My mother called. Yesterday, my sister left a horrible message on my voicemail, but as usual, she had excuses...

My mother refuses to see that my sister is seriously unhinged. She used to just be depressive but now she's turned into a proper paranoid loony, she's aggressive and two-faced. In front of my mother, she plays the victim, the sad little girl who just wants to be loved. Behind her back, she's a violent, nasty person who talks between her teeth and can physically abuse you. 

She's already nearly knocked me out cold, beaten me up a few times (my mother said it was just sibling bickering. Yeah, we both were in our thirties).

I've tried to ram some sense into my mother, to no avail. I feel like I've wasted an hour of my life... It's just exhausting. My mother's convinced that once they've moved out of their house, everything will be fine. Oh, but of course. My sister will turn into a loving, caring person, they'll find a pot of gold and they'll live happily ever after in a world filled with carebears, ponies, rainbows and fluffy kittens who never lose their fluff on the carpet.

And if moving houses isn't magic, my mother told me she thought of suicide. Nothing's here new. She's talked about it ever since I was a kid. So now I'm in the "go ahead, I dare you" frame of mind.

I don't know how I ended up not being more seriously messed up than I am. Wow.

BTW, I've stopped considering them both as "family". Yeah, we have a common DNA, but that's all there is. I've just signed legal papers to ensure that, in case I die, Thierry will inherit everything. Thank God for him and my friends.

Blythou out.

Please, meet Alabee, the newest member of the Rude Manor plastic clan :



Sorry for the horrid cell phone pic, but I'm too busy to do a proper photoshoot today (and the results wouldn't be *that much* better anyway).

Alabee's name has been picked by Thierry. She's named after a song from Of Montreal, one of our current favorite bands. We saw them in a small club in May and I had a great, uplifting time, just like I had when I saw the Flaming Lips (which inspired me to call my BBB Yoshimi).

If you want to watch the video for Alabee's song, just clickey :



Blythou out.

For our wedding anniversary, Thierry has bought us a set of Aloha Wanda Frogs. They've just arrived. I've promised him we'll open the box together tonight.

Yes, it takes serious will power, I know. I've had years of Jedi training to achieve this... And I'm not even sure Master Yoda wouldn't "at the box a sneak peek take".

But I'm also pretty sure Master Yoda is the kind of Jedi who eats candy bars on the sly. Sorry for the silly update. I won't do it again until next time.

Blythou out.

- Putting the last touches on an article for a new boss
- Ordering a big of books for my mother on Amazon (she reads fluent English and she's a history of the Alamo buff)
- Ordering the Cute & Creepy Crochet book for me (more amigurumi I'll never crochet ! YEAH !)
- Trying to cheer Thierry up (doesn't feel well lately, I'm a bit worried)
- Feeling excited about Tibi's upcoming visit (gossip + vodka = YEAHHHHH !)
- Looking for new matching desks for Thierry and me

Blythou out.

Our youngest and cutest friend showed up yesterday around cocktail hour (but we hadn't exactly waited for her to indulge). She made friends with Marion-Isabelle, then took her bath and had a quick dinner before crashing into bed in our room.

Thierry came home super late from work (around midnight) and he found some of his favorites (polenta with a quick ratatouille and fresh kumpquats for dessert). Margaux didn't bother us at all during the night and woke up around 7 am this morning, gave me a biiiiig smile so I picked her up, plopped her between us in bed and we all napped for an hour.

Now she's walking Teletubby style in Rude Manor with Thierry wrapped around her finger. She's managed to terrorize the cats and she cracks us up with her babbling which sounds like real words and sentences usually uttered at the right moment. It's either a coincidence or that baby is a genius.

Blythou out.

My long conversation with Tibi yesterday has boosted my morale. Seriously.

I don't like to be *that* person, you know, the über cranky bitch who doesn't even love her cat. Being a bitch is ok in my book, being nasty is just not an option.

Today, I shopped with a friend, gave long cuddles to the kitties, including her guest kitty, babysat Margaux who's currently asleep in our room and promised Thierry to stop being distant and colder than a dead ice queen. And drank three Bloody Marys to celebrate.

PFEWWWWW. Feels better.

Blythou out.

PS : I have a crush on Tituski, the bun-bun Tibi made for the Beauty Contest Blythe. So, please, you dolly people who'll attend the contest, can you steal it for me, pretty please with extra sugar on top ?

Last sunday was a day of "firsts".

For the first time in his life, probably, Thierry fed a baby... Well, not any baby. Margaux, to be precise. This little girl's wrapped him around her finger and he just melts everytime she smiles at him. Which is often, because Margaux is a charmer.

Here's photographic proof of what I'm saying :




JM & Ginger thought that Margaux's hair was getting too long and unruly but they didn't want to take her to a hairdresser because she's too young for that... So they asked me to give her her first haircut. I felt, well... I'm going to sound corny, but I was moved. It's an important thing in a baby's life and I got to do it.

Here's what I've trimmed :




And last but not least, the "after" pic. Everyone decided I'd done a great job, Margaux included !



Maybe i'm biaised, but she's the cutest little girl I've had the pleasure to meet.

And here goes another "Margaux' appreciation society" post !

Blythou out.

It's Thierry's b-day today... But we won't go out to celebrate it in one of our favorite restaurants because the French team is playing tonight and the streets will be packed with drunk soccer fans with painted faces and wigs.

We both loathe soccer. Not the game, really, we don't care. But what surrounds it. You know, the rampant hooliganism, the racism shown by some fans towards black players, the fanatism surrounding that whole event, the fact that, if you don't care, you're considered like a traitor to your country, the all-night long revelling with stupid songs, cars honking, the general lack of sophistication that seems to spread like a wildfire in summer, you know, people wearing footie jerseys everywhere... YUCK !

On a different note, I tried some slim Levis jeans. I'm ashamed to say I did it purely to check how I looked in those very unflattering pants. Turns out I looked a lot better than I expected. I hate the extra tight, 80s look, so I won't buy those... but I was glad to see I could pull that look off. My vanity will kill me. How, I don't know yet. But it will, you'll see.

Blythou out.

While doing the rounds of the weekly garage sales this morning, we came across the "Lulu Castagnette" showroom/bulk store that was open for retail at discount prices... I found the cutest bunny hat for my goddaughther (I've already bought her a white cotton old fashioned bonnet for summer, that makes her look like a doll. Am I playing or trying to dress that little girl ?) And I got for myself a mini denim skirt with flowery cotton froufrou bits. As usual, I shopped in the teen/preteen section. I took a glance at the women fashion and found nothing for me there.

Then, we saw another showroom open for retail. I left empty-handed, moaning, "it's only stuff for middle-aged women". Turns out it was Kookaï, a brand mainly aimed at 25-35 year olds. Somebody does have a problem with their age, here. Yesterday evening, I went to a gig/party thing with my hair in ponytails, a poodle adorned bag and a playboy bun-bun tank top.

Today, I also bought a Stitch shirt for myself. And while organizing my wardrobe and sorting out which clothes to donate, I realised I had mostly teen stuff (including sexy teen stuff that a 13-year old shouldn't wear anyway), jeans and piles of skinny tees of cartoon characters or rock bands.

No wonder I want to stay as petite and curve-free as possible. I have to be if I want to keep wearing clothes aimed at 12-year olds.

Oh, and after 11+ years together, Thierry recently asked me if I'd like to buy a schoolgirl uniform while we're in Japan. Because he loves them, as cliché as it sounds. I was "are you kidding ? Why do you think I've got so many pleated minis ?" So really, if I ever want to turn into a full-grown woman, I'll be in trouble. Not with Thierry, I know he'll pretend not to mind. But I'll have nothing to wear. And that is unthinkable.

Blythou out.

Even though Thierry grows a lot of things on our balconies, he hasn't yet mastered the delicate art of growing dollcenas.
This baby, decked out in full fluffy blue alien costume, is a present from the wonderful tikistitch. We'd been warned that this blue baby could be hyper, but she's been good so far, maybe because the girls don't have re-ment candy and other sugar-high inducing food around.

Blythou out.

This morning, at the crack of dawn, that is 10-ish or so, Thierry and I ventured to the Apple store where we usually buy our stuff. It's not a big show-room or anything, just a place for nerds who know what they want and want it fast.

Less than 30 mins. later, we left with my new baby, a 14 inch G4 I-book I've named Pommy (pomme is French for Apple).

Kudos to Thierry who bought it for me (he's made some free money with old stocks he had somewhere), who rescued the contents of my defunct laptop and is currently feeding Pommy with all sorts of good, nutritious softwares.

I was so happy when I pressed the "on" button of my new baby for the first time and saw the little "welcome" video that I made squee noises ! Sometimes, being a nerd isn't enough. I have to be a girly nerd...

Blythou out.

Back from the monthly lunch with my mother in law. She was in fine form, i.e. mega annoying. For no reason at all, except that she has trouble minding her own business, she broached one of her favorite subjects. When, oh when, will I finally have a baby ?

Thierry and I promptly answered like the 6798 previous times : NEVER.

This is clear enough, I think. We've never let her hope that we might change our minds and Thierry has repeatedly told her he doesn't care for kids, doesn't want to have any and I've said the same, adding that I've already got more than enough to keep me occupied.

This time, she almost pleaded. It was pretty disturbing. She started by suggesting I work part time (free lance journalist part time, that's like, totally realistic). To which I answered that less work means less money. And a baby is expensive. She then replied that she could help us, even give us money if we had a kid.

Oh yes... That's exactly what I want. Being financially endebted to a mother in law who tries to control our lives any chance she gets. I'm so going to quit work, stay home, raise a kid and depend on her money... Esp. since she loves to underline in front of Thierry that I'm a big spender !

Thierry rushed to my help, saying that I loved my job too much for quitting or slowing down. And that he felt too old to have a baby anyway. No, no, no, you're not, she said. And babies don't cost that much.. When you were born, Thierry, we didn't have a lot, blah-blah...

What she doesn't understand here, is that we both love our freedom too much, we love having enough money so we don't have to worry about making ends meet, that we're already on the next level, the one where you think about designer furniture, travels, selfish pleasures of every kind, and where you don't want to live in a cramped appartment with a baby, struggling with money, lack of sleep and spare time, etc.

Then, she launched in a diatribe on one of her favorite subjects : how "supposedly liberated working women" (her words) are unhappy, rushing every morning to work, looking harrassed, often smoking (YES ! Those monsters SMOKE, like I sometimes do !) and how she loves to observe them every morning from her bedroom window.

I didn't reply by saying that at least, they're free, unlike many women who used to be trapped at home, raising a family while their husbands were sleeping with younger, sexier chicks (to stay in clichéland where she lives). Or that many people can't afford to live with one income. Or some women are divorced and must earn their keeping. Or that the fifties way of style is a thing of the past, thank God.

At least, I was glad Thierry supported me. And I still wonder how she didn't turn into a horrid macho after trying to ram so much sexist bullshit down his throat.

Blythou out.