No, -t, though I've been tempted. The first piece that broke was the sugar bowl lid (my sugar bowl and creamer are shaped exactly like Cindy's pattern! Just with the seafoam green lace rather than the roses. Royal Albert is also a Doulton subsidiary), which my helpful 2-year-old tried to pick up by the itty-bitty knob on top. It slipped through his little fingers and crashed on the terrazzo kitchen floor. Puir wee mite, he was devastated. I had to comfort him. He has always loved pretty dishes. When he was eight he had a meltdown in the store because DH and I didn't pick his choice for casual dishes. And when he moved out on his own he bought black matte angular moderne pieces for himself. But anyway. Shortly after we lost the sugar bowl lid, one of the coffee cups cracked when we poured coffee in. Turns out there was a tiny, unnoticed void in the side of the cup. We contacted the company, they replaced the pieces with no charge. The rest of the set has seen moderate wear, and is still holding up quite well. There's been no other breakage.

These are my everyday dishes: [link]

Love those beathen.

Mine are these. Wedding gift. I have some of my grandmother's china and am glad to have it but I don't like the pattern enough to use it every day.

This was the dinnerware that I had loved from the first moment I saw it so when there was a chance to get it? I bounced and squeed and clapped my hands.

eta: the right html for linkage.

Ooohhhh...pretty dishes. I love pretty dishes.

My china is this: [link]

I asked for place settings a few years ago for Christmas. My sister thought I was very strange for being single and asking for china. That's something you're supposed to get as wedding presents! Whatever. She asked me, "Well, what if you get married and your husband doesn't like what you've picked out."

My response? Then I'll just get a second set of china.

Just because I'm single doesn't mean I shouldn't have pretty dishes. And, I eat off my china just about every day.

Our dishes are either boring(white)Although Ted from QE swears by the white dish...which made me happy in a dumb way, or mismatched with silly pictures.

I really haven't looked into getting fancy china yet, but looking is fun. I found my everyday dishes at a Corelle outlet store: 8 large plates, 4 small plates, 4 bowls, 4 saucers & 4 coffee cups for $35.

I am amongst the china-free. Which suits me fine; I barely have space for one set of dishes in my cupboards, let alone two.

Oooh, pretty dishes.

My algebra grade was supposed to be reported by this afternoon. I know that one of the people deciding it has already left the office by now. I still have no grade. This is making me very cranky.

However, I do have a new haircut picture to share. It's not a great shot -- I took it with my camera phone, by holding the phone out at arms length, and at that close a distance, the lens gave a slight fisheye effect. But it's the best out of about 10 that I took.

Hil, that's a cute cut, bad shot or not.

12/18/04 (The encounter!)

12/23/04 (The village!)

12/26/04 (The shopping!)

12/28/04 (The transportation!)

1/1/05 (The India!)

1/1/05 (The wedding!)

1/4/05 (The India, Part Deux!)

1/7/05 (The India, Part Tres!)

1/10/05

I should have known it wouldn't go well. When I came home, my dad forced me to cut my hair (immediately, I had planned to get it cut in India anyway). In India, my mom saw a couple holes or some worn edges in my T-shirts and deemed them worthy of being thrown away. These were people who criticized every aspect of my being. I wanted to tell them, "It's taken me many years to become happy with who I am, and I don't need your fucking shit anymore, goddammit."

My mom would tell someone I was getting a Ph.D. and was going to make medicine, and I would weakly interject, "Well, not really," and she would wave me away. Keep it simple.

I broke the news on Christmas, my mom's birthday. I figured my mom would be in a good mood, and I wanted to ruin it, in the spirit of giving. On the way back from Navsari, I led with my carefully prepared statement, "I'm going to finish grad school three years early."

Ph.D.? my mom asked. Master's, I replied. And her face went to bewildered.

She asked me what happened, what changed, and I told her I didn't want nor need a Ph.D. for what I wanted to do. Which was to be a science writer. Saying it now, they sounded like the two stupidest words ever put together in conjunction with each other. Science writer? What the fuck kind of job was that? Was that like being a clown?

I was off balance now. I had dropped my script. She was taking a lot of time between lines, missing her cues.

I tried to explain what a science writer did, and she asked me how I was going to make a living. She might as well have slapped me in the face. Here my dad finally said something, that there was no need to get into that right now.

My mom said she'd been telling everyone I was getting a Ph.D. I said that's why I wanted to tell her, cause she was, you know, wrong. She couldn't understand why I couldn't just get a Ph.D. and then do this science writing business. I snapped, "Are you the one getting a Ph.D.? It's not some little thing." My dad just kept saying this wasn' t the time to discuss this.

"I'm glad you're being so supportive," I said. What the hell had I expected them to say, anyway? "You're just getting a Master's? Great! Thanks for disappointing us, failing to live up to your potential, and making us look like fools with a loser son who can't even finish a Ph.D.!"

"It's not that," my mom said. "It's like you just dropped a bomb in my lap." She was silent for more seconds, angry. "It's like you dropped a bomb."

This wasn't the time, said my dad, and a minute of uncomfortable silence later, the conversation changed and It was not spoken of again.

At home, I was in A Mood. The one where I don't talk and exclude myself from all human interaction. I leaned against the wall, sullenly. My dad told me to sit down. Don't you tell me what to fucking do. I sat down, sullenly. I steamed. It will be okay, he said. I read The Stand and unexpectedly cried a little.

I did not want to eat. I was not hungry. My dad told me to eat. As soon as I stood up, the floodgates broke and I tried my best to hold back the tears. I ate, crying sullenly.

I retreated (continued...)