I wish I was in Scotland.

Not much to report. I will be starting on the hats for my nephews the day after Thanksgiving. I figure that we will have enough time to finish them.

Also, working on a stocking for Ian this year. I like it so far. I wanted to make him a real stocking but I have no idea how to make socks at this point. He gets a wine sock looking attempt instead.

I want to post pictures of the kids but I need both of my sisters to okay it first. Alas. I will try and get pictures of my knitting project and the back yard up tonight or tomorrow.

Cheers!

My brother-in-law, bless him, didn’t realize the power of words and seriously insulted me today. He refered to my mother as White Trash.

In the past few days he has called several things “trashy” in front of me but this morning he took his use of that word too far.

I was raised by a redneck woman who comes from Hillbilly stock. I am proud of that. Why? Because my family are good honest hard-working people who love God, their country and one another. They are simple and they know it, yet they don’t mind.

Jeremy, my brother-in-law, was making a comment about Dog the Bounty hunter’s wife Beth. He said she was trashy because of how she dresses. He then said that she reminds him of my mother. Apparently they both talk and dress like White Trash.

I kept informing him as he spoke that we are not White Trash. After saying so three times I lost my cool and said :

“Jeremy, you need to know that the only difference between your mother, who got pregnant as a teenager, and my mother is your Nana’s money. That is the only thing that keeps your mother from being  White Trash. My mother is not Trash, we do not come from Trash. We come from hill people. My mother is a redneck and you are rude and insulting. Words have power. You should think about what your words mean before you say them.”

He made me cry. I was, and still am, insulted. My mother has a big heart and a mouth like a sailor, but never has she turned him or anyone else away because of their social status. Why? Because she doesn’t see a difference in class or status. to her we are all people. To be raise in such a way that you can call someone trash is, to me, unthinkable. I have to admit that I have lost some respect for him and I am still pretty upset by his words. He can say that my mother is trash, but if I have to choose between being White Trash or a stuck up bitch relying on someone elses handouts then I pick White Trash.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it you uneducated little twat.

We arrived here in Washington without a hitch, which is great on many levels. So far since we have been here things have been great. Michael and Ella (my youngest niece and nephew) are cuter then words can describe. Charlie follows Ella/Ella follows Charlie everywhere. They are seriously BFF like I have never seen before. She loves to pet him and calls him “dah”. Her adorable little self even coaxed Edgar down the stairs when we first got here (he was hiding upstairs). He brought himself down the first two steps at her calls of “ca”, when he noticed she was a person and not another cat he turned around and ran but even still, that was progress for him.

The state of the yard where we want to garden is interesting. It’s seriously over grown and covered in weeds but also, you can tell that someone (my older sisters ex) put some love into that little part of the yard. A few years later and it is still going strong. Ian and I have our work cut out for us but we think that we can do it.

I don’t have a camera hookup for my computer, but as soon as I get one there will picture posted of the adorable that is my family and the horror that is my garden space/back yard.

My sister pulled up the carpets upstairs and we now have beautiful hardwood floors… that need to be sanded and treated… yay. We need a sander and it looks like we will be borrowing one or renting one for the day. It’s home improvement so we should take it out of the rent but my mom would kill me if I tried that.

We had supper with my dad and his girlfriend last night. It was nice except that they both smoke. A lot. I am allergic and now I am having an allergy attack. Incase anyone is wondering, this does not make me happy.

We leave in three days. Actually, by this time on Saturday we will be darn near in Washington. Things are coming together and we will be totally packed by tomorrow night. I am still a bit sad over the move but what this all boils down to is that we need to go. I know that it will be different but in the long run it wont be that different. We are taking all our things and Ian will still be the man I wake up next to every morning. There will also be a whole heck of a lot more room there as well. The space we will have as a den/office is bigger then our living room now (I know this because it is my old bedroom) and the room that we will be sleeping in is huge. All in all the move is for the better. I know this, I love this, but I am still the slightest bit sad because of it. Why? Because I have made a life for myself here. I have a coven that I love and friends that I love even more. I know that I am going to have to opportunities to establish new ties and cultivate my old friendships, but part of me wishes that I could stay here in NJ.

This move will be good for Ian and me in ways that I can barely describe. We will be starting a large garden in our own yard as well as being able to paint and decorate the top half of the house how we like. We will have family closer than 60 miles away and  our pets will have more space (and a yard!!!!) to play in. There is a Hare Krishna temple not that far away and there is a synagogue just up the road, which is great because I would love to learn more about Judaism. Also, I have the opportunity to be a hard core solitary again, which is nice. And let us not forget that while it rains more often than not in Washington, the cold of the North East wont be around this winter to mess with Ian’s joints. Also, we will have a fire-place and dear god have I mentioned the fact that we will now have a real, honest to goodness yard? A yard, front and back, that is large and full of grass! A yard that has a clothes line and is completely fenced in! A yard that we can turn into part vegetable garden and part relaxation area!I haven’t had a proper yard in five, count ‘em, five years.

There is also a park down the street where I can take Charlie for walks, and a breakfast nook off the kitchen with deep windowsills for Edgar to lounge in all day if he so chooses. We will have porches and a working washer and dryer. Everything I could possibly want for my tiny little family, plus my sister and her children will be living there too. Even will all of us in the house there is still a huge amount of room. I know because I lived in that house with six other people as a teenager and we weren’t tripping all over one another. I’m thrilled to be going, I just wish that it was all here in NJ where my life is. Alas, it’s not.

In our packing adventure we had to look through boxes that Ian put in the attic when he moved here after he divorced his first wife and sold their house. Dear sweet Moses, but did they have a lot of crap. I mean crap in the literal sense here by the way. They had boxes and boxes of party decorations and weird half melted (thank you overly hot in the Summer attic) candles for every occasion as well as strange little knickknacks that frankly, were not mine nor Ian’s style. His Ex, bless her weird little heart, was a shopper. After throwing out, I kid you not, 95% of the stuff we now have a few cute Halloween decorations, three sets of dinnerware (two of which are way too fancy for everyday use unless you host HRH Queen Elizabeth four times a week), some really awesome Irish coffee mugs, two knickknacks fall/harvest bears… the kind you can buy at Hallmark…yeah. I had to keep them, and my personal favorite… a copy of The Communist Manifesto. AWESOME! Can we say flight reading?

Today we are packing up the kitchen and the bedroom (I hope) and putting all the buckets that are full outside so that we can move them with ease tomorrow.

I haven’t updated my fic or written anything for my Christmas exchange in weeks, but that is okay because with the exception of the whole “I don’t really wanna leave” thing, I have been happy and excited since Ian got back from South Jersey.

Good things are heading our way, I just need to do the dishes first.

I’m sitting in my bed, Ian is in the other room, listening to Paolo Nutini on my ipod. This man’s voice makes my soul feel good. Not to be dramatic, because frankly I know I can be, but I think that this album has landed him in the place of one of my favorite artists. The album, Sunny Side Up, is fantastic in the way that Otis Redding was (and still is for that matter) fantastic.

If you have to option of downloading it from itunes or just picking up the cd itself then go get it right now. I will wait…

Ian made vegan meat balls the other day that were fan-flipping-tastic. We had them with pasta and my own very lame version of garlic bread. The bread had no chance of standing up and shinning next to that pasta. I was beautiful.

We leave in 11 days. We still have yet to pack. I know… we are doomed.

I have a strong feeling of discontent. I know where it comes from and I know that it isn’t going to end.I know this because well, I have addressed the issues and frankly, nothing is changing.

I am where I was four months ago… gods this is ridiculous.

I am a bit of a pervert. I love gay porn and erotica and would adore it if my tits were small enough to get held down by an ace bandage so that I could pass for some big macho Daddy’s sweet arsed boy. Alas, my dd’s can’t be held back by much and my husband loves that I am female… But on the days when I am feeling particularly gender fluid  I pick up one of my three favorite bdsm books and read until I just can’t read anymore. These books are :

• The Marketplace by Laura Antoniou… Chris Parker is her’s and dear god do I wish he was real… I think I love him more than Severus Snape and anyone who has seen the revolving background pic on my mac knows thats a big deal.
• The Leather Daddy and the Femme by Carol Queen … In all honesty I haven’t read this in so long, I think that I will read it again after I am done with my current book. This is a wonderful story and is the first that really spoke to me and told me that I wasn’t the only pervert out there.
• Mr. Benson by John Preston … If you haven’t read this and you are into bdsm then there is something seriously wrong with you. Take your arse to the store and get a copy. It’s worth it. I am currently reading this and feel in my deepest heart of hearts that Mr. Benson is the reason Chris Parker was written about. I am looking for my own Mr. Benson…

Ian and I went through our room and gathered up quiet a few books of the erotic persuasion yesterday. I know for a fact that 80% of them were purchased by me. All of them have a slight bdsm leaning and more often than not that is all that they are about. I can not wait to set up our pervy little book shelves in Washington. I know its terrible but my desire to put them in the hallway where my friends will see them is strong. My inner sadist loves to make people blush.

Moving on to less sexual topics, I made my second loaf of bread in a week today. It is currently cooling in the kitchen and I hope that my forgetting to add the milk powder to the mixture wont make it taste funny. This loaf isn’t and wide as the last loaf, which is almost gone, and I think that it will be softer as well. Ian wanted something he could make sandwiches with and being the good wife that I am, not to mention adoring submissive…, I made another loaf for him. There is also a fresh batch of pumpkin butter in the fridge and I think that I will make him pumpkin & peanut butter toast for pudding after we have our supper.

The beans from the other night turned out great. We will be having them again tonight, because that’s how we roll.

I know that I will be leaving New Jersey shortly (and part of me really is weeping about it), but I need to say this… No matter how bitchen you think you are… it is not okay to sing Bon Jovi songs when you are in a very bad  cover band. I say this for many reasons but mainly because

1. I live in NJ, and therefore have a good knowledge of awesome 80′s hair music
2. Bon Jovi is fantastic and by singing their songs crappily (is that even a word) you are doing the entire world a disservice.
3. When I attempted to listen to “Wanted Dead or Alive” a few minutes ago all I could find was some horrid bands pathetic rendition.

The above reasons are still valid even though I have now changed my blog soundtrack to “Runaway”…

I came across a recipe, or something like it, for baked beans on VeganDad’s blog. I think that it has been mentioned before, but just incase… Ian and I are great lovers of the british classic, beans on toast, which means that we can now have a very home made version of it! I love making bread, and think that I will being doing just that tonight along with the beans. They will be done for supper tomorrow, which will be the best home made beans on toast that either of us have ever had.

On the same vein, I just figured out how to make eggless Norwegian pancakes. We have decided to no longer consume eggs in our house. Much to my tummies delight. If they turn out fantastic I will post the recipe.

For those of your keeping count…my soundtrack has changed and I am listening to ‘Unskinny Bop’ by Poison… I know. I rock.

I am talking to my mother on the phone about the size of my nephews heads. I need the sizes so that I can make their gosh darn hats. Frick.

I haven’t knitted in a while. I wanna say it’s because Ian has the needles I need but in reality it’s because I’m lazy. I started a wash cloth a few weeks ago but haven’t touched it for a while.

Things are pretty weird lame in my neck of the woods right now. With that said, here is a letter to someone I need to vent at.

Dear you know who you are,

Why can’t you just stay gone? Every moment I spent with you is a moment I regret with my entire being. Seriously. I’m not just being mean, I am being truthful. I made a mistake when I called you yesterday morning. I should have ignored the text and moved on. But I was and idiot and answered the text. Now I’m sitting here with my stomach full of knots thinking that I will be forever stuck feeling bad because of what you and I did. I don’t want you anymore. As a friend, or anything else. Talking to you made me very upset because all I could think about was Ian’s pain. Do you understand that? Do you know what I had to deal with because of our choices? No. You do not. You said that you area  different person, a better person. But you have said that before. Once or so a year you have “life changing moments” that make you “reevaluate yourself” or some other nonsense. I have a hard time believing that you are any different now then you were this time last year. In short, I do not want to be your friend.

Erika