Well, my very first blog. It's something I've avoided for a long time due to the way my friends, nay, my culture, views the existance of such a thing. Blog is a dirty word among the hardcore computer nerds, and I think I qualify quite nicely.
I was married two weeks ago, March 15th, 2008. It wasn't exactly the wedding most women have, or dream of, planned out for months, even years until everything down to the last doily is perfect. At the beginning of the year my darling fiance said to me "next time I visit, we should get married, even if we're seperated again, I want to be able to call you my wife."
He said this from Cincinnatti, Ohio. 10,000 miles from me in the far south of Australia.
We met in January 07. Maybe not "met", but first spoke. Back then I was known solely as a cantankerous, outspoken paladin, he as a quiet and reliable mage. Oh yes, we met on World of Warcraft. The guild that nursed our characters from conception also nursed our relationship, though we didn't know it yet.
I had been going through a bizarre phase of internet relationships, still reeling from a real betrayal of a man who I then considered to be the love of my life. I spent my nights nearly unconscious on painkillers, valium and vodka, sitting in front of my computer. Like the other members of my guild, I lived alone, seperated from my family and estranged from my friends. WoW, while no substitute for real interaction, provided us all with a bizarre comfort, a tight knit family.
My prolific relationships were always entertaining. The others roared with laughter about my newest tale of male stupidity, pressing "/who" to find out who the newest sucker was. A rogue with a thick Virginian accent, a warrior whose entire life revolved around getting his new sword, a shaman who wouldn't stop pestering me. The man who would eventually become my husband laughed loudest of all as we roamed around the countryside, levelling together.
I continually butted heads with a warrior in my guild, the scathing barbs flew back and forth in guildchat whenever we both had some spare time. Again, an activity everyone found hysterical, no one moreso than me. Finally the enjoyment we took from this activity was admitted by both of us to be a little more than blowing off steam. Our exuberant relationship became the talk of the entire server until his painfully shallow attitude destroyed things. For the first and only time, I got dumped for being too fat, something I found laughable as I could do with losing a few kilos, but I'm hardly obese.
If our relationship had been blazingly vocal, the aftermath was explosive. The jibes took a cruel turn, both of us more than once ending up in tears. After each round I would turn to my faithful questing partner, not to talk but to blow off steam by killing monsters. This was in July 07.
Suddenly, this bizarre world of disembodied voices, questing and raiding, midnight talks about boss strategies, took a turn for reality.
Kdubya and I started flirting, which quickly dived into a realisation that we wanted to be together. He immediately made plans to visit in September. The word marriage was quick to be mentioned, as the only way we could explore a relationship together without legalities keeping us apart. But soon the legalities weren't mentioned, it was just the two of us, wanting to be together always.
I had just turned 20, and was not a person especially prone towards the actual intimacies of a relationship. I freaked out, told him that he was not to propose, or assume I would marry him, until we had met in person.
September arrived, he stepped off the plane and into my arms. From the first word he spoke I knew that not only was he just as amazing in person, but even moreso. On the third day he knelt in front of me and presented me with a diamond ring.
And so we come around again to January 08. His next visit was planned for his birthday, March 22nd. I told him I was more than willing to marry him when he next visitted, but no way would it be a registry office thing. In two months the wedding was organised. Dress bought off the rack, flowers arranged hastily, the only church and restaurant available in town booked for the day.
And it was perfect.
On the honeymoon night I realised that in my rush I'd forgotten to pack contraception, so like all the other gloriously split second decisions in my life, the question came out casually. "So, should we start TTC or should we not have sex on our honeymoon?"
So now we're trying for baby #1, half black, half white, half american, half australian, wholely loved, cared for, and anticipated.
I love weekends. I love my job, but weekends are my favourite. Hubby and I are still getting used to living together. It's tougher than I thought it would be, but nothing we can't handle. I never envisioned having a househusband, but since he can't work until our visa is processed, we have no choice. He cleans up around the house, and takes care of the cats, but it's interesting how easy it is to feel resentment, particularly on weekends. I'm a gamer. So is he. We met like that so I don't know why he finds it surprising that I continue to game. So this weekend when I decided to play for a few hours, and he got pissed off at me for not helping to unpack the two bags of groceries he brought home, I found myself at an impass. He helps around the house, but so far that consists of the dishes each day and a couple of loads of laundry, the place is hardly sparkling. So after a 50 hour week, when I got home and wanted a few hours doing something by myself, his attitude just blew me away. It took all my willpower not to give him a chauvinistic speech about me being the breadwinner. I really had to go away, cool off, and remind myself that he misses me while I'm at work, and that being out of work doesn't make him my personal maid. I usually hire a maid for a few hours a week, but she's been out of town the last few weeks and the place is a mess. I'm not sure how to impress upon DH that my many hours of work could be at least somewhat reflected in his care of the home.
It's pretty adorable watching him try to be a homemaker. At this very moment I'm watching him make a sandwich, which I'm fairly sure he's going to throw out after one bite. He's so damn hopeless in the kitchen. But he did go grocery shopping. For the first time in nearly three years I have food in the fridge that I didn't have to put there myself. It's so nice having someone to help out.
Today is officially my last day of smoking, drinking, and all that delightful stuff. I've been putting off giving up so as to delay the importance of a BFN or BFP. As soon as I stop smoking it makes it real that I actually want that stick to say positive and I know it'll really start hurting if it doesn't. Ah well, time to take the plunge.
We've decided on baby names. Bruce Danger for a boy and Eva Candres for a girl. Hubby agreed to Danger on the condition that I would be blamed for it. If he's really my son he'll think it's funny and probably end up chatting up girls with it. DH is flatly refusing the possibility that we might have a girl. We both really want a boy, but he's in denial that it could be anything else. Given my family history with boys, a girl is more likely but he's ignored that too. He'll love a girl just the same though.
Oh, and it turned out that he loved the sandwich.
My parents used to use the term "playing the goat", and for some reason it's the only thing that comes to mind when I'm at work. I work for the government, which limits how much I can blog about work. I wouldn't want to overinflate my importance, but I also wouldn't want to get my arse fired for blabbing confidential stuff all over the internet. But to put things simply, this place is a madhouse. It has to be the most non-sequitur place, full of odd-balls. The great thing about this place is that everyone loves their jobs. There isn't a single person in this complex that's doing the 9-5 grind. These are a group of the most devoted, passionate people I've ever met. They all share common traits, the intense need to recycle that I can't quite get into the groove of, a symbiotic relationship with the bajillion creepy crawlies here, and a kind of open, compassionate freindliness. They're great people.
But then we can seperate them into departments. On this single campus there are around 300 people, from a dozen different departments. The fisheries guys act like secret agents, and being privileged to their emails I often wonder if I'd have the backbone for a job inspecting fishing licenses. The cultural heritage lot who seem to be in mainly symbolic roles, and spent their time doing some spectacular Aboriginal art around the place (very nice), and coming up with "traditional" names for the departments. For instance I work in Allumbarra Bunjil, or The Meeting Place of Knowledge. Bet you never knew there was an ancient Aboriginal name for an IT department. there's even a lovely picture to go with it. The fire mob here genuinely care about the weather. They really care about the weather, so you've gotta be careful what kind of light conversation you start up. Also, half of them will give you lectures on the fire hazard of smoking, while the other half will casually flick their cigarettes into dry grass.
But it's a crime to use words when pictures will tell the story better.
That last picture is my pride and joy, the caffiene sculpture. Each stick was used to stir a coffee, and recently my coworker has started contributing his coke caps. Everyone's getting into it, I think I'll have to bronze it when I leave.
The truly delightful thing about this place is the things that you don't even blink at. Giant truck full of pigs parks outside your window? Oh, on the way to Animal Health. Helicopter buzzes you? Probably for the fire guys. Giant beast of a spider? "Did something escape quarantine?"
Perhaps not a place for the faint of heart, I have to say I LOVE MY JOB!
Do you think a Beach Boys obsession is healthy? I'm not sure. Second post in one day, things are pretty slow at work. My boss went away for a week, without letting me know or leaving me any work. Guess I should be thankful, things are pretty hectic at home right now, but I hate feeling lazy and I do without something to entertain me.
I think the site manager is trying to freeze me out. For whatever reason I butt heads with this woman whenever our paths cross. She drives me nuts with her inflated sense of self importance and this bizarre need to dominate me. And now the heating adn the hot water has been off in my wing for a week with no signs of repair. My numb fingers suspect a conspiracy.
I'm left to wonder if feeling like you're about to die is a symptom of pregnancy. Can't wait to get home and curl up with a hot chocolate and hubby. I need to POAS, this is getting ridiculous. Seeing the doctor on Wednesday, she's such a champ. Though she's a bit overzealous with the speculum, I have to be determined to keep my legs crossed when going in. I hope I'm preggers cause otherwise I'm pretty sure I have cancer or need a liver transplant or something. I feel like ****.
I did a personality test that one of the girls put up, and I have to wonder if it's ironic or exactly fitting that someone who's results describe them as constantly seeking identity has to find every last description of their result to form a better picture. From what I can tell mine come out as "self-obsessed". ^_^
My subcontracting agency screwed up my pay, which sucks big time, haven't had a full pay in two weeks and I'm really feeling it. Ah well, c'est la vie, guess it'll be another night of improvisational cooking. Good thing DH thinks I can do no wrong in the kitchen, cause bubble and squeak is on the menu. Also a good thing my boss is off, he won't notice me coming in late on the bus.
I WOULD QUITE LIKE A CIGARETTE.
If I'm not preggo I'm gunna be pissed off. Kevin's going to come home to find me all huffy, sitting on the couch with five smokes in my mouth. That's just how this is going to go down. Not that there's much doubt in my mind, really. I feel preggers.
I was hoping that I could tell Kevin in some spectacular way, like a treasure hunt or something. Something really memorable. But I've been so damn sick that I've needed his help too much to put off telling him my suspicions. By the time I get home from work I'm so damn tired and nauseous that it's all I can do to cook dinner, much less totally get about with a secretive smile on my face. I guess I'll reserve the flaming arrow for delivering the news to my parents.
GOOD FREAKING LORD I WANT A SMOKE.
Due to the unfortunate pay stuff up I'm going to have to put off peeing on a stick until I can afford a stick. My parents are being so sweet. They're stacking on a drama, but they're still helping me out when I have 3$ to my name. I have to pay them back for this, even if it's just a bit at a time.
From now on Kevin handles the money. I'm not sure about his money-handling skills, but they can't be any worse than mine. I earn money, I earn heaps of money, public service rules, and yet I'm perpetually broke. I spose no cigarettes will help a bit.
Last night I think he finally got it through his head that when I asked if he was truly prepared for me being pregnant I didn't mean if I needed to sit down for five minutes he might have to take over what I was doing. I've been so exhausted I just wanted to go to bed when I came home from work last night, and would have if I hadn't been hungry. When I asked him if he'd cut up some veggies for me since I wasn't feeling well, he told me I wasn't an invalid and I should do it myself because cooking was my chore. At that point I became pissed off.
At the moment when he does the right thing I get pissed off, so doing the wrong thing gets me positively furious. But I'm trying to keep that in mind and not kick him in the balls for wanting me to cut the veggies. Whatever is happening to me has turned me into a right *****.
Also, as a final thought, I'd quite like a smoke.
Okay, I've had two smokes today and won't be able to have anymore, so I'm counting that as a win.
I'm cramping to hell, and I can barely walk for all the nausea and dizziness, so I got DH to pick me up a stick to pee on. But I've decided that if I do get AF I'm consoling myself with a bottle of wine and an entire pack of smokes. I can handle the pain, I can deal with the sickness, I don't mind the moodiness, and I'm almost looking forward to the variety of other delightful things that pregnancy brings, but my forte is looking after other people, not myself. I can't remember another time in my life when I've had to exercise this kind of responsibility. I smoke and drink what I want, when I want, and it's never been a problem except for that one time the doctor got grumpy at me.
This is really a whole new ballgame, what I do affecting someone else. No one used to care if I drank half a bottle of vodka in one swig. Heck, if I didn't tell them they wouldn't know. My boss doesn't care so long as I turn up to work and do my job. My friends don't care so long as I'm not dying or robbing them to feed my habit. My family will never know in a million years ever. So what's this man in my house doing being all concerned about my health? It's the strangest sensation.
To be perfectly honest, I'm having some trouble keeping a handle on myself. Whatever is happening to me is giving me a raging case of hormones. Just writing the above paragraph suddenly set off another fit of anger. DH only cares about my health when his baby is at risk, it's not like he's ever commented on my drinking or smoking before. I had to stop and think about that and say The dozen beers you have a week won't kill or deform you like they will a baby, and he's giving up smoking too. How can I have turned into this much of a psycho in the space of about a week? I belong in a horror movie wielding a hatchet or something.
I'm going home early, work sucks anyway. Maybe I can catch a few extra hours sleep.
Sometimes you just know it's gunna be one of those days. I woke up this morning, got a nice sleep in, I did my hair all nice, put on my favourite makeup, picked up my giant rainbow umbrella, dressed in my nicest stuff, got to work and immediately spilled coffee all over myself. I'm grateful to be able to laugh at stuff like that.
I think I mainly want to take up smoking again for something to do. I'm fine at night when I'm home, but at work I'm sitting in front of this computer with ZIP to do and would like nothing more than to mosy outside and grab a smoke. At least it's some fresh air, a little exercise, some conversation with the other smokers. there's something to be said for social addictions. I still enjoy smoking. I know that non-smokers take that for granted, but a lot of smokers don't enjoy it, they've long since lost any pleasure in the practice and only continue through pure addiction. I love it, it's like eating a tasty pie to me. Which makes it all the harder to give up. At least I don't feel as if nicotine has me whipped like a *****.
Another BFN last night, but as mum puts it "He's only been in the country two weeks! Give it time!" I don't wanna put too much stock in POAS, cause last time I tested negative right up to six weeks, and I stopped testing then, only realised I was preggers when I miscarried. But then, all my symptoms can be attributed to a nasty flu thats been going around. Apparently it'll lay me flat for a couple of days then leave me alone. At least I won't have to deal with it for long. Still hoping for that BFP.
Kevin continued his marathon run of doing everything wrong. I just managed to get a copy of one of my favourite games, and played for a few hours last night. After two missions, he wanted to use the computer. Now what he meant to say was "I'd like to check my Myspace, and you've been on the computer for ages", what he actually said, in a tone that you might hear used between parent and twelve year old, was "Okay, you've played enough, time to get off the computer." He's so very lucky that I still have a use for his testicles. So very, very lucky. I decided to let him off with a glare and a correction to his wording, then retired to our bedroom to watch a movie. Imagine my surprise when I was joined by him about thirty seconds later. I obviously could have simply minimised my game while he did what he wanted to do. But no, he had decided that my time was being ill-spent and kicked me off my own computer. At this point our conversation became a little strained.
I asked him why he would do that. He told me that he had become bored with watching the game. I attempted to explain that his options for pastimes were broader than "1) watch whatever I'm doing or 2) kill self". I returned to the subject of his independance in his own home, but the only thing he found more boring than watching me play a game was that conversation. His complete dismissal of my concerns and suggestions had me seeing red. But in what I found to be a superhuman show of self-restraint I let it go and started watching the movie.
Once I felt I could approach the subject without giving him a black eye, I told him that I felt as though we weren't communicating well, and that I needed him to listen when I spoke, and take onboard what I say. He insisted heartily that he did, but then couldn't name what our last argument had been about. I'm not entirely sure what conclusion we came to, but I think my husband is far too aware that I'm only 2/3rds his age. He's starting to treat me like a child.
I sometimes act like a child, I'm quite willing to admit that, but never where it counts. At times I'm quixotic, innocent, overly generous, and even a little naive. But this is so easily mistaken for childishness. Usually I don't give a damn what it's mistaken for, people are free to read my intentions however they please. But I'm living with Kevin. He has squarely forgotten who I am to everyone that isn't him. Maybe it's time for a reminder. If anyone else said or did the things that he did they would be instantly suffering from a knee to the groin, at very least a "f*** you".
Although, hysterically, I think I've discovered the root of his problems in bed(npi). He thinks that going for 3-5 minutes is a MARATHON effort of gargantuan tenacity. I may have completely emmasculated him, but really, how am I supposed to respond to that? There was no gentle way to tell him that I used to consider 15mins a minute-man effort. He flatly refused to believe me. Just refused. As though this was outside the realm of possibility. That was when the giggling started and everything really went downhill from there. He's still denying the human male's ability to go longer than 5 minutes, and I get the feeling that this is going to take some work. My real question is: why would I lie? If it was really impossible, what good would lying do me? Would he sprout superhuman stamina from simply being told he could and believing it? I don't think the placebo effect is quite that potent. He was even a little angry that I suggested he wasn't quite up to par with my previous experiences. He's easily the best sex I've ever had, if he could keep it going for the same amount of time as my previous lovers he's be phenomenal.
All in all, yesterday was not a good day for my husband. There are issues to work on. He married me, not adopted me. I don't lie to emmasculate him, in fact sometimes I fib a little to avoid it. He's Not The Boss Of Me (NTBOM(tm)). I'm also not his babysitter. I think I've been coddling him because I don't want him to feel like a fish out of water over here, but it may be time to remind him what kind of woman he married. I'll give everyone a hint: it's not the kind that puts up with this bull****.
One of my friends, Gareth, has crossed the line into creepy. He lives about a block away from me with his wife and daughter. He's 25. And for whatever reason he has developed an UNHEALTHY FASCINATION with my 16yo stepsister. She lives about an hour away from us. He wants to talk to her on msn at least six hours a day? Fine. He emails her when he can't catch her online or he gets seperation anxiety? Fine. When she visits she stays at his place instead of mine? Fine.
But he may have actually crossed the line now. My dad calls me today to see if I have Gareth's number, because he wants to get in contact with Ruby who has been staying there the past two days. And I've been talking to Gareth in this space of time. It's not like he didn't have a chance to tell me. Though now that I've told him I know he's admitted he's been taking her out walking around town every night between midnight and 5am. CREEPY. I think I'm going to have to kick him in the nuts next time I see him.
He doesn't take my death threats seriously right now, but I think he will be shortly.
So TTC is going down the drain swiftly. Apparently I'm not immunised against rubella and varicella. That's german measles and chicken pox to those who don't speak fluent medicalese. If I'm not pregnant now, I need to wait 3 months after the vaccine to start trying again. If I am pregnant now I can't go anywhere near children for the next 9 months.
So that sucks.
Kevin and I fought AGAIN last night. It's not even like we have trouble living together, he just knows how to dig himself a hole that he can't get out of. He says something off the cuff that offends me, then refuses to apologise, then treats me like a child for being upset, then continues down that path until I'm in hysterics, then even when he's realised that he's in trouble he does nothing to make it better, all the while I'm still waiting on the first apology. It might be lunacy. I've told him that I'm being nice because he's new to the country and asked him not to take advantage of that, which I think got through. If there's one thing the man understands it's responsibility.
The post fight cuddles were nice. And this morning I was way late to work cause all I wanted to do was cuddle with him. He can be blindingly selfish at times, but with a good swift reminder usually gets him.
Ah, the meeting of two stubborn minds is always a recipe for disaster. I do love him dearly though.
I have money! Finally got a good pay behind me, which is such a lifesaver. We've been running desperately low on groceries, and transport money and every other kind of money really. But now things are okay again. Hopefully I won't have to pay up for a wedding again anytime soon, so I can get back on the road to financial stability. What a joy.
My hoodlums have been out of contact lately, I think I need to check in with them. I've promised a dozen double dates to couples I'm friends with, it might be time to take them up on it all to prevent me going stir crazy.
Okay, that's all from me for now.
My hoodlums suck.
I read the livejournal of a friend who I consider to be the most reliable and also the most loving of all my friends. She blogs everything on this. From big stuff down to "I saw a really cool spider!"
She didn't mention anything about going to my wedding... I prolly shouldn't be upset by that but I feel kinda hurt. I also found out that trying to get in contact with her for the next few days is kinda pointles, dead handy these blog things.
My first fiance is back in the country after chasing his lady love across the world. I don't think I could come up with a description of said lady love that wouldn't get me banned from these forums permanently, so I'll just say: I don't approve.
Either way he still hasn't met my husband, so some social contact is foreseeable in the near future. I'm hoping we can arrange the meeting without any pot, cause pot leads to further mopiness, and I don't wanna breathe in any smoke when I could have a bun in the oven.
Other partners-in-crime seem to have forgotten I exist in this post-wedding hermitery. Fair enough I suppose. I'd like to plan my triumphant comeback, but frankly, the social scene in this town is about as lively as my pet dog Bonnie, who died when I was ten.
I think I may be the onyl person in this town who is under 30 and working a decent job. I'm not a particularly judgemental person, I don't mind if people work or not, but it would be so damn lovely to call someone up and say "hey, would you like to come out for a few cold ones" without adding "my treat" on the end. Also the increasingly constant pot-induced coma of my friends is becoming tiresome. I haven't been in that scene for more than two years, aside from the occasional puff at a party. A revamp of my social scene is in order, but the prospect is daunting considering the losers that inhabit this city.
I have some cool friends in Melbourne, but since it seems to be impossible to find the time for even a half hour to myself, frequent trips out of town don't seem likely.
Gawd I'm becoming a whinger.
My doctor told me to drink more milk, and I love milk
We had an awesome sandstorm yesterday
My husband is hot ^_^
Money is good
Ginger beer settles my stomach, and I love ginger beer
My boss hasn't been around to notice me turning up late to work
I went looking at kiddy toys last night and that was fun
My game is going awesome
Kevin is taking an interest in my interests
I am in love <3