Friday, 29 February 2008

Bamboo Flooring

Current mood:  crushed

As a lot of people have pointed out to me already, carpet is not the best thing for a bathroom.  May I point out that it's MUM who wants carpet in the bathroom...I'm not really bothered either way, although I'd probably prefer some kind of removable carpet (rug etc.) if we were going to have anything like that, so that it could be replaced if it got icky.
One thing to note about bamboo flooring (as the architect suggested) though, which I just found on a website that sells the stuff:
"Q. Where can I install bamboo flooring?
A. Bamboo flooring is an extremely versatile flooring product. It can be installed in virtually any room of your home, above or below ground, over wood, OSB, or existing vinyl flooring. There are several locations that are not recommended for bamboo flooring. Because bamboo flooring is a natural flooring product it is not recommended that bamboo be installed in wet locations such as bathrooms, washrooms, saunas, enclosed porches or verandas, or anywhere that may require wet-mopping. Extended exposure to moisture of this type may cause your bamboo flooring to warp or swell."

Interesting, huh?  Does Chris know anything about his work at all?  It worries me a little really.
Just went to Tesco, and saw a gang of no less than twelve teenage boys attacking the dustbin again...only this time it was the dustbin on OUR side of the road.  They're creeping nearer.  Will we even survive until we can move house?

Thursday, 28 February 2008


Current mood:  sick

Just been to see the architect...and have yet another story of doom and despair to share.  You lucky people!
First off, the three of us had a dreadful row in the car on the way there, with Mum and I ranting about not having our own beds, me saying it was "unhealthy for us all to use the same mattress over the past two decades." , and David saying, "Of course it's not unhealthy.  People have slept together for hundreds of years."  Oh, for goodness sake.  There is DEFINITELY something in that mattress that is really clogging my nose and throat every time I sleep there, and that in turn is affecting my voice.  IT IS UNHEALTHY.
Next, we arrive, and get ushered in.  I tried to get recordings of the entire discussion on my digital camera, but they didn't come out, unfortunately, so I can't share them with you all as evidence.   However, I can tell you just some of the things that the wonderful Chris said.
He's trying to take over the entire job.  He doesn't want us to get a seperate gardener - oh no!  The garden is fully designed already, BY HIM.  He's getting a woman called "Mad Emma" into finalise the designs.  Mum's really upset, and has just told me that "Emma can hardly be a landscape gardener, can she?  She's a woman."  Um...yeah.  That's kind of odd in itself.  Still, we don't want the garden designed by anyone else, male or female!  We have perfectly good ideas ourselves, thank you very much.
Next came the subject of bathrooms.  Mum really wants a carpet in the upstairs bathroom.  Full stop.  The architect doesn't.  He wants a wooden floor.  Or rubber.  But it isn't to be HIS house!  Also, Mum wants tiles that depict dogs.  The architect laughed, and laughed, and laughed at this.  And David joined him.  What's wrong with dog tiles?!  "Oh, you're dog people, are you?" the architect snorted, glancing at Mum's greyhound jumper, and my filthy blue dog coat.  What's wrong with being liking dogs?  Idiot.
Chris was shocked when Mum said she wanted a new front door - "You'll lose so much of the original character of the house!" - but when it comes to the front room ceiling (which has an original decorative 1940s ceiling), which we want to keep, he says he's ripping it out and re-making the whole thing, so that the house looks "brand sparkling new"!
Next he told Mum that she "didn't need a coat cupboard" since she'll "end up using her family history room as a cloakroom and the smallest bedroom as her office, mark his words."  Er...Mum's sleeping in the small room, so that she doesn't have to sleep with David!!!  So she definitely won't be having her family history room in there.
We aren't to use the large front bedroom as a living room, since "it's a bedroom, for crying out loud".  And if my "parentS" aren't going to use it, I must move in there, and "THEY" can have the smaller back bedroom. 
And finally, when will the work be done, since the tenders went in four weeks ago, according to David?
"The tenders are going in on Monday." came the first bombshell.  WTH?  David looked sheepish.  "I wanted to see him before they went in." he explained.  And yet he wouldn't go to see Chris before!  "They'll take four or five weeks to come back." Chris said.  "And how long do you think the work will take?" Mum asked, nervously.  "Oh, I don't know." The architect said, casually.  (Remember he told us four to five months before) "25 weeks or so, I should imagine."
So that means no chance of moving until OCTOBER now...and probably November/December.  *Sob*  The three of us have had a huge row all the way around Tesco, and now David is sulking on the "healthy communal mattress", and Mum is snoozing on the sofa.  Mum's heartbroken, because she wanted to go to Australia in October, and we can't leave this house with all the thugs outside.  David says that since the loft will be finished by then, we can "take our valuables to Woodberry and put them in a room up there."  Yeah, right.  Really safe with a load of builders working right downstairs!  So David said that Mum and I could go on our own, and Mum said, "Why would I want to go with her?  I need you there to control her!"  What on Earth...  I'll be 17 and a half.  How much controlling do I need?!  And no, nothing's going to change before then, since it's "pointless splitting up at a shopping centre" even though they won't let me buy nice clothes/make-up etc. when they're around.  And I'm obviously going to miss another year of college now.  I'm done for.  I need to get an education if I'm ever to get to Vancouver, and be free from them.  It's never going to happen, is it?
My singing really seems to have gone crazy voice is far worse than it was even a couple of weeks ago!  And whenever I mention it to my mum, she just tells me I'm having "displacement worries because of the stress of the orthodontic surgery".  It couldn't be that I'm serious about making this tape, could it?  "Aw, I know you want Splodge's tribute to be a good one." she says, soothingly, with a glint in her eye.  She knows my dreams, she just won't let me know that, or help me achieve them.
Oh, and here's another fine thing.  Intelligence is being aired on Hallmark Channel again.  The recording that Sharicat tried to make of the first series didn't work out, so this would be the perfect oppotunity to get both seasons on video.  But, of course, since we haven't moved house, we still don't get the channel.  I've posted on the Arena, hoping someone will help, but nobody is answering me.   I think I'm destined never to see that show...
OK, sorry for the long sob story.  I just needed to have a rant about it all somewhere! 
Thanks for reading, and loads of love and hugs to you all!
Desiree  xxx

Trip to the Orthodontist

Current mood:  scared

Ugh.  Spent three hours at the hospital this morning, waiting to be seen by the orthodontist.  Just as we feared, it was the same woman who told me I'd broken the brace when we stormed out two years ago.  She was friendly, which was a nice surprise, although she still insisted on enforcing I'd broken the brace, and when I tried to defend myself, she said I must "curb my attitude".  I had new x-rays taken, and they've agreed to treat me under the NHS - another nice surprise.  But that's about as far as the nice part goes...
Basically, there are now two options open to me.  Option 1 is that I wear a fixed brace for goodness knows how long, including all kinds of elastic at the BACK of my mouth (which kind of scares me), and then have to wear retainers for LIFE anyway.  Only at night, but still not ideal for my lifestyle really.
Second option is surgery, which is what I've *almost* decided I'm going for.  But it's scaring me to death.  Basically, it seems that I have to lose a load of teeth to have a fitted brace (either option - doesn't matter which I pick), which I wear for 18 months, then I have an operation to break my jaw, and insert plates into the back of my mouth, with a 5% chance of partial paralysis of my lower lip and chin, and scars on both sides of my face where they have to fit some kind of draining device while I'm under the anaesthetic.  Then I wear the fitted brace for a further four months (during which time I'm on a diet of soft, pureed food - two weeks on liquids only), when the treatment is finally over, and I see what sort of mess they've made of my mouth.   Hmm...yeah.  Mum, of course, is trying to scare me further, by telling me about the woman she knew who died of a heart attack the second a general anaesthetic was put in her arm.  She actually asked the orthodontist "How many people have died?" and the bloomin' woman just grinned and wouldn't answer.  Nice cheerful thought, huh?
I'm not going to stop.  Even talking about it is making me jittery.  We're going to see the architect tomorrow night, so hopefully things are moving on a bit now, even if I am going to die in about two years time!
See you all soon!
Desiree Skylark, "Trying to be cheerful"  xxx

Sunday, 24 February 2008

The Curse Of The Glasses...Whooooooooo! And the curse of David... *Vomit sounds*

Current mood:  aggravated

And here goes the story of another wonderful weekend...
Mum finally went to the see the optician yesterday, and we were stuck there for THREE HOURS, while some idiotic student sales person told her to "Take her glasses off" and "put them back on again", and asked ME if they were both on eye level.  Wonderful - put it all on me, so that Mum can blame me when things go wrong!   They can't imagine why her sight is deteriorating so rapidly though, and we're all worried.  Now she's getting new glasses - this time vari-focals.  She wanted to re-use her old frames to save some money, but the woman said they were too small for all the different lenses used in vari-focals.
Just then, as the glasses were handed back to Mum, something dropped down on the floor...a lense from the glasses.  Mysteriously, a screw had just popped out of them!  And Mum never even uses those glasses, so they're not worn out or anything!  They were her "best" pair.  Then the screw just pops out right in front of our eyes!
Mum sat back down while the glasses were mended.  Eventually, the woman returned with them...  Mum went to put them away in their case in order to bring them home with her, while they went on looking at her bigger pair.  Just then there was an almighty *SNAP!* and the case was broken too!  So the woman had to go off and get a new case.  But before she put them back in the case she decided to measure them again...and found that they would actually fit the vari-focal design after all!  So Mum had to be measured up again, with the woman making little pen dots all over the lenses, and Mum squinting because she thought the pen was going to go in her eye!
So the cursed glasses got their way, and are to become Mum's new vari-focals.  Goodness knows if they really are the right size though.
In the afternoon, my parents went to Kew Archives and I stayed at home to record some voice tapes.  I'm also trying to record a tape of all my favourite theatre music.  My dial-up connection really slowed me down though, and I only got two and half Wicked songs recorded.   Still, I've got some stuff to work from for my Splodge tribute tape.  I want to use "For Good" on there, because I really have been changed for better just because I knew him.  Absolutely beautiful lyrics.
Then today we went to Woodberry to try to clear it out a little.  Only to find David has really turned it into his own place.  First I went into the living room and found a ton of empty Coke bottled all over the floor, and more files on the sofa.  Then we went upstairs to the room where he sleeps alternate nights...Mum and I were checking that we'd emptied all of the cupboards and drawers.  Suddenly, Mum opened a drawer by the side of the bed, and cried out in shock.  David whizzed into the room like greased lightning, and slammed the drawer shut!  "There's even Mills & Boon books in there!" Mum gasped.  "That's my drawer!" David yelled.  "Really?" Mum asked.  "This is my house, you know?!  Did I give you permission to fill it up with filthy books?!"  "They're not filthy books.  They're the old romantic ones!" David defended himself.  "Then why did you slam the drawer shut so fast?" Mum asked.  "Look in the drawer again then." David said, pushing past her and opening it briefly before slamming it shut again.  There were all kinds of e-Bay invoices in there too.  However much has he spent on these things?!  But we're not allowed to touch that drawer now...  That fact in our heads, we turned to the cupboard. "Now what are we going to find in here?" Mum said, more as a joke than anything.  But David looked at her, sheepishly, "I know.  Newspapers." He said, quietly.  And, sure enough, not one, not two, but THREE cupboards are now stuffed full of newspapers, magazines and internet print-outs of all kinds of actress biographies.  Oh, for goodness sake!
How on Earth are we ever going to get the place cleared out?  No wonder David is putting off contacting the architect.  We'll never be able to move the builders in there! 
Then David went to the tip while Mum and I packed up some stuff.  There were a huge buckets of broken glass and stuff over there we'd been wanting to get rid of for a while.  Mum and I were both really tired by this point from running up and down the stairs...but David kept yelling at us, "Are these white tablecloths for the tip?"  "What white tablecloths?" I asked.  "There are some white tablecloths up here in a bag."  Neither of us knew what he was talking about, so we said we'd come up and look.  "Don't worry about it!"  David said, cheerfully.  "The car is full anyway!"  So Mum and I continued the job we were doing downstairs.  Then we went back up to get the stuff we'd decided to bring home with us...but we couldn't find one of the bags, which had contained some rather expensive bedsheets we were intending on using.  (Mum wanted to give some of them to friends and family for Christmas too! )  Rather expensive WHITE bedsheets.  Yup, you guessed it.  They were in the local landfill site, by this point.  White tablecloths indeed.  Why the heck would David just take something without telling us?  Of course, all of his precious newspapers and magazines are still safe over there.  And when David came in, and we asked where the sheets were, our worst fears were proved to be reality.  David had chucked an ENTIRE black sack full of brand new sheets on the landfill.  AGH!
Anyways, that's about it.  I'm glad to see the back of Linda from "Dancing On Ice" but that's just a random note to the rest of you, I guess.  David used to idolise her when she had, er...the job she had before she was an actress (), and we've been longing to see her fall over all through the series.  "GO, GREG!!!", I say.  But I don't see how he can possibly make it through next week, especially after that huge fall today.
Right, I'm off to bed.  See you all soon!
Best wishes,
Desiree  xxx

Wednesday, 20 February 2008

AGH! Nothing ever gets done around here!

Current mood:  depressed
I can't bear it.  Today, we e-mailed my father to ask if he'd rung the architect.  He answered and said he "couldn't get through".  Tonight, it transpired that he hadn't even tried to ring him.
We're in terrible financial trouble again, especially after all Splodge's vet bills.  David refuses to speak to his bosses, because of their unreasonable paycut plans, and they refuse to pay him because he hasn't discussed it with them.  Hence, we have credit card companies ringing us non-stop.  In fact, Mum was woken this morning by a ringing 4.30am!  An automated message with a voice asking to speak to "David and Jasmine Adler".
Now Mum is trying to discuss holidays with David.  But he refuses to have a sensible conversation.  She asked him why he's saving coupons for a cheap holiday from the newspaper, and he replied, "Because you asked me to".  I knew this would happen.  I have to live without the one thing that does make me happy in life (i.e. guinea pigs), and we don't have any of these promised holidays anyway.
I already had an argument with Mum on this subject earlier.  She keeps trying to get into my Myspace account to find out "what's going on with me"  (AKA why I want to be normal and go out alone/wear decent clothes etc.) She has such odd opinions, so I'm trying to "get her back" by trying to look through her sent e-mails.  Of course, I can't say a word, and I know I shouldn't be doing it anyway, I just want to know what she really thinks...
This is what Jill (pony-finding family history e-friend who keeps hacking my MSN messenger account - yup, we're a bunch of hackers here, you know! ) and her were saying yesterday on a certain guinea pig subject...
Mum (Constantly talking about holidays, while randomly slagging off David and I): "I hate that filthy newspaper (The Sun) that he buys.  But I'm saving the tokens they're printing every day this week.  It's a deal to get a European caravan holiday for £19.50 a person (based on 4 people sharing, so it's still eighty odd quid even if only 2 of us go.) It's still cheap though because The deal includes the ferry to Calais.  (Emma paid eighty pounds each WAY just for the ferry when she went to the German Xmas markets - and accomodation was on top of that.)

I'd like to go to Northern France.  Fulfill a long held promise to my Grandad to visit his brothers grave.  (Alf was killed in WWI.)  It's the 90th anniversary of Alf's death this year, so it would be nice to go now."
Jill:  "Desiree is up for these lovely holidays is she?"
Mum: "Desiree is VERY up for the holidays - I am SURPRISED.

Mind you, she keeps reminding me to 'get the holidays out of the way' by the end of the summer when she 'plans to get more piggies.'

I don't argue...just make a mental note to always have something booked - even if it's just a weekend break - at some point in the future, so we can't POSSIBLY get more piggies til AFTER THAT.    Of course, my plan won't work if the money runs out!"
Scheming so-and-so.  Of course, she keeps telling me that we're going to get more guinea keep me quiet, I guess.  What the heck am I going to do?  I'm not allowed a normal life, so my entire existance is based on three things - chatting to friends on the internet, my pony collection, and my guinea pigs.  I'm lost without my piggy friends.  I can't believe I'm actually living without pets now.
Why does she feel the need to lie to me?  I know it's my own fault for snooping, but I'd really rather know the truth.  I'm trying to be reasonable and talk quietly to her about my goals, rather than yelling and ranting.  But (absolutely perfect timing), just as I was just talking about going out on my own, about twenty news items came on TV about stabbed teenagers, and escaped rapists in London.  Whoop-de-doo!  Apparently, a 9-year-old was kidnapped on the way home from school earlier this week.  Mum's response:  "*Gasp*  Well, what was a kid doing walking home from school alone anyway!"  Then she looks at me.  "And you want to go out alone?!  There are escaped rapists and everything!"  Um, but I'm not 9-years-old.  I'm almost 17!!!  I admit the rapist is worrying, but I just want a normal life at this age.  Please?
Anyway, enough of my ranting.  I just wish that something would happen.  Anything at all.  I just want freedom!  And I want it NOW!  I need to make a life for myself...a new life, without guinea pigs, it would appear.   I want Splodge back.  I keep stroking Splodge's nose in my profile photo right now.  It makes me feel better somehow...
Desiree  xxx

A Song For Splodge

Current mood:  nostalgic

I'm trying to create a tribute tape for Splodge, and have written this little signature tune for it.  Just wanted your opinions.  Rainbow Land is what I call Heaven in all of my MLP tape stories, by the way.  The lyrics are sung to the theme tune of the original Care Bears movie, as seen here:

Rainbow Land is the place where we all go,
Distant as it may seem,
It's a mystery place, but I guess someday we'll know,
How it feels to live our dreams;
Meeting all the friends we've lost,
Over the years gone by,
Younger friends may lose touch - good things come at cost,
Some day they too will join us in the sky!
Rainbow Land is filled with all your fantasies,
All your dreams will come true,
Rainbow Land's the place where you do as you please,
And everyone still loves you.
Those on Earth will miss you,
And wish to see your face,
Don't worry, they'd love it if they knew,
You're in a better place.
You can't feel lonely,
In this magic land,
Whether human, guinea pig, rabbit, or pony,
You'll find friends are always at hand!
Don't despair,
Everyone's reunited there,
Years shall pass, yet love still lasts,
It's grand...
You felt yourself growing old and weak

Splodge: I felt so old and weak!So sick, the words you could not find to speak,
Splodge: I could hardly speak!
Then you grew wings of great length!
Splodge: I grew wings of great length!
Flew high with your renewed strength...
Rainbow Land is filled with all your fantasies,
All your dreams will come true,
Rainbow Land's the place where you do as you please,
And everyone still loves you.
Those on Earth will miss you,
And wish to see your face,
Don't worry, they'd love it if they knew,
You're in a better place.
You can't feel lonely,
In this magic land,
Whether human, guinea pig, rabbit, or pony,
You'll find friends are always at hand!
Don't despair,
Everyone's reunited there,
Years shall pass, yet love still lasts,
It's grand...
You felt yourself growing old and weak

Splodge: I felt so old and weak!So sick, the words you could not find to speak,Splodge: I could hardly speak!Then you grew wings of great length!Splodge: I grew wings of great length!
Flew high with your renewed strength...
Rainbow Land is so near to you and I,
As we watch a dear friend depart,
In distance it's a long way up in the sky,
You'll find it's closer in your heart...
Rainbow Land is the place where we all go,
Rainbow Land, where all life forms shine and glow,
Rainbow Land - you'll meet the friends you used to know...
Rainbow Land is the place where we all go,
Rainbow Land, where all life forms shine and glow,
Rainbow Land - you'll meet the friends you used to know...
Rainbow Land.  It's the place where we all go,
Rainbow Land, where all life forms shine and glow,
Rainbow Land - you'll meet the friends you used to know...
Rainbow Land,
Rainbow Land,
Rainbow Land...

Jack The Ripper

Current mood:  lonely

Well, we just managed to get to the library on time for the talk which, I discovered, was about Jack the Ripper.  The speaker was Jonathon Oates, a local history and crime expert and author.  Anyone who knows my mum will know that she ADORES this man.  In fact, my sister and I love to taunt her that she has a crush on him, although we know it's just that she loves his books etc. 
We had a really annoying old man sit right behind us, who kept coughing and spluttering everywhere, and calling out, "Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon, can you answer another question please?", "Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon, may I have a drink please?" and "Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon, is it all right if I use the toilet?"  Oh for goodness sake!  Even more embarassing was the fact that Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon actually recognises my Mum now, and kept smiling at her all the way through the talk.  And I could not keep my eyes open.  It;s something to do with the  temperature and lighting in those places.   So Mum wasn't too happy with me about that.  Ick.
After the talk, Mum asked David to go up and talk to Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon about our connections with Jack the Ripper.  (Her Great, Great, Great Uncle was a witness at Elizabeth Stride's wedding, and her Great, Great Grandfather on another line worked at the same butcher shop as one of the suspects worked at later on).  Anyway, Jo...Jo...Jo...Jon...Jonathon was so impressed that he gave Mum a copy of his new book, and signed it "To Jacqueline".  You should have seen Mum's face.  Something like this -------------->   Aww, how sweet.
I was so cold making my way back to the car.  My trousers are so thin now that it's honestly like I'm wearing nothing at all.  I made a comment about how I needed to get new ones, and again was told to "shut up".  David then drove to the office to try to pick up his mobile phone, which he apparently left there this evening, but the gates were locked.
While he went to check if there was another way he could get in, Mum and I had another huge argument.  Apparently, it's "not normal for me to want to go out on my own".  In fact, I'm "downright selfish to want them to make concessions for me when we're all out shopping together at weekends."  We're never "shopping together", as she likes to call it.  We usually walk to one shop looking for a specific pony, then walk back to the car again.  That's their duty done, as far as they're concerned.  What I really want is somebody to actually "go shopping" with, just so that we can browse around and I can totally change my style...which isn't my style anyway.  And I find it embarrassing to buy stuff such as waxing strips/shavers, and cleansers for my somewhat clogged pores in front of people who care so little for looks anyway.  *Sighs*  Why won't they just let me have one day to myself?  At least then I could try to change my image on my own.  I so wish one of you was over here, and would spare a day for us to go out together.  I just need a "shopping companion".  It's lonely on your own...and my parents might be slightly happier with the idea if I was with someone else anyway. Ah well.
We went in Tesco on the way back, but I doubt you want to hear that exciting little story, do you?
At least I get to sleep in it on my own tonight...while David sleeps in the other house, which he refuses to discuss moving to, and we listen to the drunkards outside, while we can't even ring David since his mobile phone is at the office.
Ooh, story about the drunkards before I go!  Our Irish neighbours drove into our gatepost (by accident) and chipped a huge piece off.  They've done this before and cemented it back into place.  However, this time we noticed the piece just disappeared...   David parked on the corner of the road today, since we were in a rush to get to the library, and as we rounded the bend, Mum noticed a familiar looking piece of brick by the wall of our Polish neighbours' house.  Obviously, some random thug walked by, and decided to carry our piece of broken gatepost away...probably before the neighbours even noticed they'd damaged it.  Just think of the damage they could have done with that....and still could.  We've left it there, because we weren't quite sure what else to do.  If we brought it back to our garden, whoever picked it up might have come back for it...and tossed it through our window.  I hate living here.
Anyway, there is more to say - my sister rang today, and she has rather worrying news - but I'll leave that until tomorrow, or else I won't get to enjoy any of my night to myself in bed.
See you tomorrow, people!
Desiree Skylark  xxx

Tuesday, 19 February 2008

An Apology

Current mood:  sad

Sorry that I haven't been around much.  I've not really been very well since Splodge's death.  I had a horrible nightmare last night about his disturbed spirit coming back to haunt the house, and tearing up all the guinea pig stuff in the house, because he didn't understand that he was ill, and he felt that I'd betrayed his trust by putting him to sleep.  Now I keep wondering if he really is disturbed wherever he is now, and really does feel I "rejected" him.  I haven't even written an obituary for him at the Arena, or got a commemorative signature.  I guess I'm kind of in denial.  I still keep going to his hutch, and then remembering just as I get to the door.  It's horribly quiet here.
I've been overwhelmed by everybody's kind messages and comments about Splodge.  I had no idea how many people actually knew about Splodge, and followed his progress here on Myspace.  Sorry that I haven't got back to a lot of you.  Your comments really were appreciated.   I just want to write back to all of you and thank you properly, so it's taking me a few days.
OK, so  let's try to get this blog back to semi-normality.  David is still refusing to sort out the architect, and seems to have taken to watching "Law & Order" every single evening, instead of discussing anything.  He says that there's "no reason at all that we can't walk up and down this road".  Well, Mum and I actually tried to do so today, despite there being nowhere to walk to (we just chucked out some old videos using a bin by the bus stop - I'm still trying to clear up), and the place has got FAR worse, even in the past few weeks.  There was a massive gang of thugs standing right outside the post office in broad daylight (the kind of people who usually only gather at night) who spat at us, and made rude comments.  And I'm so cold whenever I leave the house now.  I only have three pairs of trousers that don't have huge holes in the knee now, and they're so thin, it's really as though I'm not wearing anything on my legs.  And Mum says I "never shut up" whenever I try to talk about getting new trousers.
I'm sick of the whole "rest of family vs. me" thing really.  I'm sure Mum knows a lot more about me than she lets on.  Although, I'll get back to that in a minute.  Mum had a turn on the computer, then handed it back to me, accidentally leaving a Hotmail message as a hidden window.  I went to cross it off, but noticed my name in it.  OK, so I was nosy, and took a look, which I know I shouldn't have done.  It was a thread of messages between Mum and her cousin, Bill, who she doesn't usually have much contact with, but whom she forwarded the link to Splodge's Youtube video to, and has apparently been chatting with ever since. 
After the initial "Here's the link to the Youtube video" letter, Bill wrote and said:
"How is Desiree? I expect she has a teenage social life now/"
Mum replied by saying, "Desiree doesn't go out or lead a normal teenage life.  She stays in her room.  It's very worrying.  I remember your parents saying Angela was like that as a teenager!  Angela didn't like being fat, Desiree doesn't like her sticking out teeth.   Much as I hate operations and anaesthetics, this situation cannot continue.  So next week we are seeing a consultant about Desiree having surgery on her jaw.  It's horrendous and might not work anyway."  Um...   It's another of the "We're a normal family" acts, I see.  It's be nice to have a room to stay in!  And I'm more ashamed about the clothes I'm forced to wear and the fact I'm not allowed to do simple things like wear make-up or wax my legs than about my teeth!  (Angela is Bill's sister, by the way)
Bill answered, "I am really sad to hear about Desiree, its horrible for a young girl to feel bad about the way she looks.
I hope something can be done that makes her fell good about herself. Looks mean everything to a teenager.".
Howcome he can understand more about me (or at least, teenagers generally) than my mum, when he hasn't even seen me since I was a baby?!
Strangely, Bill then went and mentioned that he had a Myspace right out of the blue.  You know, in the past I've actually just been playing around and typed his name into Myspace, but never found him.  Then I thought to have a look under "Liam", which is a pseudonym he often uses (Being the end of WilLIAM), and I found him (Well, a 99 year old with his photo anyway! )  He really didn't want anybody to discover him on here, eh?  Of course, I'm not intelligent enough to use pseudonyms and false ages, so anyone who types "Desiree Alder" into the search system is going to find me immediately, since I'm the only one on here...and I wonder if Bill already has.  Just the way he mentioned the Myspace straight after talking about me.  The message has been deleted now, and I only saved those few lines, but it really was almost as if he knew my wholw story, but doesn't want Mum to know he knows, as such.
Too many people we actually know got into my profile after that hacker set it to public!
Ah, and finally, the thing that makes me think Mum actually does know more about my impossible dreams than she wants me to think she does. 
I've been messing about on Youtube ever since I uploaded Splodge's video, even though it is very slow on dial-up.  Anyway, I found someone taking auditions for an amateur voice over fandub of a MLP Tales clip.  I went ahead and auditioned...and got not one, but TWO PARTS!  Both Starlight and Bright Eyes!!!  It's only a couple of lines, but I'm pleased to be taking part in it anyway.  I hope you'll all try and listen to it when it's complete.  Oh, and the creator of the video is still taking auditions for Patch and Clover...and maybe Melody.  Go and search for "My Little Pony fandub audition" on Youtube if you're interested.
Anyway, I told Mum how I got the part, more in a "Oops, I just realised they're probably going to stick my Youtube ID up all over the completed video right after you've just forwarded my name on there around to all your friends and the family via Splodge's video, so they'll all get a good giggle at me" kind of way than anything else.  "Well, that's good." Mum replied.  "You'd have been really upset if you hadn't got the part in her tinpot video.  This could be your big break!  I mean, if you hadn't got in there, how would you ever be a famous voice-over-thing person."  Then she kind of gave me a look that said "I know all there is to know" with a secretive smile...  It was really odd.  I don't know why she had to throw in the stupid "big break" comment, but I think she's getting there.  But I don't want to be "famous" exactly!  Being professional doesn't mean being FAMOUS!  Like she was shocked when she saw an actor from a famous TV show on a commercial today, and she sounded quite shocked when she said, "Even he's had to lower himself to the level of adverts now!  They can't be as well-paid as you think!"  Um...  Between seasons of shows, we all have to get whatever work we can get, mother!  She thinks performing is all about becoming rich and famous.   Perhaps that's what she thinks I think then, and she knows I'd be one of the little "bit-parters" (as she calls actors who mainly guest star on shows/commercials etc.) anyway.  And then I'd be disappointed, see?  It's more a protection thing really, I reckon.  I wish she'd just understand that I'm not seeking fame and popularity...
Oh well, I guess that's about it.  We're going to a family history lecture this evening.  So Mum wants a turn on the computer now, before she has to get the dinner.  So I'm off.  I'll try to contact you all later today. 
Once again, RIP Splodge, and I wasn't rejecting you, I just didn't want you to suffer.  I hope you understand that. ?
Desiree Skylark  xxx

Thursday, 14 February 2008

RIP, Splodge. You may be gone, but my love for you shall never die...

Current mood:  lonely

I feel so bad.  Splodge really didn't want me to go to bed last night.  But I was so tired.  I stayed up as long as I could, but at about 4am I put him in his hutch and went upstairs.  After I got changed into my pajamas, I came back down, and spoke to him.  He actually reached up out of his hay so I put my head down into the doorway of his hutch, and he kissed me goodnight.  Then I went to bed.
Mum kept checking him throughout the rest of the morning, before calling me at 8am to tell me Splodge was much worse.  Apparently, she looked in on him at 5am, then again at 6.15, and both times he was responding to her voice and nuzzling her hand.  He wasn't showing much interest in food, but she thought he might pick some up if she left him with it.  Supposedly, he kind of ran into his bedroom and she left him there.  Then she fell asleep and didn't check him again until 8am, when she had called me.  By the time I got downstairs, the poor little thing was out on his newspaper in the lounge, lying flat on his side.  I tried feeding him, but although he was taking the food from me, he didn't seem able to actually get it right into his mouth or swallow.  In fact, every time he tried to eat or drink, he started shaking.  His diarrhoea was also much worse, so liquidised by this point that it looked like brown-ish urine.  I believe the anaesthetic must have done something to his nerves, or maybe he was deprived of oxygen during the procedure.  This may have meant his brain got slightly damaged, so although he was fully aware of what was going on around him, his legs and head weren't allowing him to do what he wanted.
I went upstairs to get dressed, and David came in from the other house.  He started yelling at me to "Get out of the bathroom!" so I hurried, then came out and asked what he was calling for.  "I need to get to work.  What did ya think?"  He asked.  Well, since he'd said he was free this week to take Splodge to the vet whenever needed, I guess I just didn't expect that little outburst.  "Well, how am I supposed to get to a vet?"  I asked.  "I don't know." David shrugged, and went in the bathroom.  A few moments later, he rushed out again, and went to work for a meeting, which he'd never even mentioned to us before.
The next couple of hours I really can't remember all that well.  I know David rang at about 10.30 and asked what we wanted to do.  I said I wanted to take Splodge to the vet ASAP.  David rang them up and asked them when we could come in, and fortunately they agreed to see him after surgery officially closed at 11am. 
It was really horrible wrapping Splodge up in his towel to take with us.  Although he was so limp, he was still trying to run around the floor.  He just couldn't grasp that he was sick.  He loved the car journey, and spent the entire time snuggled right up to me.  I'd say we got to the vet at about 11.30.
Nathan asked me if Splodge was any better at all, and when I said that he wasn't - in fact, he was worse - he didn't even try to argue with my decision.  "We've done all that we can do."  He said.  "Now let's do the kindest thing we can for him." 
We waited, while Nathan went and got the needle, and I held Splodge up so that he could be given the necessary injection in his tummy.  I'd been warned that Splodge would probably squeal, and it should take about five minutes for the the deed to be done.  Neither was true, actually.  Splodge didn't even flinch, he was so used to having that kind of thing done.  And then I was ushered out into the (empty, of course, since surgery wasn't officially open) waiting room, so that I could sit with my little guinea pig, while it happened.  Splodge was so good, just lying on my lap and staring up into my eyes, while occasionally turning to Mum and looking at her.  I just sat and tried to stay calm for him, repeating his name and telling him how much I loved him.  It took about ten minutes before he finally started to fade away, and even when I thought he'd gone, he took one last look up into my eyes, and blinked.  Then he kind of relaxed onto his side, and I felt his heart stop beating.
He's been taken away for cremation now, although they've switched to a new company, and it's going to cost twice as much, and we can't even have the nice words on the top of his box now.
I was sobbing by the time I got in the car.  Kind of a delayed reaction, I guess.  Things aren't ever going to be the same again without Splodge.  I had horrible flashbacks once I got home - guilt pangs, everything from how he hadn't had enough cuddles when he was young, to how he hadn't been able to get in the garden in later years because of the rats.  And the worst guilt pang is that I'm really not that upset now.  At least, I'm not crying like I did over Sparkle.  I remember being like this after Dieselbelle died.  The sadness is there, of course it is.  It just comes out a different way.  I think I'm just feeling so relieved that he's out of it now.  No more suffering, and I'm sure he's in a better place.
And now the house just feels so empty.  Never once in my life have I lived in a totally pet-free house.  And even in my mum's fifty years, nor has she.  It's so very quiet, and what little character was in this nasty place in the middle of Grottsville is gone.  Now we just want to turn over a new leaf, and get out of here ASAP.  Even Mum has now decided she "doesn't want her holidays, she wants Splodge back."  She was crying about it this evening.  I just don't know how long I can go on without any little fuzzy faces in the hall.  The first thing anyone with the tiniest heart does when they come in the house is lean over to the hutches and say "Hello"...but now there's nothing but three empty hutches to say it to.
The evening seems so empty too.  It's been at least six years since I've not had a guinea pig party late at night.  Now there's just no structure to the day, and no furry friend to live for.  I know these are selfish things to say, but I can't really say any more about little Splodger, since I'm sure I did the right thing for him.  He'd really be suffering by this point, had I just left him.
Every little sound I hear, I instinctively think is a guinea pig rustling around in the hall, then I'm brought down to Earth with a bump.  I want to go back five years and live it all again - differently.  I want my guinea pigs back.  All of them.  Right, I'm off to bed.  It's 2.15am and I've set myself off crying again.  Nothing can be done.  He's with them all now, I hope.  And someday I'll join them.  Until then, I'm going to go and do something with my life, like Splodge always wanted.  Well, not literally, but he always wanted me to be happy.  He got upset if I ever cried.  So I'm going to keep his memory with me forever.  He was such a great companion the last half-decade, and I shall be eternally grateful to him for that.  I love you, baby, and I hope that wherever you are now, you know that you will never be forgotten.
♥ RIP Splodge ♥
October 11th 2002 ~ February 14th 2008
♥ Gone from my arms, but forever in my heart ♥

More about Splodge...

Current mood:  listless

Very quick blog because I really need to get to bed.  Just wanted to make a quick update and let people know that I'm not ignoring them for the sake of it.
We rang the vet this morning, and they said that Splodge could come home.  Apparently, he ate ALL of the food we took in to him last night!  Plus all of the parsley that his nurse/fan, Karen, gave him.  So we went and picked him up immediately.  It seemed as though all of my prayers had been answered when Stacey (another of "Splodgey's" nurse fans! ) brought him out to me, wrapped in his towel.  He actually reached out to me for a cuddle, and ate some cucumber that I'd taken along with me.
However, upon returning home, things have just got worse again.  Although he's survived the actual anaesthetic, it really seems to have done something to his nerves, and he keeps trembling every time I touch him, although he wants to be cuddled desperately.  More importantly though, he can't eat or drink a thing, due to what now appears to be an inability to swallow.  He's trying so hard, but he can't even hold his head up properly now, and his sides are heaving with the effort of just trying to stay upright.   And now, on top of all of that, he has DREADFUL diarrhoea.  I think it must be another side effect of the anaesthetic, but with him not taking in any fluids, I don't know how long he can survive like this.
I really wish that Nathan hadn't talked me out of getting him put down yesterday morning now.  I just can't see where this is possibly headed.  And at least he wouldn't be suffering now.  We've just had to pay a £100 bill today for the treatment...the very treatment that I reckon is going to be the death of poor little Splodge in the long run. 
Of course, Mum has now siezed on this opportunity to tell me how dangerous anaesthetics are, and how I shouldn't get my teeth straightened.  Well, I don't really think I'm a guinea pig.  A human being has a lot more chance of coming through an operation than a small rodent, surely.  I wish that weren't the case though - I hate seeing Splodge like this.   We even bought some parsley for him tonight, but although he's interested, he just can't seem to eat.
The architect wrote again today, with plans for bathrooms.  Chris says the boiler has to go in one of the three huge rooms in the loft, and David is annoyed since he wants all of those rooms to himself.  He won't even discuss the house with us, or ring the architect.  Although, the architect supposedly rang David today, but my father "can't remember what he said".  Oh yeah, of course not.    Id he delays it much longer, another person will get on the waiting list ahead of us and we'll be stuck here a further six months.  And it's quite clear that I'm not going to get any freedom until we move house.
The architect wants to move his builders in next month...but David won't take us to the house to empty it, and is instead filling it up with his Mills & Boon collection.  What on Earth am I supposed to do?!
Right, I'm off to bed now.  I'm just upsetting myself writing this blog.  At least Splodge knows we're there for him tonight, and I shall keep getting up to check how he is.  Mind you, it's 2.15am now, so I won't have to get up many times before it's time to really wake up anyway!
Bye for now,
Desiree  xxx

Wednesday, 13 February 2008

My poor little guinea pig, all alone in the dark tonight...

Current mood:  hopeful

Splodge is not with me tonight.  However, there is a very faint chance that he may be somewhere other than where you're thinking of right now... 
Splodge took a real turn for the worse last night.  It seemed that as soon as it was too late to take him to the vet, he just went downhill - FAST.  By about midnight, he was so weak and light weight, I honestly thought he would just fade away.  But he didn't.  As his condition got worse and worse though, I decided I couldn't simply put him away in his hutch and go to bed, so I sat up with him.  The hours rolled by...1am, 2am, 3am... No sign of him actually "going", as such.  His heart kept fluttering, and stopping, but he held out, snuggling closer and closer to me.  I really couldn't keep my eyes open by 4am, and decided I'd have to put him to bed, but he just began very weakly headbutting the bars to his hutch, so I got him out again.  Just as well really, since it gave me a chance to load that Youtube video, which can be found here.  That finally loaded at 5am.  After that, Mum woke up and we took it in turns to hold Splodge.  All in all, I think I got to sleep one and a half hours, and all of that on the sofa with one small blanket and no pillows. 
At 8am, Mum woke me up for the final time and told me that Splodge had got much worse, fidgeting on her lap but stumbling around.  She'd put him in his hutch, and he'd fallen against his water bowl, trying to drink, but seeming unable to.  I let him rest for a while, then got him out again, while David made an appointment with the vet, in order to get him put to sleep.  Both Mum and I were crying by the time we got there, as was the vetinary nurse who has become quite fond of little "Splodgey" as she calls him.  We took him into Nathan, and I tried to tell him what I wanted done.  But he let us stand there a while and calm down, giving Mum and I tissues from a box that's handily kept in the surgery.
"If he is going to have to have a needle put in him anyway, why don't we at least try for the procedure?  We may as well give him the chance."  Nathan said to me.  I knew this meant leaving Splodge alone, but I realised I'd never forgive myself if I didn't give him the chance at least, so we left him there.  Never have I known time to pass so slowly as when I awaited the telephone call of doom.  Splodge didn't really stand a chance today, when Nathan had said it was too dangerous even on Friday when the poor little thing was so much stronger.
Then the phone rang.  My heart fluttered.  Mum answered the phone...but it wasn't the vet.  It was Chris, the architect.  Perfect timing, huh?  He never rings here - he always rings David's mobile phone!   Anyway, he engaged Mum in a conversation that she didn't understand a word about, since Chris kept using technical terms.  Good news though!  He is trying to press on and get us in there by at least the end of August now...and the neighbours haven't protested about any of the work we're doing!  In fact, they've signed the consent forms!  Yippee!  Apparently, the "friendly" neighbours made a little bit of fuss about how deep our foundations are going to be (They think there house is going to sink into our hole or something... ) but Chris has sorted this out, and there were no more objections not even from the thieving neighbours the other side.
The phone went back on the hook...and we were scared again, when someone decided they wanted to talk to us about loans.  Yeah, right.  Whenever someone asks to talk to "Mrs. Jasmine Adler" you kind of know they've picked up yur phone number from a random company somewhere.  Hence, the phone was plonked straight back down again.
We waited, and waited, and waited...  3pm came, and still the vet hadn't rung.  So Mum decided she was going to ring them.  They were avoiding ringing us, since they had bad news.  Well, good news in the sense Splodge got through the procedure, and they have found the problem.  Just as I told THEM a week ago, it was due to an overgrown molar.  What I didn't know was that it was due to overgrown molarS (plural).  Apparently, the poor little thing had two of his back teeth grow inwards, and meet over his mouth like a bridge, trapping his tongue.   That's why he wasn't eating.  They reckon had he survived another couple of days, the teeth would have actually sliced through his tongue.  My mouth's hurting just to think of it.   Poor little Splodge.  Anyway, they trimmed the teeth back, and they should now last some time (at least until Splodge is likely to leave us through old age anyway), so all's well on that level.
Problem.  Splodge was having a lot of trouble coming around.  They gave him all kinds of fluids and energy boosting injections while he was asleep, but he just couldn't wake up.  We were told to ring back at 5.30pm.
By then, he was lifting his head up and showing a little interest in food (Parsley of all things - another thing we've never thought to give him ).  There was no way he could come home tonight though.  I asked if I could go and visit him, and they said yes.  So we chopped up little tiny pieces of cucumber, tomato and pear, and off we went (well, as soon as David got back from work).  I was allowed to stay with him for twenty minutes, and I don't really know what to say about him.  He's stiff, like a board, but he's regained a lot of his body weight.  His eyes are really bloodshot, and rolled back in his head, and he can't stand up, but I think that's just because he hasn't woken up properly yet.  The important thing is that he's eating.  He's pretty confused, so I had to push the food right in his mouth, but once I got him started, he was really picking up.  By the time I had to leave he was half-standing, and trying to eat on his own.  It was a real pain for me to leave him in that cage, particularly as there's nobody at the surgery overnight, so I really can't see the benefit of him staying there.  They say they have emergency stuff like oxygen.  All very good if there's no-one to give it to him when he needs it!
Tonight we went to Brent Cross Toys 'R' Us, and Wembley Asda in order to keep our minds off things a little.  TRU are revamping, and are in a freezing cold building made up of hardboard until May.   They had Play 'n' Carry Sky Wishes there, but she's still £29.97, and I'm really not prepared to pay that much, especially when I missed out on getting her from Argos for just £9.59.  Asda was totally useless, and had no ordinary ponies at all.  Just a few Ponyvilles, and LOTS of their own fakies.
Oh, and one last thing.  I really need to send massive thanks to BabyCottonCandy (Jess) for making my day today.  I got a surprise parcel, containing the MLP Easter Egg I was looking for at Morrisons last weekend.  It just came at such a brilliant time and really cheered me up.  I can't believe the kindness of some people.  Thanks so much, if you get to see this, Jess.  The mug is adorable!!!  *Hugs*
Well, I think that's about it.  We have to ring up at 9am and see how Splodge is, and if we can pick him up.  I only hope he isn't suffering all alone this cold, dark night.  If he survives, and I get him back, I'm going to give him the biggest hug ever.  He's been so very brave these past few days.  I really think he deserves an award.  Hang in there, Splodge.  I love you! 
Right, now to get some sleep.  I honestly don't think I can hold my head up much longer!   See you tomorrow, people!
Desiree Skylark   xxx