His Royal Gusness
Originally uploaded by Belleadore.

'Cause he's just THAT cute!

Please, my small group of real and blog friends, visit this post by Kristy that I found through Jackie at 86 Tips?

I know it sounds crazy to be supporting a puppy mill by helping her and giving her money but Kristy also mentions that the miller has been caught and is about to stop. The puppies still need a good home or someone to help.

Puppy mills are a sad state and even sadder that they continue to be perpetuated by pet stores.

I only know so much about puppy mills from what I've read through Bark magazine but it's enough to make any dog lover- obsessed or not- feel pretty sick.

Go to Stop Puppy Mills for more information.

I heard the sound of something moving around the room this morning- the gentle clip of feet on the hardwood floor- and peeked my head out from under the covers to see if Nicky the Fish had left the bathroom. The door was still closed.

I moved around a little more to position myself so I could see if anyone or any"dog" had traipsed into the room. The French doors had been left open from the night before and the dogs- two lovely Rottweilers- were currently residing on the upstairs porch as the two Portuguese construction workers weren't too fond of their "if you touch that gate I will rip you to shreds" barks. I don't think P and P were too fond of them invading their yard.

I wondered if young P had been shopping but decided not to worry about it. I still had a few more minutes of shuteye before NTF came pouncing back in the room to drag me out of bed.

Flash to 15 minutes later:
(Beginning to smush things back into overnight bag.)
IG: Baby, where are my panties?
NTF: I don't know, they were right there (pointing to my pile of clothes on the floor) when I went to the bathroom.
IG: I think P has been shopping in here. She's taken my panties!
NTF: Don't blame her. She's a good girl. Are you sure you haven't already picked them up.
(Pulling out clothes from overnight bag. Shaking. Searching through overnight bag. Nothing)
IG: Oh, crap, there probably in your father's room. My pink panties, laying in a heap right on your father's floor.

NTF did not want to think that his precious Rottweiler could have even thought to pick up a pair of panties just calling to her from the floor.

On the other hand, he was also probably thinking his silly girlfriend shouldn't have left them laying in the floor in clear view of his Rottweiler.

Once I'd dressed I went out on the patio in the hopes they had been left out there. Out of clear view of NTF's father. Not there.

NTF went to say goodbye to his father and I told him to stealthily examine the bedroom floor for my panties. Not there either.

I really, really hoped now that they hadn't fallen out of her mouth and on to the grass below the upstairs patio when she'd been barking at the construction workers earlier. Nice surprise in the concrete.

I went downstairs and scanned the yard. Not there. NTF looked in the kitchen while I searched through the living room. Not there either.

Only other options were that she'd hidden them somewhere (Oh, I prayed to the G-O-D that if she'd hidden them somewhere, it was somewhere really good where NO ONE would ever find them) or she'd swallowed them.

Now, there's a distinct possibility NTF will go home tonight and find them. On the front lawn.

They just might not be in the same capacity I may have thought earlier.

Especially if she'd swallowed them.

Gross.

Today marks one more month before I go on a one month vacation to Argentina.

There are so many things to take care of and although a month sounds like a long time, with my procrastination level, it certainly isn't.

Last Thursday afternoon, S and I set out for the travel clinic. I was a little more concerned than she about the potential for catching some alien disease neither of us could pronounce but she decided to join me on what would become, as usual for us, a little adventure anyway.

I was already nervous before we set out after a co-worker advised us to walk rather than drive as the potential for feeling sick immediately after being administered some of these shots is fairly high.

We showed up at the clinic, which only runs on Thursdays from 2-4, and first thing realised that they only took cash or check. As usual, neither of us had money. We decided to fill out the paperwork anyway.

Then we sat for about 10 minutes contemplating whether we should hand in the information even though neither of us could remember when the last time we were vaccinated for polio or any of the other 20 odd diseases. Or if we ever had been.

"Don't you get one shot for polio and it last for life?" I asked.
"I dunno," S replied.

Finally we made the executive decision to hand in the paperwork and I would ask the kind, government worker at the desk a few simple questions. Namely if she knew or had a list available of the type of shots we "might" need for our travels?

Nope.

Not a big surprise there. We were relying on the government to administer shots.

I sat down and hoped that when we finally made it to the doctor he would "recommend" shots, but we would opt out of all of them saving us both the chance of me fainting (I'm petrified of needles) and money.

"What if he tells us we HAVE to take certain shots. Then what do we do? Tell him we'll come back next week when we have money?" asked a brilliant S.
"I dunno," I replied.

We were, at this point, the blind leading the blind. Surprise, surprise.

We both wondered how we were going to survive together in a foreign land for one month.

"Well, hopefully Rebecca will keep us together," I said, hopefully.
"If Rebecca was here she'd be freaking out. 'What do we do, we need money, I don't have money, Oh effe it let's just go to the beach' would be Rebecca's response," S so nicely reassured me.

We looked at the clock. We'd been there for about 45 minutes and had made absolutely no headway. We didn't know what shots we would need, what shots would be recommended or how much the shots would be.

We felt hopeless.

"When it's 3.15 and we haven't been called, let's leave," S said. I love when she makes decisions.
"Ok. But should we tell them we're going to come back some other time?" I asked.
"No, I'll distract her while you run out," S replied. She has the most brilliant plans.
"Or maybe we can just crawl along the floor and she won't even see us," I countered. I'm so smart.

We opted to just leave. Like the smart girls that we are.

That chair is calling me. I could read all 24 of my books on THAT chair. Looking out over THAT water.

THAT chair is only a 1/2 an hour away from this miserable desk and yet, it's so far away.

Miserable.

Everyone loves my flirty, little summer dress today.

I love that it's a comfortable wrap dress and that it's black and white with bits of red and it kinda looks like something Marc Jacobs might have designed- on a budget. But what I really love about this dress the most is that I bought it from Target last year for $26!

I love you Target. If I beg hard enough will you please bring your giant, cheap, consumer a$$ to Bermuda. Please. Pretty please. With a cherry on top!

It will be worth it. Because even if no one else wants to go to your beautiful store. I will. I will make it so worth your while!

The following excerpt I pulled from Riverbend's blog. Reading her blog brings a lot about the Iraq war into glaring perspective and it's definitely worth checking out.

But I picked this specific excerpt because I'm always fascinated by other people's views of the media and reading someone completely outside of America's views on the media really gets me excited. In Bermuda, we're basically fed the same information as Americans even though we're a dependent of Britain. You generally have to search outside information from the Internet and many times that can be just as unreliable. So, views are always mixed and varied. People here will bash American television but not necessarily comment directly on American news. This is a very poignant response to what an Iraqi sees happening in her own country.

Sunday, April 03, 2005
American Media...
You wake up in the morning. Brush your teeth. Splash the sleep out of your eyes and head for the kitchen for a cup of coffee or tea and whatever is available for breakfast.

You wander to the living room and search for the remote control. It is in its usual place- stuck inexplicably between the sofa cushions. You turn on the television and stand there flipping from one channel to the other, looking for a news brief or something that will sum up what happened during those six hours you slept. You finally settle on the pleasant face on the screen- the big hair, bright power suit, capped teeth and colorful talons- blandly reading the news. The anchoress is Julie Chan. The program is CBS's The Early Show (Live from Fifth Avenue!).

Guess the nationality of the viewer above. Three guesses. American? No. Canadian? No. British? Japanese? Australian? No, no and no. The viewer is Iraqi... or Jordanian... or Lebanese... or Syrian... or Saudi... or... Kuwaiti... or... but you get the picture.

Two years ago, the major part of the war in Iraq was all about bombarding us with smart bombs and high-tech missiles. Now there's a different sort of war- or perhaps it's just another phase of the same war. Now we're being assailed with American media. It's everywhere all at once.

It began with radio stations like Voice of America which we could access even before the war. After the war, there were other radio stations- ones with mechanical voices that told us to put down our weapons and remain inside our homes, ones that fed us American news in an Iraqi dialect and ones that just played music. With satellite access we are constantly listening to American music and watching American sitcoms and movies. To be fair- it's not just Iraq that is being targeted- it's the whole region and it's all being done very cleverly.

Al-Hurra, the purported channel of freedom, is the American gift to the Arab world. What they do is show us translated documentaries about certain historical events (American documentaries) or about movie stars (American stars) or vacation spots. Throughout this, there are Arab anchors giving us the news (which is like watching Fox in Arabic). It's news about the Arab world with the American twist.

Our new "national" channels are a joke. One of the most amusing, in a gruesome sort of way, is Al-Iraqiya. It's said to be American sponsored but the attitude is decidedly pro-Iran, anti-Sunni. There's a program where they parade terrorists on screen for us to see in an attempt to show us that our National Guard are not only good at raiding homes and harassing people in the streets. The funny thing about the terrorists is that the majority of them have "Sunni" names like Omar and Othman, etc. They admit to doing things such as having sexual intercourse in mosques and raping women and the whole show is disgusting. Iraqis don't believe it because it's so obviously produced to support the American definition of the Iraqi, Sunni, Islamic fanatic that it is embarrassing. Couldn't the PSYOPS people come up with anything more subtle?

Then you have the whole MBC collection. MBC is actually financed by Saudi Arabia, but based in Dubai, as far as I know. They have several different channels. It started out with the original MBC which was a mainly Arabic channel that was harmless enough. It showed some talk shows, debates and Egyptian movies with an occasional program on music or style.

Then we were introduced to MBC's Al-Arabia- a news channel which was meant to be the Saudi antidote to Al-Jazeera. Simultaneously, we were accessing MBC's Channel 2, which is a channel that shows only English movies and programs. The programs varied from talk shows like Oprah, to sitcoms like Friends, Third Rock from the Sun and Seinfeld. Earlier this year, the MBC did a mystifying thing. They announced that Channel 2 was going to be made a 24-hour movie channel which would show all sorts of movies- old Clint Eastwood cowboy movies, and newer movies like "A Beautiful Mind", etc. The programs and sitcoms would be transferred to the new MBC Channel 4.

Personally, I was pleased with the change at first. I'm not big on movies and it was nice to know our favorite sitcoms and programs would all be accessible on one channel without the annoyance of two-hour movies. I could turn on Channel 4 at any time and expect to find something interesting or humorous that would end within 30-60 minutes.

The first time I saw 60 Minutes on MBC 4, it didn't occur to me that something was wrong. I can't remember what the discussion was, but I remember being vaguely interested and somewhat mystified at why we were getting 60 Minutes. I soon found out that it wasn't just 60 Minutes at night: It was Good Morning, America in the morning, 20/20 in the evening, 60 Minutes, 48-Hours, Inside Edition, The Early Show... it was a constant barrage of American media. The chipper voice in Arabic tells us, "So you can watch what *they* watch!" *They* apparently being millions of Americans.

The schedule on MBC's Channel 4 goes something like this:

9 am - CBS Evening News
9:30 am -CBS The Early Show
10:45 am - The Days of Our Lives
11:20 am - Wheel of Fortune
11:45 am - Jeopardy
12:05 pm -A re-run of whatever was on the night before - 20/20, Inside Edition, etc.

And the programming continues...

I've been enchanted with the shows these last few weeks. The thing that strikes me most is the fact that the news is so clean... It's like hospital food. It's all organized and disinfected. Everything is partitioned and you can feel how it has been doled out carefully with extreme attention to the portions- 2 minutes on women's rights in Afghanistan, 1 minute on training troops in Iraq and 20 minutes on Terri Schiavo! All the reportages are upbeat and somewhat cheerful, and the anchor person manages to look properly concerned and completely uncaring all at once.

About a month ago, we were treated to an interview on 20/20 with Sabrina Harman- the witch in some of the Abu Ghraib pictures. You know- the one smiling over faceless, naked Iraqis piled up to make a human pyramid. Elizabeth Vargus was doing the interview and the whole show was revolting. They were trying to portray Sabrina as an innocent who was caught up in military orders and fear of higher ranking officers. The show went on and on about how American troops never really got seminars on Geneva Conventions (like one needs to be taught humanity) and how poor Sabrina was being made a scapegoat. They showed the restaurant where she worked before the war and how everyone thought she was "such a nice person" who couldn't hurt a fly!

We sat there watching like we were a part of another world, in another galaxy. I've always sensed from the various websites that American mainstream news is far-removed from reality- I just didn't know how far. Everything is so tame and simplified. Everyone is so sincere.

Furthermore, I don't understand the worlds fascination with reality shows. Survivor, The Bachelor, Murder in Small Town X, Faking It, The Contender... it's endless. Is life so boring that people need to watch the conjured up lives of others?

I have a suggestion of my own for a reality show. Take 15 Bush supporters and throw them in a house in the suburbs of, say, Falloojeh for at least 14 days. We could watch them cope with the water problems, the lack of electricity, the check points, the raids, the Iraqi National Guard, the bombings, and- oh yeah- the 'insurgents'. We could watch their house bombed to the ground and their few belongings crushed under the weight of cement and brick or simply burned or riddled with bullets. We could see them try to rebuild their life with their bare hands (and the equivalent of $150)...

I'd not only watch *that* reality show, I'd tape every episode.

Remember when you were in school and everyone used to figure out what their porn star name would be by putting together random words from their past like the first street they lived on and their mother's maiden names. Here's a couple more alias' to add to that list:

My Dating Diva name is something sweet within sight + any liquid in my kitchen= Pug Crystal Light
My Girl Detective name is my favourite baby animal + where I last went to school= Puppy Charleston
My Barfly name is the last snack I ate + my favourtie drink= Honey Nut Vodka
My Porn Star name is the name of my first pet + my mother's maiden name= Fuzzy Oatway
My Soap Opera name is my middle name + the name of the 1st street where I lived= Robyn Seymour Farm
My Road Trip name is what I had for breakfast + where I last peed beside the road= English Muffin Paget

Nicky the fish! Yes, NTF, it's about time that I make you known on my little blog-diary since you, the one who likes to know EVERYTHING, have finally found your way to my blog. I know you're dreading the moment I write one iota of information about you but I promise I'll be nice. (Mahahaha!!!)

The story of NTF and Islandgirl- a tribute
I met NTF in November 2003 when we were both still dating other people. She was mean and snooty, he was rude and a redneck. She dumped him on New Year's Eve, I cheated on him with NTF. I can say that without feeling bad because he broke up with me 3 days later and not because of NTF; he didn't know. I was glad that someone all powerful had granted me ESP that weekend because it's not nice to be dumped and not at least have sax to fall back on. NTF and I saxed a lot in the beginning. I told myself for months that it was only a saxual relationship and I told my mom we were just having "fun"; it was nothing serious. It was only when my friend S finally said, "Girl, get over yourself, he likes you!" that I actually started breathing again.

The story of Nicky the Fish- an explanation
This name has a little to do with fishing and a lot to do with drinking. Considering our first "date"-as well as several consecutive "dates"- consisted of imbibing of alcoholic products this doesn't come as much of a surprise. Apparently, back when NTF first met his soon-to-be fishing buddy he drank many under the table that evening and made it to work the next day as bright and chipper as ever. Now, Nicky the Fish is emblazoned on a flask that's saved for special occasions. Like Saturday nights when he drinks us all under the table and wakes up as starry-eyed as ever to go fishing.

The story of Islandgirl- not so exciting
My adopted American parents from Augusta, GA named me this when I was in college. It's fitting, I guess, for a girl...who lives on an island?!

And now...here we are on this little Island happy and content with our alcohol and fish...

I saw this on Jess and A* blogs (as you can tell I really do like her blog a lot as I keep pinching her ideas....it's a compliment, I swear, not that I can't think up my own damn ideas!)

I'm not sure how this happened but it's vary, vary interesting...

Your Inner European is Irish!

Spirited and boisterous! You drink everyone under the table.

Who's" Your Inner European?

(I love the skirt, though...I wish my legs were that saxy!)

This is a very cool idea that I pinched from A* at Ninth Circle. Very cool. So is her blog.

I will describe myself and my feelings through the song titles of my favourite artist. I'm pretty sure it will be easy to figure out who it is. But maybe not as easy to figure out who I am!

Are you male or female: Cornflake Girl
Describe yourself: Spark
How do some people feel about you: Cloud On My tongue
How do you feel about yourself: Silent All These Years
Describe your exboyfriend: Putting the Damage On
Describe your current boyfriend: Sleeps with Butterflies
Describe where you want to be: Glory of the 80s
Describe what you want to be: Raspberry Swirl
Describe how you live: a sorta fairytale
Describe your current mood: Bliss
Describe how you love: 1000 Oceans
Share a few words of wisdom: The Power of Orange Knickers

I was looking through a couple of the boxes my mom has packed up in the house (her midlife crisis, selling all of the furniture/appliances in the house is ripe for a post soon) this evening and found my new book for this half of the month. Yeah, it's Bergdorf Blondes by Plum Sykes. Thanks, Al, for the help but I saw it and I was, like, oh yummy, I love great Chick Lit.

I promised myself that I have to read Jane Eyre next. And I know I'll love it because I did back when I was still in school in Bermuda. I was little was about 11 or 12 back then and still thought being forced to read was a sin. I never had a problem reading. I still wish I had my collection of Nancy Drew and The Babysitter's Club books around and maybe one day when the e-Bay bug hits me I might go search them out.

But reading a classic. Blick. I hated it until I read The Great Gatsby when I was a junior in boarding school. Back then I was dubbed the "run on queen" and had a penchant for fragments. I'm not quite sure how the hell I accomplished that but I think what's even more startling is the fact that I'm now a writer.

But I still love my books and I find reading to be an inspiration for my own writing. They mesh well. And it is about time I pick up another one of those dreaded classics (they really are good!).

After pirating one of Miss Nobody's ideas for her 24th year I'm happy to say that I'm on the path to accomplishment.

When MN turned 24 she made a list of 24 goals she wanted to accomplish this year. Being as productive a person as I always am I decided to have one goal for my 24th birthday and I stole it from her. It's quite a simple goal but it's one I'm very happy with. It's reading 24 books this year. (Thanks, Al, for this idea). So, I finished my first book, The Da Vinci Code. I know, I know, you're a little late, Islandgirl, but hey, trends take a long time to come to this Island (that's a really poor excuse but that's why this goal is SO perfect).

I have stacks of books everywhere in my room. They collect a lot of dust but one day I have the vision of building my own library in my own house- whenever that will be I never know. Speaking of building libraries, I just interviewed a man who LOVES to keep himself busy and built his own library. I think I recall him saying if he was forced to sit down and read any of the books in his library he'd stay up until the early morning hours just to finish it because he can't stand just sitting around reading for leisure. Now, that's productivity. So instead he builds things. But I've completely gotten off the subject here.

What I'm trying to decide is the next book I should read. When I was little I would pull out several books that I hadn't read yet and I would read the first paragraph of the first chapter. I would narrow it down to two from there and then hide them behind my back and ask my mom to chose a hand. Very democratic, of course. Now, I have SO many books that I can't even begin to sit down and read the beginning of each chapter.

Here's the shortlist of books that I think I'm in the mood to read:

Jane Eyre Charlotte Bronte
The Orchid Thief Susan Orlean <-she also wrote a really good cookbook for dogs called Throw Me A Bone
Buffalo Soldier Chris Bohjalian
Atonement Ian McEwan
or
Vile Bodies Eveyln Waugh

I could always stop procrastinating and instead of reading during my 'minutes' of downtime study Spanish since I am going to Argentina in 7 weeks. But, I find, as I'm sure most people do, that variety is what keeps me productive. I can't just tell myself that every time I have some time to spare that I have to study Spanish or I'll revolt and instead watch television all night. But if I'm able to dabble in a couple of things then I'm more likely to keep with it. So, this week's goal is to decide what book to read. In the meantime, I'll read a magazine!

So it's my birthday tomorrow. Translation: It's all about me!

But then somebody had to come along with a birthday the day after mine, who happens to be my *boyfriend and says, "That's not going to work with me. It's my birthday too." SO!
If the occasion arises, I'm still going to have a birthday tantrum if I don't get my way.

Yes, I am an Aries and an only child. Bad mix.



*But Happy Birthday Nicky the Fish :-)

As my second co-worker quits today I begin to wonder if my friend in the Classified section is right. Maybe it is me.

I began working in this department last year in June when the trouble started. The other writer, who would become my co-worker for 5 months, was a middle-aged woman with a penchant for storytelling and putting herself into every story she wrote. I remember one story she wrote for a Christmas supplement before I started, which consisted of 40inches of her rambling on about taking her annual Christmas walk with her dog. Now, I have a soft spot for dogs but that was a bit much.
She ended up quitting when the company tried to suspend her after she took one of the photographer's cameras and attempted to take her own pictures for a catalogue we were preparing. It was a blessing in disguise that she was finally gone. Neither our coordinator or I could take anymore ramblings.

Less than a week later the company hired a writer who seemed too good to be true. She was, as we found out only 3 months later. Missing deadlines and just being all around unproductive. Like when she'd take off on 3 hour lunch breaks the day of a deadline and not produce any of her copy that day. She left after 5 months with us of her own volition today after the company tried to give her another try but she'll be better off. And hopefully so will we. I'm leaning on hope that Miss S from the newsroom is right: third time's a charm!

A friend e-mailed this flyer yesterday. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Please, if anyone wants to contribute, I would love to hear your great potato song/poem. Tell your friends and your friend's friends; this could be the event of the year.

BERMUDA FARMERS MARKET
Potato Festival
May 14, 2005
BULL'S HEAD CAR PARK
8am to 2pm

A potato festival is being planned for the above date. The purpose of a the festival is to create a higher profile for local agriculture and the Farmers Market. By selecting one crop during its harvest time it will provide an opportunity to educate the public about that crop. Why Potatoes?

a) it is the only staple food we grow in Bermuda and the growing of them must not die out
b) it is traditionally a very important local cash crop and stores well
c) it is nutritionally an important crop in spite of its current reputation
with dieters.
d) potato festivals are held in many parts of the world even in Asian
countries where rice is the staple
e) we have severe competition from imported potatoes and this would be an opportunity to nurture local passion for local potatoes.

Activities planned for the festival.One week prior to the festival May 7th - potato picking for persons of all ages at one or two farms.
a) potato peeling contest
b) potato planting and harvesting equipment at the market
c) potato education table with sample potato varieties, nutritional info., potato in many languages, history
d) potato printing
e) healthy potato dish theme by chefs representing local restaurants
f) vendors with foods made with potatoes ie, codfish cakes, rotis, pirogis, potato pancakes
g) potato art and crafts
h) music and poetry - songs and poems about potatoes by local musicians and children
i) guess how many potatoes are in the sack
j) a potato mascot (child or adult wearing a potato costume)
k) if it can be quickly organized....the crowning of the Potato King of the
Year

Funny phone call of the morning!

Receptionist: Good morning ____!
S: Hi, may I speak with Dick Hardwood*
Transferring
DH: Hello
S: Hi is DH available
DH: Speaking
S: In her mind: Shit, shit, he's there, I didn't expect him to really be there! What do I do???
S: Hi Mr. H, I'd *crackle* *crackle* *fake sounds of bad connection* *crackle* *crackle* CLICK!

Thanks S. If only we could have known each other back in high school. You would have been the perfect sidekick for all those badly placed phone calls to boys!


*name changed

ENJOYABLE READS
I'd just like to make mention of the blogs I've listed on my sidebar. They're all blogs I've come across one way or another but I've enjoyed reading all of their stories and being inspired by some of the cool things they say and post. So, a big thank you!

And,

Another Conversation Overheard
Either I'm just really pokey or strangers have just been saying some really funny things lately.

I was having lunch with my boyfriend today and the people who were sitting at the sushi bar next to us were engaged in a serious conversation. Well, actually, now that I think about it I don't remember the one guy ever speaking since his friend was quite a talker.

When the waiter came over to give them forks and knives Talker told him that he didn't need a fork. Not a huge shocker since we were in a sushi restaurant and most people these days do know how to use a pair of chopsticks. But Talker proceeded to tell his lunch buddy how his father doesn't eat with a fork because of the dangers of eating with that particular utensil. Talker explained that a friend of his dad's had been eating with a fork and someone had hit him in the head and the fork had pierced the back of his throat. Thankfully, the guy lived, Talker said, but his father now refuses to eat with a fork because of the potential of an accident such as that occurring. I swear I don't make this stuff up.