It's Monday night and I have nothing else to do except take some great Swiss drugs for my migraine right after I finish this blog. So here goes: (this originated from my sister's blog btw)
Ten things you wish you could say....no names
1. I'm going to be 31 and am still waiting for that apology you owe me.
2. You'll never know how lonely it was without you, how long I waited for you, and how much it hurts being so far away from you.
3. I'm glad you finally got an idea that something was up after four years of me waiting around for the light bulb to go off. I fell in love in slow motion just like the movies. I think there were even fireworks.
4. I can't believe how stupid I was, even though a teenager. It still haunts me, just as you do.
5. No offense, I think you were always gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just wish you would come out of the closet, already.
6. I'm sorry, in advance, for anyway that I may be effing you up right now.
7. I've asked around, and apologizing via email or voicemail does not count.
8. How can I possibly show my gratitude and love for you and your family over so many years..... and stupid boyfriends, 3 kids, one divorce, and too many garage parties to count?
9. You always were (and still are) the light at the end of my tunnel.
10. I hope someday, before it's too late, you will understand me.
Nine Things About Me
1. I'm lazy most of the time
2. That's b/c I love to work under the gun
3. I'm in love with Walt Whitman (like you didn't already know)
4. I wish I wrote just about every Bob Dylan song, myself
5. I've had clinical depression and post partum depression and I'm still here
6. I take drugs for both of these, and I'm ok with that (up yours Tom Cruise)
7. I cannot stand Oprah Winfrey and her stupid book club. I wouldn't be caught dead on that list.
8. I've been writing since the third grade and still have my first notebook of short stories from 1985
9. I'm going to be famous after I'm dead.
Eight Ways to Win My Heart
1. Be funny..mostly about yourself
2. Have some manners, for god's sake
3. Love Walt Whitman and Bob Dylan (or else don't even bother)
4. Don't talk to me about Conrad's Heart of Darkness
5. Send Oprah some hate mail
7. Bring me Chinese without me having to ask for it
8. Let me sleep in
Seven Things That Cross My Mind Alot
1. Dick Cheney is the devil
2. Am I cutting it as a mom?
3. Am I cutting it as a wife?
4. Why does Cate hate me already?
5. AP
6. These circles under my eyes aren't going anywhere
7. When can I go back to school?
Six Things I'm Afraid Of
1. The GRE
2. cockroaches (like you would not believe...hyperventilation will take place)
3. Losing one of my kids at the mall or something
4. "growing up undone"
5. another republican president
6. Dick Cheney
One Confession:
ok ok, I'm really in love with Oprah. I'm just so jealous!
Tuesday 30 September 2008
Wednesday 24 September 2008
In a Rut
Is it possible to be stuck in a rut in the middle of Europe with so much to see and do? Yes.
I view ruts as very dangerous things. It makes it possible for one to seek out opportunites to really mess things up. These things can run the spectrum of getting another stupid tattoo, dying your hair the wrong color, or something much more serious. Like personal sabotage to shake things up a bit....which is my M.O.
The moral of this story: everywhere is the same. Six months in one place and you're bound to be like: "yeah...that's an alp...so what?" or "been to Austria, France, Germany, Italy...big effing deal." The more things change the more they stay the same.
Glad I came to this conclusion. I was always looking over the fence at the bright green perfectly manicured lawn of another....thinking how much cooler it must be over there rather than wherever I happened to be.
It's way cooler over here, but that gets to be boring too. So...looking forward to Spain and some sun and some beach. And uh, that's about it.
I view ruts as very dangerous things. It makes it possible for one to seek out opportunites to really mess things up. These things can run the spectrum of getting another stupid tattoo, dying your hair the wrong color, or something much more serious. Like personal sabotage to shake things up a bit....which is my M.O.
The moral of this story: everywhere is the same. Six months in one place and you're bound to be like: "yeah...that's an alp...so what?" or "been to Austria, France, Germany, Italy...big effing deal." The more things change the more they stay the same.
Glad I came to this conclusion. I was always looking over the fence at the bright green perfectly manicured lawn of another....thinking how much cooler it must be over there rather than wherever I happened to be.
It's way cooler over here, but that gets to be boring too. So...looking forward to Spain and some sun and some beach. And uh, that's about it.
Wednesday 17 September 2008
Love In The Time of Cholera, Swiss Neighbors, Going Home, I know why the Swiss jump in front of the trains, Whitman..and a melee with Vishnu
Starting at the beginning, but I will not promise that it will go in any type of order from there.
Ally brought me Love In The Time of Cholera last visit. I finished it with the hopes that it would blow my mind the way A Hundred (or a Thousand..who knows?) Years of Solitude did. It didn't. Which is good news, because now I surely won't waste the time seeing the movie that's been taunting me from the F drive ever since we downloaded it. I was hoping for less of a happy ending...more of a tragic one. I was hoping she didn't diss him and he didn't try to screw her out of his memory....(that's such a male thing to do). I didn't get how all his pointless lays were really out of "love". (whatever) It would have been better if she remained madly in love with him throughout her dull loveless marriage and they continued their love affair through their letters for fifty years....and then....something awful happens to one of them...almost like brokeback mountian but not quite.
In other news, we have new neighbors next door to us in apt. 56. They are finally the stereotypical swiss couple I have been hearing about but have yet to come in contact with....icy, silent, and punctual. They are very good at giving the swiss stink eye when they think you're not looking, but then you suddenly turn around because you can feel the stink eye upon you and ah ha! Rick and I have figured out they hate us for all the reasons the Swiss hate outsiders: we have children, they are loud and keep strange hours (even for Rick and I and we're they're parents), and we yell back at them.
I have heard whispers from other expats who have it on good authority, that the reason why Swiss children are so well behaved is that they are beat on a regular basis at home. I don't know if this is true or not but sometimes I think that couple next door fantasizes about beating the crap out of my kids...and maybe even me and Rick. I can see it in their eyes.
Did you know that you're not supposed to flush your toilet here past 10pm? Apt 56 is most likely making notations of all the after 10 flushings that take place in Apt 55. And there are many. Cate is champion nighttime pisser.
Oh yeah, they also hate us because right below them, a family with three little boys just moved in a couple of weeks ago! Ha! When I hear those kids downstairs slamming the doors and riding the elevator and running the halls, I get the chuckles. Is that evil? Yes.
So...something like 94 days and we are stateside again. I'm ready and I'm not. Really, no matter where you live for an extended period of time, it all starts to resemble the same thing. Once you've scratched your travel itch, you start to long for something familiar. For me, it's two things: my sister and my dog.
...and of course Jessica and the Hurricane and dad and...
But you know what? And I'll say it, too...nothing and no one is as cuddly as Abby. Sorry, Rick.
What else..uh...I get why they have a high suicide rate in Switzerland. Once September hits it's like living in Seattle until May. The Swiss' fave way of doing themselves in??? Hopping in front of the trains....there are just so many to choose from.
Ah, Vishnu....not the Vishnu that comes your or my mind...but the Vishnu who attends the Swiss International School with Cate. For some days now Cate has been asking me...eyes wide with terror...if Vishnu was going to be at school when I dropped her off there. I have no idea...was my answer...not even really caring anything about her anxiety over this Vishnu. (I have to say, hearing Cate trying to say Vishnu the first couple of times had me rolling.)
Until today. Yes, there was a brawl in the lunchroom and Cate and Vishnu had it out with one another. She wanted his crayons, he scratched up her face. Teachers were devestated, I felt bad for not honing in on this Vishnu character with my mother's intuition long ago, and Rick always wants to kill...I mean it...really KILL, the person who hurts his little girl - even if said person happens to be three feet tall and twenty pounds. The damage isn't that bad, but I'll be keeping an eye out for you Vishnu, so watch your scrawny little back.
So, for those of you who don't know, or don't know me at all: I'm in love with Walt Whitman. Bob Dylan is a second only by a nose and that doesn't really count, because I consider him the reincarnation of Whitman, anyway. What I'm getting at is, I left my Leaves of Grass at home. I pleaded with people to send it to me. Alas, they did not take my heart ache seriously.
See, I need Whitman like water. Which is an odd way of putting it, because I don't like water at all very much and what he does to me is the opposite of water's qualities: he puts a fire in my chest where I hope my heart resides and fresh breath back into my lungs...see nothing at all to do with water.
I broke down in an addict's frenzy, ran into the english bookstore and snatched the first copy of Leaves of Grass without even looking inside. Turns out I bought the wrong version. What would have cost me $9 at home ended up costing me $23 here and half of my favorite pieces were missing. Oh, the tears. Anyway, this is an exmaple of the Whitman I love:
A GLIMPSE,
through an interstice caught,Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
or maybe this..one of my favorites:
O You Whom I Often And Silently Come
O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be
with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
Walt Whitman
That's it. I was disappointed by Love in the Time of Cholera, I purchased the wrong version of Leaves of Grass out of haste, and my Cate is having issues with a Hindu Avatar's namesake, my new neighbors are marking down our flushes per day and I could use a little sun.
Ally brought me Love In The Time of Cholera last visit. I finished it with the hopes that it would blow my mind the way A Hundred (or a Thousand..who knows?) Years of Solitude did. It didn't. Which is good news, because now I surely won't waste the time seeing the movie that's been taunting me from the F drive ever since we downloaded it. I was hoping for less of a happy ending...more of a tragic one. I was hoping she didn't diss him and he didn't try to screw her out of his memory....(that's such a male thing to do). I didn't get how all his pointless lays were really out of "love". (whatever) It would have been better if she remained madly in love with him throughout her dull loveless marriage and they continued their love affair through their letters for fifty years....and then....something awful happens to one of them...almost like brokeback mountian but not quite.
In other news, we have new neighbors next door to us in apt. 56. They are finally the stereotypical swiss couple I have been hearing about but have yet to come in contact with....icy, silent, and punctual. They are very good at giving the swiss stink eye when they think you're not looking, but then you suddenly turn around because you can feel the stink eye upon you and ah ha! Rick and I have figured out they hate us for all the reasons the Swiss hate outsiders: we have children, they are loud and keep strange hours (even for Rick and I and we're they're parents), and we yell back at them.
I have heard whispers from other expats who have it on good authority, that the reason why Swiss children are so well behaved is that they are beat on a regular basis at home. I don't know if this is true or not but sometimes I think that couple next door fantasizes about beating the crap out of my kids...and maybe even me and Rick. I can see it in their eyes.
Did you know that you're not supposed to flush your toilet here past 10pm? Apt 56 is most likely making notations of all the after 10 flushings that take place in Apt 55. And there are many. Cate is champion nighttime pisser.
Oh yeah, they also hate us because right below them, a family with three little boys just moved in a couple of weeks ago! Ha! When I hear those kids downstairs slamming the doors and riding the elevator and running the halls, I get the chuckles. Is that evil? Yes.
So...something like 94 days and we are stateside again. I'm ready and I'm not. Really, no matter where you live for an extended period of time, it all starts to resemble the same thing. Once you've scratched your travel itch, you start to long for something familiar. For me, it's two things: my sister and my dog.
...and of course Jessica and the Hurricane and dad and...
But you know what? And I'll say it, too...nothing and no one is as cuddly as Abby. Sorry, Rick.
What else..uh...I get why they have a high suicide rate in Switzerland. Once September hits it's like living in Seattle until May. The Swiss' fave way of doing themselves in??? Hopping in front of the trains....there are just so many to choose from.
Ah, Vishnu....not the Vishnu that comes your or my mind...but the Vishnu who attends the Swiss International School with Cate. For some days now Cate has been asking me...eyes wide with terror...if Vishnu was going to be at school when I dropped her off there. I have no idea...was my answer...not even really caring anything about her anxiety over this Vishnu. (I have to say, hearing Cate trying to say Vishnu the first couple of times had me rolling.)
Until today. Yes, there was a brawl in the lunchroom and Cate and Vishnu had it out with one another. She wanted his crayons, he scratched up her face. Teachers were devestated, I felt bad for not honing in on this Vishnu character with my mother's intuition long ago, and Rick always wants to kill...I mean it...really KILL, the person who hurts his little girl - even if said person happens to be three feet tall and twenty pounds. The damage isn't that bad, but I'll be keeping an eye out for you Vishnu, so watch your scrawny little back.
So, for those of you who don't know, or don't know me at all: I'm in love with Walt Whitman. Bob Dylan is a second only by a nose and that doesn't really count, because I consider him the reincarnation of Whitman, anyway. What I'm getting at is, I left my Leaves of Grass at home. I pleaded with people to send it to me. Alas, they did not take my heart ache seriously.
See, I need Whitman like water. Which is an odd way of putting it, because I don't like water at all very much and what he does to me is the opposite of water's qualities: he puts a fire in my chest where I hope my heart resides and fresh breath back into my lungs...see nothing at all to do with water.
I broke down in an addict's frenzy, ran into the english bookstore and snatched the first copy of Leaves of Grass without even looking inside. Turns out I bought the wrong version. What would have cost me $9 at home ended up costing me $23 here and half of my favorite pieces were missing. Oh, the tears. Anyway, this is an exmaple of the Whitman I love:
A GLIMPSE,
through an interstice caught,Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,late of a winter night--And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going--of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
or maybe this..one of my favorites:
O You Whom I Often And Silently Come
O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be
with you; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
Walt Whitman
That's it. I was disappointed by Love in the Time of Cholera, I purchased the wrong version of Leaves of Grass out of haste, and my Cate is having issues with a Hindu Avatar's namesake, my new neighbors are marking down our flushes per day and I could use a little sun.
Saturday 6 September 2008
Ally's Gone, Dad is Gone..it was the best of times, it was the worst of times
There has been little to no blogging. Yes...this I know. We've had two extraordinary weeks of family visitation....way more important than upkeeping a blog.
Plus, I am now totally addicted to scramble on Facebook so all my free time, when I should be mothering my children, is naturally spent unscrambling scramble.
In short, I am exhausted. Two weeks of the Uteliberg, the Lindenhof, the Short Round Trip on the ferry, seizing more chocolate at the Lindt store, Luzern and of course, downtown. Not to mention Uncle Mike's four hour lunches and dinners and too many bottles of red wine to even begin counting.
Good times.
Except now I am mourning the loss of my father to Jersey. Upon dropping him off at the airport I did what any sad daddy's girl would do: immediately found the nearest Bata shoe store and came home with new flats and a bag. My newfound happiness got me through until lunch time, which is when I began crying into my lunch. Rick immediately put me down for a nap and stepped into rock mode...taking care of all daily matters until I felt better.
A little red wine was all it took and some whining on the phone to my sister and mom.
Dare I say, I think I may be ready to come home?
Plus, I am now totally addicted to scramble on Facebook so all my free time, when I should be mothering my children, is naturally spent unscrambling scramble.
In short, I am exhausted. Two weeks of the Uteliberg, the Lindenhof, the Short Round Trip on the ferry, seizing more chocolate at the Lindt store, Luzern and of course, downtown. Not to mention Uncle Mike's four hour lunches and dinners and too many bottles of red wine to even begin counting.
Good times.
Except now I am mourning the loss of my father to Jersey. Upon dropping him off at the airport I did what any sad daddy's girl would do: immediately found the nearest Bata shoe store and came home with new flats and a bag. My newfound happiness got me through until lunch time, which is when I began crying into my lunch. Rick immediately put me down for a nap and stepped into rock mode...taking care of all daily matters until I felt better.
A little red wine was all it took and some whining on the phone to my sister and mom.
Dare I say, I think I may be ready to come home?
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