This Noh Right

What seemed most noteworthy to me today was a report that someone (possibly gov't worker) had leaked Golding's tax return to The Gleaner, ostensibly to inform the public, but most likely as payback for his exposure of the questionable contribution. Woulda blogged just about that, but then ah read this.
OK, so a 7-yr-old girl was raped by five 9-yr-old boys at a primary school (Dunrobin). Five boys admitted that they dragged her from the bathroom when she was there washing her hands, and took her to an abandoned building where the assault took place. NOT ONE OF THEM WAS PUNISHED. School officials then not only proceeded to hide it, but also started smearing the girl even further by implying that she's "mental." Then they further assert that she's in the wrong school, that she should be in a 'special' school.
No, brethren, somebody head woulda haffe roll.
Some study has been done by a clinical psychologist recently which allegedly showed that many J'cans have 'low emotional intelligence' & that this was why empathy was all but extinct in some circles. Mi noh know. Maybe him right. All me know, somebody head woulda haffe roll.

Bein' Joyous at Others' Good Fortune

IMHO, this is generally not difficult: bein' joyous at others' good fortune. What if de person in question is Hitler Foley Amin? Understandably, mi opinion would change -- no joy for them. It's about justice & fairness. Ah found out someone recently tried to block mi blessings. They say "friendship" so easily, but feel no joy when their "friend" enjoys an achievement. Mi noh like smutty-mind people, yu know. Worse, de ally from church glosses over de smutty-mindedness by sayin, "It's just a Jamaican poor-people trait, a survival skill, so even after life improves the attitude still obtains." Whatever. Dem better don't come back come lean pon my fence, 'cause a macca dem woulda lean pon.

Worth Quotin'

"The truth sets you free -- it kicks your ass first, but it sets you free."

Unfathomable

"Don't come in with me, or we won't leave for the next 2 hours," mi husband says --and he's right, grocery stores (any store, really) just always kinda pulls me in. So as he bounds across de parkin' lot, an' disappears into de store, mi eyes quickly flash to de car-radio, flash back toward de store, an' there's you exitin' de store.
I'm astonished at how mi heart somersaults at the sight of you.
You're gorgeous. You have a model's marvelous bone structure. (Even as de summer departs, you could use a tan, but whatever.) You're very manly, but there's a sensitive air about you that could just melt a girl and then mutilate her if that air of sensitivity turned out to be a facade. I just can't stop starin' at you. You come closer to mi car, and I say to mi-self, "Self, you've seen him before," but I'm still starin' at your eyes, grabbin' this opportunity to fathom just what colour they actually are.
You realize that I'm starin' at you, and it seems you also realize just then that you're starin' at me -- that we're actually makin' eye contact. You smile an awkward likkle smile an' look away, feelin' de profundity of our mutual gaze, an' de incongruity of such a soft moment in a crowded, broad-daylight, supermarket parkin' lot. An instant later, you look at me again, still headin' in my direction, an' de silly, fleetin' awkwardness passes, an' wi both laugh a bit self-consciously.
I sigh, inhalin' de sight of you, de seductive height of you, de lingerin' smile that is de bright light of you.
You stop at mi car-door.
You open it, and look in.
"Yu noh see how mi head gone, Piggy?" you ask. "Mi a goh inna de store fi goh spend, but mi left mi wallet same place inna de pants wheh mi did wear goh work today. Yu ever see nutten soh? Eeh?"
"Yes," I answer, "I'd marry you again, and again, and a million times again in this lifetime -- an' not just because mi luv nyam weddin' cake eeda!"

On Doing What U Luv

Years ago, ah worked in an environment where everyone was super-stressed. Coworkers cowered in de V.P.'s presence, because he was de one who reported bi-monthly departmental exam results. (Not every employee had to sit these, but 'Jr' underwriters, etc., had to.) Others worried about failing all de likkle exams up to de 'big exam', not getting their licences, and missing out on de positions that required Series 6, etc.. De company even had supposedly state-administered counseling exams that followed in-house/online training & texts for HR. Stress. De point is, after Piggy made de switch from that to other work that made mi happier (feelin' at times like ah was chickenin' out, mind U), ah found out that even people who R still there weren't/aren't happy in that career. Gotta earn that dough. (I'm not talkin' about bein' frustrated about some aspects, but enjoyin' de overall work. e.g., Mr. Pig walked away from music production, when he was younger because, as he put it, "Wrong time!" but he enjoyed every minute while he did it. No. I'm talkin' about actually hatin' what U do while U do it.) Ah guess de true test is this: If U won de lotto tomorrow, would U do any-ting even remotely resemblin' your present occupation? (After all, wealth is freedom--in so many ways.) But health is wealth (i.e. freedom), and U've got your health, so would U make de switch now?

P.S. In unrelated news, heard that Vaz Prep's founder passed away. Condolences. Had it been Mrs. Ulett, however, many J'cans woulda been weepin' & moanin'.

Must Add: Just found out that today is Kami's Birthday! Happy Birthday, Kami!

From Today's Sermon

"Success has many fathers, but Failure is an orphan." (i.e. Everyone wants credit, but nobody wants blame.) Repentance requires acceptance of blame. Let the redeemed in the Lord say so. Have a blessed day.

Praise God!

It's great to have some serious career advancement. God is good, great, almighty!

Prodigal Piggy

That's how writing mi current post feels.
Having parked mi blog for over a year, writing on it again is a weird feeling. I'll let go of the Pig Latin that always graced every sentence on this blog. Why? Well, this blog continued to age even in my absence, though I left it on its own for so long. I've treated blogging just as inconsistently as I've treated my own dreams. Lord. Now, the blog's older and wiser, and so is the BlogPiggy. A year brings many experiences: some good--some difficult to get over. When I first started blogging, I really thought blogging came naturally to me--just dive right in! I thought I took to it like a fish to water--and what kinda crap is that analogy anyway? Fish don't take to water--water is all they'll ever know until they die--it's not like every fish starts off warming a bench at some Kinder-Prep, and then gets let go into the wild--into the ocean--at a certain age (maybe right before GSAT/Common Entrance), when the world celebrates how quickly every fish takes to its secondary environment. Reality check: waterless environments have never existed for living fish. ANYWAY, the point is, I blogged in all the ways a person shouldn't blog: I discussed my dearest prenatal plans in such detail that in any negative eventuality my disappointment could've only been as painfully detailed, had my entries continued as fervently as they'd started. On the blog, I harshly criticized what I perceived as my previous employers' unfairness, etc.. I wrote about a few of my relatives' private situations (commiserating, I thought), and refused to remove the posts, even when they became aware of it and objected. (Now, I realize that wasn't about me learning to assert myself to some relatives. That's me still being wrong, but when it done a'ready, it done a'ready.) I posted mi pic on the blog, causing an awkward situation. I then cast the blog away from me, not realizing that (for impulsive me) a blog is a boomerang--not even realizing that even then it's a boomerang that really means a lot to me. It 's a great way to celebrate what I've always appreciated, e.g., J'can poetry, like I initially planned to feature on it. Now, Miss Lou's gone, and the urge to Blog her a goodbye poem--led me to write on mi blog again--to be the stranger knocking maybe too softly on the door of his own house (which he up and left so long ago). Reading the blogs linked to mine feels like navigating an old neighborhood, and the other blogs linked to them are like new development (houses, centres, etc.) on once-familiar roads. I don't delude myself anymore that blogging comes naturally to me, and I don't delude myself that I'll "reopen" this blog and start blogging mi arse off again, but this blog has to have a post that thanks everyone who ever visited it and took the time and energy to care what Piggy felt or did at the time of any posting. Piggy's blog must also apologize for retreating into itself in rougher times. Thanks, everyone. Sorry I up and disappeared. I never said it then, but I'll always appreciate all of you for allowing me to get to know you and share your life for a while and for your getting to know me and sharing my life for a while--actually, despite my seemingly inexplicable absence, truth is, I've never felt the urge to take any of that for granted, or any of you for granted. Here's a proper goodbye: Best regards, everyone--you've all always been kind to a naive, bright-eyed, sometimes selfish, sometimes sometime-ish, hypersensitive, but always-affectionate-in-her-regard-of-you Piggy. (MB, Dr D, Scratchie, etc., welcomed me so warmly back then, that I'm 4ever glad ah ever started bloggin'.) Cheers and Ciao! I'm smiling. Why? I'm honourin' mi brief sojourn in interactive blogdom, but this blog's been closed so long that maybe nobody will ever read this post, and yet it still feels good to have written what's in mi heart. Kisses, all! Life, Love, and Happiness!!

Soul Song

Miss Lou, I Love You.
Rest peacefully--yu conscience clean, an' yu heart clean too
You must have been one of the chosen few
Who
Could say true-true
That you did every-ting you were called to do
And more.
You did the dramatic cultural wordwork of one hundred or two
You were the only Mommy that many knew
Yet has Jamaica always given you your due?

Now some criticizin' even the relocation of [Mas Eric] 'Mr. Lou'

Any-how figget 'bout that!
Not every-ting good fe eat good fe chat!

Heart full, but no eye-water
Walk good, Jamaica's Most Honorable Daughter.

Goodbye, Pope John Paul II (1920-2005).

(Piggy's Blog's still "parked" but must acknowledge today.)

Hail Mother Mary full of grace.
Hail the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ.

Gra sia plena, Maria,
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave Dominus, Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in Mulieribus, Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tui Jesus
Ave Maria

Bye, Pope, you were a blessing to an entire religion. You've done what's so hard--if not impossible--in a world that searches tirelessly for sensationalism, you've led a blameless life as far as men's eyes can see. Many have brought disgrace to Catholicism, but you've always held it high. Not even a bullet could shake your divine determination. Even "Fire 'Pon Rome" or Capleton songs that tried to decry your dedication to duty, found you holy, an' I'm that much more respectful ov your legacy today.
Notre Pere, qui est au cieux
Les trois--votre nom soit sanctifie.
Pardonnez nous nos peches.

It was in many ways wrong to sing songs that carelessly wished you ill--even if nobody really considered de lyrics back then. Now, I'm considerin'--but not too much Catholic guilt--just wishin' you a safe journey home.
We'll all miss a godly Polish man who never smeared de honour ov his papacy through all ov 27 years. Goodbye, Pope.

Da Boogie Down

Mi Blog's still on an ever-so-long break from its interactive glory, but in da meantime an' in between time, here's some special 'K' for your listenin' pleasure!

KRS-One: False Pride (from Da Sneak Attack album)

Kris' Intro: Okay now, listen to this:

A Mystical Teacher sat by the seaside
It was about 5 o'clock cause we heard the free ride
Anyway, The Teacher was talking in stride
Sitting upon a rock that was quite wide
And warning against false pride
"Come to where I reside!" a woman cried
And The Teacher replied, "Do you serve your fish fried?"
"Yes," she replied, "with potato salad on the side."
And The Teacher would comply, so, "Where do you reside?"
She said, "Up on the hillside, it's not a far ride.
If you came to have dinner, I would be so gratified."
The Teacher replied, " It's six o'clock or seven o'clock, you decide."
She replied, "Seven o'clock, do you like stir-fried?"

She was mystified and felt so dignified
The Teacher was coming to the house where she resides
So she purified with pesticides
Called up her friends nationwide
Some of her friends were tongue-tied; they felt so glorified

She made steamed fish, baked fish, fish that was fried
Soup, steamed vegetables, potato salad on the side
You could smell the bread in the oven, far and wide
Natural juices and water purified
Organic fruits brought from the countryside
With silver forks and knives placed side by side
You could not be dissatisfied
Looking out the window staring at the mountainside
You would have died

At 6:59 she's swollen with pride
As the moment intensified,
There was a knock from outside
She opened the door, "The Teacher has arrived!"
But to her surprise, it was a bum who cried
"Please, I smelled the bread from outside!
One piece, please" and then she replied
"The Teacher is coming, He's soon to have arrived.
You're making me look bad, come on now, step aside!"
The bum then replied,"When I say I'm hungry I haven't lied.
Give me some of that chicken you just fried."
She replied, "Chicken? Fried?
No! That's for The Teacher, you're not purified"
Then she slammed the door and went back inside
She sat on the couch with the TV Guide.

She looked at the clock, it was 7:09,
then 7:30; He still hasn't arrived
Eight o'clock, she's on the downside
Nine o'clock, by now she's teary-eyed
She's pissed off and her anger multiplied
She cried, then fell asleep dissatisfied

Next day she woke up, and was preoccupied
With meeting The Mystical Teacher who lied
Where could He hide?
She ran down by the seaside
He was there teaching about false pride

"You lied!" she decried, "You lied!
You said you'd be there at seven o'clock, but you lied!"
He replied, "No I have not lied. I came at 6:59,
And you told me to move aside.
I asked for bread and the chicken that was fried
And you said that I wasn't purified."
Stupefied, she replied, "I wasn't notified!
I had no idea that you wuz da bum that cried!"
And The Teacher sighed, then He replied,
"This concludes our lesson on false pride!!"

Sunshine's Day

Happy Birfday, Sunshine!

Sunny & Special
Unique
Natural woman
Sincere
Heartfelt
Inspirational
Nice person
Encouraging

As time goes by, we'll prob'ly be in touch re our literary dreams. (Although I'm yay north an' you're yay south, it'll still be a domestic call, so we won't have ta break our Piggy-banks when that time comes:) Enjoy your day, luv, an' many happy returns!

De Gender Gap

Had a very informative conversation this afternoon. Mi uncle was tellin' mi about a coworker ov his (a J'can he met since migratin' to London), an' de coworker's controversial views. De guy is married, but still somewhat radical. He offered to introduce mi uncle to a young English-woman ov J'can parentage. He kept repeatin' to mi uncle how "nice" an' "good" de 28-year-old is. "She's a total lady, pure as her own birfday," he told mi uncle. Mi uncle thought that meant she's a virgin--not an appealin' thought to any man who's aged past de big 4-0. Mi uncle says he told de coworker, "I'm not a teenager; I'm about buyin' de orchard an' plantin' fruit, not pickin' cherries." De coworker quickly clarified that de lady's "seal was broken," (ah know, it's horrid an' chauvinistic!), but said that de woman's been celibate for about 8 years. "Yes, that would be safest, all considerin'," mi uncle said, but de coworker said, "No, mate, it's not just a question ov health an' safety." Then, he proceeded to explain how a woman's inward an' outward esteem drops just a bit more wif each new partner, an' how a man's inward an' outward esteem rises just that much wif each new partner he has. Mi uncle asked him if he missed de Women's Lib movement, but now mi uncle says to me, "That's still de world we live in, Mel. That's why a man should never take for granted when a woman sleeps wif him, 'cause by sleepin' wif him, she runs such a social risk coupled wif de regular risks. That's quite a bit ov emotion she's got in de balance." Then he explained to me why mi aunt's always been so stern an' strict. Turns out, way back when mi aunt was in high school, she an' a male neighbour were walkin' along Eastwood Park Road, when a motorist called out to her, "Hey, White Liver! When me can get my piece?" Those words started a lot ov snickerin' an' outright laughter at mi auntie's expense. De motorist didn't know mi auntie, an' still doesn't. They were complete strangers, but because her features fit some stereotype he has, he threw de slur at her. Mi auntie was very ashamed--a little before that, a relative ov hers had been assaulted, an' people had dismissed de assault wif de same kind ov slur. Mi auntie took de insult personally. She cut her hair to everyone's surprise, an' started wearin' very baggy clothes an' long skirts instead ov regular jeans. That didn't deter those who wanted to hold on to stereotypes, they just labeled her conservative appearance as "sneakin'," so that they could keep her in their narrow-minded view. She's always been very circumspect in her appearance an' her behaviour. She stayed in a rocky marriage for decades, just because she didn't want "talk" to go 'round if she moved on (talk about livin' your life for other people--wake up, woman!). Ah thought she was just too uptight; however, now ah understand why she always spoke so sternly to me, an' why she set me such (unrealistic?) boundaries. In her day, judgement fell hard on women--it still does in de curious customs ov some societies, as ah learnt from Sunshine's Blog. An' as tough as it is for men to be men, it still seems tougher for women to be women in many respects.

A Book from A Book-Sale

Ah just started readin' an old book named "Please Love Me" by an author named Miller. It's de true story ov a beautiful Hollywood starlet, who unfortunately has a very Puritanical mother & an ice-cold father. De girl eventually gains modest fame (they didn't use her real name in de book), after bein' tossed about on de castin' couch, an' then bein' discovered as a beauty or a talent (introducin' de beautiful or talented, Miss County Farm!). However, she's so bitter about her own life from de very start (although on de surface she appears to have it all) that she tells a horrid lie on her 'best friend' an' gets de girl in serious trouble; she almost starts a forest fire; an' at de height ov her modelin' career, she still has no female friends because ov her suspicion that other women have an easier life than she's ever had. She's de "girl next door" all-American blonde wif social status an' de old-money to go wif it, but she envies her maid--a dirt-poor Black woman (de story's set in de 50s-60s)--because she thinks de black woman prob'ly has a more lovin' family than she's ever had. She joins de circus, then finally discovers Christianity. That's where we're all supposed to get sentimental an' cheer for her?! Ah haven't finished de book, because ah can't quite sympathize wif de woman's mean-ness. Her likkle superiority complex that makes her feel that other females should chase after her to be worthy ov her friendship, while she stands aside in judgement ov them an' ov all they do, an' tries to sniff out any cracks in their armour or weak spots in their personality, just makes her seem so hateful--'B-I-T-C,' might begin to describe her. Ah can understand that she internalizes some fings--introverts tend to be more outspoken when irritated, an' more contemplative otherwise--ah can relate to that--but her decision to busy herself behind de scenes, tellin' lies an' makin' so much malicious likkle mischief just doesn't sit well wif me. De author tries to paint her as a sympathetic heroine, a misunderstood Cinderella, but her joy at others' misfortune, her anger at others' good fortune, an' her inability to feel good about herself unless she's criticizin' or puttin' down another girl just doesn't endear her to de reader. I'm stuck wonderin' how someone who's blessed wif all de comforts ov upper-middle America could feel justified in begrudgin' those less fortunate, simply because her life wasn't perfectly perfect--an' she suspects de less fortunate might have de one fing that she really wants. Ah fink if de book teaches young girls anyfing, it teaches them what NOT to do, if they want love an' affection from de people around them. Anyway, havin' said that, I'm not yet at de point where I'd recommend de book.

SleePig

Didn't get much sleep last night, so ah fell asleep durin' de service today--throughout de service. Embarrassin'--had to be nudged awake a few times, but still missed most ov it. Barely heard de Benediction, didn't know when collection was takin' place. (Ah was too sleepy to notice how sleepy ah was, before actual sleep kicked in.) I'm a loner in church as much as anyone can be a loner in any church--'loner' just goes against de nature ov fellowship, so maybe ah go against de nature ov fellowship--an' I'm not a part ov de women's ministry. (Have ah ever mentioned that ah have poor social skills, an' am too shy in person to project de confidence that builds a lot ov friendships?) Not bein' a part ov that ministry means I'm on de outside ov it in every practical sense. Anyway, one ov de ministry's lively personalities decided to minister to mi for all ov 2 minutes.
She: What happened today?
Piggy: Ah fell asleep.
She: Oh, you felt ill.
Piggy: Ah fell asleep.
She: The message was so vital--you couldn't just fall asleep; you must've felt ill.
Piggy: Actually, Sister (X), ah fell asleep.
She: Sister (Y) did a very good creative-dance performance. Surely, you didn't miss that, or were you still not well at that point?
Piggy: (Tryin' ta recall de performance--Sister (Y) has a thick, voluptuous figure that had set all de Brothers starin' at her in her leotards an' wispy tutu, as she'd approached de pew to explain de relevance ov her dance to her singles' ministry. Mr. Pig had nudged mi awake when Deacon called up de Sister to do her dance, but I'd fallen asleep again immediately.)
She: (quick embrace) Not to worry, dear. Just feel better soon, okay?
Piggy: (woulda returned embrace, but embrace done a'ready) Okay.
From what ah remember ov de sermon, Reverend was talkin' about de disciples, an' de importance ov wisely choosin' our company. He started off by readin' from Isaiah 3, then from Matthew 10, then somewhere else in de Old Testament, Luke? Then some-fing, an' then some-fing. What can ah say? Choose your company--that's what ah remember--de service went over mi head this week. Hush.

Luv 4 Miss Lou

Bloggers, this is a picture ov Miss Lou. Mi Grandma is still at de top ov mi female luv list, but Miss Lou an' mi English teacher from Wolmer's are two women whom ah also luv an' respect--Barbara Gloudon's prob'ly still another, but that's a whole 'nother Blog. Anyway, ah luv Miss Lou for many reasons. She's always been wise enough to value de culture ov her nation. Some folk never learn how to value their own, so it was a great lesson ah learnt as a child an' even now from Miss Lou. Mi earliest memories involved watchin' de end ov her Ring Ding career, an' it would've been so much nicer to have seen her throughout her Ring Ding TV career, but I'm still grateful that ah saw any ov it--even if it was de very end. She's always celebrated de J'can patois dialect in poetry an' prose, when others sneered at their own dialect in JA--what's even more remarkable is that she excelled an' still excels at it, havin' taken it to de level ov an art-form. She's quite elderly now, an' unfortunately a widow as ov a few years ago. She never got rich from her vast volume ov work, but she didn't do any ov it for de luv ov money, she did it for de luv ov people an' de preservation ov their/her culture, so she deserves to be happy. If she ever reads this Blog, ah want her to know that ah luv her too. I'll post a few ov her poems every now an' then, so we can enjoy her talent on de Blog. Have a nice weekend!

Dinner This Evenin'

This evenin', we went to dinner wif a couple we met at a "Pilgrim's play" that was put on by Children's Workshop--it seemed we had a bit in common. There was such a pleasant camaraderie between us that we exchanged numbers when de play was over. (It was an okay likkle play, some kids forgot their lines--one ov them got stage-fright an' burst into tears an' his mother rushed to de platform, yellin', "Focus, Frankie! Focus!" Didn't know whether to laugh or cry along wif him. De mother wants to turn him inna de next Wesley Snipes, an' de kid prob'ly just wants to be sittin' in de audience eatin' poporn.) Anyway, we've developed some kinda friendship. We went to a few poetry-SLAMs together--turns out de husband luvs poetry as much as De Piggy does--an' de wife an' I've gone to two can-can sales together. They're a bit older than we are, an' de husband's a fan ov vintage reggae, soh when he found out that Mr. Pig used to play-out, he came over to drink some punch-a-creme (shout-outs to Sunshine!) an' listen to some music wif Mr. Pig for de New Year's. They've been married for 8 years, an' have 2 kids. This evenin' we went wif them to one ov mi favourite places, a small fusion restaurant (American, Asian, Italian, unfortunately no Caribbean), where mi favourite waiter works. He's mi fave 'cause he's legitimately gay--maybe homosexual, but no, that's not it--he's got real gaiety, a very upbeat, peppy personality wif a zest for life that just makes yu live a likkle bit harder when he's around. (He luvs mi clothes, an' ah luv his personality, so we get on.) Anyway, we were seated, an' mi fave waiter brought us decaf, biscotti, an' water, while we went over de menu like we weren't goin' to order de same shrimpy chicken & pasta wif garden salad that we always got. There's a tense silence, 'cause de other couple is very tight-lipped tonight. We don't know why, since this dinner date was their idea in de first place. What are they mad about? Mr. Pig an' I exchange confused glances. "What's de matta, people?" Mr. Pig pronounces de Black Uhuru intro like a joke, tryin' to break de ice an' get them to open up. They barely mumble nothing. Mr. Pig looks at me like, "WTF?" Then they decide to get steak--well done--an' tense silence continues, except for oldies playin' quietly. Now there's mi fave waiter singin' "Everlastin' Love" an' breakin' up de uneasy silence, while skillfully servin' us our meal wif his usual flair. De food is great, an' hungry as ever, ah dive in. THEN, they want to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And they want undivided attention. "This is it for our marriage," he announces. "Nobody's fault, but this is it." We look blankly at him. WTF?
"It's over," says de wife. "It done! Totally done."
That's why they suggested we go to dinner together this evenin'? WTF?
Now, there's de way to disturb a good meal. Then Mr. Pig goes into fix-it mode, an' starts suggestin' counselors an' such, but they say they don't want any counselor, "It's just over." Now, this ticks off Mr. Pig. He doesn't believe in people discussin' problems that they don't want to solve. "Since yu don't want no counselor, then don't bother bring it up," he says. "Let's just enjoy our money's worth of a good meal and go home." But no. They want to vent. And vent. Even though de husband said it's nobody's fault, they're suddenly goin' on about who said what an' who did what when where. They get a bit heated, an' distract de couple at de next table. I'm still eatin', swallowin' up de evenin', can't wait to go pick up de Piglet an' reach back home. Fave-waiter rushes over before their squabble gets more noticeable, an' seein' that their steak's been ignored, he coaxes them wif delicious dessert on de dumbwaiter. De woman looks close to tears. She doesn't want any pistachio creme pie. De man's face is set like, "Whatever!" I'm tryin' to be tactful an' not upset her any more than she already is, but not Mr. Pig. "(Waiter), split this down de middle," he says. "An' bring 2 doggy bag, please." Fave waiter relaxes a bit, he knows us--though he doesn't know de other couple--an' he trusts us not to let anyfing escalate. De husband isn't at all pleased wif Mr. Pig's indifference, but bein' indifferent, Mr. Pig don't care. Soon, we're all paid up--fave waiter is tipped even better than usual--an' we're goin' into our car, as they go into theirs--few strained partin' words said, as we leave. "We'll call you guys later," de husband tells us, an' they're drivin' off. We can hardly wait to get home, but instead ov comin' straight home, we stop at de park, sit on a bench lookin' at de frozen stream, an' go over what just happened. "Don't them did look happy?" Mr. Pig asks, an' I'm like, "Yep, but who really knows?" Evidently, they weren't happy--they aren't right now--but they gave a good impression ov happiness. "We can't mek that happen to we," Mr. Pig says, an' de thought ov it is so scary that we snuggle up on de bench for a good 20 minutes just starin' at de pond whose ducks are nowhere to be seen, before wi goh pick up de Piglet, an' drive come home. I'm still like, "WTF?"

AI Rant

Am somewhat disappointed wif American Idol tonight. One ov mi favourites (Ross, de redhead who sang Frank Sinatra songs at de Las Vegas audition) got sent home last night, an' two ov mi other favourites got sent home tonight. De guy had a quirky, spiky-blond look, an' Simon's funny about that kinda fing, so even though de guy was VERY talented ah kinda understood, but Jackie de 16-yr-old wif de mellow voice who seemed like a shoo-in got sent home. Maybe it was because she said she'd re-enter if she got sent home that made them believe it was okay to eliminate her now. I'm not pleased. No, they don't give a hoot. Ah vowed last year that ah don't like American Idol any more, after mi favourite got eliminated early out, an' ah was sure that ah didn't care about de show. Ah kept tellin' people that, but after seein' this season's auditions, it sucked me in again, only to piss mi off. It's not worth de anger, but de show is so unfair. They sent home de redhead 'cause he made de mistake ov scattin' when he should've been beltin' out lyrics at his last audition. That guy wanted it SO badly, an' he would've been good too, so he deserved to get it, but they rejected him--after they'd already chosen Marlea, de girl who rejected THEM! This is what J'can people woulda call "wanty-wanty can't get it, but getty-getty don't want it!" Sux, sux, sux, sux!

Make A Piggy

Kami's good friend, Virgo, posted a "How To Make Me" chart that ah found quite interestin', so ah commented that I'd add such a chart to mi Blog, an' here's Da Piggy's version ov it (only de data, not de columns an' rows, 'cause ah don't know how to do that part):

How to make me:

1 part industrious
1 part (mad-scientist) creative
2 parts nutty an' impulsive (:^)
2 parts loyal an' honest

So, Bloggers, would ya like to say even one ov your own ingredients or how to make a 'you'?

Da Piggy

Hi, Bloggers, here's a fuzzy picture ov Da Piggy. (Yu didn't fink I'd post a clear-as-day picture ov mi-self after cussin' out mi workplace an' callin' be bosses hemorroids, now did yu?) Anyway, yu never know who's readin' or where they hail from, so I'll do like Yammie did, an' say, "If you're readin' this, please write 'I read' in de comments, to let Da Piggy know that yu visited. Have a great day!