If you can picture what that might look like on a graph, you have just successfully pictured what the stats graph for this blog looks like (the number of people visiting it).

Is it normal to be seeing baby related things EVERYWHERE?

I went poop,
I went poop-a-doop.
I went poop,
but not enough.

I have been thinking that having a focus, like my breast reduction, gives me the opportunity to lose myself for short spurts of time. I guess it's not really losing myself; it's more like an intense focusing inwards and just watching the words as they appear on the screen. I would like a random batch of words or ideas to focus on. Words, probably. I used to go to a site called One Word. Every day was a different word, and you have thirty seconds to write about it. That's what I need here. A constant source of words.

I don't want to have to pick them at the minute. No matter how 'random' I think my topic selection would be, the mere fact that I had picked it would indicate something else was going on. This isn't a bad thing, but I would like to be surprised by what I saw on the screen. The psychodynamic elements of my counselling training sort of spoil it for me - because I think that whatever the word, how unexpected the sentences, they would be messages of things that were just boiling away in my brain. The things I write are just the bubbles coming to the surface and popping. The heat is still on, deep inside.

One minute left. Feel free to leave a word or two, if you like.

I think it's because the guilt I'd been feeling about my breasts was looming large, and I gave it a voice. Just speaking out can sometimes shrink things, excise the tumour. Hang on a minute...been reading a book and have a quote on this..

I remember that I spoke to her about the power of naming. What we cannot name, I said, we cannot talk about. When we give a name to something in our lives, we may empower that something, as when we call an itch love, or when we call our envy righteousness; or we may empower ourselves because now we can think about and talk about what is hurting us, we may come together with others who have felt this same pain, and thus we can begin to try to do something about it.  (Marge Piercy, He, She and It, page 66)

After writing that admission of the going-along-with nature of my breast reduction, I felt lighter. I stood in front of the mirror that evening, the black lace cupping my breasts, and as I pulled it off I felt an awe at my breasts. They are so beautiful, and they are mine. They have not been lessened by the surgery, but they have taken a long time to become mine. And they are the same, and different.

I wanted to come here to acknowledge all the things, great and small, that the surgery has offered me. Pretty bras, affordable bras, off-the-shelf bras. Breasts that are full and soft, but the exact right size for my body. Breasts that do not hang to my stomach, breasts that mainly stay in place when the pretty bras come off, except for the soft weight of time and maturation which offers them the shape of a woman.

My breasts are amazing, awesome. I look at myself with and without clothes, and they are one area I have no cause to find complaint with. I suppose that's why I've felt bad, wondering what it meant to have breasts that were not the breasts I was born with. Though they were not shaped, were not changed in any fundamental way, though mass and weight was removed - what does that mean to my self? My body?

I had a connection with my grandmother through my breasts. I remember being a little girl and walking into her bathroom. She sat in a few inches of water, in that bathtub with the magical sliding glass doors that allowed me to create a whole space apart when I was a little older. My grandmother's pubic hair was sparse, her body already that of an older woman. Her breasts coated her stomach, hid her stomach, were just the entire front of her body. She lifted a breast and rested it on her shoulder in order to wash her stomach. That image has stayed with me, though I must have only been about four or five when I witnessed this.

I will probably never have that experience, being in an aging body that has been mine for 89 years, taking for granted that my stomach is there, though I cannot see it. I wonder what pregnancy will do to my breasts, and I fear they may become smaller. I also fear them becoming larger. I wonder what stretch marks and pulled vaginal muscles and chapped nipples will be like. I want to hold a baby to my breasts, to allow her or him to get all the sustenance they need from my body - a miracle that my family never had. Bottles are all I ever considered, and now I am in this country with baby slings and breasts, handmade diapers and organic homemade foods.

My body will be changing again, and perhaps the key words are: my body. This is my body, this is the consequence, this is the sum of the years I have spent on this planet. I have made some choices, I have neglected to make others. I have gained weight, and lost weight. I have decided to have my breasts radically resized, simply by the omission of really thinking about what I was doing and making a conscious choice. My unconscious guided me to this place where I am right now, the afternoon sunlight shining across my hands. Shadows slide across the keyboard, dancing as my fingers shift and dance.

My breasts were what they were, then I had surgery. They grew back - not all the way, but most. I lost a lot of weight, and I lost a lot of breast mass again. This time it was an accident, to change my breasts as the result of changing my body. Once more my bra size changed, my body shifted, and once more it felt out of my control.

That's been sixteen minutes. I'm surprised. This entry was to say that I could not fill six minutes this evening, let alone fifteen. Peace.

So: I met Gandalf.

I would have rather met Dumbledore - the original one. No offense to the guy who PLAYS Gandalf, because he was lovely. I just prefer smart wizards who will teach me magic to old men wizards who are off rambling the world fighting wars. Though his fireworks would be cool.

Ah: further correction. Aussie did not puke off a pier in Denmark, Crazy Bitch did. Sorry, Aussie.

Mexico - watched my father get my little sister drunk, snorkled a reef - sharks on the other side, secretly pleased when father accused by immigration staff of kidnapping my sister, had to pee really bad in the airport, had a lot of lime-flavoured stuff

America - participated in multiple roadtrips (alone and with others), got my picture taken with Jimminy Cricket, lusted after haunted houses, learned to tap dance

Scotland- camped on a mountain next to the ocean, discovered spinach goujons, went on many a ghost tour, was really cold, wanted to buy a certain church and live there, felt right at home, accidentally found Grangemouth, went down inside a mountain to visit a power plant

England - discovered that tides are not just a myth after all, felt non-mystical at Stonehenge, had some Real Good Times at various seasides, had a two week roadtrip with TMD, refused to eat cream

Canada - camped and camped and camped, had bears climb on our car, my sister almost got killed by a lantern melting her sleeping bag, Montreal almost caused my father to murder some French Canadian people

Belgium - had a midnight dance party on the side of a deserted road, had some coffee in a rest area, continued through to France

Wales - LOVED a certain forest (which TMD now informs me is not actually in Wales) and want to live in a treehouse there, freaked out at small roads, listened to an audio tour of a castle in Welsh

France- saw a lot of dog shit, went up the Eiffel Tower, rode le petit train, slept in the car, took covert videos of a friend ordering beer in French, inadvertently took my mother and sister to all sorts of shitty places, had an internal rage storm at TMD's father, rode a ferry, stole a kite and flew it on the beach, was chased through the streets by a small Jewish man towing a suitcase on wheels

Sweden - got into a fight with Aussie via Crazy Bitch, froze, climbed trees, marvelled at the cleanliness of the airport, took lots of artsy pictures by the river, all three of us had our periods and diarrhea in the same toilet flush

Denmark - looked at a lot of cool things and did not buy anything because the purchase of one small McDonald's fries wiped out my bank account, walked the longest pedestrian street in Europe, watched people ice skate, watched Crazy Bitch hold back Aussie's hair as she puked off a pier

Ireland - wore a rain outfit from head to toe, TMD's first experience of my mother's public farting, hung out with my aunt's old lady friend, went to the oldest pub in Ireland for dinner, watched people dance without using their upper bodies, touched Bear's worry stone a lot

Northern Ireland - got into a raging fight the likes of which had not been seen since I was twenty, rolled down a hill, attracted the attention of men in boats, saw all the religious hate graffiti in Belfast

Italy - almost cried with joy when we found a falafel eatery, climbed a lot of stairs, hung out in parks and woods, tried to take a FORBIDDEN picture of David but was too chicken to do so, made out with TMD a lot, ate salsa and crackers more than I care to remember, am still pissed about the non-working giant hottub in the courtyard

Holland - got run over by a bike (luckily was so high I didn't feel it), lived in a houseboat, went into Anne Frank's hiding place, smoked a lot, went on a tour of the Heineken breweries (second time in my life I have been high and drunk, the first being after my senior prom) and had an impromptu dance party, tried to grocery shop and act like we were natives, almost got snowed in

All this from someone who did not get in her first airplane until she was seventeen. As I reread this little listie, one question reverberates in my mind: Why the fuck have I been to France so many times?

Climbing steps cut into a wooded hill, ending up laughing in the deepening afternoon, following a gap in the trees until we ended up at a monastery. The way the sky turned a violent dark blue, electricity sparking in the air as the storms rushed in. How the clouds looked behind that statue, how we didn't care if it rained, how all the pictures were blurry because I couldn't master nightmode.

I remember the heat of the next day, the gardens I loved at first sight. Naked women sculpted from stones, tucked behind trees and standing in ponds. The giant stone face that looked perfectly at home along the vista that let us survey this other, wonderful place.

TMD and I always find magic when we go away; I don't think we take enough trips. I wonder if it is a balance between wanting to go back to the places we love and miss, and allowing ourselves to try new places. Mainly, though, it's the careful hoarding of annual leave days I may need this autumn. I wish we were more relaxed, more vacation-y, but some things are more important. I think a mini-break right before October might be nice, might help me to focus on my body and my self.

When our friends went out constantly or bought flashy things, we didn't. We carefully saved money - while not living a life of poverty, though our friends sometimes thought so - and we ended up with a sizable deposit for this beautiful new home. Money to make the bathroom lovely and clean and minimal. I'd rather make those smaller sacrifices of the impermanent if it means we can move towards and into the lifestyle and life we want.

Still, Italy. Florida. Scotland. Vermont. I miss them all right now - not the places, particularly, but what they meant to me. Time to just be with people I loved, time away from everything else, time I wish I could crawl right into, slip onto me like a second skin.

The Belgian women's magazine Flair has recently launched a mobile version of its product.

How does it work?

On your cellphone you download a mobile application of Flair. You get the link via an sms. When you start the mobile application, you find a very attractive interface (for girls at least ;-) ) with fashion articles, information about events,... But there's more to it. Flair goes interactive with the application: you can participate in games, polls and tests . Stubru presentators Sofie and Peter tried out the 'Which sex beast are you'-test. The Flair magazine appears weekly in Belgium and this also applies to the mobile magazine: users weekly get a new mobile edition, which is automatically installed when you start the application.

Ok, and how does it not work?

It does not work on my cellphone. My problem: they gave me the wrong cellphone at work ;-) .Because when you look at the list of compatible cellphones, there are already quite a few models on which the Flair application works. And so it does function on the cellphone of one of my colleagues (see picture below).

I find it very brave for a women's magazine to start with a mobile version. They are the first in Belgium, and definitely not the last. And let's hope this initiative helps to break open the Belgian mobile internet market.

What is WRONG with those people? I so want to do this shiznit. I wonder if out of hours stuff is coolio with them?

Supervising is something I've always planned to do, I just thought I would wait awhile before doing so. You know, just to make sure I actually know what the fuck I'm doing before I start telling other people what to do. To be fair, though, I do know what I'm doing in regards to young people.

Existere, clinical supervisor. Has a certain ring to it.

Okay. Nice talking to you.

G'night.

I managed to somehow add a stitch somewhere along the way and I don't know how or why. I decided to k2tog it with it's buddy near the garter selvedge, but I fear that in the next lace row I will find myself short one stitch somehow now. I've made the command decision that if that should happen, I'm quitting. Just that version, mind you. I'll find a better, more appropriate yarn to cast on with and try again.

In the meantime, in a fit of what can only be called knitting stupidity, I cast on for Flair, and then did my raglan increases somewhere, well, not raglan-y. :: sigh :: Luckily, I was only about 12 rows into the pattern when this occurred to me. B5 + baby + sweater shaping = something's got to give. I was half tempted to forget all about Flair for now, and use some of that gorgeous Espresso Dyed Cotton to make a Liesl, but am now glad I didn't; I'd had to have to frog all that cotton if I lost a stitch.

Very sleepy.  Woke up to screaming monkeys at around 5, 5:30 AM

On today's agenda:

• 10 AM meeting - bring Alex' hat I am knitting to work on while I wait for everyone to get there
• Work out exact stitch counts and row counts for Flair - I ain't repeating my mistakes
• Drool over yarn I don't need and shouldn't order - especially as I ordered 600 yds of wool yesterday for a short-sleeved Wicked ... ¬.¬
• Try and start writing out objectives and/or goals for new training module

I want to know you so well, before you are born and afterwards. I can't wait for the moment TMD holds you in her arms, my hair lank with sweat. I will thank god for every stretch and tear in my vagina, every mark on my body from carrying your weight, my chapped nipples. Sometimes I will be exhausted, sometimes I wil weep, sometimes I will wonder if I am up to the awesome job of being one of your mothers. Throughout those times there will never be a moment I wish you were not here, with me, with us, together.

I want to hold you and make up little songs in the middle of the night. I want to drop with the need to sleep, and TMD to come hold us both, even though she has to wake up in two hours for work. I want to hear you squeal as you splash water all over the bathroom floor. I want to read you the book I will write, just for you, about how you came into this world and became part of our family.

I want my heart to break when you go to your first day of school. I want my little sister to take you on wild adventures that I really don't want to hear about. I want to buy you that camera, those ballet shoes, that baseball glove. I want to encourage you and remember what it was like to be young once, the world shining and huge and open to possibilities. I want to read you the same book again and again, to the point of skipping words or pages in the hopes you will not notice; I will be pleased, and tired, when you DO notice.

I want you to fill my belly, my heart, our life. I want to go to antenatal classes and trade endless boring stories with other pregnant moms. I want you to be there, to talk to the next one through the thin layer of skin as he/she stretches my body once more. I want to teach you how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I want to give you lots of time alone with your imagination, I want you to never doubt that I love you - even when you are fifteen and think you hate me.

I want to argue about how well you are/are not learning to drive. I want to visit you at university and take you out for really expensive meals - you and all your friends. I want to completely fuck up braiding your hair, or figuring out how to top n' tail. I want to fear giving birth and look forward to it at the same time. I want to watch you figure out who you are, and I want to be there - in the background - when you realise that you are who you are right now...who you are does not come at 16, 18, 21, 50, 80.

I want strangers to stop and say how cute you are. I want presumptuous people to feel my belly. I want you to kick them away. I am ready for you; I'm sitting in your room right now. You get the last of the evening's sunlight. Your window looks out onto this quiet little street, where you will ride your bike and make friends with other scabby kneed kids. This will be your first home, and every minute of looking for that home included reserving a special space just for you. Your room has rose-coloured carpet and curtains - it came with the house, but we sort of like it. There's room for a little pop-up tent, or a chair with a blanket over it, or a rocking chair.

We're not rich, but we're not poor. And when you come, when you emerge into this world, I want you to know that I wanted you with every fibre of my being, that my soul has waited for you this immensely long time, that you were loved before you were even conceived.

I've made an appointment with your other mom, to see the doctor who is going to help us make you. It's for the day after I turn 30, and the best birthday present I can imagine having will be seeing the day that your birth day comes.

I love you.

The chances of conceiving in any one natural cycle through IUI are 10%.  Over three cycles, the average success rate for the under-35s was 23%. And these are among the top figures in the country.

23%.

Suddenly I was veering toward IVF - 55% success rate per cycle, and I could get treated for free if I was willing to donate eggs. I know because of my age, I am more likely to be put forward for the natual IUI cycle, and that's what I thought I have wanted all along. But suddenly I am wondering - what will I do if this does not happen?

I have been ready to be a mom for a long time. I don't know if I could recover from not getting pregnant, and I am afraid to think how that might manifest in my relationship. I have been unflinchingly positive, even secretly believing I will conceive on the first try, and now I am scared scared scared.

Vielleicht braucht alles seine Zeit. Vielleicht brauchte es auch seine Zeit Stadt zu mögen, sich darauf einzulassen. Linden z.B., Stadtteil mit Tradition und vielfältiger, internationaler Kultur.

Döhren, ein kleiner Stadtteil im Süden Hannovers, besticht mit eigenen Charme. Rund um den Fiedeler Platz findet sich in zahlreichen kleinen Geschäften nahezu alles vom Biolebensmittelladen, über Feinkost bis zur Buchhandlung und Uhrmacherwerkstatt. Der stark besuchte Spielplatz strahlt Lebendigkeit aus, untermalt von Geräuschen der unbeschwert spielenden Kinder.

Schade, dass in benachbarten Straßen keine oder nur spärliche Bepflanzung vorhanden ist. Umso mehr fällt die parkähnliche Gestaltung um den Fiedeler Platz ins Auge. Aber der Stadtpark nahe der Gilde Brauerei und der Maschsee ist nicht weit entfernt.

Gern schlendere ich, wenn die Zeit es erlaubt, am Wochenmarkt, welcher immer Freitags stattfindet, an den Verkaufsständen entlang. Beobachte die Käufer und Verkäufer beim probieren und beraten, beim tratschen und ratschen.

Ja, ich mag Hannover. Zumindest Teile davon. Das, ist immerhin schon ein Anfang.

Persbericht: Flair Fame Award: De Finalisten zijn bekend!

Eind mei begon het magazine Flair zijn ware klopjacht naar nieuw danstalent in kader van de musical Fame. En dat talent heeft massaal gereageerd! Meer dan 30 dansgroepen kwamen met een geweldige choreografie op de proppen om mee te dingen naar de Flair Fame award. De 10 besten kan je bekijken op http://www.flair.be. Wie er wint, mag jij beslissen!

Het woord is nu aan jou. Bekijk de filmpjes op http://www.flair.be, en stem op het nummer van je favoriet. Als je bovendien het antwoord weet op de schiftingsvraag, win je een duoticket voor Fame op 27 juli in Oostende! De schiftingsvraag luidt: Hoeveel deelnames zullen we in totaal ontvangen voor de stemming van de Flair Fame Award op 6 juli 2008 middernacht?

Om te winnen sms je FAME(spatie)nummer van het gekozen filmpje(spatie)antwoord schiftingsvraag naar 3133 (0,5 euro per sms).

Schiftingsvraag: Hoeveel deelnames zullen we in totaal ontvangen voor de stemming van de Flair Fame Award op 6 juli 2008 middernacht?

Finale op 12 juli
De  vijf groepen  met de meeste stemmen gaan  door  naar  de  finale  op  12 juli  in  de Stadsschouwburg Antwerpen. Hier mogen de finalisten in het decor van Fame on stage hun kunsten vertonen voor een professionele vakjury met onder andere Anouchka Balsing (jurylid uit Sterren op de Dansvloer) en Martin Michel (regisseur van Fame). Die dag is de presentatie in handen van Jerko Bozikovic, behalve tv-gezicht ook een gepassioneerd en gerenommeerd danser.

De winnaars mogen aansluitend de musical bijwonen, krijgen een backstage-tour en worden verrast met een meet & greet met de volledige cast!

Fame gaat zaterdag in première in de Stadsschouwburg Antwerpen met onder meer Guillaume Devos, Anne Mie Gils en Bart Van Den Bossche in de hoofdrollen.

Alle info over Fame en de Flair Fame Award op http://www.flair.be.
Exacte link: http://www.flair.be/cps/rde/xchg/flair/hs.xsl/wedstrijden_wedstrijden_Finalisten.htm

FAME
Van 27 juni tem 13 juli in de Stadsschouwburg Antwerpen
van 25 tem 27 juli in Kursaal Oostende
Van 31 oktober tem 2 november in Capitole Gent

Ticketprijzen (excl. reservatie en verzendingskosten)
Golden Seats  €44,5
Categorie 1     €39,5
Categorie 2     €34,5
Categorie 3     €29,5
Categorie 4     €19,5

Op voorstellingen op vrijdag, zaterdag en zondagmiddag geldt een weekendtoeslag 5 euro

Info en reservatie tickets (OPGELET: nieuw nummer)
0900 69 900
http://www.musichall.be

Stolen Innocnece: Stop Child Abuse and Exploitation, aims to make Singaporeans, both young and old, aware of issues that might be closer to them than they think.

Show support by visiting our exhibition and catching performances at our music / dance shocases!

Wed 02 July, 12-6pm Exhibition / South Agora @RP

Thur 03 July, 10 - 6pm Exhibition / South Agora @RP

Thur 03 July, 445 - 530pm Music Showcase / South Agora @RP

Fri 04 July, 530 - 7pm Dance Showcase / *scape @ Youth Park

Fri 04 July, 530 - 830pm Exhibition / *scape @ Youth Park

Check out our Performance Line Up here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmBRChSEA7g

This campaign was initiated by a group of very passionate final year students from Republic Polytechnic, with strong support from UNICEF. For more information, email us at project.stolen.i@gmail.com.

But you know what I don't get... those Vampire/Ninja/Werewolf/Pirate things... whats up with that?

After studying Bible in college, I became troubled with a common reason for being a Christian. This concept of, “I am a Christian because I want to go to heaven”. The key problem with this is the key word “I”. As I continued to sit through classes and talk to class mates, my troubledness turned into disgust and I began to challenge (maybe even lash out a bit) what people were saying.

My premise was that if Christianity was all about us ‘getting to Heaven’ then it’s pretty shallow. What good is having a god that is all about me? If this is the case then we don’t look any different than the rest of the world because they have their gods (fame & wealth) that is all about them. Last time I checked Jesus wasn’t about getting himself into Heaven, it was about glorifying God. “In the end if I make into Heaven then great, if not then at least I attempted to serve my God” (quoting myself). Well some received my tirade well and others became irritated, but all in all I felt good about shaking things up.

I carried this theology with me and wore it as a proud piece of flair at times until recently. About 3 years ago while leading a mid-week youth group study I had my flair questioned, well smashed. As I continued down the very familiar road of explaining why Heaven isn’t enough, I encountered a strong opposing opinion from one of the girls. In the most Christ-like fashion I was rebuked and informed that in fact Heaven is enough. Shockingly enough I had no words of defense and we were forced to move on. But that conversation caused me to reconsider my ‘Heaven isn’t enough’ speech.

The above quote from Brother Lawrence rekindled thoughts of my ‘Heaven isn’t enough’ position and I now am beginning to understand why I deserved the rebuke of a High School girl. The problem with my ‘Heaven isn’t enough’ speech is that it was still about me. I, who was aghast at the self-centeredness of others focused on getting themselves into heaven, was equally as self-centered because I was focused on ‘my works’ for God. Brother Lawrence however says it correctly “I engaged in a religious life only for the love of God”. Only for the love of God, is what we do justified.

As I get older, I understand more that my level of spirituality (relationship with God) is not that of Brother Lawrence, but it’s also not the same as a young Christian. So for those just coming into contact with God, maybe just being focused on getting into Heaven is enough. For me it’s learning to frame my actions and thoughts daily on whom God is. For Brother Lawrence it was living the accomplished life of having every task completed be praise to God. All in all we are about giving love and honor to our God.

How is this possible?

Is this really a job?

Yes, I am now happy I didn''t get other jobs I had previously gone for. This was worth waiting for. And I also feel I have absolutely made the right decision, which was a cloudier feeling last week when I was missing Epilady and friends. (Possibly a good name for a TV show about unwanted body hair.)

Also, a side note of blogging clean-up. The category of 'day job' only refers to my last job. New job is in a whole new category called 'operation fingerpaint.' I am feeling vaguely ill about the sheer number of categories this blog is spawning; the only thing that makes me feel even MORE ill is the idea of deleting them. Any suggestions/ideas on how to organise? Help a sista out.

Ooh. I can't copy and paste flair in this browser. Egads.

Künstler - Showmanagement - Shows - showag – 4vision

Die showA.g betreibt das erste und das einzige zusammenführende Agentur-/ Management-/ Künstler-Event-/ Partner-/ Kunden-Internetportal in ganz Europa!!

4vision gmbh germany
showA.g · show-A.gency-group

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Telefon: (0049) 0700/88446633 (12 Cent/Minuten)

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