I just kinda disappeared there for a minute. We've been alternating packing with short trips to different rivers to break up the monotony and depression that accompanies packing/moving, blah, blah, blah. It's been fun and highly stressful and altogether unbloggable.
Hope you all are enjoying your summer. I know I am.
Is it just me or is acclimating to the metric system a long and sometimes agonizing process? I try to feel what the number represents, but it is somehow less. I've finally begun to understand that 25 deca (local speak for ordering meats and cheeses) is 250 grams and that, in turn, is one cup, but do you know how bena* I look trying to process all that in an instant. I'm sure by now the counter girls think, "Oh great, here comes the slow american." Also, they measure liquids in decis, or deciliters, so I've got no idea on that front, excepting a half liter which is two cups approximate. I usually just order the median amount and go from there.
Completely unrelated to weights and measurements, but nonetheless related: when ordering ice in this country you actually need to specify the number of pieces of ice you would like in your glass, and you still may only get 3. Just fyi.
Lord have mercy, a huge ass bug just crawled across my chest and I damn near dropped my laptop. Weird, those bugs. Makes me want to watch Naked Lunch or read The Metamorphosis. heh.
immedialtely updated to add: whoops! *bena = dummy
Lord have mercy, it was a hundred and four (104F= 40C) today with, WITH!, humidity and I am just about crawling outta my skin. In all the time Hungary has measured heat, it has never reached a huner'four dontcha know, like my g-pa would say!
And I promise, I'm going to actively seek out a camera with which to display my pretty-pretties. Starting tomorrow. When it will only be 100. heh. I've been stewing over a sweater the last few weeks, and finally cast on yesterday and it is knit in the funkiest olive green/goldy-brown yarn. It's promising to drive me to drink (more) when I try to photograph its chameleon ways.
Do ya'll have a preferred packing method? Cause I do, and it is drastically different than Zoli's. I believe I called him a control freak the third time he questioned my pile of clothing I am currently not using. I do not wear makeup and have essentially no bathroom products which are not both of ours, leave my clothes the hell alone. I already have to leave behind my insanely expensive beloved cookware and tupperware (the MIL is a sales rep for both. yay free stuff!) So I feel justified in packing up a dress I've never even worn. Just because. Ya know? Julia spent most of the day in the bathtub, cooling off but also "cleaned" her room for hours.
"Is it okay if I play with my toys first and clean after?"
But, of course my dear.
I'm somewhat in the middle of an ethical debate with myself. You heard me right, I am debating myself. The topic? My daughter's friend Tünde (tewn-deh, ya gotta pucker your lips to say this name). Her homelife is a mess and I am a bleeding heart. I want to try and save her except that not really, because she is a bad influence on Julia.
To date: 1) she has told Julia that she shouldn't pay attention to what her anya (mom) says, 2) they hid from me and disappeared we found them 10 minutes later on the 10th story of a nearby apartment building. (By we I do not mean her mother and I, her mother doesn't come to the park with her she just sends her down with a bottle of water.) 3) When Tünde came over to play they asked if they could play outside, Zoli explained the boundaries and of course, they took off again. 4) Yesterday at the park I asked Julia if she wanted to stay there or come with me to unlock the door (I accidentally locked Zoli inside the apartment and took both sets of keys!), she preferred to stay, I then asked one of the mothers if she wouldn't mind watching her. These are all kids from her K class and I'm comfortable with the moms. As soon as I left she whispered to Jules and they took off running, I later found them in front of our building and I was seething.
There's not a lot on this girl's side I mean, I know my child is not blameless: she apologized to the other ladies and is on büntetés (punishment) no chocolate/candy/ice cream for one week. But there's the side of my that wants to help this girl. It's not her fault her mother spends no time with her, she spends the whole day at kindergarten and the moment they get home her mom sends her to the playground until it gets dark. And the other adults at the park won't allow their kids to play with her because well, you get the picture. I don't subscribe to their style of parenting and I don't want Julia to think less of her, but I also don't really want Julia pulling this disappearing crap and general disobedience...
So here's where I ask y'all for your thoughts. Do I forbid Julia to associate with her like the other moms? Do I allow them to play together but watch them like a hawk? Do I stand a chance at helping this wayward child?
I'm sitting here in a corner, ignoring the fact that we're leaving in 7 weeks. Why, you ask? Haven't we all been in a suspended state with fingers crossed for nigh on 6 months? Shouldn't I be supremely excited to leave and reenter society? I should. And part of me is, but the other half kinda wants to stay and be Carefree, Weird Foreigner (CWF, for short) forever. Despite this country trying to suck my husband's soul dry, part of me is sad to be leaving.
I probably freaked out my mom with so little enthusiasm; she's completely giddy and planning and I'm all, meh. It's as though I feel guilty either way. Or possibly I only want to stay because I don't have to. I don't know. But planning has done me no good, so I'm definitely not doing that. Just gonna fly by the seat of my pants.
I've also gotta figure out What To Take, What To Leave, and What To Give Away. I took some of Julia's clothes that she refuses to wear, i.e. skirts, flowers, pink, green to the park to give to a tiny 7 year old who appreciates the finer, sparkly, girly things in life and also a pair of blue snowboots for her little brother. He kept asking me whose they were, I kept saying they were now his, he couldn't believe it and asked his mom if it was true. And then proceeded to wear the boots (but not ugg, maybe snowbear, or bearshoe, i dunno) in 90 degree weather. It was love!
Also, I never know how to feel about giving jules' clothes away because while I know it helps, especially here in the land of no money and tiny apartments, I don't want to be the weird American who gives expensive (but thrift store so not) clothes away to near strangers while refusing to give her child coke. Oh, the humanity.
Although, I guess I'm already the weird American what with all the non-worrying I do at the playground. I know some of you have heard my rant before, but that won't stop me. hehe. What is the point of a slide? Is it not the 3 seconds of, try to get this, sliding, the free falling sensation? Because here they are totally missing it by holding their damn 2 year olds while simulating the sensation! I understand that nobody wants to see their child get hurt, but holy hell is their joy in the little things worth less? I'll never get. That and all the parents sitting on a bench screaming at children, "Nem szabad!" (Not allowed) and "Le ne es!" (Don't fall!) And finally, the parent who yells not to hit and then slaps the boy because obviously hitting your child is the best way to teach them not to hit. But I digress.
A randomly odd question I am often asked: Which is easier to learn: German or English? As if I knew how hard it is for a non-speaker to learn German, or English for that matter. I try to explain that I don't know as English is my first language and also, I don't speak German. Or I'll ask them which is harder Magyar (Hungarian) or Japanese? Do you know what they say?
THEY ALWAYS SAY MAGYAR!
How do they know?
meg van = got it
Zoli has returned from the embassy a happy man! In what can oly be explained as sheer luck, the adjudicator took pity on his case and granted him a visa! We are completely numb; we've been back and forth so often on this journey that the reality is not sinking in very quickly. This is turning out to be a very good birthday for him indeed!
Wow. So hyperspeed planning and evacuating is going in full effect. Anyone in Hungary need a bunch of books? Electronics? Let me know.
Thanks all for crossing the fingers, I'm positive it helped.
All I need now is a camera and my life could just be considered perfect.
alright. fingers and toes crossed people for tomorrow's the day we find out whether the visa has been approved or not.
will be drowning nerves in a rich red tonight.
Being a Cali-kid I never really experienced thunderstorms and lightning. Nor for that matter did I ever really experience rain out of season, which in California is late fall - winter; it just does not rain in warm weather, what with being a desert and all.
Which is how I found myself sitting on the balcony last night at 11pm watching the most amazing lightning/thunder combo ever. Even when hail the size of gobstoppers began pelting my forearms and head, I could not quit the storm. It is simply amazing to my virgin eyes; I realized I would be able to withstand the disgusting humidity if the lightning is this spectacular.
I may, however, not be able to withstand the serious emotional roller coaster everyone seems signed on for when the humidity reaches its peak: everyone, in my extended family at least, gets all snappy and short the hotter and wetter it gets. Something done in an act of kindness is twisted and thrown in your face or you're schooled like a child for arbitrary allowances.
Or both.
It started on Friday, I guess, when Zoli and I purchased a present for Julia. We thought nothing of it, I mean GAWD, the kid has to wait eternities for things because we're never sure which country we'll be in and whether we should buy something here or there. Apparently, the MIL thought it an extreme waste of money and rather than tell this to Zoli, she waited until we were alone together to throw it in my face the fact that we have "so much money to waste." Her words, translated of course, not mine. Yes, we have money. We worked really hard: first at saving the damn stuff by not buying anything save essentials, and secondly at making it last. Again, by only buying essentials.*
But I digress.
Add to the fact that I cannot really respond besides shrugging my shoulders and harrumphing. Add to that his aunt and sister telling me that I'm not teaching my daughter how to write properly because she writes her /s/ and /j/, /4/ and /5/ backwards. I tried to reason that at 5 it doesn't matter that her letters are often confused, the important thing is that is resembles the character it is meant to denote. But they weren't buying it, they began to argue with me over how stupid my kid would turn out if I didn't stop and tell her she's "doing it wrong."
Ah, yes so wisdomous I could cry. I did.
*I read somewhere that the average couple (average salary, average expenses, minimal debt) is able to save around 11,000 dollars a year. We saved close to thirty. That is some hard shit to do, let me tell you.
Julia's still sick. She suffers from a terrible case of gastroenteritis and yesterday morning her pediatrician said that if she couldn't drink 500ml of electrolyte water by 10 am, she would have to go to the hospital for hydration therapy. She couldn't and so off we went. We arrived at the hospital with a languishing 5 year old and the children's ward doctor said, "If she doesn't get a temporary Hungarian social number, he would charge us 300,000 forints (~$1,600.) for a liter of fluid and a bed for the day. He told us to go to the social security office and request an emergency number, so we went.
The office was busy and we waited patiently for an available window. When they finally helped us, we were told there is no such temporary card, but if we paid a half year up front (140,000 Ft. or $700) she would be issued a card, but just one moment while they call the director to speak with us. Zoli drives home to get the cash to pay the fee and we stay. The director comes out, starts speaking to me, asking for her passport. I hand it over and then she asks me what nationality she is, although in her hand is not only a passport, but 3 Hungarian documents all of which read "amerikai." She wants to know whether I have a job and then why I don't have a job. We fill out the paperwork and Zoli returns. Julia is half passed out on my lap, moaning the entire time. When we're about to pay, when the director, as an aside mentions that the benefits won't go into effect until June 1st. We ask about today: it's an emergency, we say, she has an admittance form stating that she needs hydration therapy. Sorry, the director says and turns to speak with the guard.
We flee. Zoli tries to call the pediatrician, then the pharmacy (which his wife owns) when he doesn't pick up; he explains the situation and asks if it is in fact an emergency because while we can technically pay the outrageous hospital fee, we would rather call the private hospital if we have time. Our tale pisses off the doctor to no end. He says that while it is strongly recommended, Julia can wait and he will see what he can do. In the meantime, just make her drink as much of anything as humanly possible.
An hour later he calls back; not only has he called the hospital director and had words, but he called the Health Ministry and filed a complaint. (Apparently you can legally deny healthcare to a adult foreigner, but NOT A CHILD.) He said that he would place the iv himself in our home and that he would be by that evening with his son (who is also a doctor).
They placed the iv*, gave us instructions, and told us to take turns sleeping while the other sat up making sure she didn't accidentally tear it out nor that the bag emptied. It was a long night. She's a completely different person today: still sick but she no longer appears to be knocking on death's door.
The funny (sad not haha) thing is that Zoli's sister is a director for the retirement branch of social security and after hearing our tale said that there while there is no such thing as a temporary card, there absolutely IS emergency activation. She was going to call this morning and have words with the director. Can't wait to hear that story.
(*OMG! can that kid scream when confronted with a needle!)
Yesterday, for the first time in years, I suffered from a migraine so intense I felt as though I was drowning in my own pain. It scared the shit out of me and I believe I had an anxiety attack on top of it. it reminded me of a side effect of the imitrex shots I used to give myself: my chest felt as though someone was standing on it with my head in a vise-grip. Breathing shallowly, head swimming, vision auras aplenty, and not a damn pharmacy open within walking distance. Luckily my SIL had extra strength advil and so I downed 2, knowing nothing less would suffice.
Later that evening a thunder storm broke and released not only its own tensions, but mine as well. I fell asleep sometime after midnight only to be awakened by the sounds of my daughter puking her guts out next to my bed at 2am. I cleaned her up, got her back in bed, found a bucket then cleaned up the floor. I returned to bed but didn't fall asleep until 3:15. At 3:30 we repeated the cycle, only this time she found the bucket and just needed solace. I returned to bed. At 4:15, 5:30, 6:45 and 7:10 like a broken record playing a heaving tune over and over and over again, I pulled myself out of bed and into her room to hold her hair and wipe her face while soothing her distress. We called the doctor around 10 (he makes home visits) who rushed over (on a Sunday!) to assess her. Not good. He gave her an antiemetic to stop the vomiting because she was rapidly becoming dehydrated. He's coming back this evening to check on her to make sure she doesn't need to go to the hospital for an iv (cross your fingers). I'm on pins and needles, not having been so sleep-deprived in five years, and am feeling a bit of a basket case. This is not the best holiday ever.
We're on fire over here with the illnesses.
Happy Mother's Day to all you moms: may your day NOT include cleaning up vomit from the floor, bedclothes, toile
t, bucket, or child.
Although, spending the day in bed with your kid is underrated. We're on a movie marathon. Included are her lion and her tigger as well as every "meaningful" blankie or stuffed animal.
Have a happy day!
updated: Haha, I soooo have no clue. Apparently it's only Mother's Day here... Well, I might be an idiot but at least I get a do over, eh?
haha, Of course this is ME we're talking about, so no. We're not leaving anytime soon. Which is totally ok (I love doing Nothing more than most people). My dad asked, "Why not move to Canada?" Um, Why move to Canada was my response. By which I mean no offense to any Canucks who may be reading, it just seems weird that because our first choice is denied (California) that we would be all, "Canada, eh? Yeah. Let's move there." Why wouldn't we just stay where we are?
Dads. Silly.
So, what happened was our lawyer in the States told us something and we planned around her being right. She wasn't. Shit happens and maybe we're supposed to be here hanging out with his family, maybe something extraordinary will come as a result, who knows. Zoli's going to talk to the consulate today, he's not sure why, I mean, they already told him not to bother applying but then told him to come discuss it. Why?
In crafty news, I have really gotten into doing The Crafts. Mayhap there's a group for it CraftAnon? I decided that I really needed to knit a rug out of bedsheets and so I ran off to the Turkáló (thrift store) where they sell used items by weight. I bought a couple of sheets, ran home, and begin the ardous task of cutting the sheet into one continuous strip. But duh! I have no needles so large as to be able to actually knit this, but I did have wooden spoons with long handles. I now have callouses and blisters from that project. And zero pictures.
But I do have a point. So, obviously I'm not going to repeat the sheet thing, so I got to thinking. And what I thought up was this:
Pj's.
Out of a sheet.
I decided on a whim to make this traditional Hungarian treat aptly named Női szeszély or Lady's Whim, if you will. It is similar to making some types of Bars, in that the crust is pressed into the pan; it calls for yeast and a half hour rest to help it attain that flaky perfection instead of the dense bars of my childhood, and topped with a vanilla meringue it is transformed into something fancy and angelic.
(Just an idea, use your favorite jam, for us that's raspberry but apricot, strawberry, whatever your little heart desires. Oh, and don't scrimp!)
Női szeszély - Lady's Whim
Hozzávalók: Ingredients:
50 dkg liszt - 500g flour (2c.)
25 dkg vaj - 250g butter (1c.[cold cut in chunks])
2 t.sárgája - 2 egg yolks
6 t.fehérje - 6 egg whites
15 dkg cukor - 150g sugar (3/4c.)
2 dkg élesztő - 11g yeast (2tsp)
1/2 dl tej - 50ml milk (~1/4c.)
kb. 15 dkg málnaíz - about 150 g raspberry jam (3/4c.)
20 dkg vaníliás porcukor - 200g confectioners' sugar (approx. 1c.)
5 dkg mandula
1/2 tsp vanilla
Elkészítés: Instrusctions:
Preheat oven to 350 (175c). Add yeast to milk, let sit 5 minutes. In a medium bowl sift together flour with butter chunks and mix until combined. Add egg yolks, sugar and yeasted milk, mix well. Lest rest 20-30 minutes.
(stiff peaks=good whereas hard peaks=bad.)
necessary.
It has been roughly 8 years since my last eye appointment. Which wasn't a big deal as the scrip was quite possibly the weakest available (pity glasses: he knew how badly I wanted glasses)(I am such a Loser) until the last six months or so, in which time I've had more migraines than ever. But when my eye started to twitch non-stop for 3 months, I knew I had to do something. That was the deal maker: an eye twitch is hardly bearable once in awhile, but 20 hours of the day for 90 days. GAH!
I stopped by the szemvizsgálo (lit.= eye exam) to check the price of everything and the néni's willingness to deal with my foreignness. She sat me down in front of this fancy computer, turned it on and BAM!, it spit out the answer. It was amazing. No questions to answer, whatsoever. No, better 1, better 2; better 3, better 4, which is how my eye doctor tests the lenses
(The top picture is basically what the computer looks like, but less 80's cheese, more 21st century chic. Does your optometrist use this funky computer? Or the old fashion big ass mechanical lens dealio?)
So, obviously I was less sweaty once I realized that I had to say NOTHING! There is nothing I can say to a machine as it needs no crazy lady input for it measures each eye with a little out of focus-in focus-out of focus dance and: presto chango! I can finally see!
I picked them up yesterday; this was the least rectangular frame available that also did not double as crazy euro-trashy eyewear. And they have the slightest hint of 50's oomph that made me pay ever so slightly more for the gift of sight.
Onto the world of knitting!
I've started a hooded cardigan for Zoli, he requested all stockinette stitch. But for the love of jesus! how boring is that. Using my womanly wiles, I suggested cables, although I think I called it a LOTR / elvish braid. (hehe, I knew full well that he would dig it if it sounded LOTR-cool) Pictured below is the first repeat of the saxon braid, but vertical. I think it will be purty.
This is Miss Dashwood in multi pink, no bobbles (still can't turn my work) she's headed for Texas to protect the head of one very adorable new baby... Definitely a fun, easy (without bobbles) 1-day knit.
So, How've you been?
While my spoken Hungarian is understandable at best, my comprehension is stronger than ever. This past weekend we were invited out to a nearby village where Zoli's fishing buddy lives. I was nervous as I knew the boys planned on fishing for at least 4 hours on Sunday and that is a whole lotta me and the magyar wife. Although there were many missed details, I somehow managed to keep my half of the conversation relevant.
It was also refreshing to get out of the damn apartment and go somewhere already. There was no plan: just food, drinks, and hanging out. I think it went well (besides having Julia in our bed snoring because she suddenly became very afraid of the dark). Even Julia was excited and had fun: they have a ten year old girl and a two year old son. And while the baby definitely stole some of her thunder, the girl helped by doting on her every wish. Julia's only remark about the baby boy was this, "Mommy, I think I would like a baby sister now. Not a brudder."
The baby's an early riser and so much sleep was lost, so much so that it took AN ENTIRE HOUR to wake Julia up this morning to go to school.
Now that's a good weekend.
(I boarded the train to Kecskemet without reading material; this is the result of a conversation with an old woman and a winter view.)
the train station
Life's pain
spilled upon the station platform
desperate and disparate
Beseeching any to feel
to share
Life's pain
so familiar, uncomfortable
to bear
necessary to live
silently pleads for death
Life's pain.
natural resources
Stark, barren, impoverished
beauty.
who has wasted you
and left you for dead?
here you sit defending
the old ways
unaware
your fields unyielding
your horizons ever
shrinking
royalty begging their
survival
sealing their fate.
While the holiday season ended up being easier and less stressful than I anticipated, it was lonely still. It's a hard concept for me to wrap my mind around, this, this homesickness, when I've spent the last 12 years running as far away as humanly possible. I had to see the world and not get stuck there. Until Julia came along, I only went home when I had to. And now, because I physically can't be anywhere near them, I long to be there.
It did not help that I've only met one person who has become a friend here (Hi! Monika).
It does not help that my life is in transition, always coming and going, back and forth. This is life as an international family: time here, time there, but when is it time for us? (Not that I would change it, it's just harder)
So, I've avoided this place for awhile now because I'm not sure who I should be here. Which mask should I don as I've felt so incredibly raw and vulnerable and unable to commit to virtual paper, my innermost fears. I called it "vacation" but really I was just afraid to tell you all what's going on inside here: I'm blue. That winter and darkness are conspiring against me. That I rarely leave my apartment. That I'm afraid I'm not a good mother. But then I read your pages and realize that I am just me, so similar to the me we all inhabit. Similar fears stain our hands, similar joys wash them clean.
During this journey (although it feels more like standing still than moving) I've made some amazing connections through this platform; I never imagined how supportive and friendly you would be. Or how excited I could get to be given the privilege of sharing in your lives. When I'm blue and can't find the words to describe my pain, I hang out with you guys, reading through your archives, remembering I'm not alone.
Mwahahahaha. Thank you all so much for the vote of confidence. I don't know what to say, except that, I, um, I meant the built in email-address-rememberer-thingy that comes with the email account. I don't actually have a tangible address book. Well, I do but it only has my mom's address in it and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to forget that one, you know, since I grew up there and all. But really, omg, I felt so organized there for a second.
So Hanukkah has begun, Christmas is a week away, yesterday we slaughtered a pig. Ahh, the holidays. The butchering barely involved myself, I was more the dishwasher and courier. The whole DIY pork thing is a pretty cool process and really hardly anything gets wasted (except the workers, they're wasted by 9 am). Bonus points for drinking while handling sharp objects, yike! All in all it was less icky than I thought, I was less squeamish, and no one lost a finger.
(that's me pimping the ruffled scarf)
A week ago the MIL asked who wanted to host Christmas as she said she didn't. We said, "Sure! We'll do it." I was so excited to plan an american Christmas dinner because well, carp soup with a kilo of oil and paprika is NOT my idea of food let alone Christmas. I ran to the butcher chop to reserve my turkey, dug out my recipes for killer stuffing and mile-high cranberry apple pie, and then, tragically, was informed that the MIL IS, in fact, hosting the holiday. Apparently, she just wanted to be begged to do it. WTF!
Woohoo, carp soup and overcooked breaded meat.
I'm homesick. I want my mommy.
Wow. Until today I've felt as though I had taken a break from thinking, a hiatus of the cerebral sort. I got that damn sinus infection (turned brutal head cold with a horse cough finale) and it was all I could do to remember my name.
Last night my husband started feeling woozy, and throwing all germy caution to the wind we decided to have sick sex. Normally this is a big no-no for us, we're weird and like to do it clean and healthy (or ultra clean -no shower, no sex- if you're my husband), but it had to be done lest we forget how. And hey! This morning I woke with a somewhat clear head and it was like a jumpstart. Not only could I actually think about waking up or getting out of bed, I could also perceive leaving the house.
So I did what anyone would do: I made Roasted Garlic and Potato Soup. Mmm. With lots of onion.
8 medium potatoes cubed(washed NOT peeled)
4 small yellow onions
1 head garlic roasted
1 cup stock
water
Oil
bouquet garni
salt to taste
2 Tbls flour
1/2 cup milk
Saute onions in oil until transclucent. Add potatoes and saute 2 minutes. Add stock and water until just covering potatoes, bring to boil. Make bouquet garni and place in pot. Meanwhile, roast garlic in tinfoil with olive oil for 20-30 minutes. Afterwards, remove cheesecloth, add cloves to soup, salt to taste, and puree. Whisk flour into milk and add slowly to soup, pureeing until smooth. Simmer, stirring frequently, until desired thickness is reached.
Enjoy!
Holy hell, this extended vacation can get boring. And before you get all snarky with the poor little 5penny, hangs out, no job to go to, living in a foreign country, boo hoo you f'ing bitch... Let me say this: were this a true vacation, where my spoiled rich ass could hang out and do whatever, I would totally agree with the snark. But, because we moved here with the grandiose plan of self-employment that was thwarted prettymuch the moment we got here, we have been "on vacation" insomuchas we do not work but we are also living off our life savings. Therefore, I am not said spoiled rich girl: there is very little traveling involved, very little movement involved, actually.
As an example, may I present a week in the life of 5penny: With the exception of delivering and picking up daughter from preschool, I sit still, knit, watch friends*, make food/bake something, interact with said child, and sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every. Single. Day. And while it is fun and has it's moments, and while I wouldn't trade this year for all the money in the world (or even the savings that is dwindling) it has it's boring moments. Wah. Boo hoo. Poor baby.
See, those two green gloves? Yeah, they were supposed to be a pair for my neice, but apparently she would like a pair that are the same size. What's up with that?
Even though they look almost the same size, it's really the angle of the photo. Let's take a closer looksy, shall we? Yup, definitely NOT the same... dammit...
*This is me whispering, it is my other secret shame. I cannot get enough, I am a sad, sad creature.
