Friday, July 4, 2014

B-day baby day

Well, it's was a great birthday for our daughter. My own Born On the 4th of July baby. Siobhan Sivan Dasha is 2 years old. I took time to enjoy her and the rest of my children, without dwelling on each of their developmental quirks, which usually scare me.
I wouldda-thought that after all those business trips to Shanghai and Xingtao and the Big Bad Beijing my husband would be too tired to play. He has evolved - from my outdoors photographer to my intimate bedroom fetishism angle-and-light specialist. I am jsut too proud and embarrassed of the tastefully framed detail and puckered flesh - of my Lolita mouth - un-think naughty!

Lilypie First Birthday tickers


Friday, June 13, 2014

Good Numbers!



GooD numbers. Good that it's just news. I am no longer the skeletal girl self - I have caught up with my weight, and I have the hourglass figure now that I have always wanted. More below. I have to digress.

Just like the Toirah portion for this week, there are some negative things in my news.
I can't be everyone's girlfriend, and everyone's wife.
Back then - when I was married to Micki, I had a good-natured mutual infatuation with Rafael. I even blogged about him in a post or two. Little did I know - thinking, assuming that he was a lawt more mature, and strong - that he was so impressionable and vulnerable, that I turned out to be the heartbreaker.

Some more old mail reached me, following me internationally - I found that he came back from France, and went to visit Micki, when I already left him. Micki being the workaholic and overburdened with his previous kids, had his hours filled to the max, and was never there to talk to him, or did not want to talk to him.

Rafael was armed with wrong information, and spent some time in his car outside Micki's villa, actually being across the street the neighbors. They reported him to the private security company, who had an altercation with him, damaging his car. He sued them, and he thought I was still around, leaving them my phone number.

Frustrated, he bounced around, and came back to Paris, where he got mixed up with the local club culture, and was caught up by the police in smoking-drinking-minors issues. He eventually found a better address that I still used at my parents' on Uzziel street, and wrote me all about it, and it took the letter about a year to reach me. He was also mislead by my French, which is not enough to understand the modern, street youth angst.
Little did he know - that I got an apartment mere 1.5 km from him in Paris, that the house next to the people who reported him, is my girlfriend MNG, who visited me here last year.

It's a matter of living with my lot in life. I got what I deserved. Both good and bad. Three of my children affected by the divorces. Identity crisis. The Wandering Jew's Where Am I crisis. The Nymphette's Who-Am-I-With crisis. Doubts about being the good mom. The double-edged compliments: five kids and I don't even look like it, more like their babysitter. A Thirty two years old with the looks of a college slut. The most comforting realization: my husband is my own private photographer, crazy enough about me that he always makes sure to be home by 6 pm.

Rafael wrote that I was the only real girlfriend he had ever had. I was reading it and shuddering - at how used to hearing this I became. And to the feeling the helplessness of the man, and my own - to do anything about it.

Back to the bright cosmopolitan reality.

My news are a lawt more positive than the Toira portion. It's a definite Send, as in we are definitely going to live on the kibbutz, and I will be a member with full rights and obligationz. Me - meanwhile I am still exercising and treadmilling and rowing and biking, and can't wait to advance forward from this plastic Chinese city. Thank Gawd they build skyscrapers better.

Missing Paris, too.

Being obsessive, with lists.

It was wrong to consult my brother no matter how genius he was, instead of a rabbi, or our father.

It was wrong to try and build close family relationships with everyone our large family.

It was wrong to invest fanatical belief that any husband is on a rabbinical level.

No amount of religious learning can substitute honest work.

~*~

and here's the yummy Vicky SALT clone.

TyBec discovered a clone of me. Her name is Rosanna Pansino. He says there are so many striking similarities. He claims in this video she looks like I looked before Paris (before I shaved all my hair). She is a great balabusta, especially in the kitchen. She carries herself in that signature, SALT girlie way. She has traveled internationally, and modeled too, in my favorite Vogue, and in my favorite interracial situation. And - most of all - she is sweet.