Why? Why Not?

It's been a tough day emotionally. My heart goes out to several families who have had some devastating blows. Confidentiality prohibits me from saying much. After nearly four years in the Heart Clinic, I've watched some of these kids grow up from birth. As a fellow human being, I can't help but to feel emotion when I see and hear some of what goes on every day. Why? Why didn't their hearts form properly? Why is this previously healthy child now on death's door? Why, when the parents have so much love for these children? Why, when their hopes were raised so high after surgery, do they come to find that it wasn't successful and there's not much more that can be done? Why?

There's no answer. There's only a counter-question: Why not? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do good things happen to bad people? Because these things happen. Simple as that.

Because bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people, too. You can hypothesize and pontificate all day, to no avail. It's just the way it is.

But still, to see the hope on their faces before seeing the doctor, and see the tears after...it's not fair. But life isn't fair. Life happens to all of us, good or bad. Good AND bad.

So I will keep smiling, keep cooing over the gorgeous babies and keep chatting with the families about whatever they want to chat about. That's what I can do to help them. I can offer a empathetic ear, maybe even a hand on a shoulder or a hug. Or I can tell them all about my wedding plans and how I came to be in New Zealand to keep their minds off of the overwhelming sense of impending doom that they fear may await them at the end of their consultation.

I wish I had a magic wand and an endless supply of happy fairy dust. I would use them to fix all the broken hearts in all the families who walk through my doors. I would sprinkle magic fairy dust everywhere and everyone would feel at peace, no matter what good or bad might happen.

Springing

So I've recently realized that I've turned into a bit of a bitch. My head has grown disproportionately to my body and I think I'm extra special. Time to come back down to earth!

It's spring, and I'm doing a bit of spring cleaning. My ego needs a bit of a huck out. I look around and see that the trees are sprouting leaves, the flowers are blooming, and the spring lambs are springing. It makes me feel happy. And a bit humble, because no one has to tell a flower that it's pretty in order for it to bloom, it just does, and the springing lambs spring because that's just what they do. You see, I get it from all angles. At work, the bosses call me the boss. Bob tells me that I'm beautiful and that he loves me every day. I've been in the spotlight amongst my friends for being recently engaged. All of this has added up to one big fat ego trip, and I'm not being very nice. I need to pull my head in STAT! I also need a holiday. Good thing I'm off to Australia for a week from Sunday!

So here's the plan: Be nice to EVERYONE!!! Remember that I am NOT THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE! And most importantly, remember to give thanks and show gratitude for all the wonderful things in my life.

Otherwise Engaged

So I'm engaged. I love it! It feels like falling in love with Bob all over again, with the bonus of knowing what I'm getting into. Falling in love has its pitfalls and is often tinged with a bit of trepidation, but engagement...well, it just ROCKS! I know Bob and I will have a happy married life because let's face it, we're practically married already.

I know Bob's the one for me for many reasons (he and I make each other happy, we laugh together, we get along with each other's friends and families, we make up stupid words and share inane inside jokes to our infinite amusement...etc etc etc) but what sealed the deal for me was the ring. No, not just because it's sparkly and shiny and pretty, not just because of the commitment it insinuates, but because it's PERFECT for me...and I had absolutely nothing to do with choosing it. He knows me so well that he was able to choose a ring for me that suits me flawlessly.

I've always had a bit of fear about engagement rings...what if he picks something totally gaudy? What if it's tiny and chintzy? What if I hate it...how do I tell him I hate the ring he bought to ask me to marry him? But on the flip side, I've always wanted a surprise proposal, and if I knew he was looking at rings, it wouldn't be a true surprise! The ring he chose for me shows me that he listens to me and he truly knows me. He knows I'm not really into jewellery so something big and flashy wouldn't suit me. He knows that I prefer white gold over yellow. He knows that while I don't like big and flashy, I do like unique.

So here it is, my beautiful ring. To me, it symbolizes all of my dreams coming true: love, marriage, family, and a life lived with a true companion.

Tears

I cried today. It's been a long time.

I was chatting on Facebook messenger with my dear friend Kerri. We were reminiscing about old times in college and she reminded me of something I had long forgotten.

Like many of my friends, Kerri has a special sense of humor. I seem to find people just as weird and random as myself. How, I'm not sure, but I am forever astounded that there are other people on this planet who find the same things as I do to be funny. Sometimes downright hillarious.

Take, for instance, the word "goat." Why is that word funny? Why do I have not one, but many classic inside jokes with different people surrounding that word? Maybe it's because goats are strangely cute yet utterly ugly creatures. Maybe it's the way it feels in my mouth when I say it: Goat. Go on, say "goat" out loud and try not to smile. The gutteral "g" and the round "o" sound, followed by the abrupt "t." Goat is a cool word!

On our dorm room door, we had a small whiteboard. Kerri was studying Spanish and wrote something on the door for me in Spanish. She would not tell me what it said; instead she made me translate it using her Spanish to English dictionary. Of course, literal translation often leads to hillarity...

"Companera de cuarto es una cabra."

According to my non-existent Spanish translation skills, the note said:

"My room mate is to be of one goat."

This lead to Kerri and I laughing hysterically as she tried to explain that it actually said, "My roommate is a goat."

Kerri reminded me of this today. I laughed so hard that I actually had tears running down my face. My nose went all snuffly. I couldn't speak. Bob thought I'd lost my mind. He patted me on the head and said, "I'll be in the lounge, Bub." I think he was afraid.

I just had to call Kerri! I had to hear her voice, hear her laugh, and share this moment with her once again.

It's been a long time since I've cried, and I'm damn happy I did!

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The Most Wonderful Weekend of the Year: Folk Festival

Life is full of questions, worries and conundrums. We often get bogged down with the who, what, where, when and why worries. I don't know about you, but sometimes I just want to pack it all in and forget about life for a while. So, every summer, Bob and I head off to the perfect place...the Auckland Folk Festival! Accompainied by some very good friends, we are able to put life's big questions aside and simply enjoy ourselves. I also get to reconnect with my inner hippy. Follow along as I describe some of the big questions we face at the Folk Festival:

Did we forget anything?

Where should we put the tents?

How does this work?

Should I have another drink?

Should I entertain myself by playing Gnome Bowling with a child?




...Or maybe a riveting arm wrestling match?

...Or perhaps a singing workshop?

...Or shall I kick it at the campsite with friends?

It's quite hot. How should I keep cool?

Icy cold water from the cooler should do the trick nicely!

Can men wear sarongs?

Yes! And with some safety pins, they can make pirate pants!

What kinds of colorful characters will I meet?

Why should I give a crap about my hair and makeup?

Will the music be as good this year as it was last year?

How many beers does Bob need before he starts dancing?

And finally, how many more sleeps until we can do it all again next year?

Ah, sweet Festival...like all good things, it must come to an end.

The Fruits (and Veggies) of Our Labor

As I get older, I seem to become more interested in doing things myself. Maybe this is a kind of advanced independence. This desire to do things myself mainly comes to light in the kitchen. I adore making things from scratch...anything from pasta sauce to tortillas to desserts. I've always valued authenticity. So you can imagine how much fun I am having with my very own veggie garden! Bob and I worked hard to dig up a section of our back yard and had heaps of fun choosing what we would plant. Now, three months on, we are seeing and tasting results! So far we have harvested two cauliflowers, and thanks to a recipe by Ted Allen (I swear, if he was straight and I was single....) I've actually ENJOYED eating them! Our tomato plant is coming along very well, with some tomatoes already turning red. We also pulled up one of our potato plants and found many little dirty beauties. We boiled them up with a bit of fresh mint (again, from our garden! Rather accidentally, really...I bought a small mint plant ages ago and tossed it in the dirt after I thought it had died, and now it's rampant through my hedges!)

I can't wait to get my hands on some fresh, ripe tomatoes. I think I might give canning a try and make my own pasta sauces and stewed tomatoes.

Really, though, I'm just reveling in the notion that I can go outside and pick side dishes for my dinner from my own back yard!

And of course, I'm loving the sense of satisfaction of being able to say, "I made that."

Boys are GROSS!

I suppose I should have known what I was getting into when I decided to live with men.

Bob's been out of town for the weekend, so I decided to clean up the computer room. Mind you, I've hinted, suggested and flat out told him to tidy up the room, and the answer has always been, "I'll get to it." And he never does. I know, I know...all I'm doing is teaching him that if he puts things off long enough, I'll eventually do them...Bob is fabulous, but not flawless!

What did I find? Let's see!

3 empty bags of chips.
2 half empty bags of chips.
Many loose chips.
A bowl that contained God knows what from God only knows how long ago.
Beer bottles.
Macaroni.
Beer bottles.
Chips.
Macaroni.
Candy wrappers.
American cheese slice wrappers.
Beer bottles.


For the love of all things good and pure in this world, the trash can is only a few feet away!!!!!

This, combined with the overflow of Heaven only knows in Isaac's room that keeps threatening to spill into the hallway, and the dishes that sit in the sink until I start giving Medusa stares, and the toilet paper rolls that are placed carefully on top of, next to or behind (but rarely in) the trash cans, I can come to only one conclusion:

Boys are GROSS!

(But I don't know what I'd do without them...what they lack in housekeeping skills they make up for in general entertainment value!)

Simple Pleasures

A few of my favorite things:

Fresh, line-dried cotton sheets.

Singing the few Italian ariettas I learned in voice lessons at the top of my lungs in the shower or while vacuuming when no one is home.

Catching the eyes of a babies and making silly faces until they smile at me.

Being right.

Finding old friends on Facebook.

Cooking and baking things from scratch.

Sharing my food with friends.

Packing for trips.

Knitting.

My daily big hug with Bob after work.

Long hours lingering with friends over coffee on Sunday afternoon.

New Zealand summer.

Christmas.

Baby lambs frolicking in the park in spring.

Cheese.

Wine and cheese.

Fruit and cheese.

Bob.

Having a clean and tidy house.

Weddings.

Road trips.

Eating gummy worms on road trips.

Auckland Folk Festival.

Going back to Denver to see my family and friends.

My iPod.

My red kitchen scale.

Garden gnomes.

My digital camera.

Grandma's artwork.

Throwing parties.

Dreaming about my wedding day.

Thinking up names for my future children.

Napping on the couch on a day off.

Great memories from college.

Seedless grapes.

Egg noodles.

Celestial Seasonings Sleepy Time tea.

Kumara.

Cheese raviolis.

Enchiladas.

Our veggie patch.

Cold weather at Christmas.

The feeling I get when the airplane captain announces the descent into Denver.

The first day of the year when it's not too cold to wear a tank top.

The first day of the year when it's cold enough to wear a turtleneck sweater.

New shoes.

Shopping sprees.

Buying gifts for people I love.

Baking things to take to work.

Finding old photos.

Hearing a song I haven't heard in years that takes me back to the day....

And so many more things...I could go on for days! Life is good, oh yes it is.

Near Death Experiences

It's been a bizarre weekend.

My friend Amy is getting married and had her bachelorette party last night. It was at the house of one of her friends in South Auckland. Bob was out of town and wasn't able to play taxi driver for me as usual, so my friend Sarah and I set out on our own.

The theme of the bachelorette party was Moulin Rouge, so we were all hussied up in low cut tops, lots of makeup, high heels, the works. We got directions from Wises.com (same idea as Mapquest) and headed out. Now, mind you, Sarah is from the North Shore and doesn't drive out south often, and I don't drive at all....and also, we both have difficulty telling left from right.

We got off the motorway at the East Tamaki exit. This isn't a very nice area of town and we were a little worried. We were following the directions to the letter but soon found ourselves lost.
So picture it...two completely tarted-up white girls popping U-turns every half a block and staring desperately at a map book...in the middle of Otara! For you Colorado folks, that would be like bloody 5 Points or Montbello! Turns out the Wises directions were wrong and told us to turn left when we should have turned right. We made it though!

Then, on Sunday, Bob and I invited a bunch of friends over for a Thanksgiving dinner. (Yes, I know, Thanksgiving was on Thursday, but since it's not a holiday here, and I can't be asked to cook up a big dinner party on a Thursday night, we did it on Sunday instead). We were cleaning up the house and Bob said he would mop the outside bathroom. Sweet!

(Random but important fact: We have two bathrooms. There's a piddly little one with a useless shower inside the house, and the big nice one with the kick ass shower can only be accessed by walking across the back porch).

He found that we were nearly out of Handy Andy, the stuff we usually use to mop, so I said use bleach with a bit of dish soap. Then I went inside. I was cleaning the inside bathroom and he called out to me. I went to see what was up and saw that he had knocked the bucket over and water was EVERYWHERE. I got the hose and sprayed down the porch while he pushed the excess sudsy water out of the bathroom. He was complaining that there was a very strong smell of chemicals. I said, "Yeah hon, that's called BLEACH." It took him about 20 minutes to get all the water off the floor.

A few hours later he was still complaining that he smelled that chemical smell, that his stomach was queasy and that he had a weird taste in his mouth. I asked him what he used to mop the floor, and he said he used the last half-capful of Handy Andy and bleach. I ran to the bathroom and looked at the Handy Andy bottle.

Handy Andy is ammonia!!!!!

So just as our Thanksgiving guests started to arrive, I was Googling what to do when someone has been exposed to a mixture of ammonia and bleach (which, FYI, makes chlorine gas, a nerve agent used in chemical warfare...) and every website said to dial 911!!!

So off to the emergency doctor's clinic we went. They saw him and referred him to the Emergency Room at the hospital. Bob dropped me back home to tend to the 6 house guests who were happily chatting and cooking dinner for me (Bonus!) and went to the hospital. Fortunately, he was home within an hour and we ended up having a lovely Thanksgiving dinner.

At Random

I feel like I should blog more. I do love writing, but I find that often I can't think of things to say. Writing about work is a bit taboo because of confidentiality, which is hard for me because the nature of my work at the hospital is that of human drama. In what other job does one have to ask "Who died?" when returning from holiday? I so wish that I could use this outlet to process the pain I see every day, but alas, I cannot.

But my life outside of work isn't exactly noteworthy most of the time...I have a happy, blissfully simple life. Here's a little taste of the simple things I do:

I'm trying to knit a hat for a friend who's having a baby girl. This is more difficult than it might seem. So far I've made a "flat" hat that looks more like a doily than anything else, and also a strange thing that looks a lot like a giant nipple. Poor Bob cringes every time I say, "I want to go to the shop to buy more knitting stuff." He's about as happy in the craft store as I am at the drum shop. I will have to pester him soon to take me shopping for baby knitting patterns, lest I spend the rest of my days knitting flats and nipples.

We planted a garden in our back yard and nothing has died! All of our potatoes have sprouted leaves. We go outside every day after work to see how much everything has grown, and to be honest, it's amazing! I seriously thought everything was going to die. Surprise!

I picked some of my herbs and made some extra delicious chicken stuffed with cream cheese and fresh herbs and wrapped in bacon for dinner tonight. It was so good! I love using fresh herbs. Bob says that anything and everything is good if you wrap it in bacon. I think I agree!

I just killed a little bug that was crawling on the computer screen. There's a part of me that feels a bit bad right now...

We had a Halloween party on Saturday night. Katie and I decorated my house in black crepe paper and balloons and had yummy treats, such as:
Hell's Balls (Meatballs in BBQ sauce)
Wings of Fire (Hot hot hot chicken wings)
Occult Cakes (cupcakes)
Final Breath of Garlic (garlic cheese spread and crackers)
Pus Pockets (cream filled doughnuts)
Death Dip (onion soup and condensed cream)

I thought I was quite clever with naming the food. A fair amount of people turned up dressed as everything from NFL football players to doctors to Alice Cooper. I was a butterfly and Bob was White Trash. It was fabulous! Funny story...As the night went on and we all got tipsier, I ended up full-on kissing two of my girl friends! The truly funny thing was that each time, Bob was sitting just a few feet away, but failed to notice. I forgot how nice it is to kiss girls...I love my Bob, but DAMN! Yes, there are photos. No, you can't see them.

Okay, so maybe I'm not so boring........

My Head Today

It was a good day. Bob dropped me off at work, most of my patients turned up, I have a heap of paperwork to get through tomorrow, but hey, it was a good day.

One of Bob's coworkers is leaving and they had after work drinkies, so I took the bus home. I walked throug Cornwall Park and saw that the little spring lambs I saw a few months ago are now nearly indiscernable from their parental counterparts. This made me sad. Life goes on, sometimes without us even knowing it.

I listened to my iPod. It made me happy. It was on shuffle. I had relinquished control of the songs. I heard what I needed to hear. Is my iPod psychic?

I walked through the door and found an empty house. I opened a beer and lit a cigarette. My nearly empty stomach absorbed the beer and now I feel a bit tipsy.

I'd better start boiling water for my tortellini. It's my favorite and Bob hates it, so I have it when he's out. If I don't start the water now, I won't be able to sit down with my bowl of tortellini and watch Shortland Street at 7.

Here's to pointless blog posts! I think I'll have another beer.

Loyal Brothers We

My dear friend Kat sent me an invite to an application on Facebook for Alpha Phi Omega. Of course I added it. As I browsed through the application, I got all nostalgic. Nostalgia seems to be a theme for me these days.

It's hard to believe that it was nearly 10 years ago that I stumbled upon that humble table set up in the campus center. I was a freshman coming to the end of my first semester and feeling rather underwhelmed with the whole campus experience. Where were the parties? Where were the guys? Where was the beer, damn it? I had barely ventured past my own dorm hallway and I knew there was more to college than this!

So I signed up for this co-ed service fraternity. I went to a meeting that following Sunday at Amigos. A few weeks later, I was spilling my 18 year old guts to a bunch of stranger-friends at a campout at Camp Luther. Steck and Palisch put dish soap and coffee grounds in my hair while I slept. I had been initiated. I was a Brother.

Soon I was promoted to Secretary, then to Membership Vice President. I belonged to something. It was a wonderful feeling.

Leadership. Fellowship. Service. It seems like a lifetime ago, yet it also seems that no time has passed at all. I can't remember my family tree of Littles beyond Kim and Lisa. I can't remember all the words to the last verse of the Toast Song (I just tried to sing it in my head!). I can't remember who the founding president was. What I do remember is the hours of meetings in the smoking room at Cafe Latte. I do remember the "unofficial events" at Sarah and Cindy's house. I remember moving the crosses at Camp Luther, driving to Oklahoma City with Kim, Cara and Matt in his Chrysler Le Baron and laughing hysterically (why?) at a sign that said "Froz Yog." I remember the battles we went through to become an official Chapter. I remember that it was us against the world...or at least the school. Was there a world outside of Concordia? Yes, there was...and it was called "The Well."

I miss it all now. I miss wandering up to the Dorcas Stoop. I miss covering the campus sidewalks with chalk to advertise during recruitment week. I miss the meetings, the late nights, the sense of purpose. The camaraderie.

I miss the people. I miss my Brothers.

Sure, we drove each other mad at times. It seemed like at least once a week, one of us had some degree of a mental meltdown. I was usually the one having the meltdown. We had ridiculous fights. We had not so ridiculous fights. We loved, we loathed, we laughed. They say that the mind doesn't remember pain. I would have to agree, for the most part. What I remember is good. Why focus on the bad?

Five years ago, I graduated from college. On that last day, I sat at the Well with my pitcher of Amberbock and my acquired family of Brother-friends for the last time. We laughed, we cried, we wished each other well. We hugged and danced along to "You Never Even Called Me By My Name" by David Allan Coe and "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison, just as we had hundreds of times before.

And then it was all over. We've scattered all over the country and the planet. I'm fairly confident that every time one of us finds another on Facebook or Myspace, we experience the same little "WooHoo!" moment, even after all these years.

Sometimes, this little country at the bottom of the South Pacific just seems too damn far away.

Invaded

It was a good weekend.

On Friday night, I went to see Bob's band play a gig. It was his first gig since he hurt his knee in January and then had surgery in May. We were both excited for him to play again. I had a fantastic time cheering him on and singing along to the songs. I love watching Bob play his drums.

Then on Saturday, I met up with Katie and Sarah for a girl's night in the city. Katie had arranged for us to stay at her hotel and eat dinner at the hotel restaurant on staff rates...a bargain night at only $60 each! Plus, we went shopping and I scored 3-yes, 3!-pairs of shoes for the grand total of $27!!!! Rock! I love bargains! After dinner, we went back up to the hotel room and spent the evening reminiscing about our lives before boyfriends. Entertainingly enough, I had some of the best stories. I don't know what that says about me...

This morning, we checked out of the hotel and went to lunch. Somehow we got on the topic of having things stolen from us and we all told tales of people breaking into our cars.

Sarah dropped me off at home. I juggled my shopping bags as I walked in through the already open front door. Matt was working on Linda's car out front in the driveway. Lucy, Linda's dog, was playing with a stick. Bob and Isaac were out on the back porch. I put down my bags, showed off my new shoes to the boys who genuinely pretended to give a toss about them, and put the jug on for a cup of tea.

I got my cook books and sat on the couch, ready to make up a menu and shopping list for the week. Bob was playing Battlefield on his computer. Matt and Linda were outside working on the car. Isaac was here, there and everywhere in the house, as usual.

Then I hear Isaac shout. "No man. No."

"My laptop is gone!"

No. He must have put it somewhere. It couldn't have disappeared into nowhere.

Could it?

We looked all over his room. He had used it a few hours earlier and left it on his bedside table.

The power cord was still there.

We were all home.

Someone walked into our house, stole his computer, and walked out.

And we were all at home.

We promptly called the police and reported a robbery. Robbery!

WE WERE ALL AT HOME WHEN THIS HAPPENED.

We went to the neighbor's in the house behind us and asked them if they had seen anything strange. They said that about an hour ago, they saw a young man walk down our driveway and over to our house. A few minutes later, he walked from our house to theirs, knocked on the door, and asked for money for a Polynesian charity fun walk. He had a satchel type bag.

We never saw this man.

Bob and Isaac went for a drive around our neighborhood and asked people if they saw anything similar. Nearly everyone said they had been approached by a man of the same description asking for money for a Polynesian charity fun walk.

Is anything safe anymore?

Ode To Central Heating (or Lack Thereof): A Haiku

Phalanges are numb
Summer's six long months away
Furnace, I miss you!

Vampires and Zits

Why couldn't I have fallen in love with someone from, say, New York? New Hampshire? New Jersey? New Mexico? There is lots of "New" in the good old USA. Why does my "New" have to be New Zealand? I don't have to apply for work permits and visas to live in New Anywhere in the US. I don't have to prove that I'm employed, that yes, the man I sleep with every night is really my partner and we are, indeed, in a stable and committed relationship. I don't have to submit my fingerprints to prove that I'm not a felon. And, most significantly, I don't have to pay $390 to go to the doctor, answer 30 questions about my health, have a chest x-ray, pee in a cup, and have blood sucked from my arm. And, apparently, I'm obese. But not morbidly obese. I think it's best that I keep my morbidity and my obesity separate, thanks. I feel like my arm, my self image and my bank account have just been pillaged by vampires. Bled dry, I tell you.

No, to live in New Anywhere, USA (or Anywhere Anywhere, USA, for that matter) all I have to do is turn up. Done deal!

I know it will all be worth it in the end, when I get that sweet message in my mailbox saying that my residency application has been approved. It will be fair sailing from there. I just wish it will be fair sailing TO there. It will all be worth it to know that I don't have to worry about deadlines and the looming expiration of my visa...It will be worth it to know that Bob and I can focus on our long term future rather than this pesky little immigration thing that pops up like a zit every year.

Suggestions Please!

Okay, so I'm a bit new to this whole blog thing...I've been writing for a while but I haven't delved deep into the works of others. I would greatly appreciate suggestions of blogs to read.

Also, I've been experiencing writer's block. Topic suggestions would be welcomed as well!

Thanks for stopping by!

Kinda like catching up with an old friend.

So I left my CD's at my parent's house in Denver when I moved to NZ. I was worried about travelling with them for fear I might lose them.

Little did I know that my CD wallet, complete with my extensive collection of Tori Amos B-sides, would go walkabouts. My dad and I have torn up the whole house looking for it. We have theories as to their fate, but no concrete evidence. And alas, no sign of my beloved CD's. I know, stuff is just stuff, but seriously...music is my blood. Especially my Tori.

You can imagine my ecstatic delight upon opening the box from my parents for my birthday and finding "A Piano: The Tori Amos Collection." A collection containing, amongst other wonderful things, an entire 22 song disc with most of all her B-sides. As I write this, I'm listening to songs I haven't heard for years and thought I would only hear through the memories they instilled in my head. It is indeed like catching up with an old friend, reminiscing about what stage in my life I was in when I first absorbed each song (because I don't listen, I commit to memory). And to make it even sweeter, there are some new songs I've never heard before.

In a way, the other gift from my parents (in particular, my mom) is like a collection of old and new friends as well. She made me a huge binder full of all her recipes that she knows I love, as well as a few new creations she's made since I've been away.

Give my my iPod and let me loose in the kitchen!

(PS Chris, if you actually read this...I can't wait to read the book! It just doesn't quite fit in with my theme...although I guess a book can be a new friend...)

Ours

Bob and I have reached a new level in our relationship: Joint purchases. So yeah, we buy groceries together, pay the rent together, etc. But so far in our adventure of cohabitation, there has been a pretty distinct line between mine and his. It's my bed. It's his computer. They're my dishes. It's his table.

Now, we have something that is OURS.

On Friday night, Bob says, "Erin, we're going shopping tomorrow."

"For what?" I say.

"I want a new TV."

I give him a wary, sideways glance.

"Harvey Norman is having a special. Deferred payment, interest free..."

Hmmm, I think. This sounds expensive.

"And you can pick out the console for it to sit on!"

Still a bit apprehensive.....

"And it will only cost us about $40 each a month, and we'll have it paid off before the interest kicks in!"

Okay, maybe............

"And while we're at it, we can get you a crock pot!"

SOLD!

So WE are now the proud owners of a 42 inch Panasonic Viera plasma TV.

It looks very nice on the console I chose.

And I am in love with my crock pot.

And of course, I'm in love with my Bob.

Fantasies

29 Feb 2008
Fantasies

So lately my blogs have been pretty depressing, what with all the gloom and doom of working in a hospital. My life is not so bad, really!
Throughout my life, I've entertained fantasies of what the next stage of my life will be like.

In junior high, I dreamed of high school. I was bound and determined to be popular for once in my life, so I put my out of shape ass through hell trying out for the volleyball team. I'd never played volley ball in my life. I hate sports. I hate running. I'm totally uncoordinated. I hate catching balls. I broke my finger. I got cut from the team. I became an angry hippie. Not exactly what I'd planned!

In high school, I fantasized about college. I envisioned late nights hanging out with the girls on my hall. I saw myself studying under a tree filled with red and gold leaves. I saw many nights of drinking myself stupid. I dreamed of parties, of enthralling psychology classes, and of food fights in the cafeteria. I saw freedom. In many ways, my predictions were accurate. I made some of the best friends I could ever wish for, I learned heaps (or at least I think I did...I'd be hard pressed to pass a geography/physics/religion test now!), I got myself in a fair amount of trouble whilst drinking myself stupid...it was the true college experience!

Towards the end of college, I dreamed of my career. I wanted to help people, so I took a job with kids with developmental disabilities. I also dreamed of having my own apartment, a step above the holes I lived in during my last year of college. I dreamed of decorating the place. I would watch hours upon hours of Trading Spaces. I asked for homewares for Christmas. I trolled the clearance aisles at Target. I stalked garage sales. When I moved in with Katie, I watched my fantasy come to life. The place was gorgeous! We had so much fun putting everything together, buying bits and peices to make everthing perfect. We still talk fondly of that place. For me, it was more than an apartment, it was my first taste of life as a grown up. Paying my own way.

Then we decided to move to New Zealand. I fantasized about living abroad, meeting gorgeous foreign men, travelling around the country, having a little loft apartment and shopping for groceries at the local market, carrying a baguette under my arm as I strolled down the street..........this didn't work out as I'd fantasized! I got stuck in a shit job, ate 2-minute ramen noodles (no baguette in sight! At least not that I could afford...and where's the quaint little market??? And where's my loft apartment? I live in a sweat box cubicle where I can hear my neighbors use the toilet!)

Then I started work at the hospital. The money improved, as did my quality of life. My urban fantasy started to spring to life. We moved into a fabulous flat with big windows and cool furniture in a funky area of town. I still hadn't found my baguette, but I was within walking distance of great cafe's and shops. In the crisp cool of the morning I would walk to work, and get Thai takeaway for dinner on my way home. This is what I wanted!

When I met Bob, my romantic fantasy came to life. I met a fabulous man who swept me off my feet. I experienced love at first sight. I recommend it to everyone!

Having lived my urban fantasy, I started to entertain my suburban fantasy. Katie and I dreamed of a proper house, a yard, a clothes line, and we found it. We had barbeques. We had a dog. We had a fireplace. We had grass. We heard nothing but crickets and cicadas at night. It was bliss.

With Bob in the picture, I started to fantasize about playing house. I dreamed of waking up on Saturday morning and baking scones, of vacuuming while he mowed the lawn, of making grocery lists and walking hand in hand down the aisles...of being a domestic goddess. This fantasy has come true as well, as we share our little house on this shaded, green street, as he kisses me good bye when he drops me off at work in the morning. I've perfected carrot cake, banana bread, and peach cobbler. And I make a mean pan of enchiladas, thanks! We have dinner parties and I set the table with pretty placemats and matching napkins. And my bathrooms are always clean...at least on Saturdays! And now, with my discovery of a farmer's market that operates on the weekends near my house, I might actually get to stroll home with a baguette under my arm.

If you were lured in by the title "Fantasies" and hoping for porn, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Wait, no I'm not!

Dirty sucker!