Forever Tainted

The 22nd and 23rd of December 2010 were like an angry sea of emotions around here. Lars and I were at each other’s throats – both of us saying one thing and being heard as saying another; both of us too stubborn to stand back and look at the situation. By the end, we were both taking cheap shots at one another and I finally decided I was done. I asked that he stay the fuck away from me. He spent the night of the 22nd in the suite next door as I was working too late to leave myself. By the 23rd, we’d calmed down but I was certain I was done with this relationship, this man, this part of my life that has the power to fill me with such hate and loathing for someone I otherwise love.

I was convinced that the holidays were ruined. I was certain I was starting the New Year single and so was he. And then he reminded me he loved me. He reminded me it didn’t have to be the end if we didn’t want it to be. He convinced me that we could learn from this fight, overcome it and be stronger than ever before. He washed away my fears with his conviction. We planned to spend a quiet night together recovering from our emotional blows before family arrived for Christmas.

He came home from work early and unexpectedly. He hugged me. He held my hand and gave me an early Christmas gift, insisting that I open it immediately. It was one of the 1st gifts he bought me.

Inside the perfectly wrapped silver box was a little mahogany box protecting the biggest, most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen! When I told him I wanted diamonds for Christmas, I was half joking and the part of me that wasn’t, wasn’t expecting anything so sincerely grand. With the diamond ring he handed me a little stocking that said, ‘For Very Expensive Little Things’. There was a card inside. He said, “This, you don’t open now. This comes with the ring, but this, you open when you’re ready.”



I knew what was inside the stocking. I was terrified of it. He knew I was terrified of it. That’s exactly why he gave it to me the way he did. We spent that night together cuddling on the couch and discussing the conditions that I might open that stocking. More than the question at hand, I was curious to know what exactly the card said. What romantic words he had to share. It was almost eating me alive. He assured me I didn’t ever have to open the stocking if I didn’t want to. He promised we could wait as long as I wanted if I did open the stocking, for the actual celebration to take place. He agreed to any condition I may or may not choose to set. He just wanted me to know what his wishes were, and what they always would be. I was good with that.

On Christmas Eve, I opened the stocking. The romantic words I’m keeping for me. But know, I said ‘Yes’. We are now engaged to be married. We have not set a date. We will not set a date for a long while yet; not until I’m ready. We’re both ok with that. We both know we are promised to one another.

As for the stormy fight… It wasn’t the first and it probably won’t be the last. But through each of them we learn and grow to love one another more. His mom and sister now stay almost silent when I bitch about him, offering love and support of emotions, but declining to comment as I exclaim that I’m certain I’m done with Lars. It’s like they know that we were meant to be and any strife we may suffer is only temporary, even though I do not see it. They know that as stubborn as I may be and as certain as I am that it’s over, Lars is just as stubborn but certain that we’ll be together 60 years from now. It’s a battle I hope he always wins.

…the answer to getting what I want. I graduated my IGCSE’s way back in 1998 or so. Being a student in an International School in Dubai, UAE, this was the high school equivalent. I went from completing my IGCSE’s to the American University, where I studied just two semester’s of Visual Communications before leaving school behind and heading into the workforce. I didn’t want to study Visual Communications and at the time, it was pretty much that, Business or Interior Design available as accredited diploma options. I wasn’t interested in any of these.

Nonetheless, with all this education behind me and the opportunity to study whatever the hell I want now; that ‘whatever the hell’ being Exercise and Wellness, I need to first be able to answer questions like, ’ One factor of a² -8a +12 is…’ to even be admitted. I have long since forgotten the methods to such equations and for the life of me I do not know the answer (or even how to go about getting it). All the math I do these days is calculated with either an electronic device or some sort of computer program. I do very little actual mathematical thinking.

So, I’m going back to school – and I mean high school, at least for Math 11 & 12, Biology 12 and maybe some English recaps (because lord knows I don’t know how to read or write). Of course, I’ll take these courses online. I have an orientation meeting on Jan 6th with an advisor about how to best reach my goals prior to my actual fulltime college classes starting on campus in September 2011. The idea of all this learning is exciting to me. I really must be a geek at heart!

But last night, Jod’s and I looked at some of these prep questions from the assessment test and laughed our asses off about how much we’ve forgotten and how little we seem to know now. It’s true that in many aspects of real life, you really don’t need to know all the mathematical applications you’re taught in high school – and many teens will probably grow to forget the majority of what they’re forced to learn. Like myself, they won’t even realize it. It’s suckers like me that decide more than a decade down the road we want a career with scientific edge to it; suckers like me that end up having to go back and re-learn this stuff.

It’s a good thing I love to learn.

Monday of this week was by far the worst workday of my entire professional life. From the moment ‘I got into the office’ (I don’t actually physically go into my office, I remote in from home) until the moment I left it seemed my boss was kicking my ass. Add to that multiple technical issues and system malfunctions and the day chopped up to pure hell. The rest of this week has followed the same suit. My stress levels are through the roof and it seems in my history with this company, they get that way once or twice a year. Stress is causing me to be careless, to miss the obvious and to offer below-personal-standard results to any task. I am making way too many mistakes and right now and as a result of which I do not feel as though I’m any good at what I do. Feeling like this, only encourages more mistakes and negativity, and it’s a viscous cycle…

Now I’m not a big, ’follow-the-signs’ type person, but I can’t help but think these are the signs I should be listening to when it comes to making a decision about going back to school. In fact, I can’t help but think I’ve made up my mind and if it’s at all possible, I’m going. Now, to get my academic records from Dubai is where the problem is…

Despite all the bad that seems to be, there’s a been a lot of good as well… Last night while at work Lars came into my home office and handed me a card, signed by the dog. All it said inside was, “You have to go pee.” Call it coincidence, or call it whatever you will, but it was time for a bathroom break and coffee refill. I punched out of rotation and made my way to the bathroom, stopping for a long hug along the way. In his arms, he turned my face towards the door and my new elliptical. I shrieked with pure joy.

This man stops at nothing to please me. He has moments of stubborn arrogance and ego, but so do I. And knowing that, I do believe I’m the luckiest girl on earth with the man who was built just for me.

I woke up this morning and logged onto Facebook. Staring me in the face was this status, ‘Ask yourself, what would you love to do and then do it. R.I.P. John Lennon.’

The timing is impeccable, as lately, I’ve been asking myself what it is I love and whether or not I should be making some major life changes. For a long time I wasn’t able to answer a question like, ‘What do I like,’ or ‘What makes me happy.’ My answers were always something along the line of, ‘I can’t tell you want I want or love, but I can tell you what I don’t want or don’t love.’ Times are changing, evolving and so am I. I’ve learned I love endorphins. I love physical activity (once I get into the routine). I love working out at the gym. I’ve learned I love to laugh. I love comedy. I enjoy good, wholehearted company. I’ve learned I love people and I’ve learned I love to learn.

So I’m thinking about going back to school. To be precise, I’ve been thinking about going back to college to get a degree in Exercise & Wellness. It would mean becoming a full-time student for two years. It would cost around $8000. I would have to take a student loan, and I would have to either leave my job or reduce my hours to part-time. But in the end, I would come out with a degree in something I love, a stepping-stone to further education if I want it, a potential career as a personal trainer or something along those lines and a healthier, possibly happier me.

I’m scared of change though. And this is a big one. Perhaps it’s a leap of faith in me that I have to take?

When I came back to Canada three years ago, I allowed myself to somewhat join in on the Christmas festivities. Christmas was after all, my, like every other child’s, favorite holiday. Religiously, no longer a celebrator, I still worked my full eight hours last year and the year before, and I took the most undesirable shift possible (so someone who celebrates didn’t have to).

Last year was a bit different though, as it was the first Christmas without my mom. Everyone was set in his or her thoughts that Christmas would be terribly glum. I did everything in my power to make that impossible. I did everything I could to create a brilliant Christmas for my loved ones. I thought maybe, it could offer us all hope.

I brought home a tree and I decorated it. I bought countless gifts for my family, and Sam (who was at that time staying at my house) and her daughter (who I would pick up from her father’s house to join us on Christmas morning). I knew there would be very little under the tree for me as my family here consisted of my brother, who can’t seem to hold onto a job and my father, who though generous all year round, has never been good at gifts on demand. Sam was financially inept and totally selfish, so it came as no surprise that she spent what little money she had saved by not paying rent on herself, her daughter and her new boyfriend.

I didn’t want a single person to feel bad on Christmas morning. And I figured they would, if they opened gifts while I sat empty-handed. So, while I stuffed stockings for others, I also stuffed one for myself. I bought myself small gifts and wrapped them. I failed to sign my name to any single gift under the tree, so it wasn’t obvious to anyone, not even Sam’s daughter, that I had purchased 99% of them.

And Christmas last year was a hit. Everyone had a great time, and my heart was filled with absolute joy. The only thing that was missing was my mom. I know if she were looking down, she’d be proud of the Christmas I single-handedly created, despite my personal religious convictions.

This year, I have way less money than last, but I cannot help feel the festivities in the air.

We bought a live tree instead of cut, feeling it is more environmentally friendly and convenient to do so. Live trees don’t drop as many needles and we can put it outside after the holiday’s, watch it grow till next year when we’ll bring it in and decorate it again.

I have been shopping since mid-October, to make up for any financial loss and ensure that everyone is again spoiled. And this year, thanks to Lars, I too will be sincerely spoiled; He’s stuffed my stocking and bought me gifts and I won’t know what they are until I open them on Christmas morning. My father has thrown money at the both of us either by shopping with us or refusing rent payments, to help purchase necessities and gifts on his behalf.

The closets and nooks in the house are already filled with beautifully wrapped boxes, contents unknown. The excitement reminds me of when I was a little girl. And there are still 18 days left!

The days shall go by quickly, as I head to Squamish again on the 14th for a few days. I am not necessarily looking forward to it. It’s colder there and they’ve got snow, I’ve been told. I really don’t have the choice though… On the 9th I have legal documents to sign, and who knows what else will happen in between.

Religiously, I’m not meant to celebrate this favorite holiday of mine. But these days I can feel the importance of taking part in what your family celebrates and it by no means changes my religious convictions. Besides, I can still remember one Christmas in Dubai, my refusal to celebrate Christmas brought my mother to tears... It was simply wrong, offensive, and selfish of me. I feel the same may very well be true today.

I laughed though it really wasn’t funny. It was a nervous laughter, as I sincerely didn’t know how to answer the question, “do you consider a permanent coma, paralysis from the neck down, or any condition that would require permanent life support and intolerable (unacceptable) condition?”

I was in the Notaries Public office and having just signed off on my Last Will (created for the purpose of keeping two unscrupulous people, I have the misfortune of being related to, away from my estate and personal remains). I had already signed Power of Attorney over to my father and was in the process of signing my “Health and Personal Care Instructions for Representative(s) or Family And Friends, in accordance with Act, s9 Representation Agreement Act, s.16”: a stepping stone before actually signing away my sanity under the Ulysses act. Ulysses act is something serious though. It must be signed in the presence of an attorney, in order for it to be legal. Here’s what is says:

The adult authorizes her Representative to:

(a) physically restrain, move, or manage the adult, or have the adult physically retrained, moved, or managed, when necessary despite the objections of the adult;
(b) give consent, in the circumstances specified in the agreement, to specified kinds of heath care, even though the adult is refusing to give consent at the time health care is provided;
(c) refuse consent to specified kinds of health care, including life-supporting care or treatment;
(d) give consent to specified kinds of health care, including one or more of the kinds of health care prescribed under section 34 (2) (f) of the Health Care (Consent) and Care Facility (Admission) Act;
(e) accept facility care proposal under the Health Care (Consent) and Care Facility (Admission) Act for the adult’s admission to any kind of care facility;
(f) make arrangements for th temporary care, education and financial support of
i. the adult’s minor children, and
ii. any other persons who are cared for or supported by the adult;
(g) do, on the adult’s behalf, any thing that can be done by an attorney and that is not mentioned in paragraphs (a) to (f) or in section 7 (1);
(h & i) Repealed 2001-2-30

Tomorrow, I call to make an appointment with the attorney to literally sign away my sanity in accordance with that act. My mother lost her mind. My worst fear is that I will too. What I’m doing now is being prepared.

It scares the fuck out of me. It makes my death a reality. But it has to be done.

I can still picture it, feel it, at this very moment.

We sat in a booth of a dimly lit bar called Julie’s. Filipino singers sang western tunes in the background, which often throughout the night became the foreground as my friends and mother got up to dance. There were tumblers full of amber-coloured liquids next to shot glasses left with only a creamy residue inside them, spread across the table. Everyone wore wide smiles and shared heartfelt laughter.

My mom followed Tareq back to the table from the dance floor after he humoured her with a dance. I can still picture how she held one hand to her nose, waving the other in the air and rocking her body from side to side as she pulled herself into a crouch near the ground and then danced herself back up and out. It takes a special kind of person to humour such an embarrassing dance, and on that night, my mother and I were lucky enough to have him at our table.

’I wish this moment would last forever,’ I thought to myself, as I realized I simply couldn’t possibly feel more joy at any given moment. That night, I was sincerely living for the ‘now’; enjoying life for what it is. I wasn’t waiting for a moment to end or start, as we spend so much of our lives doing. I wasn’t worrying about the past or future, even. I was truly living In. The. Moment. And because of that, and the pure joy I felt at that time, it’s one of my fondest memories.

I’m 29-years-old. That evening was just under half my life ago. My mother has since passed on, and I don’t see nearly as much of Tareq as I would like – though I’ll always treasure him for who he is, and the memories I have that he was so very much a part of. Until the night before last, I don’t remember having a single moment after that night at Julie's where I thought to myself, ’I wish this very moment would last forever.

Lars took me to a Dane Cook show. He is by far my favourite all-time comedian. While sitting there, amongst some 7,000 people, I found myself lost for another moment in the moment. I laughed, and I smiled, and my heart was simply so full of joy, that while I sat entertained, I truly found myself living in the moment, again. I thought to myself, ’I wish this very moment would last forever.

These were two totally difference experiences, at two totally different times in my life. Both shared very similar feelings, and the exact same thought. I spend a lot of my life waiting for or worrying about something. Suffering depression as I do, happiness and joy just don’t come easily to me. So, I’ll be forever thankful for those who are a part of making those moments happen.

Thank you guys… for you and the moments you help create in my life.

It’s not supposed to snow on the west coast, or at least that’s what they say… It didn’t snow last year, but the year before that my father couldn’t bring his car down the drive for a month the snow and ice was so bad. So far this year, it’s been about 3 days that his car has been parked at the top of the driveway, on the street. My car, on the other hand has top of the line all-weather tires, thanks to my consistent trips to the often-snowy Squamish, and the legalities of driving on the 99 without them in the winter seasons. My car is the vehicle being used for most transport these days – even though I’m not in it.

This is the view from my office; a picture I took while working yesterday:



I’m not a fan of snow. And we islanders don’t know much about living in it and a little bit, means a lot of chaos. I’m thankful for the most part I get to stay home and out of it, if not for the snow, then for the idiots who don’t know how to act in it; you know, those people who think summer tires won’t cause their car to slide into mine…

Lars got rear-ended yesterday. He wasn’t driving my car. Almost immediately after he pulled out of that accident, he was almost in another. We’re not in Dubai; where major accidents are seen about any time you leave the house. Car accidents are so rare here, that little fender-benders have people stopping to stare for hours on end. At one point throughout his travels yesterday, it took him almost half an hour to drive a block – traffic was creeping so slowly. This feels a lot like I imagine hell freezing over would.

Again, I’m thankful I can hide from the most of it. And today is meant to be the coldest day of the week, before it heats up a little again. Hopefully, by the time I write my next entry, I’ll have a lot less ‘cold’ to bitch about.

It’s starting to feel like I’ve literally lived in every inch of this house. After mom died and I had to come back home, it was a room upstairs until the 1st basement suite was finished. When that was complete, I moved into the smaller of the two suites this house has. Then I met and fell in love with Lars. My suite wasn’t big enough for the both of us. So when the tenant of the other suite moved out, Lars and I moved on to complete the renovations of the larger basement suite and upon it’s completion we moved in.

With the completion of that suite my father bought us a hot tub (in addition to a few other toys), and Lars has fallen in love with it. He’s busy switching the filter out now, and will then move on to creating a false-rock type cave to enclose it. It’s a project that will probably take all winter to complete… and now, it doesn’t look like we’ll have that much time.

My brother has decided to move out. And with that, the logical thing for Lars and I to do, is move back upstairs and leave both suites in the basement for renters. It makes logical, and financial sense (especially since one of the suites now has a private hot tub!). There are two rooms on the main floor of the house. Both unoccupied. One can be my office, the other can be our bedroom. But Lars loves his tub so tomorrow; my dad and I are going shopping for a new hot tub – one for the main floor of the house.

We’ve done a lot of shopping lately. With Christmas around the corner, and my sister planning on coming with the kids, it’s starting to feel a lot like the holidays are already here. I adore shopping for others. And as it turns out, so does Lars. We’re all set to surprise one another it seems. And if we were competing on who bought whom the best gift, I have a felling it’d be a pretty close battle!

With the festivities and with John (my sisters ex) still being a complete head-case/dickhead and now saying he is going away for the entire school vacation, rather than taking my niece and nephew for a second Christmas after their Christmas here, it looks like Lars and I won’t be making a move upstairs until after new years at the latest.

We are getting excited about the idea anyway… And the prospect of that extra office/room being there means there is an ample amount of space for my son if and when he gets here. I talked to him this morning and assured him that when he was big enough it would be possible for him to come here. It’s Eid and he’s busy celebrating with his cousins – but was more than happy to step away so we could talk for a bit. Getting a hold of him was a bit a nightmare, and required me making threats to his father about contacting the UAE police if I didn’t hear something from someone soon. I have been trying to call for a week now without response. Almost immediately after I sent the text, his father replied by text saying he would get my sons cell phone too him right away, and his wife was texting me the cell number to my sons grandfather, saying I could reach him there because his cell phone was at home.

That’s the first bit of communication my ex husband has made with me since he started ignoring me (and stopped making alimony/support payments). But whatever… it’s irrelevant right now. I talked to my baby and he’s well. And he’s getting bigger. And it won’t be long now, and he’ll be here with me. That’s about the only thing on earth that could make my life anymore complete.

I don’t get what’s wrong with this society. Everyone bitches, and whinges in the confides of their comfy homes to their closest friends about the same unjust things, but no one, and I mean NO ONE will stand up and fight for what they believe in – and in doing so, they do NOTHING to rectify the problems they bitch about.

Bad doesn’t really happen if we close our eyes so tight we don’t see it. He’s not really, evil… He’s just acting evil. I don’t want him to dislike me, so I should find someway to agree with him and her both.

What a crock of shit – a crock of shit you only see when the evil is being impressed on you and everyone reacts in the very way you are now. Sometimes, the right thing to do is to take sides. Sometimes, it’s RIGHT to make disgusting injustices known to as many people as possible, because awareness IS POWER. Sometimes, the asshole needs to be told he’s an asshole and in that he’ll be forced to look at his own actions and think twice.

Just under a year ago, my sister decided to leave her common-law husband. Ever since, he’s been waging an emotional and psychological war against her, using their 7-year-old twin children as missiles. And ever since, she’s found herself defending herself against him, desperately trying to protect her children from the emotional abuse, and putting together the pieces of them as he so quickly tears those babies apart again. Making a child choose between mommy and daddy is just about the worst thing a parent can do. And when those children grow up, they will NOT forget which parent played the games.

So long as she and we are quiet about all that’s going on, everyone agrees with her. But as soon as we have had enough, and taken a stance, made public his actions, we’re the bad people – somehow we’re worse than he is for abusing and harassing her and the kids, because we are making SURE that people know about it; because we REFUSE to sit back any longer and let it continue.

It’s amazing, because making public his threats have made the threats stop. While silence allowed it to continue for months, and months!!!

Still, those people who claim to love my sister, those who claim to have defended her, who claim they’ve witnessed his obscenities with their own eyes and do not condone it, they now disown her and me, and anyone who says out loud, “HEY, I’ve had enough of this BULLSHIT. AND NOW IT’S TIME TO END IT.”

If you don’t want anything to do with the drama… stay out of it. It's possible to do that without causing more pain to those involved. Don’t make us choose between being your friend or standing up for what we believe in. There is enough bullshit in this situation. Trying to push your weaknesses on us, while claiming moral superiority is simply not fair and only adds to the negativity that all are feeling.

If you're not a part of the solution... You're part of the problem. And pretending the situation isn't there... doesn't make that true.

The Holiday Season is Here…

So much has happened since I last wrote here; most of which good – and even that which isn’t the greatest always seems to have a silver lining eventually. I’d almost forgotten about this little haven.

“Blog More,” the text message I got last night read. It was from James, a friend and fellow blogger. He’s right. I haven’t spent enough time here and writing. And I seemed to have abandoned my journaling all together once again. Change is inevitable, but who would have thought something I was once so passionate about, writing, would now seem so meaningless? Oh how that mirrors so much in my life.

I’m not 19 anymore and I don’t know it all. What else is there to say?

For the sake of the sake, Lars and I have pretty much finished both suites now (he did far more work than I), and now all that’s left is the cave for the hottub. Winter’s here and winter sucks both for construction and my personal mood. With earlier evenings (who is the idiot that thinks we still must observe daylight savings?) and colder days, I find myself lazy, listless and mildly depressed. I suppose the medication ensures that depression stays mild. And work keeps me too busy to ponder too many evils.

Work is better than good. The few evils I ponder are horrific. I think about my mom, and though I have come to terms with her death, I don’t know that I’ll ever come to term with how she died and how much pain she endured; 7 heart attacks in a row. I don’t know that I’ll ever come to terms with the people who helped her die, and desecrated her remains after the fact; we are still in legal battles. I don’t know that I’ll ever view life the same way again.

I think about my son, and the quote I was given for a lawyer to look into a case to have him here, or at least force his father to give me regular updates on his well-being… $7,500 American, as a retainer. That’s just the start. It’s simply not something I can afford today – though you can bet your ass that if I find the markets turn and selling my apartment in Dubai because a feasible solution, I will pay 5 times that without blinking an eye. I miss my son.

And through it all, Lars is there to love me, comfort me and accept me, even for my most horrible moods. I suppose I’m pretty lucky these days. Lucky enough to feel I have little to say here...

Amazing… Not so surprising, but amazing just the same..

I Googled my name yesterday and got a good laugh. Here, I’ll show you:



Now, of course I’ve blacked out both my full name and the blog owners details (including her URL) because we wouldn’t want to send traffic her way – leading you all to read something I myself haven’t and won’t bother to read. Trust me, you’re not missing much – and those of you closest to me will know my real name and can Google it yourselves if you really must. At least then, you can’t blame me for wasting your precious time reading the bullshit that’s bound to be included in that link.

What’s amazing about this isn’t the fact that there’s some idiot ranting about me online, using my full name (I have lots of enemies, I’m aware - though I must admit I'd have thought this one would have a little more tact and use a little more caution), nor is it the fact that it’s most likely full of personal stabs and jabs and self-praising self-righteous garb what a wonderfully perfect person the author is and what a horribly fucked up person I am… what’s amazing about this is that the blog owner was once one of my best friends. That was a friendship that ended months ago – and from a huge blow out we also had years ago, I was then and still am now certain my life has way more quality in it, now that she’s not a part of my life. It was a mistake to make amends when we initially did; and one I won’t make twice.

What’s also amazing about this is even in the intro bit that I can read of this entry here, she still insists that I read her blog, care what she thinks in any way. What a fucking joke. That’s narcissistic denial at it’s best – though I must admit, I’m tempted to click on that link just to see if there’s anything there that would warrant slander charges. But I soooo couldn’t care less.

Whatever this fat bitch had to say about me must have made her feel better. If I can bring her something positive, even in such a sick sense – long after I’ve forgotten and let go of her, then so is it. She might as well keep her ranting words as a reminder of what a great person she is and how horrible I am. And as since the start of her and my falling, she can keep them for herself and anyone who actually cares what she thinks because I really have no interest in what she has to say; her thoughts are more tainted than my entire being – towards me and most other things in life as far as I'm concerned.

Which brings me to my next point. I’ve been so comfortably in love and busy with the renovations and decoration of the new suite that I’ve managed to gain 10 lbs. I haven’t a clue how I fell out of the routine of gym’in it for a few hours each day, then a jog most nights, but it’s time I kicked my ass back into gear. And I’m not at all depressed about it. I’m almost looking forward to the molding of my body and soul again. It’s like a little challenge – lets see how much progress we can make each day, and how long it’ll take for us to get fully comfortable in our own skin again… And though I complain about the bit of extra meat I have on my bones right now… I’ve enjoyed gaining it with red wine in the hottub, and snacks on the sofa with my lover at my side. I wouldn’t really give those pounds back for the time it took to gain them if I had the choice. We won’t tell him that though… it’ll make his head swell.

How life gets in the way of the things we want to do…

Last night after work (both my work here in my office, and Lars’ evening work on the suite) we cuddled up and listened to his voice-mail together. We couldn’t change his number without losing them, so just in case there was something important in the mess we decided it better to do first. Finding the time to bother with the dribble was the hard part; but last night it was finally done. 17 000 messages from the ex, accusing him/us of stealing his dog and begging for him to call – promising she wasn’t going to stop calling until he answers her (pathetic), 2 or 3 messages from debt collections agencies asking FOR HER (disgusting, but not surprising), and one call from the RCMP about the dog (ridiculous).

The cop sounded annoyed that his time was being wasted on this, and actually said he really didn’t care, but the ex girlfriend claimed to be worried about the safety of the dog, so if we have M, to please give him a call and let him know that he’s safe. We’re not calling. And there’s fuck all that bitch or the RCMP can do about that. Your accusations, they’re a civil matter bitch. The RCMP can’t do anything for you – aside from try to appease you by making a phone call. It’s my legal right to ignore that message and you, cunt. Stop wasting my tax dollars by abusing the use of our police force (you spend enough of my money, being the ungrateful welfare bum that you are)!

His number has now been changed and that chapter of his life is done with. Though I’m certain, we’ll all exhale when we know she’s no longer on Canadian soil, leaching off our system. Never in my life have I come across such a delusional psychotic being.

~*~

I’ve spent a fair amount of time thinking about her feeble attempts at insulting me. Things like, ”If I’m a bad mom for leaving my 2 & 3 year-old children at home all alone where they might accidentally kill themselves, what about you for leaving the country your child is in?!” The concept of ‘It’s ok to be crappy because in my perspective I think others are shitty too’, is beyond me.

For the record, I’m not a bad mom and I’m ok with the decisions I’ve made regarding my son. By all means, I WAS a shitty, neglectful mother that couldn’t handle it even with maids and all sorts of help. I had trouble engaging my son in play, and spending any sort of quality time with him. I was too sick to make it to school functions. And though I wanted to spend every moment with him, I didn’t have the energy to do anything while he was around. It took five years but, I was finally able to see what a bad influence I was on my young sons life, and that is exactly why I made the choices I did – the best choices possible for both him and I – no matter how badly it hurt. My son is in fantastic care, with his father (who loves him very much), and other family who wouldn’t dare have left him alone for a minute when he was a toddler. He carries his own cell so he and I can talk, and the minute it’s possible he and I will be together again, I’m certain.

In the meantime, when Lars and I are ready to have our own children… I know that heart and soul, I’ll be prepared for it. They won’t be locked in a back room, while I watch movies or play on the net. They won't be left alone while I leave the house for any reason. Their only language won’t be of screaming and yelling. They’ll not be fed food that kills from places like McDonalds. And they’ll be loved, so very, very loved.

Other attempted insults like, ”I’m young and you’re old…" have me almost in stitches for so very many reasons. The first being the most obvious, I’m not old. Moving on, does she somehow suppose that she is the only person on earth that will somehow fight time, and stay forever young? Or is she really trying to turn into an insult something that she will evidently have to become? Does she view today, her tomorrow as an insult? ”Youth is wasted on the young.” God it must suck to see the world through her eyes. If getting back a decade meant I’d have to see the world as she does, I sure as fuck wouldn’t take those years back for the world!

Anyway, I’ve gone on for a rather long time about this… I think I’ll head on over to our new suite and see if there’s anything I can do. If not, maybe we’ll head out for a walk, or I’ll just curl back up in bed before I go into work this afternoon. It's a beautiful day... But I kinda feel like spending it in bed.

...I suppose you have a reason other than envy for the light contact-lenses too? I can't wait to hear it!

~*~

It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I only write in this blog for others. I hold a lot back on what I think, and feel, and all those pesky little details that are really making their way through my brain. It was preventing me from writing at all… The truth of the matter is, that’s been the case for years. People from my work read this blog. People from high places in the UAE read this blog. People I know and even people I don’t know read this blog. It sometimes gets distracting, thinking of who just might be in my thoughts here.

So I picked up a blank book and a pen and I started to journal. In case you were wondering where all my words went over the past little while, they’re hiding in a real book. It feels good.

I’m going to try to keep up with this public display of myself – and voice my disdain for certain others that I know read this (because well, it’s always fun to feed the animals), but for the most part, I’ll probably be rather quiet around here.

~*~

For shits and giggles, I’d love to hear your opinion (either in a private email or as a comment on this blog entry) as to what you think of a ‘mom’, who is informed her dog’s gone missing while on a walk with his true owner. Her reaction is one that she leaves her two toddler children at home alone and runs out to meet up with him, in search of the dog through the bushes. It takes less than 2 minutes for a child to drown, and I can think of a billion other ways a toddler can hurt themselves even die while unattended in the span of 20, 15, 10 or even 5 minutes. Is it ever ok to leave toddlers alone at home, or is the concept of toddlers having an adult caretaker a little like a seat-belt – even on short trips?

If you were this mother, would you be surprised that people called social services on you in the past? If you were this mother, would you be delusional enough to think you held anything but sheer neglect for your children? Or, if you were this mother would you repeatedly tell yourself what a great mother you are, with hopes that other’s will believe you and one day, you might become just that?

There’s no ‘if’, is there? In most rational people, a missing dog (no matter how much a part of your family, your heart and home) would never equate to the potential harm of neglecting your children. It takes a special kind of person to be this mother: the kind of person it takes to consider a trip to Walmart, and dinner at McDonalds a great success. It takes the same kind of special person to make wild accusations of thievery not because there is any evidence, but because she stole the item in question in the first place and only expects of other’s what she has done herself. (If we stole back a dog that was his already, I guarantee you we'd treat him better than you treat your children - and though we know you'd sacrifice them for the dog, it's only by a small amount you'd be willing to go. The dog was just a hair above them, wasn't he? And M probably knows that too, which is WHY he ran away in the first place. Call my man all you want with wild accusations, write them out in your blog, we haven't bothered to listen to your voice-mails and the number will be changed shortly.)

And there are special people out there, special enough to actually believe that this blog entry here, a response to threat made towards us, is enough to get governments talking. Sweet Poetic Justice. Not only am I waiting on the American Army to come get me, I'm now also waiting on the Canadian government and the RCMP, it seems. They have my name, you know.

They say ignorance is bliss, why the hell aren’t you more blissful?

Anyway… This has been fun, but it’s time for this fat cheese-like cow to get on with her day as that loser-love-of-her-life is only working a half day today. If I get all my chores done, we’ll have time to play before I go to work!

I get a tattoo on my wrist (with Lars), you get a tattoo on your wrists.
I sing Little Mermaid Songs (to Lars) & dye my hair red, and you dye your hair what you refer to as "Little Mermaid Red".
I re-format my blog to this nifty black design, you do the same.

Just odd.

Starting to think you have an obsession, and I should be scared. Really scared.

…you want him to pay your rent, you can go fuck yourself. Here’s a little reminder as to why:

FAIL!!!

WIN!!!


And yes… I encourage bad behaviour when it’s directed at the deserving. You are deserving.

~*~

We’ve been so busy over the last little while; I’ve hardly had time to keep up with Facebook, blogging or anything else online it seems. And so very much has happened… Starting with the least entertaining, that poisonous bitch’s landlord was calling around the 1st; on two of my house phone numbers and also Lars’s cell. Apparently, the low-rent (muwahahaha, I love using her words to accurately describe her) cyber-whoring, dog-thieving, cunt ex of his told the landlord Lars would be paying her rent in full this month. In realty, everyone knows she’s simply trying to skip out on paying her last month’s rent, like the low-life, Canadian-welfare abusing, half American scumbag she is. Go back to the States already, bitch. Our country has spent enough on you. I can think of far better places my tax dollars should go.

Lars quickly put an end to the accusation that he would be responsible, reminding the landlord that he’d already absolved Lars of the lease, and directing him to those pretty little words of hers above “(…) and don’t even worry about coming. Rent will be paid in full. I don’t need you or Lars so blow me, fat whore.”

No wonder her landlord hates her. I find amazing that anyone on earth finds reason not to.

Lars made clear to the landlord that as he mentioned last month and they agreed on even further in the past, he takes no further responsibility for that cunt’s lease, and the landlord can keep his damage deposit for all the inconvenience. I don’t suppose we’ll be hearing from him again, despite her multiple threats – as realistic and scary as the military ones. *brrrrr*, just thinking of the whole Army coming to get me still sends shivers down my spine. But I digress… you can understand the poor landlord’s frustration. Fucking low-life welfare renters like her are exactly what make my father and I go nuts, which brings me smoothly to my next thought…

The renovations of Lars and my suite are coming along well. We’ve done a lot more shopping, a lot more work, some painting and some prepping. Pretty soon, we’ll be putting down the floors and calling in the electricians to make sure my office is fully rigged and secure. Funny the importance of that, when today, I gave official notice to the boss’s daughter (and secondary owner of the company) that I am actively looking for a new job. A few weeks back I decided to look for a secondary job, to bring in supplemental income (there’s this beautiful $500,000, 3.5 acre piece of land here I want to buy when it goes up for sale in a year or two), but now, I’m thinking straight-up replacement position.

I was only given a partial raise as to what I asked for. I’ve now applied for easier jobs where the starting salary is more than I am making here – after two years of service and multiple accomplishments. It breaks my heart to do this, but I have to start thinking more about me than those I love and I do love my job and the company owners and my colleagues, but right now, between the low pay, the stressful unforgiving nature of the job, and the constant stress that seems to be in the office these days, not to mention the direct insults that were swung at me yesterday though perhaps not really meant for me, I’m just about done.

There’s more going on, but I’m tired and my food just arrived.

From the moment we wake till the time we go to bed it seems Lars and I are on the move, doing something. All of it seems split between working our day jobs and working on the suite. It equates to two very, VERY exhausted people by the end of the day.

After another trip to Home Depot today, my father calculated his total spending on the renovations so far to be around 6 thousand dollars. Hopefully, we won’t spend more than a few thousand more, max. It seems like a ridiculous amount to spend on the basement suite and today, when we picked out a sleek granite counter-top for the bathroom, I didn’t have to wonder why. I feel guilty for it, even though he insisted, not caring about the price.

I’m lucky I come from a very generous family. For the most part, we help each other out when we can. Together, we put money towards household bills, like mortgage payments, food, electricity, etc and together we share most of the household work. Though this doesn’t really apply to my brother, however I’ll get to that in a minute. I imagine this is a slightly strange environment for Lars to move into, though he fits in well and his actions show he agrees it is a healthy way of living.

It seems the Western culture is pretty much the only one where families don’t grow to be conditioned to work as single unit, but instead live under a firm belief system that as the children near adulthood they must move out and fend for their own, and senior citizens often go to care homes before their offspring will take them in. I’m not certain there’s any real benefit to this tradition and personally, perhaps after so long in the Middle East, I can see many flaws in it… though we’ll save that conversation for another day as it’s not really what’s on my mind

On my mind today is the length of the days, how much work there is to be done, and how hard everyone is working, excepting my teen-like adult brother, who instead just sits at his computer all day and night playing games, works the occasional single day job at Labourers Unlimited, drinks obsessively, keeps a filthy bedroom, has no respect for noise levels in the middle of the night while fighting with his long distance girlfriend over the phone or simply getting over-excited over his game-speak, while contributing less than the least possible expected to the work, nor the finances of the household. None of us know what to do with or about him anymore.

We try to bring these things to his attention and he gets defensive, even abusive. He won’t grow up. He won’t learn to fend for himself but instead is consistently looking for the next free ride to cling on to. If it weren’t us, it’d be his sister or his biological father. He can’t keep a job longer than a few months and has little to no self-respect, let alone respect for anyone else. He doesn’t take part in any of our discussions, as he’s too busy in his room at the computer, on the phone or drinking his beer. He doesn’t help out with the chores other than maybe clean up his own dishes every now and then. He takes no interest in our future as a family, any of our projects, whether they are house renovations or future business proposals.

And none of us have the heart to kick him out and force him to learn through tough love giving him the opportunity to make it or break it, because well… there is a higher chance of him breaking it then making it. And we’d never be able to forgive ourselves should something happen to him. He was my mom’s last child and only son. She always spoiled him rotten, never allowing anyone to chastise him and is perhaps solely responsible for the complete ‘fail’ he is today.

I know if he were to read this he would object, perhaps with a lot of anger and aggression, ’I paid this much here, and that much there. I clean the dishes. I had this reason or that reason to quit my job or was unfairly dismissed/laid-off. You’re a fucking bitch!’ And a big part of me thinks, maybe he should read this. Maybe it’d force some reality into him about what he is, how much of a burden he really is on us by simply refusing to be any part of this family unit while expecting to have electricity, internet, a roof over his head, a hot shower, and more while offering little to nothing but disrespect through late night screaming matches on the phone to disregarding simple requests like, “don’t answer calls if you don’t recognise the phone number,” in return. And perhaps it’d force him to see who he really is and how much better he should be able to make of himself but chooses not to, because he never learned the life skills one needs to make it. The guy wants to be a father one day and I shudder at the idea… How can he teach any life skills when he hasn’t bothered to learn them himself?

What would he do, where would he go, if there was no one left to depend on? Mom was proof; our safety nets aren’t there forever. We have to learn to take care of ourselves. And what are we to do to help him without abandoning him or enabling him anymore?

Lars and I have been having a blast, preparing the other suite for us. I live in a big house. In fact, it’s so big; there are 2 basement suites. My father finished the one I moved into around this time last year, when he asked me to move back home. At the time, we rented the other incomplete suite out at a fraction of its value. The renter (who rarely paid rent at all, actually) moved out, and Lars and I have decided to move in there – to a space that’s ours, rather than him and I staying in a space that’s mine with a few of his things thrown in the mix. We need to finish it before we can move in (as I’m spoiled that way – and my dad sees the value in the house increasing with 2 complete basement suites anyway), so it means, shopping, building, dry-walling, more shopping, painting, and more shopping even. So far, we’re re-modelling the kitchen, have bought a great black stove (with 5 ceramic burners!) and a fridge to match, new cabinets for the kitchen (enough to build an island, YAY!) and flooring.

At this very moment, Lars is next door and I can hear him dry-walling away. He’s really very good at it and considering it’s exactly what he decided to make a career out of when we met, that’s an excellent thing in all areas. Anyway, we’ve now spent countless hours together working away, and I can honestly say… I love working with him. He’s competent, strong, and inspired. He helps me when I need him to lift something heavy or move something awkward – and he helps fix my rookie construction mistakes (and he does it with a smile!). Then, when we’re all tired and dirty we get to shower, then lay down and cuddle up at night, in one another’s arms, knowing that’s exactly where we belong.

I keep waiting for the romance to die. I expect it. I wonder about it. I ponder whether or not that time will come. And then he holds my hand, or comes in here just to hug me, or sends me a BBM just to say he loves me. My thoughts easily move to how lucky we are to have found each other… Each other’s forever I’m sure.

~*~

In some not-so fun news… I tried calling my son this morning and as usual he didn’t answer his cell phone. I called the house (something I really dislike doing because it means long uncomfortable conversations in Arabic with my former in-laws!), and his toddler cousin answered – only to tell me my son was travelling before hanging up the phone. This pissed me right off and I sent my ex-husband a raving email, pretty much letting him know I was sick and tired of him not keeping me in the loop on what’s happening my son, and I threatened legal action if he doesn’t smarten up. My baby is going on 9 years old now. I’m sure if I just went to Dubai, the UAE courts would let him decide where he wanted to live. And I’m sure they would eventually give me legal right to travel with him. But it takes going to Dubai. It takes retaining another lawyer. And it would take years, and years in their court system. I don’t know if I can handle any more time in those kangaroo courts. God knows I’ve spent way too much time in Middle Eastern courthouses as it is.

Anyway… I’m still waiting on a response. Lets hope it’s favourable one.

While ranting out about issues in the UAE, I should mention my bank issue is STILL not sorted out and I still don’t have my bank card, despite doing everything they asked, AND more – even sending TWO friends with letters and my passport copy to the bank trying to sort it out. Fucking monkeys, the entire country is run by them.

Anyway… it’s enough ranting for now. There are so many great things to think about… like curling up with my Lars in an hour or so.

Mom...


~*~



~*~



~*~



~*~



~*~



~*~

She won’t let me work. She’s on my lap, demanding attention. The more I try to push her away, the more demanding she gets. So I finally let her up. She’s not content to just sit on my lap, she needs me to be cuddling and caressing her between calls. She purrs and licks my chin until I pet her, and then she purrs some more. The cat’s tongue feels like sandpaper – must be nature’s way of helping her clean herself?

Her name is Diablo, but we call her SnowPus because when we had that really bad winter a few years back, we discovered she adores the snow. She was my mom’s ‘vacation cat’. As in, my mother came back to Canada for a two-month vacation from Dubai one year, and couldn’t stand living without a cat so bought this pure white kitten, and trusted my brother to look after her when mom went home. My brother did take care of her, and my mom moved back to Canada a year or so later, bringing a zoo of animals including 7 cats with her.

When mom died, she left behind SnowPus, and 4 of the 7 cats she’d come back from Dubai with (the other three died before mom did – and my mom cried her eyes out every time). She also left us Max, the rat-like Chihuahua. At this very moment, Max is cuddled in bed with Lars who is getting some much-needed rest; SnowPus is on my lap purring away and the other 4 cats are up stairs or out in the yard doing what cats do.

Exactly a year ago today, or rather midnight tonight, is the exact time my brother called me to tell me mom was on her way to the hospital again, by ambulance. Less than 5 hours later, around 4:30am on July 23rd, she suffered the last of 7 heart attacks she’d had that night and died. On July 23rd, just after 3pm, I sat next to the hospital bed that my mom’s body was laying on – and through my tears, wished her a happy 55th birthday.

We later learned that the cause of her heart attacks, the cause of her death was Septicaemia (otherwise known as blood poisoning). A week or so earlier, she was diagnosed with blood poisoning, caused by a cat-bite she’d gotten while trying to save SnowPus’s life from the grips of Wrinky; the three-legged cat that came home from Dubai with her. Wrinky bit into my mother hard. It’s safe to assume through my mother’s binge drinking, blacking out, and pure lack of self-concern, she didn’t take any prescribed medicines and if she did, she didn’t take them correctly.

My mom lived her whole life catering to cats. She collected cats – both live and those created artistically. Every ornament she ever bought had a cat on it, every shirt she ever wore, and every set of dishes the ever purchased with glee. She was so obsessive about cats; she used to joke about whom she was going to leave her cat collection to when she passed. We contemplated opening a cat museum, or a cattery for people to board cats in her care.

Wrinky bit into my mom, while my mom tried to save another of her cats from her. Wrinky herself, coincidently, had been saved by my mother’s pure heart years before, when my mom asked for her birthday gift only to be that Wrinky get the surgery that cost thousand’s of dollars and left her a leg short, after being hit by a car. The three-legged cat still lives with us today, but she’s kept separate from SnowPus at all times. And when in err the two do cross paths in the yard, they immediately start off where they left off - trying to kill each other.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of a greater irony. The very creature she’d spent the majority of her life trying to save helped induce my mom’s death...

If every month could be July, and every day be the 23rd, I’d wish that true so that everyone remember you… always. I miss you mom.

This month has been hard. Thoughts of you haunt me at night, when I go to bed. And I never see you healthy. I always seem to see the sick, disturbed, even deranged you. It keeps me awake. So I take pill… then another… and another. I’m certain Lars thinks I have a problem. Maybe he’s right. But I was disturbed before you died. And then I found your bottle. You’d recently been prescribed the same meds as I. I knew all along mom. If only your cunt of a mother hadn’t taught you shame… we’d have lived through this together. You’d not be dead.

So many things killed you. So many things to blame... So many little things that would have saved you… If just one of them wasn’t the way they were…

But time and time again, I blame another portion. The Canadian system, alcohol, your mother, the doctors, those who watched you die… Deep down I know, blame does no one any good. It was your time.

But it’s not mine. I’m not ready to mourn you. And it hurts today if it was yesterday. And I don’t care if today is not the 23rd. I miss you and am mourning you now damn it!

You should not be gone so soon. Lars and I are throwing around the idea of having a baby one day. How can I do that without you?

I wish every day could be like yesterday – minus the temper-tantrum I threw out of nowhere in the morning, and the missing dog we had to chase down in the evening. Both instances aside, and we had a brilliant day from start to finish.

We woke in the morning and played a game of Scrabble over coffee. I had a little fit (seriously am not sure when or how I became such a poor sport, but beat the shit outta myself immediately afterwards for it just in case!), he went to the store, we finished our game (he beat me by 3 points), and we both hopped in the shower. As I got ready, he packed us some snacks. I made a couple of protein shakes, packed a book, some Band-Aids (just in case), some water and the Yatzee and we took off through the trails in the mountain across the street.

We hiked for a few hours through the lush green bush, before we finally sat down to rest/snack. Along the way, we came across a very touching ‘Missing Dog’ poster and stopped to read the same. There were far less people on the trails than we expected to see. The day was hot, but cool in the shade of the trees. It made for a hike as good as any work out! Our very last stop among the trails were ‘Pickles Bluffs’, an outstanding lookout point near the top. And I tell you, the pictures below do this place no justice. There is no better place on earth than my very own backyard!

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

Anyway, we got home to learn the puppy was missing. I dislike most dogs. But this dog, he isn’t any dog. He’s my mom’s last companion, the last thing to make her smile. And a great reminder of what a compassionate person she was. As such, he’s become a piece of my heart. I was mortified. My brother had left the back door open – he’d been gone all day. My father assumed Lars and I’d taken him with us on our hike. There are a lot of places a 5lb Chihuahua could go in a place like this…

We were lucky enough to find him as we posted signs throughout the neighbourhood. Some lovely lady had picked him up earlier, from running down the middle of our street all on his own. She left a note in the bakery at the end of my street, so when I went in to leave my own sign, the lady shouted that he’d been found, ripped the note of her register and handed it to me. I don’t think I’ve been so relieved in my entire life. <3 He’s great little toy dog; weighing a whole 5lbs, cost my mother a fortune. We worried he may have been eaten by an owl or hawk, or he’d simply have been stolen. Thank good for decent people. And how ironic, Lars and I read about another puppy gone missing through the trails just a short while earlier. I hope she finds her way back home too.

1. We can fight and make friends and still manage to feel as close if not closer than we did before we fought.
2. You always remember to put the toilet seat down.
3. You cook and clean and help with all that domestic stuff, and that in turn makes everyone’s life easier.
4. I sleep better when you’re there to cuddle with.
5. We share similar dreams of building a future and living life for now.
6. You love to spoil me and want to learn to do it in a way I most understand.
7. You let me spoil you and understand that my way of spoiling may be different than yours.
8. You rub my shoulders when they ache.
9. You can fix almost anything I manage to break.
10. You love me for me, even when I’m rotten.
11. You want to grow with me as much as I want to grow with you and accept that growing pains can hurt.
12. I cannot imagine growing old without you.
13. You never let me feel unattractive.
14. You do your best to make sure I know I’m loved.
15. You make me feel safe.
16. You are quiet enough in the mornings that I don’t wake up before you go to work.
17. You leave secret love notes for me to find throughout the day.
18. You look deep into my eyes when you tell me you love me.
19. Even after three months, every kiss feels like the 1st one.
20. You almost never leave the room without kissing me goodbye.
21. You will cuddle with me any time of day or night, no matter how hot and/or sticky it is outside.
22. You try to show interest in the things I like, even if you’re not particularly interested.
23. Sometimes, you get completely intoxicated with me (and don’t laugh at me but with me).
24. You would give me the world if it were yours to give.
25. Your smile lights up my life.
26. You’re always looking for ways to make me smile.
27. Your family feels like my family.
28. I look prettiest when I’m beside you.
29. You get dirty with me.
30. I could write an endless list of little reasons, but for now, I’ll suffice it to say it’s because we were meant to be.

How long would it take for your dog to start gnawing off your decomposing limbs should you die in a car with your best K9 friend locked in with you? And would the amount of abuse you may or may not have forced your dog to endure alter the answer to that question? Apparently, the answer is less than 4 days, if the dog is owned by a complete asshole with no compassion for any life, let alone animal and was certainly abusive to his K9’s. This of course, is according to partially eaten remains of my father’s ex business partner, found last night in his vehicle. He had some sort of attack brought on by diabetes four days prior.

I have about as much compassion for him as he did his wife when she was given 6 months to live, and he decided then to divorce her. She’s still alive today. But then… she moved out of the house my mother fell ill and pretty much died in… Her health started to improve.

I hate that house. And though many believe it’s the supernatural that has created it’s history of insanity and bizarre illnesses, I simply believe it’s mould or bacteria from years of abuse, compiled with the combination of it being alternated from farm-type living space for poultry to a human’s home. Perhaps the dead rats mummified in the walls have something to do with it? But I digress…

John’s dead. I couldn’t care less that he no longer breathes. And I don’t believe in such bullshit as not speaking ill of the dead – sometimes, there really is nothing good you can say about a person. And why should I say nothing at all? I’m deeply disturbed by his death, the circumstances of it more than anything. And it has effected my entire day.

The man never offered condolences after my mother’s death, though he knew her, ate with her, and even laughed with her for years. My strongest memory of him was him chastising my brother for spilling a drink at dinner (as if my mother and father were not there), and then him spilling his own drink immediately after. I don’t recall a single good quality about him, and know he costs my father hundred’s of thousands of dollars if not millions due to his incompetence. He was a complete asshole to anyone and any thing – even bragged about killing his own dog, a Bull Mastiff, with a sledgehammer. The irony that another dog eat his remains is so very, VERY upsetting. It’s a bold show of true Karma. And a great reminder that it will kick you in the ass… Or in this case, consume your rotting corpse.

I wonder if he knew he was a horrible a person? Am I? Do you know if you are? And how long do you figure you would have to be dead before your most *loyal* friend started ripping chunks of flesh off your body to quench his thirst, or satiate his hunger?

I’m frustrated and annoyed with the world. Every little thing seems to bother me.

My UAE ATM card expired last month. I have spent the last 7 days trying to get them to courier me a new one. It’s meant more money on my phone bill than I have in their bank, and more frustration than the money is worth. I’d close the fucking account, only they’re the best in the UAE so I’ve been told (what a fucking joke), I’m not there to open an account with anyone else and I’ll need to deposit money there when I sell my apartment.

Though it seemed to be common procedure for them to courier cards to people, they have this stupid form they need filled out, that cannot be sent via email, but must be faxed – both to you and back to them once filled. Initially, they couldn’t seem to get the fax to me – it took three phone calls and countless minutes on hold. When I finally do get it, realize it’s asking very simple details, fill it out and try to send it back, I learn they’ve given me an incorrect fax number. So finally, I resort to emails via my online banking account. The response is absolutely absurd and so fucking common it’s expected when dealing with them.
~*~

To whom it may concern,

I have been trying to fax you all a 'Cardholder Request Form', your bank insists on having in order to send me a new ATM card as mine has expired, for the last 72 hours. The fax# you gave me 011-971-4-221-4839 does not work.

Are you not equipped to handle email? Can I email you scanned copies of the documentation? Or can I please just give you the information here, so that you can courier me my bankcard at my expense as agreed on the telephone (Service Request # XXXXXXXX).

Here is the information requested on your form:

Cardholder Name: XXXXXXX
Card #: XXXXXXX
Card Expiry Date: XXXXX
Branch: XXXXX

Residence tel: XXXXXXX
Fax: XXXXXXX
Mobile: XXXXXXX
Email: XXXXXXX

I need you to re-issue the card with a valid date, please and courier the same to me.

I have lived in Canada for the last 3 years and believe I have updated you guys on my current address in the past. It is very frustrating that I have to do this again now.

Please respond to this email as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXX

~*~

Dear Customer,

Kindly note that cards are only delivered to addresses within the UAE. Should you wish to have your card delivered abroad please confirm the following:

Complete address abroad ( with a po box no/pin code/zipcode mandatory)-
Complete contact details abroad:
Complete contact details (mobile and landline- abroad):
Please note that the courier company cannot ship without a po box no/pin code/zipcode .
Please confirm that you will be in your current location for more than 7-10 days and agree to bear the courier fees.

Once you agree to the above conditions and would like us to send your card abroad, kindly contact us on 009714 3160316 (available 24hours) to place your request.

Thank you for choosing EmiratesNBD.

Regards,
Mir
EmiratesNBD

~*~

Dear Mir (or whoever else responds to these emails),

Do you guys even read your emails before you reply? I have given you all the details requested in the 1st email I sent about this. And I'm only emailing you because the people who answer the phones at your customer service 04-3160316 are incompetent and useless. I have already made 3 phone calls to them without help. I have now spent more money on my phone bill calling your bank than I have holding in my bank account with you.

Please re-read my email, see that I have agreed to have my atm card couriered to me here in Canada, and see I have given you all required details, and then respond with something helpful, rather than waste anymore of my time. If you do not understand this, please have your supervisor read my emails and respond rather than trying yourself.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXX

Another note..

CONTACT your local courier, as you are mistaken. I work with one daily. A courier does NOT deliver to PO boxes, but only to street addresses! You should already have mine on file. But here it is again for the 15th time:

*********
*********
******

Thank you.

~*~
Yet again, one more reason I’m fucking glad I don’t live there anymore. When an economy depends on cheap labour. They tend to get and give cheap service across the board.

That’s not the only thing that’s annoying me. I meant it when I said everything is. It’s been forever since I’ve had the chance to get to the gym. Since Lars moved in, it feels like I’m constantly cleaning up, or cooking, or simply exhausted (from playing with him of course) or working on some other household project that I don’t get any real ‘me’ time. I need my fucking ‘me’ time. I’m annoyed because my garden hasn’t been built yet, and my compost worms aren’t multiplying fast enough. I’m annoyed because house suddenly feels too small for all this ‘stuff’ – I’m a minimalist and after my mom died I became the owner of countless cat trinkets and other ornaments. I’m annoyed because my brother has lost yet another job. I’m annoyed because I’m fucking annoyed. So I must be PMSing. I don’t have the patience for anything.

So despite there being dishes to be done, floors to be clean, and flowers to be tended to I’m going to finish my coffee, say ‘fuck it’, take a shower and head on out to the gym.

Exhausted…

I fell asleep on the couch last night. I woke at 3:45am to a text message that said, “Wake me… I love you. And wont wake you even though all I want is your touch… You need to sleep. Don’t leave without me!!! <3”

While falling asleep I wondered whether or not I’d wake him, knowing how exhausted he would be. He answered my questions for him. I curled into bed with him and whispered him awake. We got up, had coffee and protein shakes with my dad, and then got ourselves ready to go. We must’ve left the house just after 5am. We sold all sorts of crap at the flea market and are considering doing it all again next week… Despite it being a busy morning, it felt rather quiet. I suppose a huge part of that is how tired we both were (I took a few pills to help me sleep last night and he got home rather late).

We talked about learning from our arguments, and what we’ve learned about each other. I told him his yelling sounded more like whining, he told me he didn’t like to yell. We talked a little about our days – I’m glad to learn he had a blast with his family and there was even a live band at the park they’d decided to visit, out of the blue! And we spent a good portion of time just holding each other. One more step closer… Perhaps most surprising of it all was the fact that no army military goon showed up to kill him at his mom’s birthday party as promised….

Anyway, it’s about time we both go for a nap. How awesome would it be if we just slept right on through the night?

Some people will stay in a miserable relationship month after month, year after year; lying to themselves about matters of the heart when in reality they are simply afraid of change; afraid to be single. I’m not like that at all (anymore), which is why ill wishes from dumb whores like Lars’ ex, that he makes me miserable for the rest of my life, will never, ever be granted. I simply wouldn’t allow it. The minute I evaluate my relationship with him and realize I’m spending more time unhappy than happy, that’s the minute I walk away. And me NOT being co-dependant, like that dumb cunt is, I’d be perfectly ok with doing that, knowing it was for the best. For the most part, he and I have been pretty fucking happy together…

Today though… I’m miserable. In fact, I’m down right out pissed off at Lars – if not on the verge of tears. This morning, we actually yelled at each other for the very first time. Yelling doesn’t look good on him, in fact it came across as more a whine. (How ridiculous the accusation that he was ever capable of controlling/abusing some woman with serious daddy issues in his past!!!) A result of our fight was me choosing not to spend the day with him; sending him to the mainland on his own. In doing so, I sincerely hope he enjoys his day with his family and I find some way to enjoy my day without him. I regret not seeing his beautiful mom & sister, and that is really upsetting for me. Everything between him and I, I’m sure will pass.

But… I’m a strong woman, and there’s a lot of shit I won’t put up with that maybe he’s become accustomed to getting away with, in relationships with weaker women in his past…? For him and I, they’re growing pains. We’re learning where each other draws the line. And either we’ll grow into each other, or we’ll grow out of one another. Either way, neither one of us will be miserable permanently. We’re well-rounded grownups that way.

And though today is crap, yesterday he spent a good deal of time just showing me how much I really mean to him. The boy spoiled me rotten – to the point where I had to call his mom and ask her to help make him stop… While I was working, Lars went out of his way to buy me a few things that I needed, and a few more things that I just wanted, and then even some things that would just make me smile. It was actually, far too much and I almost got mad at him for the sheer irresponsibility of his spending. His financial stability is as important to me, as mine is.

Anyway, I’m off to get stuff ready for tomorrow’s Flea Market. Might as well make the best I possibly can of this day… till he comes home, we make up and snuggle up for the night.

I’m so glad I’m not a knuckle-dragging ass-wipe, but rather have a few brains.

‘NUNYA’ is Internet slang for ‘None of ya damn business’. And no, I didn’t mean ‘your’, but ‘ya’ – as those who use it tend to accept such slang as proper English. A little closer to home, Nunya can also be known as a US Military goon that’s attempted so very hard to threaten (ok, ok… make promises of bodily harm), us in the comments of earlier posts and private emails. I think my favourite sentence was, “Watch Your Back, You'll Know Not When We Come.” Having each word capitalized, and using language like ‘know not’ adds to my terror. Gotta love online warriors – like really bad horror movies, they’re full of entertainment.

I often wonder if people like this understand how transparent the internet is. Even more so, how revealing it could be. For example, Nunya could otherwise be known as Jason Conley, resident of Lancaster or maybe Bedford, NH, USA, possibly near Campbell Rd or Rolling Woods Drive, whose only higher education was acquired in the Military, as public school was for fools while he was growing up as a civilian... But hell, she could also be known as Big Bertha resident of Sesame Street, Cartoon Network, with a Cereal-Box Diploma in Sandbox Politics for all I’d know…

But blah… whatever…

We didn’t make it to the fireworks, or the live band last night. Instead, we went to The Keg for Lobster & Steak, and Billy Miner Pie. Seriously, if you don’t know what Billy Miner Pie is (as I didn’t before last night), you don’t know what heaven on earth tastes like!

~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~
Does the fact that I keep peering into the black backgrounds of these pictures for a commando US military guy aiming his gun at us make you smile as wide as it does me?
~*~
I’m such a bitch.
~*~

~*~

~*~

~*~

By the time we left, around 7:30pm, we were so full, the idea of wandering through the crowds downtown was way less appealing than cuddling up in bed in front of a good movie. So instead, we made a quick stop to buy a few DVD’s and made our way home.

Lars & I got naughty for a bit – for the first time in a year or so, my system got a little THC hit. A little brain vacation never did any harm. We giggled as we watched Alice in Wonderland in complete stupidity, then, totally satisfied, passed out in one another’s arms. It was a great way to spend Canada Day in BC…

~*~
Compliments of Lars to that special dumb bitch from his past...

This is the third Canada Day in a row that I’ve been back home. Three years. I don’t want to be anywhere else on earth.

Yesterday was a bit of a ride (in more ways than one). I asked my boss for a much-deserved raise. It’s not something I did with ease; as I sincerely feel she’s like a mother to me, and as such I dislike asking her for anything but rather trust that she will look out for my best interests on her own. I tend to forget that we work together in an office, and despite having such a wonderful friendship, when it comes to work our relationship, it is a professional one.

’Professional…’ I’m so glad I know the definition of that word, and spend a lot of my life acting it out…

I laughed a lot at an online war that took place on my blog. It’s been years since I’ve been drawn into such fun ‘n games. But it was on my blog, and my blog is where I can indulge in whatever whim I please at any given moment, I guess. I felt a lot of pity as well; pity for neglected children and a misguided delusional mother who should have been spayed like any stray dog years before conceiving. I felt pity for the fool of an obvious average intelligence level and an engrossed ego to match an impressive vocabulary, that’s been drawn into her toxic web. If only he saw through my eyes (or anyone else’s), he’d see the laughing stock she’s made of him and his empty threats (or ‘promises’ as he prefers we called them)…

This morning I decided to disable the comments on the post, as I believe Lars and I have wasted enough time on idiocy. And hell, since we already have the US Army after us, we should stop while we're still alive!

For now, I’ll ponder the ludicrous that she is, the spite that she holds on to, the insanity that she finds comfort in, the lies she tells, and the true love that we’ve gained from her loss.

Tonight, Lars and I will celebrate the birthday of this great nation. We’ve planned to pack a picnic and go down to the water, where we’ll listen to the live bands then finally watch the fireworks after the sun goes down.

In celebration of Canada, lets share a giggle:



I'm proud to be a Canadian
Pass me another beer
I'm proud to be a Canadian
Hold my seat while I take a piss

Our prime minister sucks dogshit through his nose
His ex-wife gets brown showers from Mick Jagger
The only reason we live in fucking igloos
Is our government makes a living licking shit holes

I'm proud to be a Canadian
Pass me another welfare check
I'm proud to be a Canadian
Hold my seat while I go out and cash it

I'm proud to be a Canadian
Pass me another Eskimo
I'm proud to be a Canadian
Hold my seat while I fuck her up the ass hole

Better? ...or in this particular case: sluttier, trashier, dirtier, soiled and classless, filthy little whores that need to talk army boys into sending big, scary, high school-like (worthless) threats based on lies to other people?

Get over it bitch. And if you care so much about your children, stop slutting yourself all over the net - being an online cum-dumpster does your children less favors than your ex has done (and will now stop doing because you're a thankless cunt who likes to cause shit let alone tell lies about him). Perhaps your friend with the big scary mouth will to pay your bills now. You should be ashamed of yourself.

P.S. I hope the reality of this post that is certainly directed RIGHT AT YOU - makes you laugh as much as it (and you in general actually) do me. Foolish, foolish little girl.

”Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I’m working on for my Psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said, “Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.”

I read that quote today. It made me think…

While I was in Squamish this past week, I got up with my 7-year-old niece and her little friend and I jumped on the trampoline. My sister has a trampoline. Lars’ sister has a trampoline. And I had a trampoline in my back yard for the longest time before mom died. I never once before had the courage to do such a thing. I will remember jumping with the little ones, and I'll smile.

More than a decade in Dubai conditioned me to think that jumping on a trampoline, like biking, working out, running, or conducting any sort of physical activity was inappropriate, even rude for a girl to do. I’m so very thankful I’m not longer a part of that hell. I look back on so many years there with pain and frustration.

Here are a couple more reasons I’m glad I’m not there anymore: Reason One – Sex Crimes & Reason 2 – Cough Syrup.

I’m going to spend more time doing what I know will make me smile, and less time with the crap that makes me unhappy. Lars is going to smile with me… Looks like we may have a new member to the family pretty soon, too…

Leaving my house of out sheer frustration today, I found myself wandering down the beach side, and into a graveyard. I think it’s important to remember the dead, even if you never knew them while they lived. A visit to the graveyard helps remind you, that you a mere mortal…

I took photos along the way, as I often find its easier to express myself creatively, rather than talking. And the number of pain-killers and sedatives I’ve taken today make talking or typing a pretty big task.


Walking along the water, I found this bouquet in the tree. I can only assume it’s there to remind passer-by’s of a death that had occurred there. Such sights are not uncommon here.


~*~
Than I came across a place I felt belonged…



And though it didn’t look just like that while I was there, in my mind, that’s exactly what I saw.

~*~

Two things struck me at the graveyard:



The date of death on this was 1919. 91 Years ago. And there are fresh flowers on her tombstone today. It goes to show some people will not ever be forgotten. Who could have lived long enough ago to remember Agnes Roberts? And how old is this person now?

Some pains never die. And some people will always be loved, even in death.

~*~

In death, there was an abundance of life:



I sincerely hope my grave looks something like this when I’m gone.



~*~

As I made my way back to the path by the water… I found myself a peace.

Home should be a place where you’re comfortable, at peace, and able to relax. Let the world outside rush by, and worry about the busses being late, the weather being bad, and the stock markets crashing. Let the world outside deal with parking fees, the politicians, and the government’s mistakes. At home, you should be able to think of nothing but that which pleases you.

I’ve been home for 2 days now. Absolutely exhausted from this entire month, I’ve spent much of my time back sleeping. When I’m not sleeping, I find myself unhappy, uncomfortable, and even miserable. I cannot believe a huge piece of me is wishing I’d stayed in Squamish.

Maybe I’ve made a mistake? Maybe my heart has deceived me again? Or maybe, it’s just in the stars for this time and place? Maybe that anxiety I felt before I left had more to do with an emotional death than a physical one? Either way, the flags are up and I’m not going to have this, a permanent environment. That which is making me uncomfortable needs to be removed, or changed immediately.

How funny I actually feel relieved that I made it here... I really felt certain I wouldn't. I've always believed I'll die in an car wreck... I drive, and I do it well. But I also do it fast. I like speed. Before Lars, I was happiest when I was moving somewhere, in a car, on a highway. Now, I'm happiest in his arms.

Blah. I need to go to bed. I have to be up for 5 and it's going on 1 now. I wish I were in his arms, rather than here.
Sent from my BlackBerry® powered by Virgin Mobile.

June 21, 2010

Lars,

I have no idea what possesses me to write this, but I feel consumed with this deep sadness… Not for me. I’m at peace. My life with you is perfect. It’s a deep sorrow I feel for you.

I need you to know that I love you with all my heart. My life… Me… I am complete now. And I so hope I’m wrong, but as I pack to leave for Squamish, I can’t help but feel it’s the last time. And last night, last night I slept the perfect sleep wrapped in your love; like a perfect end.

Thank you. Thank you for being so: so very wonderful. And thank you for loving me.

If something should happen to me, know my only regret is the time I did not spend with you. This letter should serve as my Last Will & Testament. And legal or not, I wish that everything possible is done to make sure these simple requests are fulfilled:

Promise me you’ll stand by Martin and my brother Jesse long enough to know they are going to cope alright. Please help them be strong, as I know you will be. And hug Kelly Fouchier, tell her I love her with all my heart, but know she doesn’t need you as they do.

Promise me you won’t let either of those epitomes of evil, Sheila Fouchier or Eleanor Russell near my family, my estate or me or my remains. It was not possible for me to live as if I had never encountered either vile excuse for a woman, I wish to at the very lest, die as though neither of these things existed in my life.

Promise me that when my son is old enough to understand, you’ll let him know that I loved him with all my heart and made every choice I possibly could in his best interest.

And finally, perhaps most important of all, promise me you’ll find happiness in our past and your future. I love you, and that is my truest wish for you.

As for my estate… After my debts are paid, I leave everything I own (including but not limited to my apartment in Dubai, my 2006 Nissan Altima (here in Canada), my 2003 Nissan Maxima (in Dubai), any and all jewellery, including that which was left to me from my mother’s estate) to Martin Christopher Lee to divide among my loved ones or keep to him, as he desires. I do hope something profitable for you all, becomes of the little I have, eventually. Perhaps you could all build something together?

There are two groups of people mentioned in this letter. You are either one of the reasons my life was worth living and I thank you, or you were living proof that true evil does exist and have made me even more thankful for the latter in my life.

Much love…
Xx

There is a signed copy of this on the bottom part of our bedside table, babes. I hope I'm just consumed with emotion today, and confusing the fear of missing you for a week with the fear of never seeing you again. I hope you never, ever have to pull it out, but it's there if you need it and I'd much rather be safe than sorry. I love you.