I'm trying not to count the days or realize the fact that I have just 9 days left with Lynsey. I keep picturing myself in my room in the apartment I'll be sharing with my new roommate, Chad. I wonder what living with a newly out gay man will be like. The last gay man I knew was my Uncle Cecil. I think it will be a place of growth for both of us. I'm used to sleeping next to Lynsey, it will be strange to sleep alone. When Julie and I split up it wasn't more than a couple of weeks before she started sleeping on the couch in the living room. I got used to sleeping alone then. I suppose I'll just adjust as anyone would do.
Bridges would tell me to focus on self-care. It's been nearly a year and I'm still learning what that is.
Independence is frightening. I'm a codependent person, independence represents singularity: loneliness, solitary, distance. I think the thing I will miss most is the same thing I longed for when Julie slept in the other room and Lynsey was 3000 miles away: touch. I realize how much human touch actually helps me to feel secure in myself, to know that I am okay, to feel safe. I would cry at night just from longing for someone to hold me and mean it.
I know this is all linked to my ever appearing need to discover a root of security from within myself.
I'm trying to focus on the self-care, the positives of the steps to come. I have to return home if we're to begin the immigration process. I also know within my deeper honesty that I need to experience independence - where the person I am living with is not my supporter. Why does this scare me so much?

I re-read the entry and the part about losing Dad reads like a horror story for me. It's like a bad dream I can't awake from. I'm replaying the images of him, alone, asleep in his hospital bed. I was able to make it to see him the week he went into the hospital, but we had to go home. I begged the nurses for some sort of timeline, some expectations of how long he had - so I knew when to come back. Of course they couldn't really say. The day we left I hugged him goodbye and left his room dark, his back to me. I whispered my goodbyes through the crack in the door before clicking it shut. I knew in my heart that was my last time. Everything in me said I needed to stay, my Mom was pulling me to go. I wanted to set up camp outside his door.

...annnnd better than ever.

Wow, where to begin. I'll sum it up as well as I can, and let the coming posts fill in the gaps.

The last post was about wanting to quit the studio which is exactly what I did. My shifts were dropped so severely that one day I just didn't show up for work at all. I used to feel as if that was a chicken shit thing to do, but since then I've come to see it for bravery. I tried finding another job, at first, and was enjoying my "time off." But financially it was important for me to be working, Julie was supporting us on much less of a salary, with much more cost of living. Near the end of my time at the studio I had started casually playing an online game called Second Life. I feel now that this "game" is a pivotal wedge in who I am and where I am today. I became engrossed very quickly - we'll say addicted. I wasn't working and Julie was away 8+ hours a day, so I spent quite a lot of time there. I developed connections with other players, which became relationships, which fed the addiction. It is a VERY long story, my journey with this game - one I don't doubt will play itself out as I continue to post my journey, but for now I'll say my relationships were nearly completely unhealthy, some of them caused me real, mental anguish, and worst off: they had an effect on the decisions I made in my real life. When I met a woman from St. Louis, it was the first I began to imagine myself leaving Julie.

Julie's move to Canada was not a good one. She was nearly constantly complaining about how much she disliked being there - she regretted the move, hated the job, had no friends... and more. I felt 100% responsible, and that hurt me deeply. It was my home, of course I was supposed to be able to make it perfect for her, as perfect as I had played it up to be in our darker days before the move. It was the bargaining tool I used to cheer her, 'just think of how it will be'. Was my mistake. The thing was, I was living my entire life 'in-the-future'. Every action I did was for something other than what I was living. For years, and even before Julie existed, I was so unhappy in my life that I would live out fantasies in my head. I would make Julie shop with me for baby items for a baby we didn't have, or planning a second wedding, or even the first... and then there was the 3+ years spent planning for "when we live in Canada." So many plans and when I reached the goals I was still unhappy. I couldn't connect with why, meanwhile my entire life was filled with comfort-eating, shopping, obsessive cleaning and trying to control everyone else's lives.

The relationship with the woman in St. Louis ended, and overlapped another. I was totally engrossed in my virtual world, and Julie was working, ignoring. In hindsight I feel an incredible weight of guilt. As would any addict.
Relationships continued, I explored myself. My avatars were an extension of the human being I desired to be, and when I could be anything... well, that was fuel for my addiction. My real life became lost, my Second Life was strong. I explored gender identity, sex, BDSM, being Butch, being an ultra Femme...the more I did this the more I looked at myself and realised I was not at all what I wanted to be. Depression set in. I began to gain a phenomenal amount of weight in a very short time. I showered maybe once every 4-5 days, and wasn't doing any housework, laundry or cooking - all things I had done nearly to excess in my life leading up to that point.

Just after Julie's illness, the infection in her lymph nodes, we stopped having sex. By the time I knew it was over we hadn't had sex in 2 years. I do blame some of this on my sex life in the game. I was having the kind of sex I wanted, with the kind of people I really wanted to have sex with. We had been struggling in the bedroom for years, I will credit that. My depression was diagnosed professionally by the relationship therapist Julie managed to get me to see. The issue was not between she and I, really, it was so much more than that. I agreed to see someone exclusively and the therapist gave me a name. It took me a month to actually see Zoe. The first appointment left me feeling sick. I don't remember any of that first time with her, today. I just know it was hard. I believe we had a few sessions before I dropped out, it was too much for me.

I was busy played Second Life when my Dad called on August 28th, 2009 - to tell me he had Cancer. I fell apart. Everyone who knows me knows how much my Dad meant to me. He was my soulmate, seriously. I didn't spend his last Christmas with him, he wouldn't let me bring Julie. The last time we'd seen him was the summer we arrived in BC - and I'd had to do an intervention, he'd started drinking again and Julie was nearby when I confronted him about it. I believe he was embarrassed and didn't want Julie seeing him ill. I also was unable to leave Second Life behind when he asked me to come and stay with him and take care of him in his last months.
Hindsight once again tells me that in my state that would not have been a good idea. As sick as I later found out he was, by searching through his belongings, I think caring for him would have killed me, too. I had to work through a massive ton of guilt about this.

After Dad's diagnosis I got in touch with Zoe again. We started back to our weekly appointments and she helped me process, as well as I would let her, the coming loss of my Dad. I started blogging letters to him. Readers here are welcome to share that journey if they feel it might help them with theirs: http://human-father.blogspot.com/

On January 31st, 2010 Dad slipped into a coma in the hospital. I was playing Second Life. I prepared to make the 6 hour drive to be by his side, but he passed away just 3 hours later. I was not able to make it to be with him, but I know his beloved friend and mental health worker Rhonda was there when he fell 'asleep'. She was the one to call me to tell me he was slipping away. So at least he saw her face, and he was so precious to him for so many years.
I shared the news with Zoe and promptly fell apart. I blogged nearly daily at some points. Zoe and I worked together every week, and it was tough. I was tempted but never did turn to medications. I saw what it did to Julie's sister Lisa and I knew it was going to take raw effort to overcome the barriers and pain I was facing but I knew I wanted it that way.
My depression worsened, and instead of holding me up, Julie pushed me down. It was, in the end, the lack of loving support that made me see I was completely out of love with her. I felt resentment.

On February 14th, 2010 - two weeks after Dad's death, and valentines day, I was playing Second Life when a woman I "knew of" reached out to express her condolences about my loss. I'd known who she was for about a year, as it was a virtual world with places like bars - we travelled around the same community. I don't totally know for sure if it was from need, loss, pain or it was just the right time but we clicked immediately and a romance sprung from there. She had been in a 20 year relationship and was like me, exploring sex and relationships in Second Life for a number of years. Our relationship continued to grow as I overcame the loss of my Dad, and reconciled my real life against my virtual one. I began to want more with her, for the first time I really did know I needed to end my marriage to Julie. I wanted to know this woman beyond a virtual world and a couple of months into our relationship I told her this. She lived 3000 miles away in Scotland but that didn't stop me from wanting more.

Zoe was the one to suggest I enroll in a program for women who had experienced abuse, called Bridges For Women. I agreed, even though I was completely in doubt and totally terrified, and I signed up for their September enrollment. The program that would last 6 months, of nearly daily 'classes' about abuse cycles, self-discovery, personal development, co-dependence, and conflict management... along with regular group therapy, 1-to-1 therapy and exposure to the local support community. It was hard at first, I skipped a lot of days and was always assured I "should do what I needed to do" which felt so forign to me, I was so used to being held accountable and blamed as a failure if I felt too weak to face things that were socially just to difficult for me. Bridges "got me", in that they saw me as a survivor and didn't punish me for needing to take a breather or just simply not being able to "move" forward from something. I didn't have to explain myself or apologize, they gave me back the steering wheel in my life.
By the time graduation day came, I had worked out my relationship with my mother, and ended some VERY codependent relationships in Second Life as well as my real life. I found my way back to my love of writing and it was stronger than ever - as well, in the midst of my pain I unlocked my writing skills and Bridges "extorted" this, in a loving and supportive way. They gave me stage, literally, to perform my work in public for the first time. That lead me to the opportunity to read a spoken-word piece on CBC radio for their International Women's Day celebration.

I progressed, slowly at times, and discovered a lot of things about myself I was unable to admit, or simply didn't know HOW to know. I started eating differently, was able to connect with my desire to eat for comfort and with that the weight began to come off. I started working out regularly, walking everywhere, becoming social in real life. I made up my mind to make the Second Life avatar a real person in my real world. I knew how good it felt to have the approval of others as the person I wanted to be, and now it was time to actually be her.

The Scottish woman became Lynsey. We connected in real life, through Skype. We talked daily. We decided to meet in real life and so our plans for Portland, OR were made. All the while I was not being honest with Julie - hindsight is 20/20 and I know this was a mistake. I was so afraid to be abandoned by her, I hadn't been working for over a year at this point and I had nothing of my own. We had been together nearly 8 years and the concept of ending it after living my life "knowing" she was the one, made me ill. I tried to be honest a few times, Zoe supported me in making the exposures, but I could never fully tell the truth. Against Zoe's advice I went to meet Lynsey in Portland and we spent 3 weeks together. The last night was spent crying in each other's arms, where she told me 'nothing short of a lifetime will do'. I came home feeling like part of me had died. It wasn't long before Julie was asking questions, and not long into those questions before I was confessing.

Long story can never be short, not with this - so there's no way to get this all out just now, but of course the natural thing happened and we broke up. It was horrific. Julie became verbally abusive, hostile, violent, and at one point I was shortlisted for a women's shelter it was that bad at home. Zoe continued to work with me, weekly, but after the break up Julie withdrew her support and Zoe decided to continue seeing me for free.

Julie met a woman online who lived in Washington, and began spending every weekend with her. She decided to move in with this woman and it was up to me to decide my next step. Lynsey and I talked about the fact that it was an ideal opportunity for me to travel to spend some time with her, so we started making plans since I was free to go as I pleased.

This began my new journey. I started to explore my gender in my real life. I came out again, as Queer. I let my Butch self free. I grew as a person, I stopped letting people walk on me and I took risks. I managed to continue to stay with Julie and apart from her paying the rent I was 100% self-supporting. I inherited Dad's boat and 5k in debt with it. I nearly lost the boat trying to find a buyer, and nearly at the last second I was able to seal a deal. The buyer would make monthly payments and the first payment saved me, I was able to pay the debt and the boat wasn't seized.
I "celebrated" my Dad's 1 year anniversary by spreading some of his ashes for the first time. When I let the ash go into the ocean I felt he had just died all over again, but I also thought I might actually be okay.

Meanwhile, Lynsey ended her 20 year relationship with her partner. We weathered the rocky roads that followed. In the midst of the strain, Lynsey's mother was diagnosed with the same cancer that took my Dad. Sadly, her mother only lived another week. I was a lot stronger in my loss of my Dad, and I let her lean on me, I felt it was my job to be there for her. It brought up a lot of pain I didn't know I still had. We've had multiple struggles since then, but that leads me to now.

At the moment I'm looking at the last 10 days before I return to Canada. I said my goodbye to Julie the morning I caught a flight to Scotland. We never did reconcile, but we are friends.
Lynsey and I struggle with our relationship, naturally. We began in a virtual world, we cheated on our partners to be together, and we ended long-term relationships to begin this one. Trust is an issue for us, as is codependence, but we are learning together. We've both since quit playing Second Life but she found it easier than I did. I battled my addiction for a lot longer and even today I have urges to play, but I don't. The life I am living is the one I was pretending to live in that game, and as long as I continue to be honest with myself I don't need to hide in a synthetic world in order to get what I need.

So the following posts are going to be from a new, and much-changed me. I have in so many ways undergone a "transition" and am continuing to grow. I had to break before I could really begin to fix.

My mom just informed me that they are leaving for Alberta. So now I probably will never see her again. Because I can't afford the time/money to fly over there and she won't be able to make it back here. She can barely make it to my neighbourhood now.
And this, on the day of my second interview at Metro Lexus, and in the light of us JUST starting the TTC process.
I thought I would have her support. But she is doing it again... running.
I am hoping that it's just another one of her "plans" that won't happen. We shall see.
They're coming here to take showers tonight, they've been without hot water or lights for like 2 weeks, their landlady is a drunk (so mom says) and is losing her place, and the bills have not been paid.

The worst problem is, I just realized that I can no longer tell when my mom is telling the truth. She lies that much.

The concept of adoption brought us closer than ever to realization that we ARE ready to be parents, that the wedding can wait and that we need to take this next step. Thinking that we would be moms in months made us come to some decisions that we wouldn't normally.

We realized that adopting Sandy's baby isn't the right step forward for us, there are just to many factors we're not able to work with.
It did however show us what we really want.

So, since I have more spare time, I have to find Julie a family doctor. Her BC med coverage has kicked in, so she can get a referral to a fertility clinic. We know which donors we want (it's narrowed down to 2, one being our fave, and one a backup) and we're planning the next step.
So to put it simply, we're TTC this next month. !

OMG.

Today was the Canadian Thanksgiving. My first in Canada in abour 6 years. My first with my mom in that long too.
Mom brought her friend, Sandy, with her. Sandy is about 7 months pregnant.
We first learned about Sandy when we moved here, my mom mentioned her, that she was pregnant and would not be able to keep the baby. Then, about a week ago my Mom called to invite me out with them. We didn't actually go out, but mom told me more about Sandy - her situation, and that due to her drug use she will probably lose her baby at birth.
Mom has been trying to convince Sandy that she should look for a family for her baby. She suggested us.
So we met Sandy for the first time tonight. We didn't expect her, but welcomed her into our home, and to our table. She was very pleasant to have... I was expecting her to be different, more brash. But she is mild and sweet, and actually smart too. She is even artistic, she made a card and wrote a poem to thank us for having her.
She looks fairly young, but is 38 years old. She has two little boys, and both are not with her.
She was very impressed with us, our home, and enjoyed dinner. She washed all of our dishes, claiming she was "nesting".
My mom says she is the type to leave things until the last minute. She is trying to help Sandy to prepare. She is trying to make sure that Sandy doesn't lose her baby to the system, when we could be available to adopt it.

I am freaking out at this concept. It does not seem real, and yet, it is. We have to complete a 3 month homestudy to be able to adopt, and we would need an attorney. Sandy would have 30 days to change her mind. At the moment she is still trying to keep it. But I don't think that there will be a way. It will be born with drugs (crack) in it's system, this is a scary but true fact. I talked to Choices adoption agency and they said that babies born to addicts can be healthy, and can overcome the obstacles. There is a program I need to contact about this.
She has had NO pre-natal care. My mom is trying to get her to the doctor to make sure it is okay. At least my mom is feeding her, and giving her a warm bed to sleep in. When she took Sandy in a couple weeks ago, she had been living in a house with no heat, water or lights. She hadn't had a shower in 5 days and had eaten only bread for 3 days.
The father is in jail. I think this means he can't have a say, since he can't actually take custody of it.

If this is happening, it means that in December/January we would become parents. *omg* I feel like I could be sick with the stress and fear I am feeling, and yet I am so happy.
At first it seemed like I just couldn't grasp the concept of adopting and raising "another woman's baby" but today, when she was here, I was looking at her belly - and all of that was gone. I could only see the baby, one that might be mine, and the fact that it was not inside me didn't matter.
I promise myself that I won't become one of those baby hungry women that as soon as the baby is born they run in and grab it from her. I want her to ask us to take it. I want to know she is sure that we are right for it. I want her to want us to raise it, and know that we will love it like it was our own.
I am stepping back from this and letting it come to me. If it's meant to be it will happen.

She thinks it's a girl.

Julie is in the hospital with a serious infection. Something about tonsils (even though she had them out at age 19) and the lymphnodes. Nobody would give us a straight answer. All I know is, we brought her in this afternoon scared of menengitis, and thinking it was strep - expecting to go home. But now she is there and I am here (they wouldn't let me stay) and I am worried sick. They have her on morphine, steriods, antibiotics and a drip. When we got there she couldn't talk, swallow or keep her eyes open. When I left she was able to talk slightly, swallow a little and still couldn't keep her eyes open. Morphine.

I am going back tomorrow. I pray we see enough improvement to ger her home.
I missed a deadline for the commercial shoot, I hope they understand.

Calling All Nudes (working title)
Part I
'Let me tell you how it all began...'


**** ****

“Oh come on… seriously? You guys are all changing lanes here?” I gripped the steering wheel of my little red car. It was all I could do to keep from expressing my anger in single-digit syllables.
“Please, please, please hurry up! My car overheats in the snow, damn it!”
I fiddled with the radio buttons, knowing that in rush hour traffic and the best I would find was easy listening.
I settled on a classic rock station, playing “Brown Eyed Girl”.
“Do you remember when… sha nah nah nah nah…” I sang along halfheartedly.
My vision blurred as I left my conscious behind in Friday traffic, and let my focus fade to the horizon. The cars ahead melted together, trucks became large metal globs, a cop car seemed to turn from blue to green, then to gray.

BEEEEEP!

A mini van blasts its horn behind me. The driver had been closely tailgating me since I entered the freeway 5 miles back, as if I alone could part the traffic like some holy woman and free them all from deadlock.
I realized then that the traffic ahead of me had cleared. I sped up, leaning forward into the dash, hoping to catch my exit before I became trapped again. The mini van followed behind me, still too close. I found the driver’s face in my rear view mirror.
“Chick, if you don’t cool it I’m going to slam my breaks on. Don’t test me!” I jerked my brakes to prove my point.
The van broke away and passed me, quickly. The soccer mom shot me a look of disgust, and gestured in a very un-soccer mom like way. The kids in the back stared down at me as they passed.
I shouted after them “Road rage. It’s a killer. Remember that kids!”

My exit was coming up. I slowed, signaled, and turned. This exit would take me all the way home, to a 2 bedroom condo, where my currently -married-but-cheating-with-me girlfriend Gloria waited. We had planned a quiet Friday night at home, just us, and the dog. I couldn’t wait to get my work clothes off, I never felt quite myself in anything but sweats and an old t'shirt. The advertising firm where I work as a photographer requires that all women dress in business casual, which meant dress shoes and slacks. If I had my way, I’d work in jeans and a button down shirt, un-tucked. And my ‘dress’ shoes would be sandals or bare feet.
Of course, I had already kicked off my 'sensible shoes', as I usually did on the way home, and was driving barefoot. The cool brake pedal felt better than good on my tired toes.


I was so focused on the wonderful pressure of the pedal against my foot as I braked, I nearly missed my turn. As I halted quickly so as not to overshoot, the vulgar soccer mom herself appeared and pulled right in front me, seeming to come out of nowhere. My little red car swerved to miss the big van. I pressed down hard on the brakes, its tires squealing on wet asphalt. One of my shoes, which were still on the floor of the car where I’d kicked it off, slipped beneath the brake. I could not depress the pedal fully in time, and my little red car burned hot rubber before flipping, rolling violently end over end and coming to a stop, upside down.

My windshield had shattered. Was it the force of the crash, or my body flying forward into the glass? I thumped limply backward into my seat, then smacked into the steering wheel and then the dash. I felt wind on my face; my body becoming light as if I was flying, my hands flailing to capture a handhold. But there was nothing to grasp onto. As quickly as I had begun to reel, everything came to a silent stop. My vision was blurred by the hot blood flowing from a wound on my face. I reached for the steering wheel, only to find it was not there. My hands clutched only gravel, my stomach lurching as I realized that I was lying on the side of the road. I vomited a mouthful of blood into my palm.

The soccer mom’s white sneakers ran toward me. I could hear the children wailing in the van, somewhere to the right.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. What happened?” The soccer mom sobbed.
My grip on the moment was fading, the soccer mom hovered over me, touching my face, a cell phone to her ear.
Sunlight turned to nighttime and I marveled at how bright the stars had become. Oh how they spun above me, so pretty and bright. I focused on one, just one, like I used to do as a child. Bright red blood seeped between my lips as I repeated my favorite childhood poem. “Starlight, star bright, brightest star I see tonight…”
My little star danced and swirled to the sound of distant sirens. But it seemed as if the sirens were getting farther away, quieter, as I lay there listening to my own breath grow shallow.

The soccer mom knelt beside me, crying and apologizing.
‘What is she apologizing for?’ I thought to myself.
‘It’s such a beautiful night tonight, why doesn’t she look at all the stars?’
I suddenly thought of Gloria, who would have made popcorn and would be feeding it to the dog, even though it gave him horrible gas. I smiled at the image. Gloria would have her sweats on; along with that tattered old shirt of mine that she always wore. Whenever I gave her a hard time about the shirt, Gloria would say ‘It’s laundry night, this is all you had!’ But I knew that Gloria had a closet full of expensive silk pajamas at home, and could have brought any one with her. The shirt that once belonged to me; it was my team shirt from college basketball. I found Gloria wearing it on our first morning, and jokingly told her to take it home and wash it, that way we’d have an excuse to see each other the next day.


I thought of Gloria’s round glowing face, her bright smile, her long auburn hair. I thought of our first kiss, and how awkward it was. We were at a friend’s place for a casual dinner of pizza and beer, the friend left to pick up a pizza, and left us standing in the kitchen together. We had locked eyes. We moved close to one another, swaying slightly with the electricity of what was about to happen between us. I tipped my head and touched my lips to Gloria’s… and suddenly our friends returned, falling drunkenly into the doorway. We all shared an uncomfortable laugh about the event later on that night, but I never forgave myself for choosing that moment, instead of waiting until we were truly alone.

My eyes closed slightly, my lips quivered with racing thoughts.
And then, the siren’s faint wail faded all together. The stars dimmed, flickered and then went out. The green and gold emblem on that old college t-shirt was last image I saw before I died.


**** ****

Part II to come...

So we're counting the days until we move, 24 left now. We're planning to move out on the 28th/29th, since it will get us in Canada and somewhat settled in by Canada Day, and we can go down and watch the fireworks from the causeway (or if our apartment has a good view, the roof).
I can't believe that it's finally happening. We are totally not ready - I didn't expect that we would be. Oh Well.
Julie's passport has been in NY for 5 business days. They say expect anything up to 15 business days to get it back. I think we'll see it by next week sometime.

News on the PC Lawsuit. We got an email from John, stating that Scott/PC was claiming to their attorney that Julie was never fired, that she quit. (!)
We couldn't help but laugh from the shock, something so audacious as that, Scott is actually trying to say she quit?! Wow. John says it sounds to him that they are simply not being upfront with their attorney over there. When he spoke to their attorney he even had to let the poor guy know that Julie sent 2 letters requesting a reason for her dismissal, both were ignored. The poor sap didn't even know that.
It sounds to us like he's not too experienced in the ways of disrimination law - he must be Scott's full time lawyer for everything.

John has said they will be sending a formal letter of response, with an offer of about 5-6K, and then in it they will detail their claims. John actually hopes they put the thing about Julie quitting her job in writing. It will be easier to use against them.
He asked Julie to write a rebuttal to the claims, so that he can use that as a response to PC's lawyer. Then, if they don't come to an agreement, or they continue to make things up, John has planned to draft a formal lawsuit to the WA courts, and send it to PC's lawyer - a scare tactic that I am pretty sure will be the last straw, and we'll see an end to this.
John thinks that PC's lawyer, once he is made aware of the false information he has been given, if he is a good lawyer, will advise Scott that if he continues to lie, it will be very costly for him in the end.

Just thought I'd blog it, since it happened.

Yesterday afternoon I was digging around looking for my lotion, and I decided to look behind my bedside table since I thought I heard it fall there a few days before.

Guess what I found?

About an 8" x 6" patch of thick black mold, in the corner. I FREAKED out. It was NOT something I thought we would have to deal with here in this place. The old place yes, but NOT here. I have had some on the window sills but I thought that was all. OMG I flipped out. We got right down to cleaning it up, and it went right away, we found a couple tiny spots behind the bed too, we got those. THAT would explain all of the lung/sinus crap we have been dealing with, and my headaches lately. Last night was a trip, we'd stirred a bunch of dust, and I am sure some spores, up - so we both work up with stuffed up heads. I slept about 10 inches down on the bed, with my blanket covering my mouth. I hate mold SO much, I am selling the side tables and thinking about getting rid of the bed too.

ICK.

I am SO glad we are moving.

So I had this job lined up, I think I mentioned, as a Nanny for a woman who is moving from AB to BC with her kids (back then it was sans hubby but they reconciled) and she just emailed me last week saying they changed their minds. Last I knew it was all a go and the oldest was enrolled in private school, and they were selling their house. I was kind of pissed off. To say the least.
I had been counting on having the job lined up, and it's income, since she offered me the position a couple months ago. I have told everyone I know that I managed to score a job before even moving to BC! So I will have to endure the embarassment of telling everyone the news. Blah.

Julie's discrimination attorney finally heard back on our offer to PC. Aparently, their response was "we'll pay, but not what she's asking for." We thought, no biggie, it will be about 1/3 what we asked and we can counteroffer. Right? Wrong.

Somehow, they think that 1/6th of our original demand is fair - that's 1/2 of even Julie's financial loss (benefits and wages) what a slap in the face that was. I admit I was deflated to the point that when we read the email I had to leave the room.
PC and Scott, tried to fabricate situations where Julie "fought with adjusters" and "had attendance issues". Julie has her PR file, and records, and contacts with ALL adjusters, none of which she EVER fought with. Actually on the contrary, she was the only PC estimator that was able to befriend the USAA rep - one of the hardest asses in WA.

The lawyer's latest response was that he expected the lies, and that it's normal. To quote his email, he said he "held little faith in what PC was telling their attorney" and that "we will have to educate thier attorney, so that he can educate PC in the consequences of not accepting our settlement offer."
John (Julie's attorney) is a devil's advocate, not only does he defend those that sue for discrimination, but he also defends the companies that are sued. He knows both sides of the coin, and he has a confident aire that is hard not to adopt in this case.

We gave notice yesterday, so we're 100% moving. :) We're already packing, though we took a break to start painting this mural I booked for a repeat client (Don - the one who had me do the princesses last year.)
Don is this asian divorcee, with two girls he shares with his ex. He just bought a house directly next door to his parent's place. I did an amazing mural for him last year, at said parent't place. This year, he asks me - during the consultation - "Are you going to draw? Because when you draw, I don't know, it just doesn't look like the things." Meaning: You can't make a disney character look exactly like the ones in the movie, when you draw freehanded.
Ummm. I don't know any Muralist that can. ALL of them use a projector for licensed characters, because we're not disney artists. *sigh*
He only said that because last time, I free-handed a castle from a *tiny* illustration he gave me to work from. He wanted me to somehow make it look "just like" the castle at Disneyland. Yes. The Castle, a real life object, done in illustration, to look IDENTICAL. Not gonna happen. And, last time, I used my projector to do the princesses. When he said it again today at the follow up "So, you're not going to draw right? You're going to use your projection?" I nearly vomitted on the floor.
Julie plans to ream him out for saying such a rude thing - AFTER we're done painting.

Here's the work I did last year:
"FREE-HANDED CASTLE - BTW THIS THING WAS 4 FEET TALL"


"PROJECTED PRINCESSES"


HERE'S A FREE-HANDED CHARACTER FOR ANOTHER CLIENT:


I don't see the difference in my freehanding, vs. the projector. I personally thought the castle was awesome. I have only just started projection work with his mural as a matter of fact, everything before him was 100% free handed.