Lost on the Tube

Long time no blog

2011-09-17T10:48:00.004+01:00

No idea if anyone still reads this or has it in their feeds or whatever, but I figured I'd pick it back up again. Much easier to tweet and post on facebook, but hey - sometimes you just need a rant that's longer than 140 characters (or whatever it is - I'm such a troglodyte).

So - why the sudden upswing in activity? Lots of interesting stuff on the horizon.

For starters, we're living through my first real and proper redundancy programme. (layoffs for my American friends) Haven't done one of these, so it's stressful, but will be interesting as the company I work for can't get anything right. For example, the org chart they sent BEFORE sending the official notice of whether or not you're in scope was incorrect. It looked like I definitely had a job. For about 20 minutes. Then the notice came contradicting the org chart. If they can't get the org chart right, what hope do they have of getting the actual ORG part of that sorted.

More fun, though, is the fact that we're heading to Vietnam and Cambodia for a holiday we can't afford, but very very much need. Should be amazing, except for the flight. Hit the jackpot on a sale on a 5-star airline with, apparently, the most economy legroom anywhere. Unfortunately, it's a Korean airline, and I fear kimchee will be involved in the meal service. This will cause two problems. 1. I hate kimchee (sorry Koreans, nothing against you personally or your cuisine - I like a bit of Bi Bim Bop if that helps) and will be forced to confront it in a confined space.

2. and perhaps more importantly, pickled cabbage causes gas. Scientific fact. What that plane will smell like apres dinner, I fear, will curl my hair.

But it's worth it for a chance to see Angkor Wat.

So - I shall try to be more regular with my blogging. Assuming I don't take the early severance and bugger off to live on a towel on a beach somewhere in Thailand. That movie ended badly though, didn't it.

Racing for life again!

2011-03-25T18:37:00.003Z

Don't know if anyone still reads this or not, but just in case you're out there...

Doing the Race for Life again this year. You may remember that I generally only run if someone is chasing me with something sharp and malicious intent. However, as now THREE of my friends are battling cancer, I have to get my trainers on again this year and go all redfaced to raise money for life saving research.

Hopefully this year there will be a cure as I'm fairly certain this running business will get me in the end.

If you can, please support me an cancer research by donating here: http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/kategiblin1805. Photos, as always, will be provided.

Becoming a limey

2010-12-08T21:00:00.002Z

OK...for starters, let's just be clear that I am a crap blogger. I'm sure no one's reading this thing anymore, with the possible exception of my mom. However, tomorrow will mark a momentous occasion in my adventures abroad, so I thought it deserved a post.

Yes dear reader, tomorrow I will become a British citizen.

After three years, about £2000, and very little time waiting in any kind of queue (line) whatsoever, I will be a citizen of this fine country. This is a marked difference from the process my husband went through, which involved 6 years, at least twice as much money, no fewer than 15 sets of passport photos, and about a week, aggregate, standing in the queue outside the immigration office on 16th and Callowhill in sub-zero temperatures.

But I digress. I am of two minds about this citizenship thing. On the one hand, it makes it a lot easier to get to Cuba, I can stand in the short queue at immigration on return, and I can now go and live in an EU country if I so choose. Bonus.

On the other hand, the one thing I have learned about myself since moving here is that I am distinctly and undeniably American. And now that we have a normal President, I am unabashedly American (which means that I no longer tell people I'm Canadian). I have a deeper appreciation of what it means to be American - we actually do have a culture and an identity - and it's not all bad. While I still despise the global domination of US multinationals, and I loathe the Tea Party yokels who always seem to end up on the TV, I actually like being an American.

So when I stand there tomorrow and swear allegiance to Liz (who I totally dig) it'll be more than a little weird.

Ooh - but I just thought of another plus. This time tomorrow, I'll have at least doubled the number of Caribbean islands I'll be able to live on. Jackpot.

Rule Brittania, baby!

Holding a grudge - the corporate version

2010-10-03T17:38:00.003+01:00

Those of you who know me know that I can hold a grudge. For a really long time. This applies to people as well as companies.

For example, I have not had a Domino's pizza in at least 12 years. Why, you may wonder? Not because they are absolutely crap pizzas (which they are) but because the former owner of Domino's (who I'm sure still makes some money out of the deal) supports Operation Rescue - the brain trust that bombed women's clinics that also perform abortions.

In addition, I have not shopped at Urban Outfitters or Anthropologie in at least 10 years because the douche that owns the company gives money to Rick Santorum who equates being gay with paedophilia and bestiality. (BTW I hear he's a presidential hopeful now - I'm NEVER moving home).

The latest target of my rage? Apple. I will never EVER buy another iProduct again. But wait, you may say....weren't you just singing the praises of your iPhone a few months ago? Yes. Yes I was. That was before I accidentally deleted my iTunes music folder from my computer.

You see, my computer was stroking out a few weeks ago, because we have too much crap on it. Primarily music. Through a stupid error, I ended up accidentally deleting the music folder on my PC. Which, I hasten to add, was full of music I uploaded from CDs that I own.

So - we purchased an external hard drive and moved all our photos onto it (photos are the other space hogs). I thought - a ha! I can also put my iTunes library onto the external hard drive, thus alleviating the stress to my PC. Eight hours and one 29.99 piece of software later I'm still waiting for the thing to sync properly. I've had to delete and restart three times due to iTunes insisting on putting a folder on my desktop, restore my purchased apps 4 times and apparently re-sync my photos even though I told iTunes not to.

I could have hacked into NORAD in that amount of time. This should not be this difficult. Other products manage to allow you to move things and restore things without a retinal scan and the technical equivalent of an enema.

When the contract's up, I'm getting an Android.

What I did on my summer vacation

2010-09-07T11:38:00.004+01:00

Drank PINTS of sangria that contained vodka AND cointreau (these people are nuts)
Checked out some hookers in El Raval
Got trolleyed at a gay bar
Performed an impromptu (drunken) cabaret in Liceu Metro station after getting trolleyed at a gay bar
Tried not to throw up the next day in the amazing Parc Guell (morning after gay bar)
Had dinner in a little old school restaurant that Salvador Dali once ate in
Stood in a 500 year old castle
Stood outside a 700 year old church (couldn't go in as my shoulders were uncovered - crazy Catholics)
Checked out some Picassos that weren't all funky
Ate something that could have potentially been pigs' knuckles, and liked it.

Thank you Barcelona (and Jon!)...that was awesome.

An open letter on travel...

2010-06-22T16:12:00.003+01:00

To the guy sitting across the aisle from me on my recent flight back from the US:

Sir - there are some people who should minimise the amount of time they spend outside their own house. You, unfortunately are one of those people. The world (or, in fact, the World Traveller Plus section of BA flight 66) is not your living room so you'll need to be considerate of others once you leave the front door.

Let me explain a few rules on travel and in fact just general behaviour in public:

Constantly clearing your throat and/or sounding like you're bringing up all the phlegm of the universe every 15 seconds is generally frowned on. If you're having some congestion issues, may I suggest heading to the bathroom and working it out in private
The arm rest in front of you is not a foot rest (that's why it's called an ARM rest). Particularly when you are kicking the person who happens to be in the seat. Not one, but TWO footrests are provided for you in that class of seat. I would suggest reading the provided literature to understand the benefits of your seat.
If you have a disgusting habit while you sleep, such as sticking your index finger into your nose up to the second knuckle, it might be a good idea to avoid sleeping in public. Drink a redbull, eat some sugar, snort a couple of lines...whatever. But no one wants to look at you digging for gold in your sleep.
If, by some unfortunate circumstance, you do find yourself with your finger up your nose, the correct response is NOT to flick whatever you find up there onto the floor or the seat.
When listening to headphones, it is generally considered impolite to sing along. Particularly when it's the middle of the night and the people on your flight are trying to sleep. Oh - and also when you're f'ing tone deaf.
Getting the flight attendant's or anyone else's attention should never involve trying to hit her as she walks by.
When getting heavy luggage from the overhead compartments, it's generally considered polite not to smack into the people behind you with your elbows, etc.

I hope these few tips will help you in your onward journey, and enlighten anyone else who may partake in similar behaviour when out and about.

Apparently you were continuing on to Helsinki...I hope they can teach you better manners than you learned in Philly, you ignorant asshole.

That is all.

I'm what you call a "laggard"

2010-05-08T15:57:00.006+01:00

So I'm a terrible blogger...more than a month since my last post. Blame facebook - I favour it because I can type less and still get the idea across. I know I could type less here, but as it's a blog it seems to require a bit of meat. Or rather more than "I love my iPhone"

Which - by the way - I do. Just got it yesterday, which means I am officially one of the last people on the planet who actually WANTED an iPhone to actually get one. This makes me a "laggard" on the diffusion of innovation timescale. See fig 1 below.

Technically I might be a "late majority" but "laggard" is so much more fun to say. Particularly if you say it in a hoity toity pissed off English accent. As in "You, mahdahm, are a laggahd!"

I include this information to show that school is paying off and I'm learning all sorts of important nerdy stuff that I'll probably never use again. (Except I knew this one already, but whatever.) I also include it as a means of self-analysis.

I've come to the realisation that I'm one of those people who doesn't do things until everyone else does them. Bit boring really, but that's why I'm married to a nutter (in marketing terms, an "early adopter" - the "innovators" are just nerds who want to buy stuff and rewire it). I blame my status on my father, who taught me from an early age that "they're just going to bring something else better out in 6 months...we'll wait for that." That's why our stereo was from 1975. But of course, he was right. I just got my iPhone, an apparently the next model comes out in June.

If I were an innovator, I would have known that. Innovators are the guys who get a google alert whenever Steve Jobs takes a dump (he may have had the chance to think up something new and exciting in there).

But I'm not...I'm a laggard. And I'm quite happy with my apparently late model iPhone - I can get my email, not get lost, and play virtual air hockey. There's an app for that.

Which reminds me - next week we'll discuss why I'm so f'ing impressionable when it comes to advertising.

American consumerism, spanning the globe

2010-04-05T11:22:00.003+01:00

So I keep trying to find something meaningful and inspiring to write on this blog, but stuff just keeps pissing me off.

Today, it's the idea of the Easter present.

First - let's clarify what we're celebrating here, because really, we're talking zombies. In any other story, when someone's dead and then a little later gets up and wanders off somewhere, that person is called a zombie. Not the messiah...a zombie.

How the bunnies and chocolate came into it, I have no idea. And I by no means want to disparage the Easter basket. I'm all for the Easter basket. Picking Easter grass off of crusted over peeps is one of my favourite childhood pastimes. The fact that my mother tortured me with white chocolate for the first 10 years of my life (the brown kind apparently made me "rammy") makes me a little bitter about the whole thing, but I digress.

What I'm talking about when I say Easter present is a toy, game, or other non-consumable present that you get when it's a non-present giving holiday. Everywhere I look there are commercials for gifts to give at Easter - everything from a plastic dump truck to a GameBoy. Why?!? That's like giving a present for August bank holiday (Labour Day for you American folks).

These f'ing kids already have too much stuff they don't actually appreciate, and yet we continue to find new and ever more useless reasons to give them MORE STUFF.

This started in the States a while ago, but it's made it's way over here, as does everything else. Because god knows the US needs all the help it can get to prop up the western world's trade deficit with the Chinese. Like THAT's not going to end in tears.

Whoah - that was a jump. Must be bitter today.

Anyway - let's return to simpler times. Easter grass, peeps, that minging white chocolate, and usually some horrible pastel coloured Easter dress. After all, why have kids if not to screw with them?

Addendum:
Totally dated myself up there. Do they even MAKE GameBoys anymore? I think what I meant was a Nintendo DS or PSP. I'm not old, dammit!

School: New and improved...

2010-03-22T19:09:00.003Z

...now with more Kate!

That's right folks - I'm going back to school. Well - kind of. I'm going for my Chartered Professional Postgraduate Diploma in Marketing from the Chartered Institute of Marketing.

Anything with that many words in it has to be important right? Apparently, I need a recognised qualification to get the big bucks... so here I go. Back to school. Every Tuesday night. For the next two years.

I will learn about macro- and meso-economic factors and their impact on companies, how to carry out an official marketing analysis, and how to develop and manage a brand. Then I do a ginormous year-long case study project. Except I know most of that because I've been doing this stuff for 10 years and I do case study projects every day. At my job. Not that I'm bitter.

Should be interesting, assuming that I actually remember how to study, write a paper, and take exams. No trouble there then. Don't think I ever actually knew how to study, and the rest of it's just BS. And everyone knows how good I am at that.

My husband thinks it'll be good to get my brain active again. I think my brain will hurt. Pray for me as I start this return to academia.

My cat hates my wii fit

2010-02-26T20:14:00.003Z

I have become a wii fit addict.

There's step aerobics, hula hoop challenge, rhythmic boxing, kung fu, yoga, muscle workouts, and a game where your mii is wearing a chicken suit and you have to fly over water to different targets or you drown.

I love that friggin chicken game. Don't judge me.

There's just one problem. The cat f'ing hates it. When it comes out, the following happens:

First - I get the stink eye.
Then she changes tack and plays the cute card. Immediately on her back, paws in the air, batting her eyelashes.
When that doesn't work, she starts to circle the wii fit board in an effort to make me trip and fall on the floor - i.e. petting level.
Finally, the stink eye comes back, and she jumps on the foot rest to knock all the wii accoutrement onto the floor.

The other day, she must have been mega pissed off. She was dozing happily on a blanket on the couch. I thought I was safe, since she was sleeping and had received a massive head scratching about 20 minutes earlier.

No chance. Wii comes out. Cat looks up, rolls her eyes, gets up and leaves the room in a huff, shaking her tail. I swear to god she ROLLED HER EYES. She's like a petulant teen.

So now I have to decide between the chicken and the cat.

Dumb Southerner Season

2010-02-14T19:24:00.004Z

Ok - so the headline is a bit mean, but it's NASCAR season again.

When I married an Englishman, lo those many years ago, there was a small part of me that thought: "ahh...no more NASCAR". That part was wrong. I found the only English NASCAR fan in the universe. Sundays spent on the sofa listening to Darryl Whatshisface yelling "boogedie boogedie boogedie".

Then we moved to London, and I thought - well, they may show the occasional race. Until we got the Sky Sports package in our cable lineup. And now...what am I doing? Sitting on the couch listening to Darryl Whatshisface, who I shit you not just said about a pit box: "That's durrty! I'da cleaned that up. I'da put some Tide on that and warshed her up." My husband is actually also "following all the action on NASCAR TrackPass." Yoiks.

I humour my husband, because I love him, and he loves his NASCAR... but lord, those accents. I swear, you could be Stephen Hawking smart - I'm sure a lot of them are - but you open your mouth with that accent and it sounds like you need an anti-brain damage helmet.

And now, what's worse, my mind is like a sponge...I actually understand what they're talking about. Restrictor plates, track bars, rounds of wedge, draftin' and pushin', "the big one" at Daytona. I might as well just move to rural Kentucky and start squeezing out kids.

And yes Mom - I know it's the biggest sport in America and it attracts all types and Southerners aren't really stupid...it just doesn't sound that way when Darryl Whatshisface is talking.

At least we had another of the hubby's AWESOME roast chickens this evening, so I should be drifting into a food coma as soon as I hit "publish." I'll be dreaming of Cletus and Brandine.

Addendum: To be fair, he does sit through both chav-tastic soap Eastenders AND many many episodes of America's Next Top Model for me. And those bitches definitely need anti-brain damage helmets, so perhaps this is just retribution.

Re-living my youth

2010-01-24T09:29:00.003Z

I haven't posted anything recently....mainly because I have been unabashedly watching many many hours of really bad TV.

You see, CBS has launched a few new channels on UK cable. CBS Action, CBS Drama, and CBS Reality. Reality can suck the big one, but the other two are phenomenal. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they don't show new shows.

CBS Drama shows almost nothing but old soaps and Party of Five. Sundays are Dynasty marathons, and in the evenings they show Melrose Place...the really old ones, BEFORE Amanda. Dallas is on Saturday mornings. Falcon Crest chucked in for good measure here and there.

It's like being 12 all over again...complete with shoulder pads, bad perms and bitches tossing each other into pools by their hair.

And when it all gets too much, I can flip over to CBS action to see Captain Kirk romancing scantily clad alien chicks on the original Star Trek...

It's really starting to impact my life. Stuff's not getting done - laundry, cleaning...do they do a rehab for 80s TV?

The long hard slog to Easter

2010-01-10T15:18:00.004Z

This time of year is when I miss the US the most. The January to whenever-Easter-happens-to-fall period is a grim one in the UK.

The weather? you ask.

Well, yes...but mainly its that we have no bank holidays between now and Easter. The US has the ever merciful Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and the very much appreciated President's Day to break up this long, cold, grey time period.

We have bupkus.

Now I shouldn't complain - I get six weeks of vacation time a year. NOT INCLUDING sick time. (Loving this place.) So technically, I could take a random day or two to break up the monotony. But I'm not used to having that much vacation time yet, so I am miserly with it.

This winter will be especially long because I'm waiting for April. In April, my Vodafone contract ends and I can get myself an iPhone. I covet the iPhone for one reason and one reason alone - the air hockey game that I saw someone playing on one the other day on the bus. I know it's mildly ridiculous to buy a £300 phone for a stupid air hockey game. I don't care.

So then...time to put my head down and pray for spring.

food coma - I hope

2009-12-20T20:18:00.004Z

After our "just us" pre-christmas christmas dinner, my husband announces he's going upstairs to wrap my presents.

Standing in front of the wrapping paper...

Him: OK - where's the paper?
Me: Right in front of you.
Him: Which one should I use?
Me: The one that doesn't say "Happy Birthday"
Him: ah ha! OK - where's the tape?
Me: On the table with the scissors.
Him: What would I need the scissors for?
Me: Oh...don't know. Maybe to cut the paper to size?
Him: Ah ha. Smartass. OK - don't come upstairs for a bit.

I'd blame the tryptophane, but we had chicken (not turkey) and white wine.

jingle blahs

2009-12-19T13:23:00.003Z

Don't know if it's the world, or just me, but I'm so not christmassy this year. We don't have a tree, and haven't even put any lights up. Bupkus.

I put it down to my new job. Old job - lots of christmas drinks, gift exchanges, etc. New job - a tree in the lobby and one party thrown by the (seemingly) office letch. The invitation went as follows:

Letch: Kate, are you a party animal, because I'm a party animal and I'm having a party but only party animals can come.
Me: uhhh...
Letch: you should come...I think you're a secret party animal.
Me: uhhh....I think I'm busy.

I'd like to point out that this is a 50 something man who wears a pinky ring. I'd also like to point out that he gave the same spiel to the girl who runs the till in the canteen. I'd further like to point out that another woman I work with went to the party and has been getting battered with lunch invites (to show her around Greenwich, wink nudge) for the last week.

Plus - the office is in the hinterlands of North Greenwich, so there's nothing festive at all. No chestnuts, no lunchtime shopping runs...nothing. There's a pathetic christmas market that has 4 stalls with 4 sad vendors bored shitless because there's no one there. It's North Greenwich.

Husband did all the christmas shopping for his family, and I did all of mine online, so I haven't even been pissed off with christmas this year. Just nothing - a big santa shaped void.

Maybe, like the Waitresses, I'll miss this one this year.

I'm the "complainer"

2009-12-05T17:37:00.003Z

English people are starting to piss me off.

Their MO whenever they don't like something, or whenever something legitimately sucks is to bitch and moan eternally. That is, to each other out of earshot of the anyone who has anything to do with the thing in question. Either that, or they write an "Outraged in Tunbridge Wells" letter to the BBC.

The one thing they would never, ever, ever do is actually complain to a person who could actually fix said thing, or do anything to fix it themselves.

Now - people who know me know that I don't exactly have a sunny disposition much of the time. I do tend to vent, and I will always say what's on my mind. And if something's wrong I'll tell people about it or fix it myself. This has made me an outcast in several circles.

Take, for example, the canteen at my new office. EVERYONE hates it. Rightfully so, as it's shit. They're constantly running out of food, replacing wheat bread with herb bread at the toast station (not nice with jam if you haven't noticed the replacement), the staff are cranky when they actually bother to appear, and at one point one of the guys was actually winging potatoes at people (as opposed to placing them on plates).

At least it used to be. A few weeks ago I used the feedback form to explain how crap it was and that many of us had decided to bring lunch rather than eat in there.

This must have scared the crap out of the people who run the canteen, for I was instantly called in for a meeting with the customer service head of the catering team. This took place in the middle of the canteen for everyone to see the crazy American actually saying something. I simply explained that I thought someone should know so it could be fixed. Apparently a novel concept.

Since that day, no one can stop talking about how I complained. Anytime the canteen is mentioned, my name comes up, and any time I have anything remotely negative to say (like the other day when I mentioned that the pens keep breaking) I get an "uh oh - she's giving us the canteen treatment."

However - I noticed a few days ago that no one's bitching about the canteen anymore. I went in the other day to check it out. The potato-winger was gone, the people smiled, and there was enough of everything to go around. And what was empty was replenished quickly.

But god forbid anyone complain about anything - no good could ever come of that.

I know it's England...

2009-11-29T11:06:00.002Z

...but I'm seriously going to cry if it doesn't stop raining soon.

Like the Eskimos and their 952 (or something) different words for snow, the UK has several different names for the type of rain that's happening.

Fine mist, heavy rain, squally rain, just your basic rain, blowing rain, heavy downpours, sharp showers... you get the idea.

But lately, whenever we step out of the house, we're getting wet. Now it's autumn , and it always rains in autumn, but this year's been impressive. Go to brunch - blowing a gale and chucking it down. Dinner with friends last week - heavy downpours. Dinner with friends last night - steady rain. About 20 minutes ago I looked out the window to see quite a sunny day, and yet it was raining. I won't even talk about coming to and from work.

Whatever happened to that idea about moving to Jamaica??

I married a genius.

2009-11-12T20:20:00.004Z

Tomorrow is my 10th wedding anniversary.

I won't bore you with all the soppy stuff - that's between me and the man who has managed to not run away screaming for the last 10 years. To be fair, I haven't killed him in his sleep due to inhuman snoring either, so I suppose ours is a finely balanced relationship. But I digress...

Today, this lovely man took me to Cadbury World. That's right...Cadbury World. Like Hershey Chocolate world, but with WAY better chocolate and WAY less annoying music. They give you freebies, then you get to go through the "history of chocolate" zone, with Mayan drums, giant snakes, and an incredibly lifelike Montezuma and Cortes.

Then you watch a bunch of hologram stuff about how chocolate made it to Europe and how Cadbury's got started...and more freebies.

Next is a trip through the packaging plant, and the trippiest ride I've ever been on. If Mr. Toad's Wild Ride was an acid trip, this one is like acid, shrooms, and peyote with a little tequila thrown in for good measure (not that I've ever had any of those things, officer). Dancing cocoa beans, dancing flowers, and the Cadbury's rabbit looking suspicously strung out. Oh yeah - and cows that moo at you (you need them for the Dairy Milk bars).

But it's not over folks...more holograms, and then they give you a cupful of warm liquid chocolate with a selected topping - marshmallows, licorice allsorts, shortbread crumbles. This is where we start showing our age: small cup o' liquid chocolate with marshmallows when you're 12? Awesome. When you're 33? It has the effects of speed. My vision actually got blurry.

Here's a photo of that area. The metal pipe running above the counter is a tube of liquid chocolate. This is a Cadbury's promo photo - I don't know those people, but they're going to have problems when the kids go crazy and the parents can't see and are twitching.

Anyway - awesome day. We giggled the whole time. We bought a lot of chocolate in the factory store. He's a bloody genius.

Tube politics

2009-11-01T15:49:00.004Z

Like spliff politics, regular politics, and, well, everything else in life, there is an unspoken set of rules that governs riding on the Tube. Some of these are actually anti-rules, but have worked themselves into the process. Everyone plays by them, and everyone gets pissed off by them...but at least it levels the playing field.

Rule 1: Riding the escalators
Stand on the right, walk on the left. Failure to obey this rule will result in several people kissing their teeth, growling at you and muttering a VERY salty "excuse me" while shoving past you.

Rule 2: Free papers
To really and truly make your fellow passengers want to kill you, read a free paper while walking between trains, etc. Reading and walking causes slowness and weaving, such that no one can get around you.

Rule 3: Platforms
You're not a true and proper Londoner until you know at what spot on the platform for your specific desired result. You have one of two options.

the spot at which you are most likely to get on a car with a free seat/not be rammed into the armpit of a fellow passenger. This is usually the ends.
the spot which puts you in the carriage nearest the exit on the platform of your destination, i.e. so you don't have to walk through the masses upon exiting the train

Only sheep and tourists get on the train at the entrance to the platform.

Rule 4: Seats
Entering a Tube train is a free for all, except for at a few select and very civilized stations. If you see a seat, you put your head down and charge towards it, regardless of whether you have to cut across a row of people four-wide to get there. Only after you've sat down do you look up to ensure that you don't have to cede your seat to one of two protected groups: pregnant women and old people. And they have to be REAL pregnant or REAL old.

While waiting for a train, it is important to attempt to hit the mark where the doors of the train will open so you can make your charge. There is much jostling on busy lines at rush hour, as crowd movement may shift you from what you know is the target location. At this point, and only this point, eye contact is key. A stern "I'll be damned if you're getting my door spot - go find your own, beyotch" look is very important. Practice in the mirror at home to make sure you've got it.

If two people come to a free seat from opposing directions, a standoff ensues. Standard procedure dictates the following exchange:

You have it.
No you have it.
Are you sure?
Yes, go on. ( with smirk that indicates knowledge of defeat, with hint of moral superiority)

Thus one must always be the first person to speak, or one loses the seat, guaranteed.

Rule 5: Non-seat hierarchy
If no seats are available, the above process applies to the following in strict order:

Leany bits near the middle doors
Leany bits near the end doors
Plexiglsass divider and the end of the row of seats (also for leaning)

Rule 6: Social interaction
There is none. You look at no one, smile at no one, speak to no one. Even if you have gained carnal knowledge of a person due to being crammed closer to them than you get to a person while doing the Lambada (the forbidden dance).
The exception to this rule is when the train is stuck in the tunnel, when the train driver says something ludicrous, or when some person with a buggy 5 times the size of their child tries to ram it onto a train during rush hour.

Rule 7: Buggies
The actual Tube rules (there are signs) state that when a train or bus is packed, one must fold any buggies or prams down. This never happens. In fact, people normally park their deranged little offspring in SUV style buggies at an angle in front of the doors. As mentioned above, the correct reaction to this is to sneer at said ignorant breeders, and then share looks of contempt with fellow passengers who can neither get in nor out of the train.
The other buggy rule is that people will in fact try to ram it onto a full train at rush hour, no matter whose shins they're taking out with the giant cow-catcher wheels. This instance is pretty much the only time where verbal responses are merited - usually something along the lines of "wait for the next one you f'ing cow!"

Rule 8: Exiting a train
Do not shout when exiting a train. Tourists and crazy people do this. Simply say excuse me. If no one moves, wedge yourself into whatever gap you can find, heave, and say excuse me again, though louder. Exit straight and stand near the wall of the platform while the people who don't know where the exit is smack into one another trying to figure out whether to go left or right. Then proceed to the exit in an orderly fashion

In praise of uniformity

2009-10-25T16:36:00.003Z

People please....let's all get a rep from each country together and agree on a template for sizes. Then let's take that template to all the people in each of our countries that make things - clothes, shoes, any old thing that comes in a size. Then they can use the template to make sure that we have universal bloody sizes!!!

I found myself doing the unfortunate task of bra shopping today. Let me just explain - I hate shopping in general. I DETEST shopping for bras. So much so that I haven't actually shopped for a bra since I've been here. The situation with the ones I have now has become untenable, so I decided I had to bite the bullet.

Off I go to major department store and find that not only am I battling different brands' interpretations of what a B cup is, I now have the additional challenge of having B cup mean something else in the UK than it does in the States.

Into the dressing room, out of the dressing room. Lather, rinse, repeat. 4 times. I finally have two bras that fit. Marginally. This is only a stopgap measure. In the not too distant future, I'm going to have to do this again. Woman can't survive on two bras alone.

Right. To reward myself for sticking it out through this harrowing experience, I'm going to go and pick up the dark bluey-green suede court shoes with the block heels that I have been coveting for weeks (nb: court shoes=any type of high heeled shoe here).

Thwarted again. The company that makes this shoe is Italian, and the sizes run large. 7 (my regular size) is too big, 6 too small, no 6.5 in that shop. Can't find them online. Will now have to go all the way across town to Sloane Square (ick) if I want to stop dreaming about them and own them.

Normally, I'm all about free-spirited individuality...but for god's sake - let's get into lock step on the sizes please.

Rock Scientist

2009-10-17T13:04:00.003+01:00

So my husband was trying to teach the cat to use the cat door.

He's hunched over by the door with his hand through the cat flap yelling at the cat, who is outside.

He says the following: "Oi - dumbass, over here! Oi - rock scientist."

"Rock scientist?" says I.

"Yes. She's a geologist" he answers, rather matter-of-factly.

This is my life.

Heidi country

2009-10-10T22:48:00.003+01:00

My souvenir from our recent trip to Rhone-Alps/Geneva:

Grandfasser!! Grandfasser!!

I give unto thee...

2009-10-05T21:48:00.004+01:00

Polish Elvis

Take that, too-technical phone with multiple download modes that I don't understand. You have been beaten.

Technology sucks for several reasons...

2009-10-05T11:52:00.004+01:00

...and here are two:

1. I got an email from my mother complaining about the fact that I hadn't blogged in a while. Forget about the good old days of "what, you can't call your mother every once in a while???" Now we're getting yelled at for not blogging enough. Yeesh!

2. The reason I haven't blogged for a while is because I've been trying to figure out how to download the photos from my new phone.

I thought ISO 9000 was supposed to sort all of this out - unify standard technological functions. Processing credit transactions, chemical analysis processes...and downloading photos from phones. Apparently not.

The photos themselves are of...wait for it...Polish Elvis. My friends that had the crazy Polish wedding with the bride-purchasing and closet o' vodka had a birthday party. It was at the White Eagle Club in Balham. For you Philly-ites, think of a Knights of Columbus club only slightly younger and with both Karaoke and techno.

Yes - I said Karaoke...which I loathe. Until I've had a lot of vodka, then apparently I grab the mic and let loose on Joan Jett - I Hate Myself For Loving You. This was after I forced my husband to sing Jolene. It was early, so he was neither drunk nor amused, but did an excellent job. Even Big Pawel, the karaoke operator, thought so.

Anyway - the evening was topped off by an appearance of Polish Elvis...white jumpsuit, gold aviators and all, karate kicking his way through Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love.

But I can't possibly convey his majestic Elvisness without the photos.

Happy now mom??

Metamorphosis

2009-09-20T13:17:00.004+01:00

Recently, in the now-defunct London Paper, an American columnist did a list of things that remind her she's foreign. They are all completely and utterly true. I'm linking to it here, but as the paper stopped publishing on Friday, I don't know how long it will be around.

It got me thinking, though, about all the things that actually have changed about me since I've been living here. So here's my list of things that remind me that I'm at least part Londoner (my passport DOES say "Croydon" now after all).

I use new words: Lounge instead of living room; Pants instead of underwear; Bog roll instead of toilet paper
I am concerned about limescale and its affect on my coffee maker
I have de-scaled at least one kitchen appliance
Confusion upon returning to the States and not being able to turn things off "at the mains"
I am not surprised to hear more than 5 languages being spoken around me at any one time
I know which end of the platform to stand on at most Central London Tube stations, both to get a seat, or to be nearest the exit at my destination
I never ever EVER go upstairs on a night bus (otherwise known as the Vomit Comets)
The spiders and I have come to a tenuous detente
I think £100 is reasonable for a proper dinner for two, but am sketched out about paying more than £20 for a sweater
I'm impressed that I have a tumble dryer AND a freezer
I think 73 degrees is hot and any day when it's not raining sideways is good weather
I am no longer freaked out by the black boogers

Ahh - home sweet home...though I'm still open to a permanent move to Jamaica.

Crap Blogger

2009-09-17T22:15:00.002+01:00

As in, what I have been.

To be fair...I have had several external factors pressing on blog time.

For starters I had a trip back to Philly. Which reminded me of several things:

I'm not sure how long I can hold out in a country which doesn't have the breakfast burrito on it's regular roster
I'm not sure that if we can move back to the States, I can live anywhere but Philly because I miss Sarcone's hoagies too much
Sweet corn in England = cow corn in the US
I need to stop thinking about food so much

When I returned from the States, I found that the power cord for our laptop had given up the ghost and frayed to the point of not being able to deliver power to the computer anymore. Replacing it has been a bit of a challenge.

Probably best that I haven't been able to blog for a bit as all these crazy protesters in the US claiming that the President is everything from a liar to a nazi to a secret muslim agent are seriously making my blood boil. But later for that.

Bed now to dream of breakfast burritos.

Firsts

2009-08-30T21:09:00.002+01:00

England offers a bounty of new and wonderful experiences to the curious traveller and new(ish) resident.

Having long heard of the wonders of "the caf" on Eastenders, I finally got to experience a greasy English cafe for myself last weekend. The word "cafe" is a little misleading. It may make you think of a quaint Parisian or Italian sidewalk cafe with people in sunglasses drinking small cups of coffee with their pinkies lifted. Or perhaps a US coffee house with comfy sofas and a sullen barista.

Not so. English cafes are quite different. They're kind of a hybrid between a diner and a burger king. The seats are plastic and bolted to the table. The table is chipped formica. The food involves eggs & chips (fries), lasagne & chips, sausage & chips, or bacon butty (sandwich). No chips come with the bacon butty for reasons unbeknownst to me. Bit scary, but some of the best hangover food on the planet.

Another joy of English life is a trip to the seaside. I had my first one this past weekend.

The English seaside is not exactly what you think of when you think of going downashore. Quiet promenades in place of boardwalks, lots of people in sweatshirts, and obligatory "windbreaks" - big strips of tent fabric on posts to block the wind so you don't freeze when sitting on the beach.

And then there are the "pebbles." No sandy beaches here...instead, there are rocks the size of your fist. Makes poking down to dip a toe in the water a bit difficult.

So intrepid travellers - if going to the beach, make sure to bring shoes and a coat.

religious fervor

2009-08-10T21:36:00.003+01:00

Apparently I'm old school. Like my grandma old school.

When someone sneezes, you say "bless you." Unless you say "salud" or "gezundheit" or "you are soooo good lookin." But you say SOMETHING.

It's polite, and because of my age/upbringing/whatever it's now a reflex reaction.

I'd like to make it clear that I'm not a member of the God Squad. In fact, I take a risk of incinerating on entry at every church wedding or funeral I go to. Mine is a non-denominational "bless you." But if someone sneezes in my immediate vicinity, they're getting blessed.

Apparently I am one of about six people in London who actually says "bless you." I've met three, but I've been told of a few others.

People generally fall into three main categories:

1. Shocked and appalled
These people look at you like you've got a cross burned into your forehead and a sandwich board that says "sinners repent - the end is nigh" on it. These are almost never people of other faiths who think you're forcing jesus into their heathen lives. They are generally speaking white men.

2. Embarrassed mutterers
These people mutter "thank you" but their downcast eyes suggest either shame at not remembering the last time THEY said"bless you" or because they think you're completely insane and they don't want to make eye contact.

3. The gigglers
These people think it's cute that someone said "bless you" but also think it's the funniest thing in the world. I think maybe it seems anachronistic to them. Maybe, indeed, it makes them think of their grandmothers.

I have a giggler that sits near me at work. She thinks it's hysterical that I say "bless you" whenever anyone sneezes. I'm pretty sure she's of the anachronistic opinion.

Why does no one say "bless you" anymore? Maybe I've just seen Singles too many times. I guess at least it makes me unique. I need to find those other six people and start a coffee clutch or something.

Why we love Britain

2009-08-01T07:52:00.006+01:00

Anyone who has ever tried to navigate the immigration system in the US, particularly pre-911, knows how much of your life and money you will waste. If you've done it in Philly, the bulk of that time will be spent standing outside of the immigration office on 16th and Callowhill. Only to be told when you finally make it INSIDE the office on 16th and Callowhill that you've filled in the wrong form and you need to go back to the end of the line and you might make it back in.

And that'll be $500 please.

Well - while the weather may suck, and most of the pizza is wrong, bureaucratically speaking the Brits rule.

Lucky girl that I am, I got my "indefinite leave to remain" in the country on Wednesday. This is the first and only time I have been to the immigration office since I landed two years ago.

The whole process took approximately 2.5 hours. The equivalent status of "permanent resident alien" in the US took my husband 3 years, 15 visits, about 947 passport photos, and $2000.

We stood on line for about 10 minutes while they sorted who needed what, and then were sent to a lovely man on desk 7. This lovely man informed me that I had filled in the wrong form. Silly me, I had used the one that said "settlement as the partner or spouse" rather than the ever so much more descriptive "other" because we have been married for more than 4 years.

I keep calling this man lovely because instead of sending us to the back of the line, he told us to fill in the new form at the desk next to his window and then come back when we were done. Then upstairs to pay our money (£1000 - they learned that from the US). Then up to the next floor to wait. Except they called our number as we were walking in the door.

10 minutes with the guy (who even smiled!), 30 minutes waiting for confirmation, and then 1.5 hours waiting for the pretty piece of paper to be hermetically sealed onto page 12 of my passport.

Bish, bash, bosh - that's it. I'm here permanently. I can leave for two years at a stretch, and longer if I can prove that I intend to move back.

Came home and had a curry and some champagne to celebrate.

Of course - I'm still trying to work out WHY I would want to stay. It's July and I need to wear a coat. But that's another issue entirely.

The ducklings live!!!

2009-07-26T16:45:00.002+01:00

My friend just called me to tell me about an article in the local free paper for Tower Hamlets.

The ducklings live!!!

I can't believe it, but someone found the little buggers back where we originally found them the next morning. It's a 15 minute walk (at least) and they had to cross at least 4 London streets to get there.

One died, but the other two made it just fine...

Random updates from blighty

2009-07-25T16:55:00.003+01:00

Well - I've been a very busy girl lately, hence the slackness on the blogging front. Here are a couple of updates from the land of the pale.

Ducklings
I got an email from the farm to let me know that the ducks had disappeared overnight after we left them. These were apparently Steve McQueen, Great Escape style ducks, as they had to squeeze through the bars of the cage, jump off the bench that the cage was sitting on, and wriggle through a tiny hole in the wall where electric cables run through.

They probably won't have lasted long in the great outdoors, particularly given the stormy weather that night, but these were some plucky ducks (lame, I know) so who knows...

Run
With the nascent stages of an illness taking hold, and having not run since May, I managed to run/walk the Cancer Research run in about 50 minutes. I jogged about half, but my upper respiratory system was definitely on the fritz, and my calves were knotting up like those plastic bracelets they made you manufacture at summer camp, so I'm happy that I managed to finish without crying or having a cardiac incident.

Managed to raise about £450 altogether, so thanks to everyone who donated!

New job
The new job has picked up - it's interesting doing the work of only ONE person for the first time in a long time. Unsurprisingly, I've been designated "the social one" as I've gotten in with the departments that go out for regular drinks. SO unlike me.

This new normal-sized workload and increased pocket money has meant that our social lives have picked up dramatically. We actually got to go out to DINNER the other night. Ooooohhhh!! The place we went to has a cheese room - as in a whole climate controlled room that they lead you into where you can select the cheeses you'd like to eat after (or indeed FOR) your meal. I had to stop myself from weeping with joy.

Alien nation
I have my appointment on Wednesday with the UK immigration folks to get my "indefinite leave to remain" meaning I'll be an alien, but one they're pretty sure is OK. If all goes well, I can get my citizenship next year and then....Cuba, here I come!

Obama - please don't relax the travel ban until I've seen my dream come to fruition. The last thing I want to do is get there and find it chock-a-block with Girls Gone Wild slamming test tube shots and flashing cooch from atop the bar.

That about sums it up I think. More anon.

Bizarro world

2009-07-16T22:48:00.003+01:00

I'm one of those people that weird and/or ridiculous shit happens to. I found a dead guy in the apartment downstairs from us in Philly. I had to go on a drugs bust when I was an RA in college. I ended up on a game show mostly by accident.

These odd things often happen when I'm out with unsuspecting people. This evening, for example, I was out with a friend for an Indian meal on Brick Lane. Upon approaching the neighborhood, which is similar to South Philly in both appearance and proximity to any type of nature, we find three ducklings wandering the street outside an African jewelry shop. These things were no more than a few weeks old and were absolutely freaking out.

The few inhabitants of the street probably got quite the giggle watching the crazy white chicks trying to herd ducklings into an empty box. In fact I know they did - I saw them laughing.

So - we've got the ducks in the box. What now?

The RSPCA, and their special bird hotline were both closed. The message even said "if you're calling about a small bird, press one" so I did, and it gave me another message saying "best to leave it alone then, thanks for calling!" Ever so helpful.

A few phone calls to a few strategically placed people (thanks JM!!), and a search on the google maps app on my phone (by some miracle it was working) reveals one of London's city farms nearby. An hour and a half after the duck herding began, they were nestled in some saw dust in the milking shed at Spitalfields City Farm.

These city farms, by the way, are amazing. Working city farms with chickens, sheep, sometimes pigs and cows just plopped down in the middle of random neighborhoods across London. Mostly donation funded and volunteer staffed. They are the oddest things ever. And I love them.

Luckily, this one ended up being only a 5 minute walk from the restaurant we were originally planning on going to.

No one ate duck.

the thing about cabs...

2009-06-25T21:52:00.004+01:00

I don't think I've explained this before in detail, but London cabs are a bit different to cabs in the US.

There are two kinds: black cabs and minicabs.

Black cabs are the only ones you can hail in the street. You have to lean in and tell them where you want to go and they decide whether they will deign to take you to your location. Frequently, they refuse to go "sath of the rivah, mate" - i.e. over a bridge. For the privilege of riding in their cabs, you pay an extortionate amount of money...I've already paid £12 ($18) to go about a mile.

Now - these are nice cabs. Roomy, pleasant, and with drivers who have had to study "the Knowledge" for at least a year before getting licensed. The Knowledge is not only London streets, but also the most direct route, the fastest route (not always the same thing) and a whole bunch of other stuff that goes right out the window when they hear an American accent.

Minicabs are only available for pre-booking. They know nothing about any London roads, and don't care about the most direct or fastest route because they quote you a price ahead of time. These are more like US cabs - the drivers don't generally speak a tonne of English and drive like maniacs. I like them for this reason and because they are much cheaper due to the high probability of not getting anywhere near your destination.

There are also gypsy cabs and random guys in cars who pretend to be cabs but are serial rapists, which is why you never get a minicab on the street.

Now - I've been rather mean about black cabs above, but recently they're redeemed themselves. I was at a rather drunken black tie affair the other night, and got stuck having to get a black cab home. My feet were searing white pain, and everything else was numb.

I leaned in the window and slurred my location (sath of the river, mate) and asked if that was OK. My driver said "I don't have a choice - you're paying." Unusual...and suspect. In I get, and sath we go. Over the river and through the hood I go, and I say: "you can leave me here, it's only a short walk. I know it's a pain to go south of the river" and he seems surprised and says "you're paying me to take you where you want to go, so that's where we're going."

This is all new to me. I actually missed my street from the sheer shock. AND it only cost me £15 to get home.

Perhaps a new era is dawning in London taxis. Hope springs eternal.

My husband vs. Paleface

2009-06-16T21:14:00.004+01:00

A battle has been raging in our back garden recently.

We have a shady corner in which no grass will grow. We've tried shady-area grass seed, grass food, regular watering in addition to the rain we already get, not watering in case it was getting too much...nothing worked. This has become my husband's very own vendetta. (If an English person's going to have a vendetta, it will generally be about their lawn.)

The other night, we witnessed something that may be a contributing factor...the neighbor cat, who we call Paleface. Pale face is ridiculously cute, very friendly, and pisses in the shady corner of the lawn.

This evening, we witnessed cute little Paleface popping a squat in the shady corner. Husband shouts a few obscenities, jumps off the couch, struggles into shoes, and proceeds to go all Sloth on her ass. And not Sloth chained to the chair, Baby...Ruth. I'm talking Sloth at the end when he's running and shouting Hey You GUYYYYYS. But with more menace.

Paleface, quite understandably, runs like the wind. Husband shovels dirt, sprinkles grass seed, waters, and looks satisfied. For an hour. Back she comes, this time just travelling through. Nevertheless, Sloth husband is back half way out the door, muttering dark oaths.

It's going to be a long summer.

The dreaded lergy

2009-06-13T09:31:00.002+01:00

Apparently I am allergic to England.

For the past year I've been struggling with what I call "the manky hand of death." The water in our part of London is extremely hard - has lots of mineral crap in it or something. When it gets trapped under my wedding ring, it causes little itchy red bumps to come up on my finger, which my doctor has described as an "eczema reaction."

I've also discovered that I'm allergic to privet hedges, which are the preferred property demarcation/decoration for the whole of England.

Combine that with my regular dose of good old American hay fever, and apparently I'm just a walking ball of histamine.

The manky hand of death has spread from one finger to all, and just this morning has jumped hands. I believe a similar thing has started happening on the tops of my feet too. My eyes have just begun to continuously weep. And most fun, my lips have gone pink and swollen and the roof of my mouth has itchy little bumps on it.

Fantastic.

Know where this wouldn't happen? Jamaica. Why can't we live in Jamaica?

Well folks, I've fulfilled my britishness prerequisite

2009-06-06T13:57:00.003+01:00

Took my Britishness test today, and passed. Unfortunately, even with a test time of 00:05:15 for 24 questions, I was not the first one done. (Gee - type A anyone?)

So I can now forget all that stupid stuff that no one ever needs to know, and most actual British people couldn't answer, like what % of the population lives in Scotland (8) and how old you have to be to drive a large truck (21).

I have to say the book was a little patronizing. For example, they highlighted the fact that, when applying for a job, you should submit a CV (resume) and cover letter. And, you'll have a better chance of getting the job if you create them on a word processor rather than hand writing them.

Sorry??? Who is this for?!? Unless you're coming in from Outer Mongolia, or happen to be one of those remote Brazilian tribes that people take photos of from the air because they've never had contact with the outside world, I'm pretty sure you're going to know about CVs and computers.

But it's all over now, and I have to wait til July, give the government all my important documents and an extortionate amount of money, and with any luck, I'll get to stick around this place.

The wonder of vodafone

2009-05-28T19:24:00.002+01:00

So...in October, I renewed by vodafone contract so I could get myself a spiffy new phone. This phone was a veritable revelation in my life because it has google maps with GPS. This shaves about 10 minutes off the time it takes me to come out of the tube, walk the wrong direction, realize I'm walking the wrong direction, turn around, and phoning my husband to tell him what I'm seeing so I can figure out where I am. Much more conveniently known as my "getting lost time."

In November, the phone started acting up - it wouldn't take a charge. To the local phone shop (where I got my contract) I go. They update the software.

In January, it happens again. This time they've decided it's a faulty charger.

March - AGAIN this happens, so I phone up vodafone and tell them what's going on. They tell me to send it in. Which I do. They send it back and say they've fixed it. They haven't.

April - again with the battery thing. I phone up vodafone and say I want a new phone. They say they can't give me a new phone until it's been in for repair three times. I explain it's been to the shop twice and sent in once. Apparently the shop never registered the repairs, so I have to send it in again.

I send it, and then don't hear anything for a week. I then get a message that it's been sent back. Except it never comes to the house. Either Royal Mail or vodafone have sent it to the wrong place.

I wait another week and a bit for them to determine whether or not they're going to replace my phone. Now they've send me one replacement handset with no battery and no back case. They've also sent me a whole new phone. Then they sent me a backing with no battery.

Seriously...I'm going with O2.

Goodbyes

2009-05-23T17:17:00.006+01:00

So, I'm leaving my job in publishing for a much more staid position as an internal comms manager for the IT team of Transport for London.

This means many things.

I have to leave a bunch of really great people
I cannot turn up to work in jeans and trainers (that's "sneakers" to you and me kids)
I'm also leaving behind the sweetest office dog ever
I will probably no longer be the beneficiary of the two-hour pub lunch

On Friday, at 12:30, everyone slowly drips out of the office and re-assembles at The Eagle. Two hours, three pints, and one order of chips later, it's back to the office, via a sandwich joint for some actual sustenance. It is very civilized and a nice way to end the week. Plus, it increases productivity on Friday mornings immensely, as stuff's gotta get done in time for lunch.

The fact that I'm leaving now, when the weather's getting better and the beer garden is open, is just rubbing salt in an open wound.

To make up for this, my co-workers joined me for a leaving do at a cocktail bar in Borough. I think they were trying to get me to drink the whole summer's worth of missed lunch booze in one go. It involved me drinking lots of something called a "porn star martini" and throwing my shoulder out playing tennis on a Wii.

Sorry liver - it'll all be better soon.

Swimming in sweatshirts

2009-05-16T19:44:00.006+01:00

One of life's mysteries, at least my life's mysteries, is why the waters of the Mediterranean and adjoining areas are so FREAKIN cold.

I recently returned from a girlie holiday to Portugal. It was lovely - I was invited along with some friends who have known my husband for many years, but not me so much, since we were living in the States. It was good to get to know them better.

We ate, drank, giggled at the crazy catholics and their saint's day procession thingie with the big statue of the madonna and Hail Marys on loudspeaker...and went to the beach. Yes - it's only may, but it was our holiday dammit, and we were going to the beach.

It was hot - when the sun was out it was definitely swimming weather. Key there was "when the sun was out." God forbid a cloud covered it up. Also, I use the term swimming loosely. What it mostly consisted of was the following:

1. brace self and go in about knee deep
2. swear
3. say "oh screw it" and go in all the way
4. run screaming from the sea much to the amusement of the locals
5. put on all available layers to prevent hypothermia

At one point I was actually sitting on the beach in my swimsuit, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and using my sarong as a scarf.

I would say it was the time of year, but the same thing happened in Greece in July, and it was WAY hotter out. Water was still arctic.

At least the cold water had a healing effect on the muscles I forgot I had until I got conned into horse riding. Hello inner thighs - long time, no see. Even with the swimming, I've been walking around like an 80 year old "lady of the night" for the last week. I still can't cross my left leg over my right.

I think my pansy American ass needs the Caribbean, where getting in the ocean's like sliding into a warm bath.

No beer and no tv make blogger go...

2009-05-05T21:38:00.003+01:00

...something something.

Something has decided to go terribly wrong with our cable. We think it may have been a wood pigeon's attempt to nest behind our satellite dish. Whatever happened - the TV, she's-a broke-a. All we get is pixellation and freezing.

I don't know how to live my life without a TV. My husband is equally as retarded in the social interaction on a weeknight department. We come home, veg, and suck pop culture from the teat that is our 400 channel-havin' television screen.

To put it in perspective, my husband has gotten a Facebook account. For those of you who know him and his aversion to all things computer-related after 5:00 p.m. (unless it's attached to speakers and kicking out some type of techno), you'll understand how bad it's gotten.

This has a detrimental effect in several ways. 1. He has friended his brother who sees no problem posting any photos he sees fit, inclusive of Christmas snaps where I have stars glued to my face. They now get linked back to me because of my link to him.

It also instigates behavioural issues in our cat, who has no lap to sit on while we both have our laptops out. Right now it's just whining and the stink eye, but I have a feeling there will be some type of more vicious protest soon.

Thank god the cable guy is coming tomorrow.

Lots of new stuff

2009-05-03T16:25:00.004+01:00

So - no post in a while. Lots going on.

I have a new job. Working for the Tube. Yes - the Tube that I have banged on about on this very blog. But they're paying me more than I'm making now, it's bound to be less insane than my current situation, and I get free travel for both me and my bastard of a husband. I say "bastard" because he has informed me that he'll never leave me because I'm now worth £100/month to him.

Oh to truly feel loved is an amazing experience, let me tell you.

I also get 50% off Eurostar, which means I can be a member of the jet set and "hop over to Paris" whenever I want - hooray! Unfortunately it also means I have to go back to wearing proper clothes to work, of which I currently have none. Boo!

I've also been mildly embroiled in a bit of police activity. I can't say much about it, because it's quite serious. Serious enough for me to have a pseudonym so no one tracks me down. It was like an episode of Law & Order around my house for a bit. Hopefully it's all done with now...but who knows.

And finally I got my number for the Cancer Research 5k, which came just in time to find out one of my friends has a malignant tumor in his stomach that may or may not be pressing cancerous cells into his other organs.

People - please...stop getting cancer. Not sure how that works, but seriously. Too much already!

Let's go outside

2009-04-18T17:58:00.004+01:00

Well race fans...I did my first outside run today. I can hardly believe it, but I actually ran a whole kilometer. In one go. Under my own steam. Without stopping. Hell is freezing over as we speak.

I may actually be able to do this whole 5K thing without dying.

What's really freaking me out is that I'm starting to LIKE it. Good christ - it goes against every fibre of my being, but I like it. Be afraid.

So speaking of the 5K thing, I'm going to use this spot to plug my race sponsorship page. If you're interested in donating, post a comment with a clue to who you are and I'll send you the link.

Many many many thanks and big ups UK stylee to those of you who have already sponsored me. To those who haven't, please think about it. I know no one's got any cash at the moment, but even a couple of quid will help.

In other fitness news - we got a WiiFit as an early birthday present for each other. Pretty much exclusively so that we could play the rabid rabbits game that you play with your butt. However - this thing is pretty cool. It has a hula hoop game and a slalom skiing game for your balance, yoga, step aerobics, and jogging. Well - the jogging bit is lame. How long can you run in place, really? I highly recommend it.

OK - enough with the fitness obsession. I promise I'll be back to hangovers and complaining soon!

14 again

2009-04-15T21:13:00.007+01:00

So my husband is a freak for many reasons, one of which is his deep and abiding love of AC/DC. I'd like to point out that we met at a UK hard house/hard techno night, which is about as far as you can get from AC/DC, but that's another story for another day.

So they're touring and I got him tickets as an anniversary present. The show was last night, and it scared the hell out of me. It's a long time since my hicksville, acid washed jeans, who's hotter: Kip Winger or Zakk Wylde days.

However...walking into that arena last night, I swear to god I was 14 again. Guys with long hair in desperate need of conditioner. Acid washed denim jackets with leather trim. I swear to god Beavis and Butthead were two rows down from us throwin' the devil horns like nobody's business. Surprisingly few mullets though. The best was the guy who was there with his wife and kid. Air guitar through the whole show, except for the end when he whipped out and held up an orange blow-up guitar. The kid was dying.

On the band comes and seriously, each song was making me giggle harder than the last. Thunderstruck? Drew Houck's graduation party with the speakers in the back of his pickup truck and scars on his head from when those same speakers smacked him when he was in a car accident. You Shook Me All Night Long? Nazareth pool dip 'n' dances where I wore the tiny spandex skirts I promised my mom I threw out and got hit on by some 18 year old called Frank who was also clad in spandex. I could practically smell the Aqua-Net (of course, that could have been the chick next to us).

It has to be said though - they freakin' rocked. Angus just did not stop - I was afraid there might be some kind of cardiac incident. They've been going for longer than I've been alive, and I doubt I could have kept up that much energy.

And I've found my next career. I want to be the 30-ft blow up Rosie operator. Fantastic.

Why I hate what I do for a living

2009-04-10T20:50:00.003+01:00

I came across this on CNN.com

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/10/peta.pet.shop.boys/index.html

My immediate reaction was that of irritation. C'mon people - please. Asking the Pet Shop Boys to change their name because pet shops and breeding facilities are wrong? Giving hippies a bad name, that is.

But then, my marketing self kicked in. It's friggin' genius. Why? Because it's on CNN.com. And the Pet Shop Boys have posted it on their site. And for the next week people will be talking about it.

And now, I feel dirty.

International woman of mystery

2009-04-10T20:00:00.003+01:00

I love how people say "I'm just popping over to New York on business" like that's some cool international jet set thing to do. It's crap. I've just taken a trip - I know. I landed in NY jetlagged, slept for about 15 hours total during the week I was there (and five of those were only because I was SUPER drunk), got back here and now, a week later, have only just gotten over that leg's jetlag.

My husband looked at me sometime in the middle of last week and said "Hey - you're not grey anymore." That's not cool...that's just wrong.

I did get to see my good friends and their new baby, which was great. And I got to see the parentals and my grandma, which was also good. Most importantly though, I got to watch Vh1. I'm not a fan of reality TV, but the stuff they have on Vh1 is unreal - Rock of Love Bus, I Love Money, and that one with the mean guy who who thinks he's cool tells all the pathetic women that they are, in fact, pathetic. It's gotten way better than the last time I was there. This is something that is sorely missed in the UK, where all we get now is re-runs of Jade Goody programs. (For christ's sake, she's friggin' dead - can we have done with her already?!?!?)

I'll tell you what else I miss - subway cars in which you can stand vertically and three across in between the seats. Tube trains are, well, tube shaped. Which means that if you happen to be on the outside edges during rush hour (and believe me - you don't want to be in the middle) you have to curve your head and neck to adapt to the shape of the train. Which puts your face squarely in the armpit of the sweaty hairy guy who you always end up next to.

It's good to be home though - London now feels more normal than the US. But I'm still not saying "toMAHto."

Nature television...or snuff films???

2009-03-21T15:31:00.003Z

There's a new channel that launched here recently called Eden. It mainly shows old David Attenborough nature shows, new David Attenborough nature shows, and other nature shows that have nothing at all to do with David Attenborough.

My husband enjoys watching this channel, particularly during dinner (dining room and living room are essentially the same thing). He says "It's nay-ture, and it's cooool." I say bollocks - they're nothing but snuff films.

It all started with March of the Penguins. Looked cool, had Morgan Freeman narrating, so we went to see it in the theatre. Ahh - look at the cute anthropomorphic penguins waddling along. Oops - one got lost - he's not going to make it. Aww - look at them pass the egg. If it touches the ice, it freezes and the baby die...whoops, there goes one now. Look how sad the parents look. The hungry mothers make their way back to the coast to have their first meal in months - oooh, looks like that seal had a meal as well! I got up and left after a bird of prey picked off a few baby penguins on the way back to the sea.

Then I started to notice a pattern... I started to call Discovery the "Cute Things Die" channel. Ahh - the graceful gazelle...makes a tasty meal for the lion that's just pounced on it. This meerkat community is undergoing a competition for leadership...to the death. The polar bear won't make it through the next few days if he can't find a meal. Just look as he lies down and waits to die.

And even when there's a happy ending, the music always heads into a minor key and the narrator's tone takes a serious turn - "This bear and her cubs have made it through THIS winter to reap the benefits of the summer's bounty. But next winter looms ahead. Less than 50% of cubs make it to their second birthday...will these two be among the lucky ones?"

It's sick. Nothing but voyeurism. And now they've launched a whole channel here and I have to watch this night in and night out - through DINNER!

The ocean ones are cool though. I'm OK with plankton snuff films. Plankton aren't cute.

Holy Crap

2009-03-17T13:46:00.005Z

I ran for 15 minutes, IN A ROW, on the treadmill today at lunch. That's 15...as in one five.

I had to stop myself from cheering there in the stupid gym.

Pretty soon I'll be able to actually run outside!

I may be mentally ill

2009-03-11T22:40:00.004Z

Those of you who know me probably are amazed I'm just figuring this out now. But I'm fairly certain that something is wrong with me and I need to go "away" for a little while.

One of my life's mottoes has always been "Never run unless someone's chasing you with something sharp and malicious intent." Fitness has never been my strong suit, and I firmly believe that running is just stupid. Why would anyone want to do athletic activity that could result in puking.

That's before half a dozen people I know either found out they or a loved one had cancer, had a loved one die from cancer or recently got through cancer. This whole cancer thing is really beginning to piss me off. So I decided to throw some money at the situation. But now that I'm broke I have to RAISE money, rather than just throwing my own, so I'm doing the Race for Life . (I'll be begging for donations at a later date.)

But - it's in July, and it's only 5k, and if I can't get in shape by then, then all is pretty much lost and I can go back to eating bread and cheese and making half-assed attempts at aerobics and yoga every few months.

After a few sessions at the gym - I can now run a FULL 00:08:45 in one go on the treadmill - I'm feeling pretty good. Hard core, bitches!! So like the complete nutter I am, I agreed to do another charity 5k a week before the Race for Life. Now I realize I am in trouble. And I'm violating one of my key beliefs.

Though technically, not really. There's a beer tent at the end of the run, and a little known codicil that nullifies the no running rule if there's booze involved.

Nothing like a bit of motivation. If there's chocolate or any type of fried cheese there too, I just may win the friggin' thing.

Bein' lazy

2009-03-02T20:57:00.003Z

Not much to post lately.

Exchange rate's sucking, so we're broke. We're not technically broke, we just feel broke, so we're trying to behave. Thus not doing much worth posting.

Been studying for my Britishness test - apparently I'm between 92-96% British. Which is thrilling. Though I suppose it's not much to boast about, since in addition to giving you vital knowledge about the bookies and cigarettes, the book also tells you about what a debit card is, who to call if you need a landline, and that you should include a cover letter with your CV. Things terribly specific to the UK.

Went "up north" this weekend to Manchester, where there is A LOT of leopard print. Inexplicably, as you can't get any further away from leopards than Manchester. We had a nice time and good Indian food though.

Whole lot of nothin'. Just waiting for payday.

Let's embark on a journey of Britishness

2009-02-15T16:30:00.003Z

OK...so I've just found out that I have to give the UK government £750 in August to get "indefinite leave to remain" stamped on my passport. This place gets more like the US every day.

In addition to and before forking over this absolutely retarded some of money, I have to take a "Britishness test" Fine, whatever. Have to do that in the US as well. I know lots of stuff about UK history and government...I may have to brush up on my pre-Thatcher prime minster list, but hey - shouldn't be too rough.

So off to the bookstore I go to get the study guide. I find it, and notice that it's called "Life in the UK: A Journey to Citizenship." Good christ...this is going to be funny. But if it means I'll be that much closer to going through the fast lane at passport control, I'm in.

Home I go, crack open the book to begin my journey and find the following items as "potential test subjects"

In the distant past, Nordic invaders came and seized the land and stayed
(no mention of the continuation of that tradition in, for example, India in the more recent past)
Women still work in many traditional female jobs (like nursing or retail) but attitudes are changing (whoopee girls!!)
You must be 16 years old to buy cigarettes
You must be 18 years old to buy alcohol or enter a betting shop
UK children don't play outside as much as they used to, partly because of television and partly because of parental fears of molestation, though no data supports an increase in this
Many parents are concerned about their children "misusing" drugs

This is just the first chapter. Of a book that is supposed to teach you about CITIZENSHIP. They're more concerned about what age you can hit up the bookies than what a parliament is!!

I have a funny feeling this "journey" is going to be more like an acid trip. Which I may or may not know about, as 1/3 of UK adults have admitted to using illegal drugs at one time or another.

Monk's away from Monk's

2009-02-15T11:44:00.003Z

Sweet jesus...I can live in London after all. Some updates:

2 weeks ago, we found a shop in Hackney (East London) that sells Mexican groceries. Life, for me, does not carry on without the relative proximity of salsa verde. I have a problem. I know it. I can admit it. I'm the Amy Winehouse of Mexican food. So, needless to say, I've had my fix and am happy again.

Yesterday, my husband and I took a stroll through a market not far from the Mexican food shop and found my Mecca, my temple, what is sure to become my favorite bar in London. The Dove. It's London's version of Monks.

(For those of you who are non-Philly people, Monks heaven for beer-philes. More than 100 Belgian beers and food that is cooked with or sauced in the beer they serve. Think duck breast with dried cherries and kriek lambic sauce)

More than 100 Belgians, awesome food, and a games shelf with scrabble.

Life is good.

Oh yeah - and Happy Bargaintines Day!!

Missing the f'ing point

2009-02-14T17:48:00.003Z

Sometimes this country is ridiculous. Seriously and only kind of a little funny ridiculous. I give you one of Thursday's headlines from the BBC:

Romeo and Juliet get knife advice
"The director of a new production of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet has met police for advice on how to avoid glamorising knife crime in the play."

Honestly - we're going to change Shakespeare around to avoid knife crime? Last time I checked, all the knife wielding chavs and super thugs running around the dodgy bits of London weren't spending their free time at the Globe discussing the most recent dramatic interpretation of the of the balcony scene.

Never mind the violence on TV, the glamorisation of money and drugs and violence in music and movies...it's the 16th century play they're NEVER GOING TO SEE (or at best are going to fall asleep through on a school trip) that's the problem.

No wonder the friggin empire collapsed.

Correction

2009-02-05T21:34:00.002Z

According to now slightly annoyed husband: "There's no MUD in Speedway. It's shale!!"

A-duh.

Consider me schooled.

My husband won't stop touching the TV

2009-02-05T21:16:00.003Z

My husband has an unnatural obsession with two things: motor sports and electronics.

Motor sports I'm kind of pissed off about. I thought I got away from NASCAR by marrying an English guy. Not so much. NASCAR, F1, something called Speedway, which involved Polish people, motorcycles, and mud. If it's got an engine, he'll watch it.

But I can deal with motor sports because it doesn't affect me. I can walk away from the TV and watch the one upstairs, read a book, go for a walk.

The electronics is a different story. We have 6 remotes in the living room: 1 for the TV, 1 for cable, 1 for the DVD, 1 for the stereo, 1 for his iPod dock and now one for the new surround sound system he picked up the other day. I now have to re-learn how to use the TV. Again.

I'd like to take this moment to point out that our freakin' living room is about 12 ft x 15 or 16 ft. We already WERE surrounded by sound. But he likes to look at all the pretty lights and dials on the equipment, and swears that it's better (but only for movies) and so we have it. It makes him happy, so it makes me happy.

Except he's spent the past three days purchasing and finagling cables. It's never just the equipment you see. You need the special gold cable that connects the receiver to the speakers, and the other special cable that re-routes the cable cable back to the TV so you don't have to leave the surround sound on all the time. And the super secret squirrel cable that makes the receiver and DVD player pleasure each other sexually while you watch the latest in home video. Who knows what goes on back there.

I'm currently trying to watch Omega Man on TV. (that's another issue for another day). He's currently kneeling in front of the TV swearing while trying to connect another cable. In case you were wondering, "the people who run Sky are cheap ass whores."

Maybe I better go make him some tea.

Snow day!!!!

2009-02-02T07:40:00.004Z

This never happens in London

Gettin' around

2009-01-31T17:55:00.003Z

London is one of the biggest cities in the world. Tourist destination, financial hub, yadda yadda yadda. So why does its transportation suck so embarrassingly much???

Let's start with the Tube. In theory, great - huge network running all over the city, frequent stops, easy interchanges. Should be the best thing since sliced bread. However it sucks big green donkey bollocks. Why you ask? Well, let's start with the fact that it shuts at 12:30 every night. What the hell kind of major city has a transport system that shuts every night at 12:30. That means that at around 11:45, you have to decide whether what you're doing is worth either a £25 cab ride home (more on that later) or staying til 5:30 when the stinking thing starts back up again. If not, you make a mad dash to the tube and hope for the best.

Now - you would think, with all this downtime at night, they could maintain the system and make sure that it runs at the top of its game during the day, right? Rubbish! Not a day goes by when all the lines are running at both ends of rush hour. And every weekend, at least three lines are COMPLETELY STOPPED for "scheduled maintenance." On what??? My line just opened 6 years ago. It's closed every other weekend for work. You can't do this shit at night???

You can tell they're bad because they've had to start putting these up all over the place:

Don't even get me started on the buses.

Social math

2009-01-25T22:16:00.002Z

Poverty + open bar at husband's office party Friday = very hungover blogger.

(Hangover + evil friend + evil husband) x 5 "hair 'o the dog" pints at on Saturday = bad idea.

Bad idea + commitment to go to neighbor's for "drinks and nibbles" later that night = even more hungover blogger.

So much for our New Year's commitment to asceticism.

How 'bout dem Iggles

2009-01-19T20:39:00.008Z

Last night, we watched again as the Eagles got so close to the big show.

And then: Aaaacccchhhhkkkk. Choking like Mama Cass on a ham sammie (god rest her soul).

This amuses me, for I am not an Eagles fan. I am, in fact, a Bengals fan. I enjoy seeing pain and humilation heaped on others like it's been heaped on me for the last twentysomething years. More than that, I think Donovan McNabb is a bona fide dickhead. Have done since he came to Philly in his first season and wouldn't walk on the field without an $8 million contract. Everyone else seems to think he's the second coming of christ, including Donovan himself, which makes me loathe and detest him even more.

This also amuses me because I am not a fan of Eagles fans, so I revel in their misery. Congratulations - you can spell your team name and throw beer at old ladies who are wearing the wrong jersey in the wrong section of the stadium. Or in the bar. Or on the street. Real cool.

Mostly this amuses me because they get there and choke almost every year, and yet Eagles fans are somehow shocked and upset by this. I know it's hard being an Eagles fan - they seemingly give you hope and then, whoosh....down the crapper. But seriously folks...they've been in 4 of the last 8 NFC championship games and the results have always been the same. Except for the one year when they won, and McNabb almost crapped himself in the Super Bowl. Before losing in a way that would have made actually crapping himself less embarrassing.

Some people say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different result. At least Bengals fans KNOW not to expect anything.

Random stuff

2009-01-11T21:02:00.004Z

So I'm primarily doing this entry so that the photo of Harley drops down - looking at it depresses me... perma-cold has come back, so I've been taking it quite easy and thus nothing to report. So - below is a series of random stuff.

The start to the year has been a bit of a "cack" one (that's an English word that translates roughly as "pooey"). One of my new year's resolutions is, as it is every year, to swear less. I fully expect, as happens every year, to have full-blown trucker-mouth back by March. For now though, I must use words like "cack" and "pooey" and hope that this year will be different.

Anyway, the cackness happening at the beginning of the year hopefully means it's out of the way and done for the year and we'll win the lottery in a few weeks.

My friend, however, is not having a cack start to the year, as she just had a baby. It's a girl, and she's new and beautiful and freaking me out. My friend is the first person I know THAT well who has actually squeezed one of those little things out. It's freaky to think of her (or anyone else from that portion of my life) being a parent to something other than a dog or a cat. They're going to be great parents though - and I'm really excited to watch this situation unfold. From a very safe distance. As an "auntie."

This baby momma friend of mine has screwed me though. I have always been anti-facebook. No one wants to know what you're doing every second of the day. No one wants to be tagged in a photo that they haven't approved for all the internet to see. (This particular friend has encouraged me to make, and then watched doubled with laughter as I executed, a snow angel in a gutter full of snow after drunkenly slipping on some ice. So you can imagine the photos she's got floating around.)

However - it was the easiest way to let everyone know when the baby was born. As she was overdue by more than a week, we were all on facebook every five minutes seeing if there were any updates. Now I have a serious addiction. I'm hoping it will fade as baby pictures start coming via e-mail and not via mobile upload to facebook. But pray for me. And if you're reading this and you've friended me on facebook, please don't be offended if I don't comment on a status or respond to a poke or whatever. I'm trying to break the habit.

OK- I think that should be long enough to put the photo "below the fold." Hopefully the next one will be slightly more interesting.

RIP Harley

2009-01-03T14:45:00.004Z

T- if your baby displays an unusual penchant for lying in the sun and eating nacho chicken and naan, we know where he got reincarnated.

Spare him a thought everyone, he was lovely.

The joys of intercontinental travel

2008-12-30T20:54:00.004Z

Someone really needs to perfect that whole Jeff Goldbum/The Fly method of travel. If I'm to be expected to travel great distances as I get older and crankier than I already am, someone's going to have to teleport my ass, 'cause 8 hours on a plane is not cutting it.

In case you hadn't guessed, I've just returned from a trip to the motherland for christmas. Unfortunately, we decided to go on the cheap, as christmas tickets are sort of expensive. I booked a flight on what I thought was BMI, only to find out that it's "operated by" US Airways. I use the term "operated" loosely. There were people there, and I'm sure they were doing something besides looking annoyed and dropping inedible prison food on our trays, but I can't for the life of me figure out what.

I won't even fly US Air from Philly to Boston, so the tendencies went a bit suicidal when I found out I was trapped with them for 3000 miles. Things didn't get much better when we arrived at 8:50 for an 11:50 flight only to find out from a vapidly smiling flight attendant that the flight was delayed by 4 hours. Or on our return flight where they couldn't find our reservations, and sat us in the very last row with no recliners.

Now, I suppose it's not really fair to expect an US-based airline to understand how to do long-haul flights. Their expertise is in the continental US - they don't usually even manage to go across that without stopping in Atlanta or Chicago. But good god - when you're trapped on a plane for 8 hours, you should be entitled to a drink or two, a seat that actually reclines, and a decent film (Mama Mia on the way there, Journey to the Center of the Earth on the way back - they're lucky there wasn't mutiny).

The plane we were on on the way back was so old it still had chemical toilets, rather than the newfangled "whoosh" kind. So not only do you have to make sure your pant legs aren't in the puddles of mis-aimed wee on the floor, and hold on for dear life to the wall handle so you can maintain a steady hover above the pee-covered seat, but you also have to avoid the sloshing blue toilet juice whenever you hit the slightest bump.

But all these trials and tribulations were worth it, as we got to see friends and family (and buy cheap jeans!). While I don't really miss Philadelphia and its grubby charms all that much, it was great to be able to spend some time with the fam, and get everyone together to drink and laugh and light the menorah at the bar at half time during the big game. Thanks to everyone reading this who made it out and made it special.

And to Mom, who has ensured that I won't be eating again til easter.

x-mas

2008-12-14T15:50:00.003Z

Anyone else not feeling overly christmasy?

I'm broke, cold, and annoyed, which is normal for this time of year, but generally those conditions are created because of christmas shopping. This year I can't even be bothered.

Lights - meh! Carols - shush! Even Christmas movies - there are hardly any on TV, and the last one I watched on DVD did nothing but make me wish it was January. I think I've finally turned into my father. "Christmas is for kids and people who have kids. After that, it's just another friggin day."

Seeing others, grimly perched with a few small bags on the leany bit of the tube carriages, I'm thinking its not just me. And there was an item on the morning news program the other day about a bunch of old geezers in a pub somewhere who have started up The Bah Humbug Club. Grumpy old men with a purpose - it's probably helping them live longer. They even have hats.

Perhaps I ought to initiate one of these for the younger set. We'll put up a Festivus pole and drink beer and listen to the Cure.

Anyone in? Anyone feeling slightly more festive than I and want to share the good cheer???

Merry Christmas from the office dominatrix

2008-12-07T08:34:00.003Z

Many of the people I work with are completely inappropriate. I mean, I'm hardly conservative, but when the IT guy tells one of the new sales chicks (while she's putting on make up in the back of a cab on the way to an event) that it's probably not the first time her lipstick's been smeared in the back of a taxi, one woman wears skirts to the office in which seeing her ass is a serious risk, and one of the guys doesn't show up to work the day after an awards event until 12:30, in the pub, announcing that he's not sure where he's been for the last 8 hours, I'd say some people are inappropriate.

This is usually never more apparent than at our awards events and Christmas parties. You may remember last year's Christmas party post about spending the evening at the hospital with a drunken co-worker. I probably didn't mention the fact that they left one guy passed out between two cars because he couldn't remember where his house was (they were on his street). Or the fact that a few weeks earlier, at one of last year's black tie awards events, one guy was doing knee slides with his shirt over his head across the dance floor. Mmm classy.

So I'm not sure why I was surprised when one of the women I work with turned up at work on the day of the Christmas party in a pair of those American Apparel black rubber-looking leggings, over the knee hooker boots, and a slightly long turtleneck with a cut out back. Apparently the credit crunch is really affecting her and the Christmas party was cutting into her night job. I'm also not sure why I was surprised when she swapped out the over the knee hooker boots for a pair of thigh-high rubber-looking hooker boots with lace...yes lace...at the top.

We were taking bets on whether or not her boyfriend was chained up back at her flat in a gimp outfit and a ball gag.

Now don't get me wrong - whatever you want to do is OK by me. And the outfit would have been appropriate, even tame, for a night out at the Torture Garden. She looked quite good - none of those horrible "I refuse to acknowledge my saddlebags" kind of issues. But please god...not at a work event. I don't want to get the myriad mental pictures that little get-up has now burned into my retinas. Plus it's just a jarring image to see all that faux rubber under the fluorescent light of the office playing skittles (like bowling) for prizes.

Just inappropriate.

Giving thanks, part II

2008-11-29T13:14:00.003Z

My last post may have been a bit negative. I didn't mean to convey that I don't like Thanksgiving...only that we in the UK don't celebrate it, and that it's not necessarily based on the nicest of stories.

In fact, Thanksgiving is possibly my favorite holiday - all the food, none of the shopping. And it's the launching point for Christmas movies.

You see - I have a confession to make. While I'm not actually huge on Christmas itself, I'm addicted to Christmas movies - The Bishop's Wife, White Christmas, It's A Wonderful Life, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation ("Emptyin' the shitter Clark!!) and my all time favorite, the Christmas Story. Not the one with Jesus, but rather the one with the little kid who wants the Red Ryder BB Gun ("with a compass in the stock, and this thing that tells time"). I watch that one for all 24 hours that it's shown on TNT on Christmas eve/day. Except for when the Yule Log is on Channel 17. Philly-ites, you know of what I speak.

My husband, tolerant as he is of my many foibles, is not a huge fan of the Christmas genre. So we have an agreement that I will not watch Christmas movies until Thanksgiving. Once we hit that last Thursday in November, I'm in control of the TV and DVD player.

Now that we're in the UK, we don't have the same movies, and we definitely don't have Thanksgiving, but my sweet husband makes sure that I don't miss out. Thursday I came home to a huge roast dinner, an apple pie from scratch, and the Christmas Story cued up in the DVD. God(s) love him.

So I'm thankful for him.

Going to dig out National Lampoon now. Poor bastard.

Giving thanks

2008-11-26T20:26:00.003Z

OK Americans...I'm going to tell you once and for all. The UK does not celebrate Thanksgiving. Stop asking.

Between my husband and I, we've had about 50 e-mails and phone calls from our American counterparts asking what we're going to do with our day off and reminding us to do things before the "office closes" for Thanksgiving. Except our offices DON'T close, so all you're doing is rubbing it in. And that's not nice.

Let me enlighten you. Though American lore would lead you to believe that the Pilgrims were the noblest of nobles, setting sail to blaze new trails and start a new utopia, in actual fact they were booted out of England for being a bunch of religious freaks. Once they were on the boat, ties were cut, so no one cares what happened to them over that cold winter in 16...whatever year it was.

So Thanksgiving was purely about those pilgrims and how many died through the cold winter, and how the Native Americans, trusting souls that they were, showed them how to grow corn and harvest it and feed themselves over the winter.

Which would have been heartwarming, but then we lied to them, killed them, pillaged their land, took advantage of them at every opportunity, and shoved them onto economically non-viable reservations to live for generations in poverty and alcoholism and misery until they figured out how to get their own back by luring the pale faces into their casinos. Don't believe it? Visit the Black Hills and the Sioux Nation - some of the poorest counties in America.

And now we eat turkey. And by "we" I mean people located in the US. The rest of us have work to do.

I'm through defending English food

2008-11-21T19:47:00.003Z

What these people do to a sandwich should be a crime, seriously.

A sandwich, say for example, chicken cutlet or chicken salad, DOES NOT need butter. And yet, for some reason, you can't get one without it. As in, a mozzarella and tomato bagel comes with butter. What the hell kind of monstrosity is that?

The ones that don't have butter have mayo. See again mozzarella and tomato and rocket (arugula) on wholegrain bread. With friggin' mayo!

Many come with both. If you order a chicken salad sandwich on a bap (roll) they put butter on the roll, even though there's mayo on the sandwich. Today I got what Philly-ites would call a chicken cutlet sandwich. And because I wasn't watching these freaks like a hawk, they put butter on the roll. Then, because they are in fact freaks, they put mayo on top of the chicken. In contact with the butter. C. Everett Koop is rolling in his grave. (if he's dead...anyone know that one?)

And they are not very judicious with the mayo. It's amazing more people aren't just keeling over with hardened arteries. Disgusting.

In other news of blocked areas, Harley's doing much better. His jaundice is calming down, he's eating, and he's home for the weekend. Has to go back to the doctor for blood tests on Monday, but the doctor is hopeful that we can avoid surgery.

Thank god he doesn't have to eat sandwiches or his days would be numbered.

Keep everything crossed

2008-11-14T08:18:00.002Z

Hi all...

Yesterday was our 9th wedding anniversary, which would have been fun - fridge stocked with champers, plans for nice meal, etc. But yesterday morning Harley, our kitty, ended up with some type of liver problem and may die. He's now in the vet hospital, where he has to stay for the next 3 days, getting an IV drip and antibiotics.

Please send him some good vibes and keep everything crossed that he ends up OK.

&#@&$^ buses

2008-11-06T10:13:00.003Z

That's it. Utopia Gone. Had to wait 20 minutes for a bus this morning and then the only two seats were next to a hulking fat guy who looked a lot like a child molester or in the front with the bar across the window that makes me nauseous.

Sadly my good mood was short lived, and all hope for humanity dissipated like a mist on the moors.

But as my husband says, I have to not let 'em grind me down.

He has a shorter commute than I do. What the hell does he know ;-)

What a day

2008-11-05T21:09:00.004Z

So after I wrote my last post, I sat on the couch and cried. I'm not a crier. Well - more than I used to be, but still generally a cold unfeeling bitch. But honestly, I didn't know what else to do. The scenes of people celebrating in Washington and New York, and yes...even Philly, still reeling with goodwill from the Phils win - it was amazing.

The idea that anything can happen. That we can move forward together, that there's hope not only for black kids, or kids from not much money, but hope that all of America can start not just recovering from the last eight years, but progress and fulfill the promise of our country.

But enough of all that crap. The champagne is open (in answer to your question, K, yep - got the champers), we just got back from the November 5 fireworks, and my co-workers all love me because I brought in celebratory pastries this morning.

Today was a good day. I hope it continues.

It's finally over!!!!

2008-11-05T05:47:00.003Z

Congratulations America...8 years of bumbling and bad policy is finally over!!!

I never thought it would happen. I thought for sure, at the end of the day, you'd vote in McCain and that crazy lady. But you did it. Thank you!!!

We've got the house, we've got the senate (though not that damn filibuster), and we've got the President. Let's not mess it up. Let's bring our troops home, intelligently. Let's get ALL people access to some type of healthcare. Let's get the economy sorted out...it'll take time, and it ain't going to be easy. But it can be done.

The scenes from New York and Washington are amazing - people massing in the streets, just thrilled that the last 8 years are finally over. When was the last time you saw people pouring into the streets to celebrate after an election.

I'm proud to say I'm American again. And people probably won't attempt to kill me based on that fact anymore.

Let's just hope it lasts. Do us proud Obama!!

Get out and VOTE

2008-11-03T16:59:00.002Z

OK US people...it's time. Get out there and vote. But only if you really know what you're voting for - you've weighed the issues, you're aware of the candidates stances and believe in someone.

If you don't know Joe Biden from Joe the Plumber, don't vote just for the sake of it. This election is too freakin important.

And if you're considering voting McCain...I can do nothing but respect our differences. But PLEASE, ask yourself whether you really want Palin to be the potential leader of your country. Do you really want her involved in foreign policy. Put her folksy down to earthness aside. Is she really qualified? Does her few years as governor of Alaska and her mediocre education credentials really mean she would be able to tackle the issues? Does her lack of professional ethics both in her governorship and throughout the campaign give us any indication that she'll be any different to the secretive and unethical administration of the last 8 years?

All I'm saying is - John McCain isn't looking all that healthy, and he is an old dude. I wouldn't want Palin to drive my bus in the morning, let alone lead the free world.

Fingers crossed everyone - it's going to be a nerve wracking couple of days.

Ladies, please...

2008-11-02T17:57:00.006Z

Take the friggin tags off the bottom of your friggin shoes before you wear them out. We can all see them. We all know how much you paid for those shoes that you think are so hot and don't want anyone to know you bought at Primark.

We can SEE you bought them at Primark.

Because you left the friggin tag on.

(For the Americans out there, Primark is like a super cheap H&M. Think Kohls, but without the housewares department.)

Champagne and face rashes

2008-11-02T11:08:00.004Z

It's been a busy week this week.

The Phils have won the World Series. If Phillies fans in the city thought that rain delay was tough, they should have been here. We stayed up to watch the game, in case it was the decider. So on Monday (technically Tuesday), at 12:30 a.m. we were in front of the TV. At 2:30 a.m., we officially gave up. Tuesday night, we mercifully got some sleep.

Then came Wednesday. I conked out at 11:30, only to be awakened again at 2:00 a.m. by a "YEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" from downstairs. So - husband managed to stay up, and apparently we won. Up I get, pop goes the champagne...husband is at this point half in the bag from stress drinking, so he wants to watch the whole thing again. It was really exciting, if I'm honest. And I was glad to hear a few reports of looting among the generally well behaved fans. That's the Philly I know and love.

However - I seem to have developed some type of rash on my face and neck. Don't know if it's an allergic reaction to something, my body's reaction to lack of sleep, or some other type of illness. But I look like Amy friggin' Winehouse over here.

It started on Thursday with what seemed like a hive on my cheek. Now I think my husband is secretly planning on sending me to a leper colony, and I'm ready to do impromptu surgery with the potato peeler so it stops itching.

You're welcome, Phillies

2008-10-26T17:37:00.004Z

So my husband is a very cranky man these days.

I kind of got him addicted to baseball during our 8 years in Philadelphia. Anyone who knows anything about baseball knows that Philadelphia is a hell of a city to be a baseball fan in. For 8 years they sucked. Actually for about 15 years they sucked. And before that for another 13 years. But for the 8 years he was in Philly, they specifically sucked. They managed to lose most spectacularly whenever we had tickets.

So it should stand to reason that now that we've left the country, they're in the stinking world series! The further we are away from the stadium, the better the Phillies do. My husband is actually starting to take it personally.

So now, thanks to the North American Sports Network (part of the evil empire that is Setanta Sports) my poor husband is relegated to watching the taped game each morning before work. I believe that their success to date is purely the result of my husband's having absolutely nothing to do with the game as it's being played whatsoever.

So to the city and to the team, I say - you're welcome.

I've been Jaegered

2008-10-25T11:17:00.003+01:00

I learned a great many things in college. Cultural relativism, communications theory, chemistry. OK - that last one I didn't really learn as much as try to get through without crying.

But the two most important things I learned are as follows:
1. Cocktails are a bad idea.
2. Jaeger is not my friend.

Now that I'm older, I'm starting to get alcohol induced Alzheimer's. Meaning that once I have one or two drinks, I forget many things, including the vital life lessons mentioned above.

I'm usually safe here in England. If a bar does cocktails, they're generally really expensive, so it's very easy to pass on the mojitos, thank you very much. However - I stumbled upon an oasis of cheap cocktails in the middle of London last night. Bad news.

After our regular Friday drinks in the office, several of us moved on to celebrate a co-workers birthday at a bar. What I didn't know is that this place was a cocktail bar, as in very little beer on the premises and none of it on draft.

I'd already had a couple of glasses of wine at the office, so the Alzheimer's was revving up, and I thought - when in Rome. I started talking to the barman, Slash, about the fact that the cocktails were great - it's hard to find a decent pisco sour anywhere, let alone in a dodgy bar in Borough. Sweet guy...only called Slash because he's Asian, and his actual name is quite a bit more difficult to pronounce.

He was a sweet guy, that is, til he pulled out the Jaeger and decided that we needed to do a shot. Then I saw him for the evil satan man that he really is. But I was a little stunned (bartenders never do that here) and I didn't want to offend him, and that Alzheimer's was kicking in so I did the shot. Then, 10 minutes later, he did it again.

So here I am, each keystroke reverberating like a jackhammer in my skull, praying for death, trying not to think about the several times I threw up last night. Mom was right - I'm not 21 anymore.

P.S. - Go Phils!!!

I love this country

2008-10-19T08:58:00.004+01:00

I took the day off on Friday. For no good reason.

Didn't have to do anything, go anywhere....nothing. I did a bit of shopping, had a wander around, cleaned my kitchen and generally did a whole lot of nothing.

I took it off because I could. Because they give you enough holiday time here that you can take a day off, just because you need one.

LOVE this country!

Though in France, they give you even more time off, and they give you two hours at lunch.

Hmm....

Non-breeders of the world, UNITE!

2008-10-12T19:58:00.004+01:00

I'm not sure what happened. Maybe I've hit "that age." Maybe people are bored. I don't know. But seemingly everyone I know is having babies. Our best dinner friends from home, two of my husbands friends, two people at work, our landlords...they're everywhere. And the ones who aren't having babies already have actual kids.

Walking down the street with my (mercifully gay and therefore not currently reproducing) friend, I was trying to remember the name of yet another child and had to run down six different couples' kids names before I remembered who I was talking about.

For those of you who may not know me, I am a militant non-breeder. There are enough people in the world, thank you. Plus - you can't go anywhere once you have kids. Or rather you can, but very few people can manage it without pissing off everyone else wherever they are by bringing their bratty, unruly, usually screaming child somewhere where it doesn't belong. Particularly today when you're apparently not meant to discipline your child. I remember when I was little and I threw a fit...I got dragged outside for a beatdown. Or I got the - you're in for a beatdown later if you don't knock it off this minute - look. None of this "oh, she's just expressing herself" crap.

I digress...the problem with having friends who have kids is that they can never do anything. Wanna go for a drink? Can't...no sitter. Wanna go shopping? Can't...it's ____'s weekend to hang out with his/her friends, so I'm on kid duty. Wanna go for dinner? Sure...but we have to go to Chili's because it's the only thing little Taylor is eating these days. So you're left with going to the park, going round theirs for a cuppa or sucking it up and going to Chili's.

Don't get me wrong - there are a few that do it well. But they're a rarity.

I need to start a non-breeders social club for people who have been abandoned by their breeder friends. We're going to meet at cafes or pubs at 1:00 on Sundays...when normal non-breeder people manage to get up, get dressed, and make it out of the house to procure some caffeine or hair o' the dog to battle their "I went out last night til about 4 and think I might die" non-breeder hangovers.

Who's joining me?

What Credit Crisis

2008-10-09T21:21:00.003+01:00

As western civilization seems to collapse nearly daily (at least the economic portion of it), I'm proud to announce that I, your faithful blogger, am credit worthy.

Not enough for a mortgage, mind you. But my credit rating has gone from "who the hell are you and where have you come from" to "well, you seem OK, but we're not going to give you very much money til we know you better."

I consider this an accomplishment in the current economic conditions.

It's also going to lower my blood pressure immensely. Let me just say, I'm exceptionally pleased with both Citibank's and Bank of America's fraud policies. They have saved me at least once when I had my number stolen.

However - because I have moved abroad, every time I use my card, they consider me a fraudster. So...I go to buy some train tickets to go to see the in-laws in Birmingham. I check out, attempted transaction is declined, card shut down. I call card company and say "hi...it was me. I live abroad now, remember? If you check my account, my address is in London. So it would follow that when I use my card, it would be in oh, I don't know - London! Then they turn on the card and apologize.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Every month or so. For a year.

But hooray! No more. For I am a real credit worthy UK resident now.

Now let's just hope the issuing bank doesn't collapse.

White Whine

2008-09-28T08:01:00.003+01:00

For those of you who have never seen it, you should really visit White Whine, a website where white people complain about shit that only upper-middle class white people could possible ever complain about. (If you happen to be one, as I am, you'll at first be appalled, and then go - "hey - that guy is right on the money!")

Forget about ethnic cleansing in darfur, or the blight of poverty in urban America. Someone's messenger bag took a really long time to get delivered, and the new iPhone is really slow.

Well - I have a white whine of my own...why are all the shoes out there today so FREAKIN UGLY!?!?! I spent 4 hours yesterday trying to find one pair of black shoes (or ankle boots - see - I'm open to alternatives) that look good with jeans and don't make me look like a butch lesbian (I already have the sturdy build and ultra-short hair, so I have to be careful with both footwear and this season's new plaid trend)

And P.S. - I love butch lesbians - don't get me wrong. But I'm just trying to go for more of the lipstick thing these days.

Four hours of the ugliest shoes I have ever seen - they all look like rejects from the 1987 Candies fall line. Seriously - these were boots that I wanted to wear when I was 11, but I was too young. And the shoes...I'll let them speak for themselves

Yes ladies - that's one sassy shoe. And yes - those bows are, in fact, glitter encrusted. Classy. You'll be sure to get all the boys with these babies. You won't look at all like a deranged Dorothy wannabe just let out of the looney bin for a night on the razzle. When you want to go home, click your heels three times and say "there's no drug like Thorazine."

Please - someone tell me where I can find non-ugly shoes for under £200 in greater London.

Thank you, Symantec

2008-09-21T20:40:00.003+01:00

I have just wasted almost my entire weekend farting around with my antivirus software.

If you have Norton, don't freakin' download the v 2.0 update if you can avoid it. Like an idiot, I did...and it killed my computer. And then I got the extra added bonust of talking to the lovely, but clearly untrained people at Symantec. I had to talk to these people because in order to get any online support at all, you have to download more of their crap software, which you can't do because your computer is dead. It's like a really bad modern version of an Abbott and Costello act.

If you do download it, and it doesn't work, tell the idiot tech guys to check the reg keys.

So three days (twelve hours troubleshooting and on the phone), four phone calls, two really bad headaches, and countless cursewords later, I'm finally back on the computer.

So down I sit to watch the Bengals game (they're actually on TV). Carson Palmer's first three plays are as follows: sac, loss of yards, delay of game penalty. Somehow, miraculously, they're in the lead. Tenuous at best, but definitely a lead. I was going to bitch, but I'm going to hold off momentarily to see if they actually manage to pull this one out.

Which of course, now that I've said that, they won't. That's just the kind of day I've been having.

Ok - seriously...Palin???

2008-09-13T08:49:00.004+01:00

Ok America...what the hell is going on????

McCain is technically (though only slightly) ahead in the polls. Did someone drop a big load of acid on the country or what?

I'm going to be kind of reiterating what Matt Damon said here, but he's 100% right.

Let's put aside politics for a minute - let's ignore the fact that Palin is more of a religious fundamentalist than Bush (or really, than most of the people in gitmo).

John McCain is 70-odd years old. He has several injuries that still affect him. There is every chance that he could kick the bucket mid-term.

Sarah Palin took 6 years and 5 different universities to get her Journalism degree. JOURNALISM. First - what kind of qualification is that to be VP? Second - who takes THAT long to get a journalism degree...it's an f'ing cakewalk. Do we really think she's capable of being president???

Her entire political background seems to include being mayor of a small town in Alaska and being Governor of Alaska for 2 years. Has she ever even been to a foreign country? Has she ever even been to Washington DC? Could she point to Afghanistan or Georgia on an unlabeled map? We don't know, do we. She has no foreign policy experience, and no real national policy experience.

She has what, 5 kids? One's knocked up, one's on his way into the military to, according to rumours, avoid all the problems he's gotten himself into with his Oxycontin addiction. And they're named things like Trig, Track and Bristol...what does THAT tell you about this woman's decision-making skills?

In addition - there's all these stories about how she's impossible to get on with (always helpful when negotiating with foreign dignitaries) and that she has the ethics of..well...not so much on the ethics really. Just Google Sarah Palin and ethics and see what happens.

What sums her up for me though, is the following: She opposes abortion in any case, including rape and incest and anything short of death for the mother. Fine - if that's what she thinks, the only thing I can do is disagree.

BUT - she also used her line-item veto in Alaska to cut funding for a state program that gave teen mothers a place to live and get on their feet.

That's her thought process - she's against abortion, but she's also against helping people who have made the choice to carry their babies to term. Against giving both mother and baby the chance at a better life. So apparently we're to presume that she feels that the baby should be born, but then should be potentially punished with a life of poverty and struggle because its mother 'sinned against god.'

Haven't we had enough of this with Bush? The war in Iraq is a war from god - where have we heard that before? Whose god would that be anyway? Most of the ones I read about aren't so happy with the whole war thing. McCain's promising change, but how can he change anything with a voting record that's with Bush 90% of the time and a veep that's fairly obviously incompetent.

We need someone who can restore America's self respect and respect on the global stage. Who knows if Obama can do that. I think he can - but I'm just one person. But it's blatantly clear that McCain and Palin can't.

P.S.

2008-09-11T21:07:00.002+01:00

English muffins are just called "muffins" here. Don't know why, but I think that's funny.

And I got my favorite "Americana" question today:

Colleague: Why are buffalo wings called buffalo wings
Me: Because they were invented in Buffalo, NY
Colleague: Ok - thanks. Wait - how can a town "invent" a chicken part? That's just ridiculous!
Me: it's how they cook them
Colleague: Ooohhhhhh. Got it.

The big move - one year on

2008-09-11T20:45:00.005+01:00

Well, it's been a little over a year now since I've moved over the pond to the new and wonderful world that George W calls "Yurp."

I have to say - it's pretty freakin' cool. It's been a definite adjustment, and it hasn't all been marvellous - things are never the same as you remember them.

But for a girl who was born in the hinterlands and thought she's spend the rest of her life on a bar stool in Philly, it's pretty amazing. I go to work every morning on a double-decker bus. I go past Tower Bridge (that's the one everyone thinks is London Bridge) every day as the sun's rising behind it. I can wander around outdoor markets and drink in pubs that have been in existence longer than my country. Hell - some of the pubs were built before the Pilgrims ever even went anywhere. I can hop on a plane (or a train, or a bus for that matter) and be in another country. That's right, Aunt C. - I can take the bus to Europe...while eating a turkey sandwich ;-)

I'm broke, I miss my friends, and I'm annoyed by being crammed up next to sweaty people on the tube, but it's truly and completely amazing. I would do it again in a heartbeat. Plus - we found a decent pizza joint (not a corn kernel or piece of tuna in sight), so life's worth living again.

OK - enough mushiness. I'll be bitter again next time - when we have a BIG discussion about the horror that is Sarah Palin. Gotta tell ya, that whole thing is another reason to be happy about the move.

Yes Hank, I am ready for some football!!!!

2008-09-07T18:37:00.004+01:00

NFL is back.

Generally speaking, I hate Rupert Murdoch and his quest for world media domination. He's almost single-handedly responsible for global media agglomeration that has hamstrung journalistic integrity and has played a huge role in killing the newspaper industry.

However - from September to January, he's the best thing since sliced bread.

For the whole of the regular NFL season, we get not one, but two games in each time slot on Sky, plus the Monday night game.

To live in the UK, I have given up Halloween and Thanksgiving, but they're not getting my football until they pry the remote from my cold, dead fingers.

Go Bengals!!!!

(maybe it's actually better if I don't watch...)

Eurovision dance update

2008-09-06T20:55:00.003+01:00

The UK team sucked.

The Russian chick just took a balls-slap to the face from her partner, and I'm pretty sure is showing more side-boob than Lindsay Lohan on a Friday night.

This is fantastic.

Eurovision strikes again

2008-09-06T20:34:00.005+01:00

A while ago I reported on the Eurovision song contest, the cheesetastic cheese fest of Euro pop music complete with pirates, Germans in pink afro wigs, and a woman singing about vodka.

Well folks - it gets better. I'm sitting watching the Eurovision DANCE contest, coming to you live from Glasgow, Scotland. It all began with a bagpipe rendition of Robbie Williams' "Let Me Entertain You." Amazing.

(My husband, who is miserable and lame and won't watch it with me, doesn't know what he's missing!)

You might think it would be all downhill from there, but oh no. There's been an interpretive dance in pirate shirt, a 6'4" man partner dancing the jive with a 5'2" woman (that was hot), and an Irish duo that performed a combination latin paso doble/Irish traditional dance. It was like Riverdance with extra Bolivan Marching Powder (that's cocaine to you and me kids!) There's also even been a marriage proposal in the Azerbaijani team.

Currently, the duo from the Netherlands is doing another Robbie Williams classic, Angels. As an added bonus - the male dancer is singing the lyrics. Apparently this thing is like the superbowl of Dancing With The Stars winners from around Europe - one half of each team is either an actor or singer.

But it's not all fun and games - there's learning involved as well. For example, did you know that the Tango is incredibly popular in Finland? Neither did I. Nor did I really want to, but there you go.

Ok - UK's up soon. Perhaps it'll be a combo waltz and morris dancing, while they sing Safety Dance.

At least Graham Norton's hosting to butch the whole thing up a bit. All those sequins and shaved chests were getting a bit much.

Oooh - they've just announced there's a European group dance extravaganza at the end. I might just pee myself with anticipation.

Polish wedding - the last bit

2008-08-30T08:44:00.002+01:00

Ok - so we're almost to the end of our Polish wedding adventure. I know. You're sad.

The day after the reception, we all got on a bus for a BBQ in the country. From the bus, we get changed over to a horse drawn cart that has a traditionally dressed driver (complete with felt hat) and a bag of song lyric sheets. Uh oh.

Uncle moustache is in the front seat with the driver, egging us on to sing along with the polish cart-riding songs, but unfortunately, this cartload is all from the UK, so we basically get serenaded til we get to a chorus of Hey!s or Ha!s, which we're great at. At the end of the ride, we end up at a salmon farm, where there are roasted salmon laid out for us. I don't know if you've ever eaten really really fresh fish before, but it's amazing.

Then back on the cart to get back to the main BBQ area for horse riding, target shooting, and eating. Today's vodka selection included honey vodka and cherry vodka. And yes - apparently in Poland, bb guns and vodka are an acceptable combo.
(P.S. Dad - I hit a 6 on the target on my first (and only) shot. See - that Daisy air rifle didn't got to waste after all!)

After a lot more drinking and eating (best sauerkraut EVER!) we get back on the bus to go back to the hotel. Four or five of the younger marrieds from Greg's family get on the bus with four bottles of vodka. For a 1/2 an hour ride home! They walked up and down the bus trying to get the UK contingent to do shots. A "no thank you" response was met with "yes... mini mini mini." Apparently mini in Polish means something other than mini in English.

Then Greg's cousin begins to explain her ardour for the best man, Steve. Except the only words she knows in English are "super" and "wow." This woman says wow better than anyone I've ever met. "oooh, Steve....smooch smooch smooch....SUPER WOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!" Unfortunately, her husband, sitting next to her, was less than impressed by her "wow"s than we were.

I should also mention, Uncle moustache was on the bus. He was passed out in the front after about 3 bottles of vodka and having eaten the pigs head (to impress the ladies, no doubt!)

Suffice it to say, I'm trying to con my husband into getting divorced and remarried so we can have a Polish wedding. It was the most fun we've had in a long time. Greg's family and friends were wonderful, Poland is lovely (if you get a chance, go to Krakow - beautiful city!), and we managed not to get too ravaged by the vodka.

Well - mostly...

Polish wedding - part two: the reception

2008-08-28T18:56:00.003+01:00

So the reception. Where to begin...

There were about 100 guests. The groom was concerned that they'd run out of vodka. As I mentioned before, they had 140 bottles. Five guests were Muslim, about 10 were children, and 25 were non-Polish.

The food started to come around 2:30, after the champagne glasses were toasted and smashed. Noodle soup, three kinds of chicken, pork, beef, mashed potatoes, fried potato balls, potato dumplings, one small plate of veg per table. The groom's brother's table, also known as "the naughty table," downed three bottles of vodka before all of the first course was out. Perhaps we would run out...

Couple of toasts later, huge trays of homemade cookies cam out. Followed by huge trays of cakes - apparently there were 8 cakes in addition to the wedding cake. Ahh the wedding cake. Yellow sponge with vodka infused icing and vodka infused fruit. It must have been about 40 proof.

Then coffee, then cold cuts and cheese, then some type of weird fish jello thing, then fried fish and three new kinds of potatoes. I began to get an inkling of what my polish friend meant when she said "you'll be alright with the vodka as long as you keep eating." Then more meat, then borscht, then I officially gave up. Apparently there were two more courses after 2:00 a.m.

It was impossible to get drunk - I must've had 6 or 7 shots of vodka and three or four beers and I was sober as a nun. Husband didn't make out so lucky. He got suckered down to the naughty table and had literally one too many.

The best man didn't make out so lucky either...he had to be carried, in his kilt, up to his room at around 9:30. He missed out on most of the food as he was "entertaining" the guests. The Poles loved him. The older ones were also enamored of the two black women from America...they must have been desperately exotic.

All of this drinking and food was interspersed with games (including ski races, a dress up game, something resembling musical chairs), dancing (both individual and team, in a circle around the bride and groom holding hands), and some unique local traditions (man in drag giving "birth" to a baby potty.

By far the best dancer of the night was a man we dubbed "Uncle Moustache." I won't bother explaining the obvious. He was jitterbugging and spinning around like a maniac. Apparently, he was enamoured of the English women and was trying to impress them. One girl had to go outside and sit for a while after being violently spun for about 20 minutes to polish folk songs.

But it didn't end there...oh no. Next day was a bbq in the mountains, complete with roast suckling pig (eeew!)

But this post is long enough - more on that one later.

Polish wedding - part one

2008-08-25T07:19:00.003+01:00

So we're back from the wedding. There's so much to report, that I'm going to have to break this up a bit. (I don't type that well, so it'll take too long to get the whole thing in there)

We landed at Krakow on Wednesday afternoon, after a bit of wrangling, we met our driver (Andre) and started out. Seriously - Polish people drive like maniacs. I can say this having been to both France and Italy, which are notorious for maniacal drivers. Actually, they drive like they're from New Jersey...120 kmph, rear view/wing mirrors are for decoration only, and texting while driving is an acceptible activity.

After white knuckling it for an hour and a half, we arrive at this beautiful country hotel (reception venue) to meet up with everyone and have some dinner. Then, the groom drives us to our hotel (which, for fellow Drexelites, smelled like and had similar rooms to Calhoun Hall, though they were mercifully en suite). He drove down the middle of the two lane twisty turn-y country road, in the dark, while changing SIM cards on his phones because the battery died on one. It has to be said though - no one died, so technically both he and Andre are good drivers.

The next day, we were picked up and driven to the wedding hotel again, where the groom had to drive up in a horse drawn carriage and attempt to buy the bride from her family. The family, traditionally, tell the groom he hasn't offered enough for the bride, but he can have another young girl, and hold out a baby or little girl. Which is creepy, but whatever.

Eventually he offers enough and whisks the bride off in the carriage to the church. Along the way, the children of the village and the grooms friends dress in masks and costumes and stop the carriage from getting to the church by stretching rope across the road. They have to be bribed with money and vodka. Not sure what this is meant to represent, but it's hysterical.

Let's just talk about the church for a minute here. Poland is a fiercely catholic country. And traditionally catholic. The church was quite small, but that didn't stop them from getting in as many pieces of iconography as possible. Inclusive of the giant poster of JP II, looking down beatifically on the congregation, and the commemorative JP II candle nestled underneath it.

Did I mention that the bride's family is Muslim?

After the service, which is beautiful, the bride and groom exit the church and the guests throw pennies at them instead of rice or confetti. I was assured this didn't hurt, as they're very small, but I don't buy it.

Then on to the reception, where there were 140 bottles of vodka (for 100 guests) and 5 meals waiting for us. But more about that tomorrow.

If I don't come back, it means I'm trapped in Hostel

2008-08-20T07:21:00.004+01:00

As in the movie.

We're off to Poland today, to a wedding which I'm told involves meat, vodka, and beating the groom off with wooden spoons as he tries to take the bride's veil.

I'm scared of Eastern Europe - there aren't enough vowels and it's where all those Hostel movies take place. We're like 5 seconds from Bratislava, and I don't want to be hunted and tortured by middle aged Americans with Viagra problems.

Or maybe Bratislava was in Eurotrip, which is slightly less bad.

Ah well - I've got my phrase book and have learned "No thank you, I've had one too many." and "Leave me alone now." (Love the Lonely Planet phrase books - they've got all kinds of phrases relating to drinking and sex.)

Wish me luck - and if I'm not back, call interpol.

Violence is wrong...

2008-08-02T08:34:00.007+01:00

...unless some stupid bitch sprays your new white shirt with pink fizzy drink.

I'm beginning to think that my presence is a bad influence. When I left Philadelphia, it was one of the most violent cities in the country. Highest murder rate for sure.

Since I got to London, something like 80 people (unheard of) have died as a result of violent crimes. Something like 21 teenagers have died in stabbing incidents. For those of you living in Philly, I understand the fact that you're probably laughing right now - 80 people in a city of 12 million. But trust me - it's a ridiculous increase on previous years.

But the crime here is a bit more disconcerting. It happens in all sections of town, to a wide variety of ethnic, age and gender groups. Take for example the recent water fight in Hyde Park. It was arranged on Facebook - all these people were going to gather in London's posh Hyde Park for a water fight.

Except some chick showed up with a bottle of pink fizzy drink. And sprayed it over some kid with a crisp new white t-shirt on. Then she got knocked the fuck out.

Then the cops turned up and set the dogs on the kids and arrested the kid who punched the girl as well as 9 other people who started taunting the cops. The whole story, and more pics are available on the Evening Standard. It's pretty special. Not least because the girl is quite obviously a moron. This dude is chasing her looking like he's going to pull her spine out through her nose and she's laughing like it's still all fun and games.

Now - I can't swear that I wouldn't have given her a good shot too - just for being rude and stupid and more than a little obnoxious. However - it's a good illustration of how people miss out on the whole measured response thing. It's like going straight to the Triple Dog Dare. You wreck my shirt, I knock you unconscious. You say something I don't like, I stab you in the face. It's turning into a scene from Colors or something.

At least in Philly you're pretty safe if you stay away from Kensington, Southwest, and Delaware Ave at closing time.

Best ice cream ever. I mean really. Ever.

2008-07-30T21:26:00.005+01:00

Just got back from dinner. We tried out a local restaurant (thanks T!)

We ended up there because I had spent 45 minutes on the hottest, sweatiest line of the tube on one of the hottest days of the year going a distance that would have taken me 20 minutes to walk. Thought I'd save time.

Anyway - ended up very late, which mean eating out was a smarter option than going to the store and cooking.

The pizza was fab - decent crust is like gold dust around here. But the husband (now dozing in a food coma on the sofa to my left) convinced me I should have ice cream. You get two flavors - I opted for chocolate cinnamon and hazelnut.

Oh my god. This was the densest, richest, most flavorful loveliness I have ever put in my mouth. It didn't melt. You had to chew it. I actually got a knife from my husband to get the bits out of the bottom of the dish that the spoon was too wide for. I'm not ashamed - I'll own that. I'm pretty sure I made "the sex face." I had to fight to not have a Koch's deli, When Harry Met Sally moment. I don't know whether my husband was talking to me through dessert. And at the time, I don't think I cared anyway. It was that damn good.

It's like a glistening gem of joy in the ghetto.

So - tip - if you find yourself in South East London, hit up the Yellow House for dessert.

Back to work

2008-07-27T08:58:00.003+01:00

So coming back to work after a vacation definitely sucks. I mean yeah, you're relaxed and rejuvenated and ready to tackle all those things that you said you'd do after vacation when your head was clear.

But then you actually have to get up and get on the tube. And you have to spend the whole day without a nap. What's that about? It's amazing how quickly you can get used to a nap, by the way. I haven't napped since I was 4 (and even then I used to cheat and just lie in there listening to crappy 70s easy listening music). But let me tell you, I was a regular napper after two days on vacation.

And you have to deal with stupid people. Which you have to do on vacation, but not in the same way. You can either go around them, or you're too drunk/sun burnt to notice.

Take, for example, the walk 'n' readers. Perhaps you don't know the type. These are people who read the crap free papers we get in the evening while walking. Very slowly. And weaving from side to side. Holding up the half-million commuters that are trying to get onto whatever tube line, or just trying to get past them on the pavement (that's sidewalk to you and me) to get home.

While I love celeb gossip, there's nothing THAT riveting in these papers that you can't wait til you're actually ON the tube or AT your house to take a look at. Are you really that interested in photos of Amy Winehouse passing out outside some pub in Camden again? Is the surfing squirrel story so engaging that you can't wait til you're non-ambulatory before you read it?

And don't even get me started on the distributors of these papers. It's like the Gauntlet game on Gladiators trying to get anywhere after work. They stand in the middle of the sidewalk and practically clothesline you to stick the paper out in front of you, droning "London Liiiite." And there are two (London Lite and the London Paper) so the competitors stand about 5 feet apart from each other, staggered. You're juking and ducking and doing the Heisman Trophy straight arm just to get down the street.

Luckily I'm very relaxed and limber from my vacation. I've been getting past them much easier since I got back. But that doesn't make them any less annoying.

Oh...my...god

2008-07-21T16:53:00.002+01:00

This is the worst thing I've ever seen. If this guy isn't kidding, then I'm completely terrified.

http://preppyjournal.com/

Be sure to check out the debate over whether double-popped polo shirts are acceptable, and a riveting article about what is "the preppy way" to wear sneakers.

Didn't this crap go out in like 1986???

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

2008-07-20T19:29:00.004+01:00

Just walked back in the door from a week in Greece. The holiday (that's "vacation" to you and me kids) was amazing. Forgot what day it was after only the second day.

Parga is a beautiful little village - the water's clear, the people are nice, and it's just generally a sweet little place to spend a week getting some sun and eating meat on sticks. We did have a few snags here and there, inclusive of "The Night of the Chav Neighbors" and the marathon journey home that involved a delayed plane, delayed luggage, changing trains, closed tube lines, and a bus full of nutters. However, overall it was an absolutely amazing break.

Rather than give you all the gory details, I'll do the cliffs notes summary version, in no particular order:

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

I'm really really good at doing nothing. Particularly when that nothing is being done in the sun. We sat on the balcony, we sat by the pool, we sat on the beach, we sat at the bar by the beach, and we sat in the little tavernas that dot the place. I need to find a way to get paid for doing nothing, because I could transition from amateur to professional really easily.
Surf/swim shoes are awesome. Firstly because they help ameliorate my massive fear of fish and second because...
Pebble beaches REALLY hurt your feet. However, they rock because the pebbles, unlike sand, don't get everywhere from your beach bag to your bum.
Speedoes are bad, but the armpit fillers are worse. Men of the US - you have been duped. Lads' movies lead you to believe that all the women on topless beaches are hot Swedish models. In fact, most are 50+ year old women who are clinically obese with tits down to their knees and giant sun burnt nipples. When they lie on the sun loungers, the knee length boobs slide neatly off to the sides, filling the armpits of their bearers. The hot chicks actually have a series of bikinis that they change in and out of throughout the day. It's like the Emmys. I actually saw one woman who had two bottoms on - a larger one for swimming and a smaller one underneath for tanning her (actually quite nice) behind.

and finally....

English people, when on holiday in Europe, are worse than Americans. Yes - those polite, reserved English people you meet on holiday in the States turn into loud, rude, irritating tourists in Europe. They drink too much, swear, puke, shout, and throw things. Luckily we didn't have too many running around our resort, but they were out there. You could hear their cries in the night "Oi! How 'bout another bevvy? Mine's a lager!!"

Oh crap.

2008-07-12T08:30:00.003+01:00

I just realized - European beach holiday means only one thing: Hairy men in speedoes.

That's probably why the Greeks invented Ouzo in the first place.

Pray for me.

Apparently I am an alien

2008-07-05T10:20:00.003+01:00

I have a long history with War of the Worlds. It all started when I was about 6, and my dad (the good step- one, not the rat bastard bio one) had the audio tapes of the original Orson Welles radio broadcast. I was terrified by those tapes - he used to play them because he thought it was funny that I would scream and run away to hide in my room. (P.S. in retrospect, I have some seriously messed up parents - I'll share more on that one later)

At any rate, I know the story well.

Fast forward to today. I'm not one of those people who gets sick often - I have one good, serious, give up and want to die cold turned sinus infection a year. That is - until I moved here. Since I've moved here I've had three serious cold turned sinus infections and now - the latest - viral gastroenteritis. I.e. the kind of stomach flu that all those people keep getting on cruise ships.

If you've never had it, it sucks. My version has stabbing stomach pains, slight fever, and the inability to eat most solids. I've worked my way up from broth and water to the beige/tan food group. Last night I had a whole FIVE chips from my husband's bag of fish & chips.

My husband is convinced it's because of alien germs. I, like the scary War of the Worlds aliens, find myself in a new environment, with new germs. Incubated by the heat and dirt of the Tube, these germs lay waste to foreigners' immune systems and knocks us on our our asses.

Of course, I have a long history of being told I'm an alien. My mother used to try to convince me I came down in the egg with Mork. I told you they were messed up.

Big ups for my man Hellter Skelter

2008-07-02T16:41:00.003+01:00

Sometimes MySpace comes in handy. I started an account a few years ago for some reason or another, and check it from time to time for about as relevant a reason. Occasionally I come across something good - like today.

My friend Rocco, a semi-pro wrestler who goes by the name of Hellter Skelter, was just interviewed by some internet TV show about actors. Great to see him still kicking around (though he's not supposed to be wrestling anymore - if you're reading this Rocco, you're in trouble!) and it was awesome to see excerpts of a match. Also good to see that he's got a new "manager" (that'd be the booby girl on the side of the ring).

If you've never been to a semi-pro wrestling match before - go to one. They're amazing. First off - they sell "beer." They don't tell you exactly what kind of beer, but it's foamy and beer-tasting and comes in a big cup for $2.50. Then - all these crazy mental people come out and throw themselves around a ring and hit each other with chairs and ladders, and stop signs and whatever else is stored under the mat. It's phenomenal. You'll scream yourself hoarse.

There was one guy who used to spray himself with water and look in a mirror - he was called Bobby Gorgeous or something. Then there's the all-american team, which contains a guy called U.S. Male. Awesome. Plus - you can get close enough to smack them on the ass (you know who you are, Shelly) and get baby oil nastiness on your hands.

His matches used to be at the New Alhambra Arena, which is on Front and Wolf. (For those of you from Philly, that's behind the lot with all the empty tractor-trailers that's behind the Ikea off Delaware Ave. You know - next to the Jo-Mar). But it sounds like he's wrestling somewhere else now.

If anyone doubts the power, I give unto you the story of Cedric, our friend from France. He reads Camus and carries a tattered copy of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" to pick up chicks in cafes. We took him, and by the end of the night he was drinking "beer" and screaming, in a very distinctive French accent, "Wrestliiiiiiiing!!!!!"

It could have been the beer.

Seriously - what's with the spiders?

2008-06-27T08:26:00.003+01:00

OK...those of you who know me already know I'm nuts. Those who don't know me probably have a sneaking suspicion after reading this blog, but I'll go ahead and confirm it for you. I have two irrational phobias: fish and spiders.

Both of these phobias are derived from my previously mentioned lack of parental attention to what exactly I was watching on television as a child. In the span of a couple of weeks at the age of about 7, I saw Jaws AND Piranha during weekend visits to my biological father's house. According to my mother I wouldn't take a bath without screaming for a month after those two movies, let alone go swimming anywhere that there might be fish involved. I still hyperventilate when I get in to the ocean the first time each year on vacation. (Sorry - holiday).

The other crippling fear is spiders. I hate them. Even the little red ones that crawl across your book when you're lounging in the back yard in summers. This comes from an unknown film in which a sleeping woman has a tarantula (accidentally imported from South America in a crate of Chiquitas) drop into her gaping mouth and choke her. It's problematic, because fish I can avoid in daily life, but spiders pop up everywhere - particularly here.

Apparently "London" is some ancient Anglo-Saxon word meaning "Spidertown." They are EVERYWHERE. And no one (and by that I mean my husband, who should have known better) warned me of this. They build webs across the back garden and torture me when walking to my shed in the semi-dark. They paratroop into open windows when it's windy. They creep in in the night and camp out on the wall next to my bed. They even torture me by dangling down on one of those long webs from the awning of the supermarket. I've actually had to make friends with a family of daddy longlegs that call my bathroom and spare bedroom home.

It's like living on the set of Arachnophobia. Another movie I probably should never have seen.

Ascot is AWESOME

2008-06-21T08:02:00.005+01:00

Ok - seriously. That was the most fun I've had in a long time.

I saw the Queen, drank champagne, won £40 (lost £60), my tits didn't fall out of my dress, and my hat was, by far, the biggest in all of the corporate enclosures (score!).

I highly recommend going at least once if you can get there. Even if you usually snort indignantly at the upper classes (like I do). Brilliant.