Courtesy of Anne Marie the doctor. How did you stumble upon this?

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I can sell you red string or even a nice piece of yarn at a fraction of the cost. However, this also begs the question of what is happening at Target. Has it gone upmarket?!? Is it trying to attract Madonna? What happened to cheap plastic boxes and low cost shampoo?

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I suppose this is when I shouldn't admit to racing the little creatures before sticking them in a pot. I also had a veggie friend who maintained they were just giant inscets. But she also believed it was okay to eat fish 9'floating vegetables') because in eating their own young, the proved they had no intelligence.

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I wasn't going to blog about my family. I really wasn't. But they are just so entertaining, well, here it goes...(and I know I should be able to blog in such a way that I have a nice link here that would go to my big long post about my family and those who don't want to know about their various shenigans could look away, but I have no idea how to accomplish that and yes, I have trawled through blogger help).

First, my favorite sister story. My sister is a lot of things I am not. A size 10 (that is UK size 10, try american size 6), blond, single mother of four, drives landrover, exists off benefits, trained as a hairdresser. I like her. Really. However, she explained to me one night in a bar about the guy who looks after her landrover. He is the mechanic her father used for years before moving to France. Sylvester, who is recently divorced, does all sorts of things on the car and never charges her a penny. In addition, he takes her out for the occasional meal and recently took her shopping. He bought her a lovely matching bra and knicker set that costs £150. Why am I am amused/taken aback by this? Simple, my sister maintains that Sylvester does all this out of the goodness of his heart. He has no romantic or sexual aspirations. Call me a cynic, but I have my doubts.

I also have a brother. I am not that fond of him. Possibly because he falls in the rightwing fascist side of the family (in fact, he could be their staunchest member), he is grumpy and in capable of making himself happy, he keeps my mother awake at night worrying, he has abysmal taste in music. I have my reasons. Anyway, he is divorced. I usually refer to the ex-wife as the psychotic ex-wife or my psychotic ex-sister-in-law (my father uses other terms). Anyway, the ex remarried since divorce to a guy called Will. It seems a few weeks ago, Will went out of town on business for the weekend. The ex packed up all the stuff in the house and moved it into a new house she had bought in another state. She did leave a few boxes behind. Strangely enough, Will isn't letting her into the house to collect them. I don't know if Will is the third or fourth marriage to well, not really work.

So, I don't really feel the need to watch soaps anymore; I catch up on the family news instead. I stopped watching Eastenders several years ago because I was reading A Suitable Boy. It was much more interesting and I only have so much recreational time. I suppose I must hope that we don't get a murder or something in the family to keep up the drama but otherwise, I think it might all be in there.

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First, I see that the whole dashboard panel has changed. I am a little frightened by all the new buttons but I am willing to be patient.

Second, we still don't have roads to the house. But my do we have weeds! I am so looking forward to the builders asking for another £100 for the management of the common grounds in a few months time. Especially as they only have managed to mow the lawn in the show house once in the past year. My garden, on the other hand, is a riot of flowers. The cornflowers have decided to appear, the wild rose that I thought I killed is about to burst into lots and lots of little roses, and the cammomile is trying to take over the herb garden. It all looks quite lush.

Third, I still have so much laundry to do. I can't find all the things I need. I think my child may still have lice. And there is no sunshine.  I suppose I need to realise that I am not on holiday in more. We do not drive on the left side of the road, shout 'bon jour' or get to drink a litre of red wine with dinner.

I will not bore people with my countless stories of sleeping by the pool, going to the plage, wandering around the markets, trying to deal with my family. Rest assure that if the family does carry out any of their more madcap schemes I will keep you abreast. But if you want to know the full extent of the stresses, strains, highlights, low points and my general musings on sisters in families (three generations to draw on!), you can buy me a drink. Maybe a beer. I haven't had  a beer in a long time.

We did manage to see the Tour De France, mainly because the H is a big fan. We trundled out with our chairs and sun block and bits of pain and some water to join all the picnicking french who were there to cheer on various riders during stage quatrose. The H thought it was just like the 12th when families gathered to picnic and watch on the Lisburn Road. Somehow I don't think so. Can't say I spotted Lance. There were helicopters (like Belfast in the bad days) and then news cars and cars with bikes, and journalists on motorcycles and then cops on motorcycles and then a great big group of cyclists. I was hoping for at least a small break away group leading the whole big pack, but no. And then I got told off for not being able to recognise US Postal's team jerseys. If I ever do it again, I am taking a bigger picnic.

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I'll sleep better tonight.
Yes, I am back. Yes I need to blog about France. I need to blog about wine. But I am only just back. I am trying to be coherent while working and I still have a suitcase to unpack.

Oh, and visitors coming to stay for three weeks, starting tomorrow.

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Got up early. Didn't run. Went to the castle. Mel would like it. Its a bit like the Renn Faire. But French. And about 150 years older. And with a castle. Yes, people dressed up. Lots of little shops. The Blessing insisted on getting a halberd.

Then we went to Limoux. Where you get the oldest sparkling wine.(I was going to link, but the little tool bar has disappeared, alas). Anyway, but Sieur d' Arques in google and away you go. We currently own 12 bottles. But I think that number will change daily. Well, as technology defeats me, I will go have an aperitif.

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First off, Ceasars is too big. Second who needs that many casinos? Neither MGM or Harrah's if you ask me.

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But I am. Just at the end of the street. And on all the roads leading into the village. And even in the middle of the village. This is when I regret never learning how to use the digital camera or even now know where either digital camera is. Otherwise there would be pictures of the vines, the lovely old church today, and of course, the graveyeard. Gives you a good sense of who was the important family in town 100 odd years ago.

Not doing much. Not going many places. Seen Carcassonne from the road. Visited Narbonne but too late to stop by the covered market and buy olives. Just taking naps, swimming in the pool (we've invented the great game of pool boules), eating olives and lovely chicken and bread and pate. Would you like me to mention the wine. Under five euros for a five litre container. Though the choice in this house is only red or rose. Made mexican one night and some great margaritas. If I can find cranberry juice, there will be cosmopolitans. And we do plan on visiting the sparkling wine area (oldest sparkling wine around) soon so there will be more kir royales. I would post links but I am on a dial-up connection (oh the pain, it burns!). And at a later point when it has all panned out I may just start to blog about all the excitement my family can provide. The drama, the tears, the bad parenting. Ah, next time. Au revoir, mes enfants!

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No, not the vegas trip (more on that in a moment). Tomorrow the H and the Blessing and I will pack up (after doing laundry, cleaning the house and visiting the library) and start our journey. We have a 7 am flight out of Dublin so rather than leave the house at 3 am, we are going down the night before and staying in a hotel near the airport. I am curious as to how busy Dublin airport will be at 6 in the morning on a Sunday. I am sure I won't be pleased. Then it is off to Carcassonne. No longer as freaked about the whole thing as I was last week but I am not quite there yet, am I? Anyway, it will be very quiet in this little corner of the blogosphere for the next two weeks.

Had my anniversary dinner last night at Thai Tanic. Who can resist a name like that in a city like Belfast? I would happily go again as would the H even if they didn't have bbqed chicken on the menu.

And after the lovely stress dream I had about my high school reunion that involved both high school athletes getting all the attention and very thin very blond popular girls I have decided I don't need to go to my reunion. Which means I don't have to worry about flying stand-bye or getting back in time to watch the Blessing in her school uniform go off to big school (I will cry. I know this. And mope.) I think I will head to California around September 9th. So get out that aerobed! and be prepared to take me to Target, Baja Fresh, oh and you might want to stock up on some wine.

One thing I am looking for is a laptop that I can beg, borrow, steal or even rent for a week in LA. This way I can blog as I travel. Is it possible to rent laptops for a week?

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I am not thrilled with this result. And I am not particularly tidy.

Which Office Moron Are You?
Rum and Monkey: jamming your photocopier one tray at a time.

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Well, I am feeling all cultural today and not necessarily in a let's go watch Tosca, when does the Blessing start ballet lessons sort of way. So, I've been wallowing in nostalgia, finding out where my cultural compass points; you can too! First off, thanks to Crooked Timber you can check out this test. Steely Dan or Elvis Costello? Can anyone pose that question seriously? Then I started to browse through this and remembering which albums I owned, which ones hadn't made the culls of vinyl that happened with various transatlantic moves. {three elvis costello albums but no This Year's Model?!?}And I realized, I don't blog enough about Elvis Costello. How can I not spend the time to talk about LordgodKing Mr.Costello who has never had the good sense to marry me?

I suppose I shouldn't moan about Mr. Third Marriage and will this latest one be happy when it is in fact my wedding anniversary. And the H is taking me out, feeding me Thai food and has bought me a new watch. I still think I showed remarkable good sense in marrying this one (because I have called off weddings before, 8 days before, and I wasn't always sure I wanted that band of gold/platinum or piece of paper that much). It was an enjoyable wedding. Silly over the top church, wedding cake baked by LSE Academic, reception at a deconsecrated church. And what has followed hasn't been too bad either.

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A friend asked me a few years ago how many Powerpuff Girls watches did I need. I thought about it and answered 'more'. (which could just be the definitive proof that I am an American). Alas, for the last six months I have been relying on a fake chanel that doesn't have numbers because all my watches have run down. Yesterday though, the H took them all and got the batteries replaced (except for my one hand of fatima swatch) and today I am happily reunited with my Lorus Sixty years Mickey Watch. Of course, when I do get to the West Coast I will more than likely go and look for more powerpuff girl watches and maybe another new mickey. I figure if i am ever in a high powered meeting making the big policy decisions (no, I am not going to admit how often that happens) I figure all I need to do is look down at my watch and that should puncture any inflated sense of importance I might be feeling.

I used to want a tattoo on my ankle for the same reason. If I was going to get a tattoo, I wanted to be able to see it. But it would need to be somewhere reasonably discreet but that I could look at in a meeting. Do I have a tattoo? No. I am scared of the pain. And I am broke. And I have mentioned how I feel about pain? Do think about it from time to time. But I also think I am too old for that kind of malarky these days. And I am scared of the pain.

Repeat of CSI. Let the H watch Tour de France so no Las Vegas for me. Besides, I can live the life myself in two months time.

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Just the kind of news one wants to hear as one makes summer holiday plans. On the plus side, this doesn't impact the France trip. We are flying out before the first strike date and we are going through Dublin. But if it does go ahead, it could mean people wanting to fly through Dublin to avoid any knock-on cancellation effects felt in various UK airports. Which might bode ill for for trying to fly stand-by to California in August. Besides, really, I don't like to cross picket lines. No, honestly. I don't.

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I am certain I owe a big apology for breaking various bits of furniture over at Broom of Anger's actual residence. I am trying to block out the memories. And I still have no real concept of where it was.

Then I know there must be a way of linking this page with say another page I would be creating so you wouldn't have to read a great big long post from me unless you wanted to. But I haven't figured it out yet. So, if you don't want my long, angst-filled ramblings, look away now.

I have one great romance in my life. Surprisingly enough, if isn't the H who I do adore, who manages to survive my occasional high maintenance moments, who often cooks for me, gives me back rubs and thinks I am pretty nifty. I do like the H but it isn't the grand passion that quite often consumes too much of my life. No, the whole giggles to much, writes over the top mash notes, spends too long thinking about, can just be made blissfully happy of being in the same room, that relationship is with a friend. When it is good, it is of course very, very good. But when it is bad, I am sure I don't have to draw you a picture.

Indeed, one of the reasons I love the H is his complete un-neurosis. I figure I can do the whole bad mental health cul-de-sacs for the both of us if not the entire family. If I had to put up with the ups and downs of happiness, passion, feelings of love, commitment, worthiness, the worries of life, happiness and all the rest, that relationship, my marriage would have burnt out by now.

My great romance is having one of its cyclical downturns. It is a bit early to tell whether this is a big downturn or simply a small blip. However, the signs are ominous. I begin to wonder if it is all worth it. What is the price of passion. And when do I decide to stop paying it. But then of course the flip side is shouldn't you have to work at the hard stuff. Shouldn't I expect that life isn't always sunshine and roses. Don't I need to hone my compromise skills, my ability to think of other skills. To try and not make snap judgments. To not let people down. To be consistent. I don't have any answers. Just a whole lot of thoughts chasing around my head like those proverbially bags of weasels. Thoughts (blogs) starting out at one point and just wandering off in strange directions as I try to at least find a bit of peace in my own head about my own life.

Also saw Shrek 2 at the weekend. Thanks to the wonders of counterfeiting and the economic activities of paramilitaries, the blessing had already seen the flick before it even opened her. Hey, don't blame me. I buy my videos from places like Amazon and Big W. I might have enjoyed it more if I wasn't hungover, hadn't hurt myself in the whole let's drink too much because we are just so goddamned nervous, and didn't have the blessing crawling all over me.

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Yes, I know, this shows just how stupid my thinking on Friday night was. Though I, naively perhaps believing in the goodness of people, still think that wandering around in pink flip flops and pajama bottoms would have lead to someone trying to help get me home.

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I don't understand how Quizilla works. Otherwise I would have to construct my own quiz. I think it would be "what piece of ikea furntiure are you?". Of course, I would also need to have at least one of the many ikea catalogues I own (many, many, many) that no longer reside in my house. Why do people borrow my catalogues and not bring them back? Wouldn't you rather have a Next catalogue from several years ago. I'd happily change that for an ikea one of any year. And no, I am not going on ebay to buy one. Anymore than I am going on ebay to sell my invitations to join gmail. I am trying to avoid ebay. So, because I can't figure out what kind of swedish furniture named after a lake I am, I did this quiz instead.

Revolutionary Dictator - Down with the System!


What Kind of Dictator Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

See? Predictable. Even if that Business Affairs VP at Universal kept telling me I had an overly romantic view of Cuba and even if I did take the money and run I would be disappointed.

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Not the website of the boy I almost married. Does not link to a website of the boy I almost married. But, you know, if we were still on speaking terms (for some reason I am not his favorite person), I would have to send him this link.

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