Time for some gorgeousness... It's been a while since I've updated the gallery. Our last incumbent, you might remember, was the Madonna with child by Fouquet and her extremely eye-catching ogleable breast. So, in that vein, I thought that Dawn French would make a suitable successor. Let's face it, she could never star in an ad for an LVMH brand (size 0 is the standard), but you have to admit that there is something arresting about her face.
This is also the woman that brought us The Vicar of Dibley, French and Saunders (including some really memorable sketches, with the giant baby, the sketch with Darcey Bussell featuring French as a prima ballerina, the Madonna send-ups, the bjork sketch, etc. A simple search on youtube will set you on your merry way!
I leave you with some memorable Dawn French quotes, that sum up her personality:
- I am not, I repeat, NOT a lesbian - even though I'd like to be one when I grow up. - I keep my own personality in a cupboard under the stairs at home so that no one else can see it or nick it. -I never do any television without chocolate. That's my motto and I live by it. Quite often I write the scripts and I make sure there are chocolate scenes. Actually I'm a bit of a chocolate tart and will eat anything. It's amazing I'm so slim.
As parents, we all have expectations of our children, whether about their achievements in school, the career that they will have as adults, the people that they will date, the families that they may build. From a very young age, unwittingly, we inflict these expectations on our offspring. It's a natural thing.
But the past days had me reflecting on my child's expectations of me, as a result of the sequence of playdates that we have been subjected to over the past week due to spring break. Our first little friend knows us well, comes over to play all the time, as she lives just a few doors down the road. She knows V. has two mommies, has questioned her parents about it, but simply accepts it as a natural given fact. The same applies to the children in V.'s class, who are mostly aware that V. may be picked up by any of her two mommies. And this lunchtime saw my munchkin proudly telling her friend's mum that she had two mummies.
I gather from the last remark, and the fact that she points us out at school, screeching - look, there's ??? - that she is largely happy with the state of affairs. We are routinely cuddled, kissed and told that she loves us. But let's face it, she's 3. At this point, she simply accepts us without bias.
As parents, though, we look at other parents and we reserve judgments. So and so's mother feeds her 3-year old crisps and diet Coke for an afternoon snack. There's the welfare mum smoking her butt. The mother who never picks up her child, sending the nanny instead. The fashion model who styles her daughter to match her outfits. The dykey looking mum who is straight. The single mum, who is desperately in search of a new man in her life, and who flirts with every dad on the parent committee, whether single or committed. The lesbian.
I wish I could have a camera to look at myself at the schoolgate. What would I see? Most days I wear Puma sneakers or boots with 2.5-inch heels, jeans, a 3/4 length green or black double-breasted coat, scarf, large purse on arm or banana slung across my chest. Depending on the day (and the workload) my hair is up in a bun, or hanging loose over my shoulders. If I remember before I dash out to catch the tram, I'll wear some lipstick. I think I look pretty run of the mill.
But how will my daughter look at me in 3, 7, 10 years even? What will she see? Will she see her mother, just another woman, a big lesbo? Who am I? Who will I be for her?
On her birth certificate I am listed as her mother.
On application forms, I find myself referred to as one of two parents, but I have to scratch out the word father and having to replace it with mother 2. I always do this with a sigh of irritation. The city's software has been adapted to accommodate newly composed families, but not yet same-sex families.
At school and in our neighbourhood, I am one of V's two mommies.
So how will she explain us to the world as time goes by?
Will she always look at us with love in her eyes?
Will I always be her mother?
And if so, how can I protect her easily bruised feelings?
They don't organize self-defence courses for young hearts yet.
Alas, I'm ready for the chop. Over the past days, the mirrors in the hospital elevators, unlike their trimming counterparts in clothes stores, revealed bumps and blobs that I had never not ever seen before. I was not ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille!
Groan all you will at what follows, but it is a fact that I love my food and I plead guilty to eating for more than one person.
BEFORE & AFTER DISCOVERING MY GODDISHNESS
So, while my aspirations to be a domestic demi-goddess refuse to be put on the backburner, I think the realization has finally dawned on me that double cream is portionable, that butter is not a way of life, and that bread and sugar, although delicious, need to be consumed within bounds of reason.
Don't get me wrong, I do worship my body (although bigger breasts and size 39 feet would have been nice). But the clothing industry does not love me. Nor does it love my booty. Except for Monsoon maybe, which does a good job of creating interesting looks, that fit everybody.
This brings me to my next quandary: I will not succumb to the lure of Weight Watchers, gastric bypass surgery (they won't give it to me, my BMI is off by about 12 points), or light products (that are designed to make you heavier, as far as I am concerned). How will I take on the scale to ensure plummeting numbers?
I think the following weeks will have to be about moderation, sadly*. The word diet does not exist in my vocabulary.
I'll leave you to ponder this, while I go cut myself another slice of my chocolate orange cake...
* The fact that the kind doctors at our centre for reproductive medicine insist that excess weight and artificial insemination do not a baby make is also a contributing factor. But don't worry, this will not become a moderation blog.
SPOILERS INCLUDED SO TURN BACK IF YOU WANT TO REMAIN VIRGINALLY UNSPOILT
Oh my God, did this episode bring back memories for you too? I mean, pot brownies? One summer my sister decided to cook up a batch, burnt them slightly, so thought nothing of cutting away those sides that looked a little too frittered. My mum, on the hunt for something sweet, found them... and had a wonderful sleep that afternoon. We eventually fessed up to her after which she ignored us for a full week. Ah, the golden age of heedless youth!
By the way, if you need a recipe, look no further. You could probably even adapt Nigella's cake recipe from below if you are looking for a more orangy flavour.
But on to more serious things now: I dubbed this week's episode nuclear fallout.
Following from the kiss that rocked numerous Tibette shippers' world last week, making them all go a little wonky around the knees, this week's episode was obviously dealing with the ramifications of such a lip lock. The lovely ladies - the lighting was particularly favourable this episode, Bette's smokey eye make-up too, and we got a peak of some Beals cleavage - obviously need to face the music and dance, as was obvious during the Bette/Tina discussion as Bette left the party. The writers are obviously trying to keep us wondering. I'm inclined to say that Bette and Tina will not get back together at this point, but in the twisted minds of the L Word writers a lot can happen... in just one episode. Viz. Jodi taking Tina home to sleep on Bette's couch.
But so much else happened in this episode, so let's zoom on to my new favourite storyline: Alice/Tasha. Dang, Rose Rollins looks pretty vicious when she gets angry. You don't want to get on her bad side, do you? Now the issue of outing is much discussed in the LGBT community and the L Word is no different. On the one hand, I can see what Alice is trying to get at: living out a secret gay life and being a gay basher at the same time is wrong. However, given the context of her own relationship and the fact that Tasha is probably about to have her fine ass court-marshalled (or whatever it is that they do in the military) for that same reason, her decision was disrespectful. Nobody needs to be dragged out of the closet kicking and screaming. Speaking of which... Nikki and Jenny sitting in a tree, closet... K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Privacy. Such a complex issue.
Jenny/Adele/Max: is it just me or is Adele starting to remind you of something out of the House of the Spirits (go here and look around 1:08 for those of you haven't read the book by Isabel Allende) ? Turns up in the most unexpected places, with that haunting Mona Lisa smile. Eerie, isn't it? Meanwhile, Max is reinventing himself as Nancy Drew with chin fur. And what about the madness of Queen Shecter? I'm beginning to realize that Mia Kirshner must be having one helluva time hamming it up to a new level every episode, even going so far as to scratch her armpit? But be careful, Mia, you're only one step away from Glenn Close's Cruella De Vil at this point, although Jenny would never even consider real fur.
Shane: It has a conscience. Egads. She actually surprised me when she asked Cindy to call her lover Dawn. And by the way, Cindy is a whole lotta woman. If those breasts are real, then remind me to order them for my next life.
Shane vs. the tanorexics: lesbian death match? Or the WWF for lesbians? Seems to me like our girlies are cruising for a bruising by the hands of Dawn Denbo?
I suppose I have to say something about the party (since it finally started) and the characters meeting their alter egos but it's all way too meta-fiction for me, and reminds me of that movie 'The French Lieutenant's Woman' that we discussed in school or even Adaptation or that movie with Emma Thompson, Stranger than Fiction. Since I have a whopping cold, my brain refuses to function properly and I feel that I might spew such expressions as post-modern condition and meta-narrative.
Hilarious moments: the award has to go to Bette. Filing a noise complaint with the police, while the noise is in your own swimming pool in your own backyard. And this immortal quote: "I'm flabbergasted, I'm flabbergasted that she cast such a white actress. She's white. Was Mary fucking Poppins not available?". Jenny's remark about being fashion-forward: somehow her outfit reminded me of something that Sounder the dog would wear?
Halfway through the season and I'm waiting for the dust to settle after this episode to see what the L Word Team will be springing on us next.
PS - if you're wondering where this week's title came from, then just remember that we'll always have Paris...
But what does it mean for the rest of the L Word? The beginning of a long, drawn-out adieu?
The mothership (since that's what I call myself these days) volunteered for cake duty on grandparents day next week at school, conveniently forgetting that this would also require some baking.
Did a test drive today on a chocolate orange cake by Nigella Lawson. My undying loyalty continues.
What a bunch of eggs, ground almonds, sugar, oranges, cocoa, baking powder, butter and bicarbonate won't create. It tastes good too. Gluten-free. At least I won't be poisoning anybody.
Right out of the oven:
The finished product:
I'm still considering something ganache-like to steep it in, but I think I'll leave it at this for the moment.
Stumped. Silence. No protest emanating from the backseat for once.
Frank Sinatra, Witchcraft (Cy Coleman), 1965
Yes, I know my taste in music is questionable. But that is part of my domestic goddishness. I'd like to apologize in advance to all the feminists who read what follows: Picture me in an apron, baking a cake, this song as background music, SO coming home...So 1950s. All I need is a Doris Day dress and shoes. Yes, I know, I'm sending the modern woman back to the grave... but I just like to parody the Fifties' fem.
The beloved is walking, talking and has become demanding (i.e. she requested removal of all tubes, drains, etc.) and marched herself off to the shower this morning out of protest against the nurse's rough washing techniques.
We saw the surgeon this evening again. Barring some minor complications (a numb upper leg, pain) and the outcome of the tissue tests (benign?) which we are still awaiting, everything is fine so far.
Homecoming scheduled for Wednesday or Thursday, after which a long recovery flat on her back is required.
For the past week a cute cat (male/female?) has been coming up to my front door, begging for food. He/she seems healthy enough, is mostly white but blended with some carrot for good measure and is quite docile. I'm allowed to pet him/her and we now have a fixed evening date where he gets a meal and a treat.
He/she has tried to make it past the front door. However, matters are somewhat complicated by our own Lula de Montes. Our unusual feline is very cat-like when it comes to most things (eats, sleeps most of the day, and begs for attention), but not when it comes to other cats. She detests them, prefers humans instead. Probably thinks she's human herself. Tonight she spat at the little friend so hard, that she fell off the window sill.
So my question is: if you know anybody who is looking for a little feline to share their life, please drop me a line. I will pay for the cost of vet treatment (i.e. neutering, cleaning up, ensuring clean bill of health). If I had a more cat-friendly pet, I would take him/her in myself. As it is, I don't know if our cat can handle it. She already peed her blanket last night out of sheer stress.
Pretty please (*bambi eyes*)? I don't want to have to take him to the pound, where they'll only put him down.
Taken from today's issue of Belgian daily De Standaard:
* Bruges waiter bites off piece of café-goer's ear There was quite a commotion in Bruges in the night of Friday into Saturday as fights erupted in and around the pubs of 't Zand square. Café Ravage was forced to close down after a major brawl. During one of the fights, a waiter bit off the ear of a teen customer, who had threatened him with a burning candle. The fight took place in Café De Bras (translation: the binge). The waiter was booked for questioning and then released. The minor's ear was sewn back on in hospital.
* 26 year-old Dutch train conductor cornered by four women on the international train from Amsterdam to Brussels The four women aged 20-23 years were arrested by police. They accosted the man during a ticket check and threatened him. After the check they went after him and hit him in the face several times. They also pulled at his clothes, as a result his uniform was ripped. One of the women is an acquaintance of the conductor. Their relationship remains unclear. Police was notified and arrested the women in Dordrecht, where they were taken off the train.
* From today's Sun by way of De Standaard Jet pilot enjoys hostie's air strip CAPTION: Hello, this is your captain tweaking A grinning airline pilot gropes a saucy stewardess' boob, as she performs a strip-tease in the cockpit in mid-air.The amorous airman was filmed whooping for joy as the trolley dolly unbuttoned her uniform on their UK-bound flight.Then he took his hands off his joystick to help unhook her top before carrying out a full inspection in the cockpit. The pilot and his First Officer invited the attendant up front to liven a European short-haul flight to London. The girl, in her 20s and wearing a wedding ring, happily obliged. And, at one point, she even lifted her skirt to show her undercarriage. Their antics were filmed by another member of the French crew and posted on the net. Last night a probe was underway at several European airlines to find those involved.
I'll be honest with you: when I read the word French crew, I let out a sigh of relief, as my cousin is a pilot... and his reputation is that of being somewhat of a ladies' man... although I think he is too serious when it comes to flying. But then again, you never know.
I'm a failed domestic demi-goddess, fallen from the heavens, here to threaten you all with bad spelling and too much food, an arched eyebrow or two and too many adjectives. Don't you just love me?
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