absolute mouth bliss

This is: kumara and potato roasted in olive oil with rosemary and coriander seeds dolloped with aioli, half an avocado with lemon juice and pepper, pan fried tarakihi dusted in cumin and rock salt with fetta cheese on a bed of baby spinach

One day I was rushing around getting ready to go out, and I was of course running late. I grabbed my rubbish bin from my room and set it down next to the big bin in the kitchen, ready to empty it.

When I got home, I found my little rubbish bin sitting right in the open doorway of my room.

‘How weird, I thought I’d emptied that’.

Then I looked at the top of the bin and saw that there was a condom packet there. Not the used condom.  Just the foil packet. With a sinking heart I KNEW what had happened. Polly had come home in a depressed rage after a shitty day at work, saw that her happy sexed up flatmate had left her bin un-emptied in the kitchen. Of all the cheek!

I picked up my bin, and took it back into the kitchen. Polly was there.

I said hello and she barely responded. I tried to bring up the bin issue without getting annoyed, but before I could say much she off-loaded:

“I think it’s DISGUSTING that you left that bin in here! I’m SO GLAD you’re having LOADS of SEX, but I DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT!”

“But Polly, it’s just the foil wrapper. It’s not as if it’s a used condom all full of come or anything. I don’t get it.”

“Oh gross! That’s DISGUSTING, I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW!”

( note: the way this was expressed suggests she had a subconscious desire to know, as the last part of both statements is 'know about it' and 'want to know!')

To be honest, things were fairly tense after that. For whatever reason, she seemed suspicious of my every move,  as if I’d purposely planted a condom packet there for her to get annoyed about. God, if I’d wanted to purposely gross her out I could have done many far more annoying things. I felt sorry for her boyfriend. He was so cool. I wonder what became of them? They moved out, her in a big huff, imagining I’d purposely been having great sex and whatever else especially to piss her off.  I doubt her boyfriend was getting any, or perhaps they had to do it with surgical gloves on. You can imagine it:
"Now please don't do that, it's disgusting ..."
"But ... it's just kissing ..."

One day she was blathering on about the housework, and I found myself suddenly imitating her. To her face. This was the equivalent of being punched for dear Polly. What kind of ghastly beast would do such a thing? Well yeah, me of course. But come on, I’d been tip toeing around her tulips for far too long.

Andrew said she was jealous of me. But why? She was thinner, posher, richer, skinnier and had a really nice (age appropriate) boyfriend. She had no logical reason to be jealous. I was probably supposed to be jealous of her. Only I'm rarely jealous of anyone.

From a spiritual perspective, perhaps I was just the mirror she needed? If she was my mirror, then she was showing me the uptight, c-nty side of myself I couldn’t face. She thought I was absolutely ‘horrid’ for imitating her.  I’m absolutely ‘chuffed’ that she is now one of my favourite voices to ‘do’ in order to entertain people. Peter loves my ‘Polly’ voice.  His eyes light up considerably if I start doing that posh English whine.

I really should have asked if she needed some top tips in the boudoir.

 I’m good like that.

Oh, I'm so happy because now I have three friends who can come to The Kings Arms gig on Friday! Yay!

Ritalin tomorrow, tally ho!

Love a Country: Latvia. A good NZ song and my list of hated songs.

This song is so lovely! I'm going to dedicate it to Latvia. It's the sort of song that uplifts the heart and makes me feel a little bit funny in the pants.

This fellow's name isn't actually Tom Lark. I can't remember what it really is, something like Marcus or Carl. He's a talented beast anyway. I'm going to the King's Arms to see him and a whole lot of other young un's playing on Friday night (did you like The Boxcar Rattle?! Look em up!).

I haven't yet roped anyone in to go with me, but I've never minded going to a gig alone. Bound to bump into someone, and if not, I could just say I'm someone's mum - 'yes, that's my son on the drums. He's good isn't he? He gets that from me. The timing.'

My new feature (unless I forget) is 'Love a Country You Haven't Been to Yet'. That's easy because I've been hardly anywhere and I love almost everyone. Okay, so Latvia sounds like quite a special place. For a start, eight of them read my blog. That's amazing. Or perhaps one of them reads my blog, but clicked on the page eight times in the last month. So send your good loving vibrations to those eight people, or that one enthusiastic person. Do it now. Love Latvia!

A picture of Latvia copied from http://www.inyourpocket.com/latvia

Today after work I drove straight out to Parakai and went to the hotpools. Soaked for ages, long enough to be genuinely relaxed. That's hard work, getting that relaxed. I then went to the Helensville Hospice and scored a little old painting. Love it. I'll take a photo of it when I find my camera. Ha ha. The size and shape of it is very pleasing to me.

Also, forgive me, I snippily (that's a word now) assumed that the blue eyed Israeli had not called ... but of course I'd forgotten to charge my cell phone. When I remembered to charge it I found that he had indeed messaged me. I guess I better go back and edit out that bit I said in the last blog in case he ever reads it, and then next week I'll edit this bit. Movies next weekend then. I will  review whatever I see (you know I do love to express my opinion). I must also find out more about Israel so that I don't say anything too ignorant.


Andrew has removed my old hard drive from my dead computer and put all that stuff into my external hard drive. God, tired writing that sentence. Nearly need a nap after that. He's working in a bar these days, but we're gonna catch up tomorrow. I'm going to yoga tomorrow night ... but I hope I haven't got a darstardley cold. I'm sneezing like a ... slightly asthmatic teenage boy in a dusty room. 

My toilet is still blocked. My mum started to get angry on my behalf, but I don't feel that stressed about it anymore. I do think my rent should be reduced until it's sorted out, but I'm too scared to ask. Pathetic I know. I do need to eat dinner, but I had two scones and feel a bit lazy. 

Got some felafel mix, salad and aoili. I can't spell felafel or aoli and the spell check comes up with fellatio or aniline in order to point me in the right direction. Oh, changed it to aoli and now the suggestions include coli and eolian. Ooh, we should really do 'words I like' on a regular basis too. Eolian sounds amazing. Someone might call their baby Eolian. (People are having babies! I know!).

On Thursday I'm catching up with new friend DG. We're gonna see the Degas to Dali exhibition. God, I'm still sneezing. Perhaps I shouldn't have relaxed in the pools quite as long as I did. Oops, Toscie wants in. Hang on. 

There. She's in. 

Oh yeah, another on-going thought:

SONGS I TRULY HATE. What you must remember is that these are not the ones I'm embarrassed about but secretly enjoy singing when no one knows. I might tell you some of them one day, but I'd have to trust you. 


These are songs. I. Really.Hate. Hate is a strong word. 

 In No Particular Order:

 1) Twisting By the Pool by Dire Straits    Now, I admit to liking some Dire Straits songs (not everyone would), but this and the awful 'Industrial Disease' just upset me. I was really embarrassed by this song when it came out. My class mates liked it. I admitted I hated it and Vicky Gibb looked a bit disapointed in me.

2)Hands Up by Ottawan (who?) A truly horrible one hit wonder that came out when I was a child of around 9. I remember these adults (not my mum) looking at me disapprovingly when I asked very nicely if they could please turn off the radio when this came on. I was trapped in a car and this man was driving. His wife was in the passenger seat. I recall that they turned it up and sang along to it and said they LOVED IT. Traumatising. Who were these people? I can't recall. Friends of mum's boyfriend at the time? Not sure.

3) Life Begins At Forty by Dave and the Dynamos  Once again, a song from the 80's. I knew it was supposed to be funny but I couldn't laugh. I knew in the depths of my being that this was a real grandad of a song, but not a nice grandad, a pervy and condescending one. I knew I would be 40 one day and that I would never, ever, embrace this song. Turns out I was right. 

4) Almost Anything By Whitehouse. Oh shit, they're not called Whitehouse. I can't remember the name of them! It's on the tip of my brain. Icehouse!!! I think it's because Iva Davies just irritated the shit out of me. My cousin (the one I never see anymore cos she's soooo busy) LOVED Icehouse. She thought Iva Davies was It. I went and saw them with her in the 80's as she begged me to go. I think I quite liked one of the tracks (hey little girl) but overall it was an underwhelming experience. Most of the music doesn't really warrant hate I suppose. Just irritation.

 Right, times flying as usual. Better eat I suppose. Woman cannot live on Scone alone. I shall ad more to Hated Songs when I remember more of them. Obviously I hate The Macarena, but that's too easy.

I didn't know how to check for comments until today. A few people had commented on past blogs, so that made my day, thanks! Good toilet advice flowing in ;)
 Latvia, feel free to tell us about your amazing country (comment away my friends, comment away.) Till next time, keep loving and being nice to one another. x

with mum as a new being on Earth.

[ee-oh-lee-uhn]  Show IPA

adjective

1.

( lowercase ) Geology . noting or pertaining to sand or rockmaterial carried or arranged by the wind.

2.

Aeolian.

Random Train of Thought featuring a blocked toilet.

Train of Thought

This is an old photo (around five years ago?). I am thinking of having a fringe again. Should I do it?

 I have so much in my head, I have to write to get it out, somehow alleviate the pressure and chaos.  It isn’t an unpleasant chaos, but it’s chaos nonetheless. A muscle outside the right of my upper thigh is spazzing. I obviously need magnesium.

 Griz said I should carry salt around, it’s a witchy solution used for purification, blessings and protection. She also gave me a lovely gift of magical insence, so when I burnt it I put it on a bed of salt. I put the salt in an old silver salt pig. The smell of rose and lavender is beautiful; I have to take the smoke alarm off the ceiling so that it doesn’t get excited.

Watched another two episodes of Breaking Bad, Season Two last night. Oh my god and all the deities! It was episode 10. The point at which our anti-hero embraces his role as one very naughty boy. It was shiveringly good. It’s now at the point where you say “there is now no redeeming quality to his manufacturing of meth”.  And yes, prior to this episode, one could sort of justify it.

Tosca is very frisky and talkative this morning. Running around and jumping on my printer, fluffing up her tail like a little fox. Not that I’d know if it really was like a little fox, I’m just imagining. Have you ever seen a real fox? I’ve mainly seen them in children’s books or on some documentary from long ago. Foxes make me think of the rich folk in England who hunt them for sport. What a strange thing to do.Tally ho, chase the cute little animal and rip it to shreds.

As a child I was quite obsessed with doing my ‘picture stories’ which usually involved the rich upper classes laughing at poor people and pushing them into mud puddles. I also liked to draw ‘ugly competitions’  where you’d only win if you were hideous enough. I found it difficult to draw men, they were so straight up and down. I often drew the women naked before I turned it into some kind of clothing pattern. When I was 10 I prayed every night that I would have big breasts like my mother. It wasn’t to be the case, but I certainly ended up with a generous bum, so I can’t complain.

What I can complain about right now is that my toilet is STILL BLOCKED. It’s been blocked for ages and I keep using the pumpy thing to try and unblock it to no avail. Feather was supposed to come over for dinner last night but she was sick, and it’s just as well, for my toilet brings me great shame.

If I have to do a pooh now, I really am a bit flummoxed. I can go upstairs and ask to use the land lady’s, or go in the bush. I cannot yet bring myself to do the deed in a plastic bag and save it up for rubbish day. Please toilet angels, unblock the loo for me. It’s getting ridiculous. When I first told my land lady, she said

“What you do?”, and then when she was sure I hadn’t stuffed a tampon factory down the pipes, she looked at me as if I were a criminal and said

“Last tenant no problem. Nothing wrong. What happen?”

“Well maybe I did a really big pooh? I don’t know.”

She laughed and said “You do elephant pooh?”

She gave me the plunger thing to use and then a couple of days later told me to poke a big stick down the drain, “but don’t break stick or it get stuck too”.

Sigh. I have not got a big stick yet, though I have tried an unravelled wire coat hanger. It’s useless. It’s beyond useless. This is one of those little toilets that don’t have a decent throat; it’s a toilet for children or people who don’t shit. I don’t even know why these toilets exist.

I haven’t heard from the blue eyed Israeli writing waiter of Cornwall Park. It would have been good to go to the Rialto, but I wasn’t that excited about him, so that’s okay. I wondered if he might grow on me though. He seemed keen, but that might just be his approach with all women. Sort of throw out the net and act all eager and then change direction at the last minute. Well, not like he’d be the only man in history to have done that.

Today I’m seeing my cousin for his birthday, going with mum, and then tonight (yay) I’ll join Lou, Johnny and Eliza in Devonport for dinner. Lovely. I could do a haloumi and walnut salad with lashings of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

It’s not yet ten am, and I’d like another coffee but I fear an elephant pooh may want out … and then I’m forced to borrow a toilet or crash my way down into the woods. Sigh.

Oh, here I am going on about shit all when I could mention that mum and I went out for a belated mother's day dinner the other night, before we went and saw Tim Furniss (a young NZ comedian). The dinner was at the Mecca Stonehouse in Mission Bay. I had one of those Entertainment book vouchers for a good discount. 

"Hey mum, you know how I said that it doesn't really matter what you're eating as long as you're in good company ..."

"Yeah .."

"Well, I might have to take it back."

The reason for this revision was clear; the food was utterly amazing. I had lamb shanks; the rosemary imbued meat fell from the bone and every mouthful was rich and delicious. I had the Church Road Chardonnay (always reliable) and mum decided to try the Indian beer with her fish and chips. I think I liked the beer more than mum, it had a sweetness to it that would have complimented a spicy dish perfectly. The waiter was proud of it too - "this is the best Indian beer in the world".

I think it was called Kingfisher.

Excellent food with excellent company cannot be beaten. Average food with excellent company is still good. Amazing food with crappy company ruins the appetite.

I'm now finishing my second coffee. I went up to the land lady's and used her toilet so I feel a lot happier. Didn't fancy the plastic bag option. I got a bit emotional about the toilet when I spoke to her. She's going to buy me a really long plastic glove today. Oh goodie, I can't wait.

Love and light, and remember not to take your flushing toilet for granted!

Radio Love Song | Amplifier NZ Music

Radio Love Song | Amplifier NZ Music

This is Marconi Receiver, my friend Tam's band. I'm very proud of her and want to share them with you, The Entire World (well, the parts of the world viewing this blog anyway).  Hello to you in Russia, Vietnam, USA, Aussie, Germany, Kuwait, The Netherlands, Korea, France ... all these amazing beautiful places I'd love to visit one day. Check out Marconi Receiver and if you can, buy Radio Love Long for less than two NZ dollars. That's probably 20 cents in Aussie! That's Tam in the black top! She's amazing (kind as well as beautiful and brainy, I know, it hardly seems fair but someone's got to do it all I suppose).

Marconi Receiver

I've had a lovely day despite a horribly sore throat. Took mum back into town to catch her bus, but decided to call into the fancy restaurant in Cornwall Park for a cuppa. We got a scone and it was the smallest scone you've ever seen. It was a sad little scone. My coffee was very good though. Mum and I were dressed for warmth more than glamour and enjoyed observing people. One of the waiters was a handsome actor that had a brief relationship with an old ex friend I have referred to as The Fish. Another waiter had a really fascinating face, he looked very aloof, (we imagine he was bored beyond belief) and yet when he smiled it was as if the sun had come out ever so briefly.Very blue eyes.

Mum told me about John Travolta, how the staff member of a hotel (?) has been fired for telling on him for being unfaithful. What caught mum's attention was that this staff member (male) said John T was into draping fabric over the bum (before or after relations, I'm not entirely sure). Draping. So mum and I are giggling about that "ooh, hold it right there, got to just drape this before I can get turned on." Evidently the draping aspect goes on for some time. That's the foreplay or something.
Mum leans forward over her cup of English breakfast tea
 "gosh, you just never know what will turn people on do you?"
"No mum," I replied "you really don't".
We're silent for a moment. Obviously we're imagining it. John Travolta bent over with a nice swathe of satin draped thoughtfully over his rounded buttocks. Sure sounds better than asphyxiation, but hey, I'm not one to judge.Go for it John. Drape hard. I went to the bathroom, and when I returned, the waiter with the dark hair and interesting face was leaning down and talking to my mum. I was a little taken aback for as soon as I sat down mum said (with a bit of a twinkle)
 "he wanted to know if you were married!"
Anyway, he's from Israel, seems like an interesting fellow. He asked for my number; he wants to take me to a movie at the Rialto (that's a better class of movie, shows things from all over the world. Sometimes too heavy for me.) I said okay. Cos you know I do like an adventure, whether it's a new place or person. I have to admit I don't know much about Israel, though my Nanna travelled there about a year before she died which is cool.

God I'm thirsty. Must have a wine, it'll do my throat good, surely. Urgh, don't want to feel ill tomorrow! Better go to bed nice and early.

Love and light
:)

Yes folks, ADD it is! Good to know.

                            Tosca: I do not think she has any kind of neurological condition.

Yes folks, I have ADHD! I know it might sound strange, but I feel really good about it. I can now do something about it. 


 Julie's brain tumour operation has been postponed as her doctor was sick. That's hard on Lisa; she took time off from work (doing extra shifts in order to cover costs) and travelled from Whangarei to Wellington to be there for Julie. Now she's had to go all the way back up North and wait to find out when they will operate. I'm wondering how I could help; it's times like this I wish I was really rich. Oh yes, I'm rich in spirit, but cash would be more useful to Lisa right now.


Now back to the ADD:

When I was 19 I asked my mum’s boss if I might have ADD because I’d read something about it, and it sounded a lot like me. I exhibit the hyperactive state to a lesser degree; it’s the lack of organisation in my environment and inability to track time that really stands out.

Mum’s boss was a doctor, she was a medical receptionist at the time. He was a bit of a dozy character. He gave me the checklist, of which I ticked something like 25 out of 30, and then nothing more came of it. I assume he simply didn’t know enough about it; not many doctors pick it up. ADD  people may have symptoms that could be mistaken for depressive illnesses, general anxiety, or possibly bi-polar or alcoholism. Obviously there are sometimes cross-overs with conditions. I know that my excess drinking in my mid twenties was due to a love of high stimulus. I loved (and still do to a point) being with people who were just a bit unusual or over the top. Fortunately my desire to continue living kicked in; excess drinking tends to lead to rather dangerous situations (fractured pelvis anyone?).

ADHD people are also impulsive verbally or physically, or both. We’re intense, often not fitting in at school and called ‘weird’. I accepted that I did tick a little differently from most people, but I didn’t know why. I was bullied at school and sometimes that pattern repeated in work environments. I would just open my mouth and say what I thought and then not understand why people couldn’t handle it. I learned to slow down and bide my time before speaking, trying to make sure I didn’t dominate all the conversations I had with people. What helps is that people are my ‘thing’. ADDers can focus if they are truly captivated by something. I am rather captivated with the human race. I think we are truly amazing and bizarre, and I love us.

ADD people have a problem with attention, but we are capable of what’s called ‘hyperfocus’. So, I can read all day, I can do this blog and not have any idea of how much time has passed, but nothing else will get done. It’s a strange paradox. The shifting of gears is a problem, one of the reasons why lateness is often an issue. We just don’t have the same connections in our brains that most people do; we lack dopamine. That must be why we seek stimuli; we’re trying to keep the dopamine flowing.

There is so much to it, it’s really interesting.

The appointment with Dr Hanne in Howick revealed him to be a dear little man, the sort you’d actually want as a grandfather. His surgery is attached to what I presume to be his house, it overlooks a sprawling garden and the sea, I felt like I was in a fairy tale. The house was made of stone; it seemed as though Snow White’s mother, the one who pricked her finger whilst embroidering, might be busy arranging flowers in one of the upstairs rooms.

The appointment mainly consisted of telling my life story as well as some basic short term and longer term memory questions. I laughed quite a lot, as I tend to do when it’s obvious that I have some rather funny gaps in my memory. Why I can’t I remember much between being 19 and 21? I’d have to go back to my journals to find out. I wasn’t drinking. I didn’t take any drugs till I was about 25 and learned quite quickly that I couldn't handle them anyway.

When asked if I was compulsive, I tend to think I’m not, but then later that afternoon I did something and realised … ‘shit. I’m impulsive.’

It was this: I was walking across Aotea Square and it was getting dark. There was a young Japanese couple kissing on a seat. I noticed that he didn’t know how to kiss. 

He was stiff, his face was hard, he pushed his mouth onto hers and grabbed her arm to pull her closer. She struggled a little bit, and he pushed harder, I could see the tendons across his hand standing out a little bit and he tightened his grip. I walked a little faster. Now she was trying to pull her face away from him, but he wouldn’t let her get away, he was determined to keep that hard kiss going. I don’t even think his mouth was open; it seemed he was trying to simply press his mouth on hers as hard as he could the way they did in old movies.

His right arm was around her, pulling her close, the other hand reaching across her body to hold onto her arm. She struggled more. It was about then that I realised I had walked right up to them.

“Excuse me,” I said, and his head snapped up in surprise, “you need to be gentle.”

The poor girl hung her head, not once did she look at me during this encounter.

“Oh yes, yes, yes” said the boy, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“You must be gentle because she is very precious. You must kiss softly, it’s nicer.”

I demonstrated a soft kiss on my own hand.

“Soft, then passion. Softly. Gentle. Okay?”

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” he nodded like a loose necked car mascot.

“ Gentle.”

I then knelt down and said to the girl “I am sorry to embarrass you, but he must learn, that was not nice. If you say no, he must stop.”

Now this wasn’t something I thought about. I just do. When I was 26 I heard an argument between a Chinese couple and what sounded like him giving her a hiding. I ran straight up to their door and started yelling “let me in!”. They didn’t understand me, but I tried to make sure they did.

 “No hitting! Very bad. I will call the police.”

When I later related the story to a flatmate he said “what a stupid thing to do”. Huh? Why? “Well he could have attacked you.”

Oh. I didn’t think of that.

And so it goes. I often feel I’ve attracted amazingly odd situations.

I’ve sometimes said that when shit goes down, I know what to do. I’d prefer that shit didn’t go down. I’m aiming for a life of peace, but it still has to have a lot of stimulus in one way or another. Walks in nature (up into gorse?). Swimming in a rough sea. I’ll find ways to stir things up, but hopefully not in a way that risks my life.

Oh yeah, exhaustion. It is an ADD thing (mind working too fast and expends excessive amounts of energy, body can't keep up). Nice to know though, as I have often wondered why I get so tired. I’m only working part time hours, but when I come home I have to sleep for an hour. Obviously exercise, diet and routine will all help immensely with these issues, but babies, it’s medication that I’m looking forward to. It takes a couple of weeks for some sort of notification to come through and then I’ll get a script and let you know what it’s like to take Ritalin. It's been around for nearly sixty years and is very effective in helping ADDers gain a bit of control over their lives.

I don’t do anything else (unless you want to count coffee) and so what I will experience will truly be the result of Ritalin. I had someone warn me that Ritalin was the ‘poor man’s blow light’, but that doesn’t make sense if you’re genuinely ADD and not taking any other drugs or drinking to excess. If you are already getting wasted, then of course Ritalin probably isn’t going to help. For people who have ADHD, Ritalin doesn’t get them high. It just increases dopamine which helps to focus and order the chemistry of the brain.

Bring it!

Integrating Male Energy

Tuesday 8^th May

                           Coffee, Healing, What's this Feeling?

Surely what I’m feeling can’t just be caffeine withdrawal? Aside from a headache, my actual face hurts. I’m supposed to have ceased coffee intake for five days prior to my ADD assessment on Thursday. Suddenly it’s two days to go and I haven’t managed to have a caffeine free day yet.

I’d cunningly mixed decaf in with my real coffee, but today I just had decaf and I feel depressed. Yes folks. Weepy. It might also be that I had a TV marathon last night, finally watching Breaking Bad, the first season. I had to make myself stop after four episodes, and I dreamt of blood and guns in the night. A TV hangover is what I’ve got, coupled with the coffee withdrawal.

Just threw two nurofen down my gullet and drank lots of water, it seemed to shift a bit of pain out from under my eyes (that area where people get sinus infections). I’ve finished Russel Brand’s Booky Wook and am looking forward Booky Wook 2 which Griz is going to lend me. I was amused to see that the orgy he attended was bleak and not at all erotic as I’d only just pondered such things in my last entry.

It makes me think of that guy The Wanker (the best worst internet date I had) who told me about going to a sex club. He said he was receiving fellatio from a woman, and this  man came up to him and was having a nice little chat; oh how are you, what do you do etc, then said “oh, yes, and that’s my wife”. 

I then imagined that they went on to have a very mundane conversation, one in which the Wanker revealed his job as the manager of a cheese factory. A cheese factory!

Right, the nurofen has kicked in a little bit, I have the strength to get out into the day. I’m off for a healing with Tracey at Beyond The Veil in Ellerslie and even though I’ve been there before I’ve completely forgotten how to get there.

I shall tell you all about it soon.

Evening time, still Tuesday.

I felt like I was moving through glue today, exhausted and slow witted, knocking things off ledges, spilling tea, dropping jam gobs on the floor. I went to see Tracey at Beyond The Veil  for a healing, and getting there felt like this huge mission. I was almost crying as I drove there because I was running late (as I do for most things). I have to trick myself if I want to be on time for things, but then I know I’ve tricked myself so I think I’ve got plenty of time. Alas, I then do not have plenty of time. I double cross myself. I have to somehow double-double cross myself.

The healing was subtle but effective. She is helping to balance me up as I lack masculine energy. Ironically, if you lack masculine energy you might then bring it up in ways that aren’t ideal, like massive amounts of anger. Overcompensating.  My jaw was so tight, I think I’d been grinding my teeth in the night. The work was really beautiful; there was a presence of masculine energy there for me to access and to integrate, and I also acknowledged that I have some really good guys around me at the moment. I’m looking at the good in these guys, seeing what it is in a man that can be kind and strong.

Once I acknowledged and felt this really gentle, strong, protective male energy move into me (ooh er, I don’t mean like that), I felt a lot more releaxed. I can’t quite remember the order that this all happened in, but when she asked me what a man looked like, what the first image in my mind was, I saw a sort of devil. She asked what he looked like; he was a hybrid of a cartoonish devil combined with an ordinary man. She got me to separate them and describe them, asking me questions about them as we went.

I saw that the ordinary man was vulnerable and quite lost. The devil was not evil, just playful and egotistical. He wanted attention.

As the work continued, she helped me use visualisation to ‘see’ and also feel what a really good man would be like. Interestingly, I couldn’t see a man, I instead thought of a bee. So there’s this bee, but eventually she got me to transform this bee into an ideal of a good man.

“Oh,” I said, “he’s a golden god”

I didn’t think of that line from the movie “Almost Famous” until right now. Ha!

 I was seeing the honey from the bee running into the veins in a man’s body, that he is comprised of light and honey, a network of  sweetness. She then got me to combine this god-ish honey man with the Christ consciousness of the earlier energy. There. Eat that for breakfast. And I saw that it was good.

So. Goddess knows what effect this integration with masculine energy will have on me, but I felt so much better afterwards that I came home and promptly whacked out two lesson plans for my teaching this week.

I intend to get up early tomorrow, gulp back decaf and nurofen, walk up to the ridge, admire the birds, stroke the cat and then go and deliver a kick arse lesson. Actually the lesson might be a bit boring, I’m trying to incorporate useful information (Immigration policies) for my students. On the upside, they now know Abba’s delightful song ‘I have a dream’ almost off by heart! You may call it cheese, but it's a pretty positive little song (one student finds Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles too sad).

I'll do whatever I can to keep my students feeling positive. My eyes hurt. I just watched the rest of the episodes of Breaking Bad, so now I'm up to series 2. Oh my god it's good. I think it was Taitingfong and Werner who kept saying to watch it when I was in Korea, but I was in a 'Project Runway" kind of mode then. Unfortunately the latest batch of Runway didn't quite do it for me. It was like returning to a playground you'd loved as a child to find the slide wasn't half as big as you thought it was. Remember how your mum would say "watch the other children go down the slide first, just in case there are razor blades". No? Guess you weren't a child of the 70's.

Ta ta ducky bums. Love and moo. x

Dreams, Friends, Sexual Ponderings, Cheese in an Orgy.

 Sunday, May 6th 2012

So I dreamt that I was with this guy, a cad, a boy snake hipped and free of empathy. The boy is real, a friend of a friend, but the girl was not me.

I walked with my arms encircling his slim waist down a long metal road. I smiled up to drink in his approval, but my true self watched from afar and said “oh that poor girl, I’m glad she’s not me”. I was the character and the watcher. The heroine destined for heartbreak and the sympathetic reader.

Pics: peanut butter, jam and bannana on toast with a good cup of tea (one of the teacups Griz got me!).

She was thinking

 “He chose me. I don’t know how long it will last but right now he’s with me.”

I dreamt so many things, all of them competing to be remembered as I woke, but only this little walk of a dream remained. I was relieved to be me again, free of this naïve identity.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about sex, friendship, men and having a fantasy about rostering on four or five men as lovers so that I wouldn’t get attached to any of them. It’s a fun fantasy, but that’s what it will remain. It’s like imagining an orgy to be really exciting, but in reality I don’t think I’d want to suck some  semi-stranger’s manky knob, not knowing where it’s been or if I even like that person. I realise liking someone might not matter for a lot of people, I’ve even heard of ‘hate sex’ which sounds yucky. Americans told me all about hate sex. Grrr, I hate you, so I’m going to fuck you and somehow humiliate you. Well, if humiliation is the game then fine, but if it’s a one-sided plan to hurt someone then … that’s just sad.

A friend related a story told to her by another friend I shall call The Wild Girl. Wild Girl commented that she was at an orgy and ‘just not into it’ so she went and got some cheese and broke off pieces of it and placed it thoughtfully on different parts of naked, sweating, orgiastic bodies, amused to see it melting.

I like imagining her facial expression, a kind of art installation concentration: ‘now, shall I place a little bit of brie on this person’s lower back, right down by his arse crack?’ Or how about ‘mm, this blue vein will go nicely on these bulging ball sacs’. I guess she didn’t actually have a selection of cheeses, I might be stretching things a bit there. But still. Imagine it. “And now, a Port Salut sneakily smeared on the underside of this woman’s enormous heaving breasts”.


Hmm, this makes me wish I had some cheese. Used up the last of the Haloumi last night. Took it to Matita’s gathering in Pt Chevalier. 

We don’t say ‘Chevalier’ Frenchly in NZ, we say ‘shev-a-leer’ which is prompty shortened to Pt Shev. I got into the kitchen, poured a glass of Matita’s very nice feijoa Margarita and got that cheese in the pan. Passed it around whilst it was still hot. Gone in seconds.

It was good to talk with Matita, and at one point an older, melancholy man might have been trying to chat me up. Hey man, if you’re old and a bit fat, at least be cheery. He carried a feeling of resentment about him, as if he’d been given a really shit selection of letters for scrabble.

Yes, scrabble. It’s been a pleasant and social few days; saw Andrew on Thursday and watched Game of Thrones together, then the Painter came over on Friday with his scrabble board and proceeded to completely thrash me (I think he won by about 300 points). I only hate losing if it looks like I stand half a show of winning, but one of the things I like about scrabble is the actual choosing of words and what it might say about that person.

If choosing excellent words made you the winner, then I would have won. I had things like’ devil’ and ‘gilt’ whereas the Painter had ‘wud’ and selections of two letter words that are ‘scrabble legal’ but completely useless in everyday life.  I wasn’t allowed ‘zen’ which was really fucking annoying. Not very zen of me.

We watched some old dvd with Harrison Ford in it; the woman playing his wife looked sort of like she could have been his mum. When she gets kidnapped I found it hard to care,  I couldn’t relate to her or feel anything for her character. I didn’t much care for Ford either, I think I will only ever love him in Raider’s of the Lost Ark.  What I found really unbelievable is that Ford ends up running around in Paris and/or New York with this really hot young girl and doesn’t make a move on her. Come on. He’s meant to be falling apart, scared that his beloved and boring wife is about to snuff it, there are Arab baddies all over the shop, and he doesn’t get hard for a French girl wearing a short skirt? He even prudishly zips up her leather jacket and says “it’s cold” at one point. That’s as much of a clue to his hidden thoughts as we’ll get. There is no moment of temptation or tiny glance of lust.

In my experience (and I’m not that experienced really), extreme situations bring out all sorts of extreme responses. When people are scared or grieving, fucking is often a legitimate outlet. There must be shit loads of children conceived around the time of 9/11 (which isn’t 9/11 in NZ, I think it was 9/12 for us). Death brings out the need to affirm life, and sex is about as life affirming as it gets. So. You see my critique of this film runs deep. A sexy man running around with a sexy girl with death hanging above their heads, but no sexual tension? Drivel.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, enjoyed losing at scrabble, and I do like to criticise things so in a way the movie was brilliant for that. Earlier that day Lisa had been to visit, she’s now in Wellington gearing up for her sister’s brain tumour operation. On Saturday morning I intended to work on my environment, make it beautiful, sorted. Instead I got sucked into Russel Brand’s ‘Booky Wook’ which is an excellent read. He writes like he speaks, and he’s blatantly honest.  The one thing about him I wouldn’t like to see is his impression of Frank Spencer. That would really annoy me. Some Mother’s Do Have Em  was a show (often re-run) that used to fill me with anxiety as a child. I knew that this pathetic man was going to do something embarrassing and stupid every time, and I didn’t think it was funny. To me it was painful. The episode I remember clearly was one where he somehow manages to stick his foot in the toilet and gets stuck. I watched and willed myself to find it funny, but I just couldn’t. I also felt the same way about George and Mildred (these were British comedies my mum liked to watch). I loved Mildred and I wanted George to die. She was always longing for love and my heart ached for her; she was never going to get what she wanted with George. God, what else was there? Butterflies was another one my mum watched, I think that was in the 80’s. It was so depressing.

I did like The Rise and Fall of Reginald Perrin  though. I remember feeling some relief that even though I cared for Reggie, I didn’t feel an overwhelming desire to rescue him or kill his boss. Might have to look that up on youtube, the old Rise and Fall. As time progressed and mum watched Fawlty Towers, I found Basil Fawlty so nasty that I enjoyed his humiliations.

It was well known in New Zealand that the show was based on the incredibly bad service available in our hospitality industry in the 1970’s. This was related with considerable pride for some reason.

Obviously our hospo industry (cos that’s what hospo worker’s call it) has improved immensely (well, depending on where you go). I did go to Portafino at the Viaduct Harbour last year and it was terrible. Fawlty Towers would have been preferable. Staff needed a firecracker up their whatsits and the food was astonishingly average. I did this thing that I do. I was extra nice, just to show them how it’s done. I do doubt the effectiveness of this approach at times, but if that doesn’t work I can always blog about it.

Well … must be time for coffee. I usually wouldn’t indulge after 3pm, but I’ve mixed Decaf with the real deal which removes the possibility of waking at 3am. It’s unexpectedly good too. I didn’t know decaf could taste good; I assumed it would be like sex with an extra thick condom.

Not so. So I’ve got Caffe L’Affare Decaf mixed with Hummingbird Coffee. The Hummingbird is fair trade organic and named ‘OOMPH!’. Having fair-trade anything makes me feel quite virtuous.

Ooh it’s cold already. I have a blanket wrapped around me kuia style.

Andrew’s popping over tonight, cool, maybe he should get burger fuel on the way, only I can’t ring out to tell him unless I walk up the road onto the highest part of the ridge. Drat. Technology ay?

I’m sure there are a million other things I haven’t mentioned, but one simply can’t reduce real life into a little sausage. That reminds me: vegetarian sausages. Why or why not? Grizelda (who visited yesterday and gave me gifts!) said she and her man think ‘what’s the point?’ and one of Matita’s flatmates said there are too  many additives in them. I like the taste, but I also like meat sauasages (you can get really good pork ones from Freedom Farms).

Brrr, lots of love and enjoy the rest of your Sunday (assuming it’s a Sunday for you).

Kuia: elderly woman

PS, I think perhaps wud is a rather good word after all (but not nearly as good as devil)

Wud: Chiefly Scottish

: insane, mad

Examples of WUD

1. <an old miser whose obsession with money had driven him wud>