Daily Routine; Cocksucker!

I was just thinking this morning that I never write those neat, little "update on my life" blogs that most do, and that I should, since although my life isn't terribly exciting, I don't always need to be writing on an issue or peculiar cultural occurrence, especially since the latter don't happen as much as they used to, and I spend the majority of my time alone in the midst of a jungle-forest.

So, here I am about to describe my daily, mundane routine. And then I remembered that cocksucker!

Every morning I get up and after emerging from zombieland, I go out and put on my gumboots. These are the shoes of choice in our area where rain is a common occurrence and there's lots of muck about. Of course, I got myself a fashionable pair, which are now respectfully stained, so I can always look legitimate, but fabulous!

I put those on, and whistle to my dog, Tonks, who spends most of her time outside, as it makes her happy and having her inside usually makes me unhappy, as in the cartoon-like set of muddy tracks she left on the carpet from front to back door the other day *mutter*

But she loves doing stuff with me outside, and accompanies me each morning on this little chore. Typically, we are also accompined by our cat, Fern, who runs around in the background, tempting Tonks to 'come and get her!' This usually ends up with me hollering at Tonks to stop attacking the cat and at Fern to stop antagonizing the dog. Tonks will try to look appropriately ashamed, as she is displaying in this photo from this morning. Fern could care less.

Then, we set off to the "chooks." This is the term for chickens here, which most people have wandering their yard or in a coop like mine. From the owners of our house, we have inherited their own clutch of five hens... and one COCK.

At first the rooster seems rather benign. He's slightly smaller than the hens, who push him around. For example, there's a whole line of silverbeet, a kind of nasty-tasting cross between bok choy, kale, and celery which grows along the outside of the coop. The owners planted it, and showed me how they picked off leaves each day and threw them over the fence of the coop to the chooks, who quickly devour it. I've watched many times as I've done the same -- the hens literally shove the rooster out of the way where he stands, a bit awkwardly, and kind of waits for them to get their fill, or more likely, for them to get distracted by the next piece thrown over the fence.

And the best part -- he's fluffy. He's a fluffy rooster! Cute, right? He's a damn cocksucker, he is.

So next, I'll go around the coop where the chicken feed, a vat of boring, brown pellets, are stored. I scoop up a batch of that in a little white bucket with a handle, and I enter the coop, where by now, the hens are RIGHT at the door waiting for me.

I admit, I'm a little spooked by them. I know they can't really hurt me, but still! They have beaks and those gnarly, nasty-ass claws, and they're rather aggressive. This is one of the main reasons I wear gumboots. That way I don't have to worry about them pecking my feet or something, which they seemed inclined to do when I enter their coop, bucket in hand. All they seem to know is: human = brown pellets, and so they swarm me in an alarming way.

So, I'll throw out their feed, some on the ground to distract them, and the rest goes into a cute little chicken trough which is under cover from rain. I then go to their nests, of which there are four. But they all seem to lay their eggs in the first or second one, almost totally ignoring the third and fourth. I collect the eggs, and the chooks, still totally immersed in their feeding frenzy, have by now ignored my presence.

On this particular day, I was finished and was on my way out of the coop. I was reaching for the door when suddenly *BAM*

That fucking cock had attacked me -- FROM BEHIND! And he must have put his all into it, cause it was quite a thump. If I hadn't been wearing my beloved gumboots and sweatpants, that might actually have been uncomfortable or something.

I wheeled around. That little cocksucker was standing there, all proud of himself. I don't know who he thought he fucking was, or who he thought he was impressing, since the hens hadn't even looked up from their chow session.

Okay, you little prick, BRING IT!

I walked toward him, bucket in my hand. He started coming at me again, but this time I was ready. I swung. *BLAMO* I hit him while he was in the air, claws extended out in front of him like he was in a G-D Filipino cockfight. He came at me again and again, sailing through the air with his nasty claws flying in front of him. I met him each time with the empty bucket. I wasn't out to hurt him, but I was going to make sure he knew I wasn't going to be target practice. After a few smacks with the bucket, he stopped and backed off.

It seemed to work. Since that day, each time I enter the coop to feed the chooks, he gives me a wiiiiiiide berth. That's works just fine for me. He knows who the real boss is now.

Cocksucker.

American Idol - Heartless Bastards

Does anyone else think that those who make and host American Idol have become a pack of heartless bastards?

It seems in New Zealand we're a few episodes behind the U.S. I found this out when I was watching E! network and saw that the annoying Bikini Girl had been cut a couple episodes before she had here. Oops.

Tonight Beau and I are watching the one where the judges, in their FUCKING PALATIAL MANSION, are bringing contestants in one by one to basically tell them they're in or out of the competition. Probably the most boring of all shows of the season, but worst of all, the most cruel.

Personally, as much as I love American Idol, and I admit, I do, I have been finding each season seems to be getting more and more cruel. I know that when it comes to reality TV, "conflict" and "pain," no matter how manufactured, is what the camera loves, but these are young people, people who have big, big dreams. And sure, you can make fun of the corniness of wanting to be a STAR!!! *jazz hands* But if we can all remember what it was like to be 19 years old and feel things THAT deeply...as if your heart would truly break and kill you. Sure, some of them need a quick reality slap in the face, but that doesn't mean that the truth has to be so bitterly delivered.

Simon, whom I often agree with, since I think he is that dose of reality that is needed to counter Randy's blustering dogcabulary and Paula's sticky bullshit, seems to be becoming increasingly intolerable with the whole process, and therefore, his comments have gone from blunty honest to simply streaked with mean.

But one of the worst things of all, is this over-the-top pregnant pauses, where a judge will give a melodramatic grimace and say, "Ohhhhh, you've really taken these risks, do you really think you did well?...... I don't know......this is a really hard decision for us......we don't know how to say this..... *dramatic sigh* ........ well......We're sorry.......*sigh*.....but......"You made it! You're in Season 8!"

Meanwhile, the poor contestant, who has been trembling non-stop throughout this ridiculous performance, and has sobbed all make-up away, is now thrust into a split second of deer-in-the-headlights confusion, before then jolted into near hysterics of relief and joy. It's gruesome to watch. And unnecessary.

Why why why do they do this?? Why is Ryan Seacrest such a fake-ass...drawing out one of the most awkward and painful moments of a young person's life cause...cause it's good TV? Boy, we as the audience must be a bunch of real emotion vultures.

And yes, I do like Kara, although she can be occasionally harsh. Nice to see someone lovely, talented, and... um.... sober on the show.

Anyway, I guess I got my point across *cough*, so, although all I've seen so far is Hollywood Week, here is my early early prediction for the final 12 (and so far, I think the men are much stronger than the women):

MEN
Adam Lambert





Danny Gokey





Stephen Fowler





Scott MacIntyre





Ju'Not Joyner





Jorge Nuñez





And although I adore him, I did not put the oil rig guy on here)


WOMEN
Jasmine Murray





Ann Marie Boskovich





Alexis Grace





Lil Rounds





Stevie Wright





Kristen McNamara





And I hope Tatiana gets cut. Soon. Ugh, what a camera-playing freak.

Bush Walk

Beau and I have been wanting to take a "bush walk" since we moved into the new homestead a few weeks back. If you look out our "back door"... which is basically a giant sliding glass door ... all you see is a river running into the vast ocean. Awesome. If you look out our "front door," all you see is "bush" heading straight toward the heavens. "Bush" is a term used here loosely to mean forest, jungle, thick foliage, stuff-that's-hard-to-gauge-without-a-machete, etc. Basically, the area of New Zealand we live in is all bush bordered on one side by the ocean, with the occasional house and land. There are a few kiwi orchards around, some random cow or horse herds, several junked cars, and a rare appearance by a criminally-over-priced Ma & Pop shop.

We want to go out into it because we're curious. And because we're now officially fatties. I am 10kg (about 22 pounds or so) fatter than when I was in Thailand a few years back, and when I was there, I already felt chunky. It didn't particularly help matters that Thais found great enjoyment in telling me every day, "Teacher, you are very fat!" I almost had to beat that phrase out of my students.

In fact, one day my tailor took a look at me and said, "You've gotten fatter," and all my future suits for work were then made a bit less snug. And now I'm 10kg beyond that. Fan-tastic!

So, we put on our good hiking shoes (cross-trainers) and slathered on the bug repellent and headed for our goal -- a telephone pole situated at the very top of the ... I dunno... hill, mountain, giant green thing covered in foilage behind our house. I have to tell you, this was one of those moments when NOT being pregnant was a big relief, since I fell a couple of times when I was, and that was always a bit scary. Now, I knew I was destined to fall on my ass or face in this straight-up climb, and at least all that would be hurt would be my pride.

We started our walk, with our dogs Tonks happily padding at our heels. I love my dog, but really, she's a giant pain in the ass, and if she isn't within 3 feet of you at ALL times, she becomes a big whiny baby. So, walking along with us was just bliss for her. As we were rounding through one part of the property (it is MASSIVE), I started to hear Fern, our cat, crying as if her heart was breaking, somewhere behind us.

"Oh, for the love of god. Ferrrrrrrn. Ferrrrrrn. FERN!"

*bar-romp bar-romp bar-romp* Here comes Fern. Great, the whole family is here...it's like we're filming a new version of The Incredible Journey.

We start ascending, and it's a bit challenging, and THICK, but it's pretty cool. I mean, it's like instant jungle, instant rain forest, instant ... fern land. You only need to spend about 30 seconds in the New Zealand bush to see why the fern is one of their national symbols, including nearly all of their sports teams.

We were doing okay for awhile. Beau had found himself a good walking stick to help haul himself up the steep incline, and I was in his wake, trying to find footholds where I could. The big joke of the forest, was that there were branches -- EVERYWHERE -- but every time you grabbed one in desperation, *snap* it came off in your hand and you nearly catapulted backwards to your doom.

It got steeper and steeper, and we were following a trail that really only existed in our minds. Beau was sure that men had previously come this way many times to get up to the phone cables at the very top (far...far). I seemed to remember being told the helicopters were used to get up to those lines. Beau feigned ignorance of such a fact.

I also was a bit uncomfortable with Fern following us. Tonks following us is one thing. She's a dog and loves to push through thick brush. But...a house cat? I mean, I know we let Fern outside now since we moved here, but I still see her as our little kitty, our house cat who spends a lot of the day curled up on the couch. We were getting high up this mountain and our house kitty was hiking right along with us. But Beau said, "J., she's a cat. She'll be fine." And so, whatever. Super cute, kinda weird. Our animals have some serious abandonment issues. Wonder where they get THAT from.

Onward, I continued to "see" trails in the thick brush. I felt like I should be in a Hollywood movie, dressed in khaki Snobby Colonial clothes and wielding a machete as I exhaustedly hack further and further through the mosquito-infested jungle. It was crazy, but when you know your own HOUSE is just like, down there, you don't get all dramatic about it. It's kind of fun! What's the worst that could happen?

It seemed to be getting steeper, and thicker, though once in awhile we'd get a break and find another "trail." There was only one type of branch that was both hearty and strangely flexible and curved and twisted in strange ways, so you found yourself contorting your body to get under and over the same branch. It too, would suddenly 'let go' of its hold in the earth and I'd find myself tottering once again. Beau finally relinquished his stick to me, which I used to keep myself going up, up, upwards. Those telephone cables were real close, right?

We did have a few nice stops where you could make out a breathtaking view of the ocean below, as seen in my lovely photography here. You can just make out the cable on the left-side of the photo.

Unfortunately, there weren't any places you could really stop for long. Definitely no picnics. Usually you had one leg bent at 90 degrees, with your knee just under your chin, and your other leg straight as an arrow, perched on a tiny bit of dirt somewhere below you.

We got pretty high, and like most mountains, you climb and climb, get to a point where you're feeling pretty super-human (as seen by Beau's photo), and suddenly someone goes, "Oh no, the peak is actually over there!" and you look and see another peak, MUCH higher than you've already climbed, and you realize you have like a ton of more hiking to do.

Fuck that.

The telephone cables were hanging just above our heads, and we knew that the pole itself wasn't too far. We felt pretty accomplished, and had no shame in turning back at this point. Besides, how long would it take us to get back down such a steep incline?

We started down, now with me in the lead, one hand on the walking stick, and one hand clutching my camera. I shouldn't really say "me" in the lead. My initial master plan was to let the innate intuitiveness of Tonks lead us expertly through the bush and safely to the ground somewhere far below. Good idea? Well, I spent a lot of time on my ass, so you decide. Most likely the photo to the right is blurry because Beau was laughing too hard watching me slip-n-slide to keep the camera steady.

I was hearing a lot of grunting and various "ow"s and "ouch"s coming from behind me. I turned around and offered Beau his walking stick back. "No, that's okay, I'll just keep grabbing onto this razor-sharp grass for support," he replied.

I guess the bush makes some people a bit snarky.

Finally, at the bottom. Tonks is covered in burrs and both Beau and I are covered not only in burrs, but scratches and scrapes EVERYWHERE. Of course, Fern is still the princess she always is, clean and dignified. When pulling some dead leaves out of my underwear a few minutes later in the bathroom, my dignity kind of went out the window.

Sad, But Okay

Originally, I had no intention of writing about this, but for some reason, I've changed my mind. I think perhaps I feel as if I don't write this stuff down, then I lose the majority of it to my crappy memory. And I don't want to forget. Every once in awhile I read stuff from my blog (Thailand days) and go, "Holy shit, I had forgotten that even happened!" and it's something big, not something minor and humorous like how I almost drove my motorcycle into an elephant's ass.

In about 2 weeks I was going to announce that I was pregnant. It was that close. But as of a couple days ago, I started miscarrying. I'm okay, though in some pain and pretty unhappy about how this all plays out physically. But emotionally and mentally I'm suprisingly okay. Not fine, not great, but okay. Still, my reaction has somewhat surprised me. But I know I'm not in denial.

And the sad thing is, it's because of all my friends' pain. Nearly all my friends have had babies, the vast majority within the past five years. And as this all started going on, I started learning that the majority of them, (though not all), were having at least one miscarriage before successfully giving birth. Initially, this stunned me. I had always thought miscarriages were one of those rare, tragic things that occassionally a woman experienced, but as more friends started going through them, I saw them for what they were -- sad, but somewhat common.

I mentioned in a past blog about a co-worker who had had one -- I believe her second -- and had missed quite a bit of work. She was devastated. And my boss, who is really a wonderful woman, had shocked me by leaning in and saying, "You don't understand, J., they're really common. They happen all the time." I thought she had been a little callous at the time, but as time went on, I learned she was right. And more of my friends went through this, and they were all so sad. It's because I've watched so many others go through this pain that I had already braced for it myself, and in some way, thought I would be lucky if I did not experience it. I'm considered a high-risk pregnancy by default (high blood pressure and age). I wasn't pessimistic, just prepared.

I also learned that miscarriages, in Nature's view, are a good thing. Sometimes a fetus should never develop -- something is horribly wrong with it. And this is Nature's, and the body's, way of saying, "No, this baby would not make it. We need to start over." Nature is hardly ever warm and fuzzy, just watch Animal Planet for an hour or two to catch that. She's brutal, but she knows what she's doing.

I had that, "You've made it past the danger zone" ultrasound scheduled for next week, but I started to bleed, and we all know what that means. What's worse, is that the hospital is over an hour's drive away and Beau works 20 minutes in the opposite direction, so I had to wait for him to get a sub to cover him at work and come get me. We finally got to the place, and had the ultrasound, and it was all but confirmed. I was checked into the hospital, and after waiting FOREVER (it was the day before a long holiday weekend), was surprisingly greeted by an American obstetrician. They took blood, gave me the RH- shot, and told me to come back in a few days. Finally, at the end of a long day, Beau and I drove home, a little sad, but okay. I hate how this is being kind of dragged out. I want it to end, but I'll follow the doctor's advice.

In addition, Beau was unbelievably amazing during all this, which I think also made it a lot easier, unlike one friend who was dealing with painfully difficult husband while going through the same thing (she eventually had a beautiful baby boy, but got divorced soon after). Beau was there every step of the way, though all he could do for the most part was sit there. I think by the end of the day I loved him twice as much as when I had woken up that morning.

Well, it'll be a few more months of waiting before we can "try" again, ugh. I got pregnant SUPER fast due to my anally-organized tendencies, vigilence with my ovulation kits, and a little help from Beau, of course. I thought we were super lucky, and the timing was great. Unfortunately, the first couple months SUCKED. I lost 20lbs, hated nearly all food (Me! a Foodie!), got exhausted after any kind of minimal exertion, and of course, was a bit crabby. It was like having the stomach flu for a month. But I was finally starting to feel better. I was beginning to get excited. Now, we'll have to go through all that again.

Anyway, I had one weird encounter which I wanted to write down, since it's kind of a local cultural thing, and that's one of the main reasons I started this blog in the first place - to record this kind of stuff....

At the end of the day when we had returned from the hospital and were back in our little town, Beau had to go to one of the teacher's homes to pick up his keys from her. Her husband, also a teacher, came out of the house with her. The husband made a gesture at me to smile, and I obliged, though inwardly I was a little bit annoyed. Beau had left the engine running (hint hint) and I stayed in the car. I was NOT feeling particularly social and just wanted to get back home. But of course, in this small town, word travels fast and the word "family" is something you hear a lot. A lot, a lot.

The husband strolled slowly up to my car window, a strange, twisted look on his face. As he reached me, he immediately started in on me, scolding and berating me. Basically, the gist was that we were all a family in this community, we were all together and supported each other no matter what. When there was an emergency, we all drop whatever we are doing and rush to aid that person (he noted that his wife had had plans that day but had, of course, cancelled them to cover for Beau). And Beau and I are not alone, should not act like we're alone, we are supported, etc. etc.

Part of me was touched by this...um...slap in the face, though I felt sheepish and had to keep saying things like, "I know, thank you, I know, yes yes." This is a very kind couple who I have always really liked, and yes, I do know where he was coming from and I did appreciate it. But I was also a little upset that I was sort of being harrassed, especially at such a vulnerable time.

Beau and I are a lot alike -- we can be very social if we have to be, but truthfully, we're homebodies and like to live quietly -- going to movies or out to dinner together. We're really not the types to rush out and proclaim such news (well, um, except for on my BLOG, *cough*). And the LAST thing I wanted was the entire community to know, to have people coming up to me left and right to comfort me. I appreciate well-wishers, but from a distance. I just need a couple of people I care about to care. Anything else makes me feel uncomfortable and uneasy and I feel as if I have to put on some kind of fake face to satisfy them and get them away from me as soon as possible.

Does that sound unbelievably rude? Unfeeling? I don't mean it to be. I guess I just want to have some true sincerity around me and though I may be touched by people's good intentions, for me, it makes the situation worse rather than better.

Anyway, I have mixed feelings about my cultural encounter. I know that in this indigenous community, that's how things are done, but I think I am going to find that pretty tough in the future. But as always, you have to try and fit in to the place you live. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" hasn't survived this long for nuthin.

And now, I'm going to go and lay down and read for a bit. Perhaps several months in the future I'll have some better news for you all. :)