So. I have some news.

So. Here’s the thing. I have been going through A Time recently. I think I’m ready to tell you about it now. I wasn’t going to. But then … this website has been part of my life for so long.

Pretty pretty peonies

At the heart of things, I’ve been struggling with this for years. Unfortunately it’s only in the past few months where everything has up and fallen in line, leaving me standing here with my realisation and a big fat “oh.” on my face.

I’m gay. Like… quite gay.

Yea, I know. Believe me, I know. I know. It was a surprise to me too.

I’ve never ever been straight, I knew that, everyone knew that, but I’ve also had Craig since I was 16 so I guess I just never actually got to see which way my heart was headed. He was my best friend, he still is my best friend, and for 13 years that was … almost enough.

Earlier this year I was going through a ‘bad brain’ time and all of a sudden thought “well, maybe I’m gay” and then everything over the past two, maybe three years fell into line and I saw exactly the path that lead me here.

I would give pretty much anything to have realised this at 18, or 22, or 28. But also not. I don’t regret the time I’ve had with Craig. Not even a little bit. I loved him, I still do love him. He has been, and will remain, one of the most important parts of my life. He is one of the absolute best people I know.

But yes, Craig and I are separating.

When I told Craig he held my hand while I talked and held my head when I cried and was the most supportive person you can imagine.

It’s been the strangest few weeks. First there was talking with my counsellor, then there was telling Craig, then our families, our friends. And then after that comes the internet.

My mother’s immediate & panicky response to hearing that I have news was “What‽ I’m not prepared for news!”

But, you know, not one single person, upon hearing ‘the news’, has been anything other than amazing and supportive. To me and to Craig. We have an astounding group of people in my life and I am entirely thankful for all of them.

Craig and I are not rushing anything. He is still one of the most important people in my life and I hate that any of this has hurt him. We are moving forward together as friends and I am always trying to be mindful of and kind to him. And vice versa.

I used to think I was just a deeply unhappy person. It turns out that I was just doing a pretty good job of lying to myself. Being true to who I am has been such a weight off my shoulders.

I’m not lying to myself anymore.



Oh, Twitter

Today I woke to a tweet advising me that it was my Twitter Anniversary. I’ve been using the damned, darling website for six whole years.
Six years and um 40,297 tweets.

It started with a ridiculous little tweet. And it kind of snowballed from there.

Twitter has been with me since before Craig and I moved to London, before all of our exciting travelling, before everything I consider to be when our life as a family actually began.

I’ve had to try, time and time again, to explain what it is that I love about Twitter. What on earth is it any good for? What’s the damn point? It’s difficult to answer because, really, there IS no point. And that’s kind of the point.
It’s quite like shouting into the void. But there are other people in the void shouting with you. Sometimes you pay attention to them and sometimes you don’t.
But the people who draw your attention are fabulous.

What has twitter given me? Nothing. And everything.
I mean, I’ve won art and clothes and cider and tickets, but that’s not it, really.
Excluding the fact that I now have an incredible record of the last six years of my life, I have met the majority of my most favourite people through Twitter. I have brilliant and beautiful friends I wouldn’t have met otherwise. I have stayed in touch with friends on the opposite side of the world.

Really, I can’t fathom my life without it.

(obsessed with stingrays since aaages ago)

I’m all over the place today


Hi there!
You may have noticed one or two (or uh … 25) of my old posts show up in the RSS feed.
See, I found 50 or so posts which are ‘uncategorised’ and I just can’t stand that. It bugs me inordinately. Thank you anal-retentive obsessive-compulsive tendencies*.

I’ve been categorising them. I did not realise they were republishing until i had edited … quite a few.

Unfortunately I … haven’t quite finished. So you might see some more. I’m sorry.

I’ll space them out now that I know its either feast or famine. I hope the old posts don’t bother y’all too much.

xoxo Sarah-Rose

* tendencies. Not disorder. Please do not think I am making light of people with OCD. Wavering along the line myself I know how lucky I am.

My head might explode, I’m so excited.

Dearest The Internet,

I have a fear. I am just the teeniest bit afraid that my head might explode (boom) because … well … everything is going right. For a change. My poor cynical cranium, It is unused to the pressure of such things.

Oh. Now that I think about it. this seems all terribly depressing. I did not intend it to be so! I simply mean that I’m unused to so MANY things going right ALL AT THE SAME TIME.



I am SO excited.

On top of all of this my social calendar is just bursting at the seams.

These next few weeks are a flurry of packing and moving and work functions and passport applications and birthday parties and oh just everything.

I don’t know how I will handle it. But I’ll try.

xoxo, Sarah-Rose

Town Mouse

Dear Internet,

Please forgive me, for I am about to rant.

Last night I went to the World of Wearable Arts dress rehearsal.

Nosebleed-y at WoW

It was horrible. I do not know why I thought I would like it – I do not like interpretive dance, I don’t find the wearable art particularly moving*, and I never watch the televised version because it bores me. But I went. It was horrible.

I suppose, the one good thing that came out of last night is that now, when I am told – in a smarmy tone, ALWAYS the smarmy tone – that I really MUST go because it’s just TOO TOO fabulous and how it’s SUCH A SHAME that I live in Wellington and DON’T GO to WoW I can tell them that I did go. And it was horrible.

Besides the general boredom, the insufferable child & animal performers, the men-dressed-as-women-equals-hilarious shtick, and the women in the audience hooting everytime a man wore tights, there was one straw which broke the proverbial camel’s back.

Fred fucking Dagg.

I am sick and tired of being made to feel like I am not a “real” New Zealander because I do not like the countryside.

Because I do not own or like mud-caked gumboots and a wife beater. Because, more often than not, I find pavlova cloying and overly sweet. Because I do not like paua shell. Because I do not know Ten Guitars.

Because my idea of a future life for my family does not involve a paddock. The quarter acre dream is not mine. I do not secretly want to retire to the country and do hard yakka. I enjoy that I am not entirely sure to what the “number eight” in “number eight wire” refers, though I presume it is the gauge. I do not want a bach with a corrugated iron shed and worn sheets on the splinter-y bedframes.

I like the city. I prefer the city.

I like the background hum of traffic, I like the smell of rain on a hot pavement, I like that there are cafés and bars and restaurants and stores all within walking distance, I like people-watching. I like wearing inappropriate shoes and never wearing trackpants. I loathe enclosed shopping malls and homogenised suburbs. Give me urban, give me grime, give me culture.

I admit, I can admire verdure, and clean air, and stars. I like that the countryside is there, over the hills, a drive and a bit away. That’s fine. It’s nice that it’s there if I feel like a change.

But I am a town mouse. I always will be. I am sick of being told I am not a real New Zealander because of it.

sincerely, Sarah-Rose

* and I LIKE modern art. I just like pieces which make me feel something other than “huh” or “meh”.

My Photos: Found

I’ve said before and I’ll say it again: I just adore Flickr*.
In their adorable little Stats section of my account I get to see how people end up at my photos. More often than not it’s because strangers are searching for tattoo photos – I should know, I did the same. So I tend to help those people out by tagging my photos in a helpful manner**. Less often they are searching for Leather Skirts or Scarves. For a while there were people searching for Self Injury. Which I do NOT approve of but I do tend to take self-portraits of my injuries so what can I do? I think I changed the injury tag to accident. Because they all were. Accidental I mean.

I’m getting off point.

I noticed that there was one referee which was “all cctv information’. Huh? that piqued my interest. Turns out? A photo of a vintage fire alarm site has been used on a Malaysian site about CCTV.
With credit. Which is fine!


Fire Alarm

Oh internet, you amuse me so!

* this post is not sponsored. Sadly.
** incidentally? I ran a little tag experiment last week when I posted the photos of my side tattoo by tagging them with “underwear” etc. SPIKE!. Hah. Oh internet, you are predictable.

Hi there February!!

February Already!?!

Well hi there February!

You are a surprise. I know you’re always there on the heels of January but this year your arrival has felt swift. So swift. It could be because most of January passed in a sea of sand and sun and kisses. But probably more likely because I just wasn’t paying much attention. Because of the sand and sun and, most of all, because of the kisses.

I’m looking forward to you this year, February. I am deep in rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing, and both Craig and I are approaching life with a get-out-and-do-things attitude. With the cycling and the running and the little trips around the place. And! you hold in your midst Valentines Day. On a MONDAY of all days. But I forgive you for that. Next year it falls on a Tuesday (my least favourite of the days) and we may have to have words about that. But for 2011 I forgive you. I like Valentines Day. I must remember to remind Craig of this fact. He often forgets.

The only complaint is that I have one day free between now and 6 March. I know you are responsible for nothing after the 28th but! It’s only day 1 of February and I have the next 28 days spread out ahead of me and they are ALL full. With work and oh so many rehearsals* and drink dates with friends and at least one play. So it’s not like they’re filled with hardship but … I am tired thinking about it all.

This year people seem to be fasting for you, February. I don’t see why. Perhaps for the alliteration. But I neither want nor really need to fast. I am not gluttonous. However I do plan to begin my post-Hawaii stop-spending regime. Perhaps my February Fast could be from my Credit Card? It is getting a little ridiculous, no not the bill just my ability to rattle off all 16 numbers from memory (23 if you count the expiry date and security code) so perhaps I will get a new card and hide it away. I managed it well in the months leading up to Hawaii and my purchase of Vlad the iPad. But I have fallen a little since then. Oops.

But hey, this is just a little letter. It is not a binding contract. I am simply telling you that, in your honour, I am going to try harder. I will probably fail but then, crucially, I will try again and hopefully fail better.

Most sincerely,

Another letter to The Internet

Dear The Internet,

Can you believe it’s February already?
I can’t. Truly, I can’t. It just baffles me.
I think the reason that I’m having such trouble coming to terms with month 2/12 is that it hasn’t really felt like January down this end of the world. We in the Southern Hemisphere are supposed to have some semblance of a summer – admittedly a more temperate version than most other places in the WORLD – and yet Wellington has not had 2 weekend days of sun in a row since November and that feels like an eternity ago. And it is now officially completely unacceptable. If it goes on much longer … well, I’ll just pout. But I will WISH I could do something about it.

In other not-so-interesting news, dearest, darling, The Internet, I have become obsessed with an iPhone Application called Sleep Cycle. For $1.29 and a little bit of panic regarding crushing the phone in my sleep (NOT YET!) it tracks my sleeping patterns and … well, it tracks when I am sleeping deeply, dreaming, or sleeping very lightly. And then it wakes me when I’m pretty much awake already.
Oh and it’s not arbitrary. You set what time you need to be awake – in my case, on exercise days, that is 4:30am (YES, I KNOW that’s early.) – and it chooses the best time in the preceding half hour to set the alarm off. Like yesterday! it woke me at 4:09am BUT! I did not feel drowsy at all. It’s like magic!
Boring boring magic.

Sleep Cycle.

Ahh, I do not care that it was 21 minutes earlier than necessary. Anything that makes waking up at 4:30(ish)am easier is oh, just fine by me.

Yours in geekery,

p.s. February is my favourite month of the year. The weather is (or HAD BETTER BE) better than in January, I like St Valentine’s Day* which is precisely one month after our wedding anniversary, and I simply enjoy the number 2.

* The roots of St. Valentine’s Day can be traced back to the Roman fertility festival of Lupercalia. On Lupercalia, a young man would draw the name of a young woman in a lottery and would then keep the woman as a sexual companion for the year!

Dearest, Oh Darling, The Internet

I don’t know how and I don’t know why* but I’m involved in yet another to-do, hullabaloo, revue, production with the Butterfly Creek Theatre Troupe. And our rehearsals are on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Sundays (oh my).

Forgive me, dear Internet, for it seems that in order to keep my head above the metaphorical waters, to distract myself from the reality that I don’t live in London, that I haven’t for a year, & shan’t for oh lord, maybe another year, in order to survive in suburbia, I have heaped the plate of my life right to the edges.
I have rehearsal 2-3 days a week, exercise as often as humanly possible, a yen to trip away up the coast, a week of house sitting, a 7:30-5 job (Dolly Who?), friends, a husband, photography projects, tv-obsessions, a trip to Japan to plan, a storage unit to unpack, a house to furnish on a severe budget**, a pile of books-to-read as tall as my knees, tattoos to plan*** and and and and and and and!

Please ignore that keening sound. It will pass soon.

My cup (plate! damn mixed metaphors) overfloweth. But! I hope (I HOPE) that productivity breeds productivity and that this darling site doesn’t fall by the wayside.



* that’s a lie. I do it because I love it. It’s like crack to me.
** Craig-o-potamus and I are moving. In November. Details to follow when they become interesting.
*** Kidding Mum!

Excuses, excuses …

Dear The Internet,
I have spent all of today learning about CPR, AVPU, DRSABCDE, and another acronym I cannot remember*, and spent this evening regaling my family with helpful facts about the colour & viscosity of intra-cranial fluid, how to deal with a partial amputation, & how much blood is lost as a result of total amputation**. They love me!
As a result?I forgot about this darling little site until just now. Please accept this photo of stingrays & their adorable stingray faces with my sincere apologies.
xoxo Sarah-Rose

* Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation. Alert, responds to Voice, responds to Pain, Unresponsive. Danger, Response, Send for help, Airway, Breathing, Circulation, Disruption, Exposure/Environment.
** Straw coloured & like cooking oil. Move back into position, apply pressure & a moist dressing. Only about 2 tablespoons!