It's in the Bunker

Yesterday when I got home from shopping for stuff we don't need I found a note that had been left by a delivery person. You know, one of those "1st delivery attempt failed" notes. 

Due to the fact that I bought EVERYTHING for Christmas off the internet I'm constantly getting these notes from the Parcel Force or the Royal Mail. This, however, was from somewhere else. I knew immediately what it was. And it was gonna be a big box.

Of course I immediately called the number on the card. The recording instructed me to call back the next business day if the note was received that same day. 

Okey dokey and I hung up.

The next morning after minnie me went to school I phoned up again. The conversation went something like this:

Me: hello, i'm calling about a failed delivery attempt

Lady on phone: what does the card say that was left for you?

Me: Ahh, it says there was a delivery attempt made yesterday.

LOP: It says here the package was left for you.  Does it say that on the card?

Me: It says Bunker but my last name is Warren, not Bunker. 

LOP:  It says here the package was left in the bunker.

Say what? I'm no expert but I was under the impression that, and correct me if I'm wrong, bunkers hadn't been constructed since World War II. So how would we have a bunker at or near our home?

I went outside and searched for a bunker. I had no idea what a bunker was supposed to look like. I had images of men dressed in camouflage with machine guns, hiding out in a ditch around our home. 

I looked in our empty flower pot. Negative.

I walked around to the back of the house. Negative.

I turned and looked at our little shed that holds our garbage cans. 

"Nah. That can't be a bunker." 

I opened the little door anyway and guess what I found? A very BIG box and a small box. I would have called it a "shed" but obviously we speak a different language here.

Of course we had the worst rain storm EVER the night before and the box was completely wet but i'll save that for another time :)

Chocolate Chips

What's a girl gotta do in these parts to get a bag of chocolate chips for making cookies?

The first time I had an urge to make my favorite Nestle Toll House Chocolatey Chippers while living in Her Majesty's Kingdom I called my hubby who was already at the store and demanded he bring home one bag of my favorite choclate morsels.

What he brought home was disgraceful. A barbie sized bag with enough chips in it for about five cookies.  

Note the photo above. The bag fits in my hand.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that???

The Modern Parent

I pose the question to you, what exactly is a "modern parent"? Is this just a made up term?

According to Wikipedia "The Modern Parent" is a comic strip from the British Comic Viz.

Not exactly the definition I was looking for.

When I first became a parent, years ago, my parents defined the term modern parent as those who "failed to reprimand their children and let them get away with murder". 

That's obviously open to interpretation. Or, perhaps just bad parenting. Who knows.

One day Emily came home from school and told me our neighbor down the street, who is 15, was having her boyfriend sleep over this weekend. 

Ex-squeeze me?

A couple of weeks later we were visiting my husbands relatives. Sunday morning we were all excited for an English "fry-up" and we all trotted happily downstairs for breakfast, including the boyfriend of my husbands 17 year old cousin.

Mortified, I asked my hubby's aunt and uncle post fry-up, "what up with b-friend spending the night?"

Their answer: "You have to be realistic about these things. It's going to happen no matter what so either it's here under our roof or in the back of a car in some parking lot."

"If we didn't allow it we would never see her anyway."

Hmmm. As much as I respect their opinion, not sure I agree with it. No, I'm ABSOLUTELY SURE I don't agree with it.

What happened to boundaries, rules and curfews? And come to think of it, plain ol' abstinence?

Are these things not realistic anymore? Is this how I'm supposed to parent my soon to be teenager?

Gone are the days when the biggest parenting  issues I was faced with included, how many minutes to put Emily in a time-out? How many pieces of broccoli were sufficient at dinner? Was a forty five minute bath or shower too long for a little girl? And finally, what was the appropriate age to start sleep overs?

If being a "modern parent" is about giving in rather than teaching than please, call me old fashioned.

What do you think? Do you or will you let your daughters boyfriends spend the night?

Food for Thought

Ok, so now we know, thanks to The Guider (thanks Guider!) that male midwives exist but they are not called midhusbands they are still called midwives.

What about male nurses in the UK? If a female nurse is called a "sister" is a male nurse called a "brother"?

My First Midwife

On Wednesday I had my first appointment with a midwife. This was very exciting to me. I've never met a real life midwife in my 33.8 years.  What would she be like? What would we be doing at the appointment? And most importantly, What did she say her name was again?

I have to admit, I was a bit put off by having a medical appointment at my house. Would she exam me? Nah. 

Right?

11am on Wednesday. As 11 am got closer and closer i became more and more nervous. Consequently, I gave my husband the guilt trip for not attending the appointment. He of course rushed right home to be with me.

11:15 and no midwife. Is she standing me up?

11:30 and the door bell rings. I open the door and a jolly, plump and seasoned woman holding a black briefcase smiles and greets me, "Hullo". 

Rosie the midwife has arrived.

I'm pretty sure Rosie is a friend of Mary Poppins. She was just a bundle of jolliness.

After we made small talk with Rosie, she handed me about 1,000 pages of leaflets about pregnancy to read at my leisure and we got down to business.

I asked Rosie a lot of questions and said quite frequently, "Well in the United States..." to which she finally said, "i think in the United States they are a little more advanced."

 This of course shut me up.

The appointment concluded with Rosie asking me to pee in a cup. 

Ok. Not that big of a deal. I pee in my bathroom all of the time. I've also pee'd on many a sticks in that bathroom. I can do that.

After I handed Rosie the cup, in my living room, she opened it up and dipped a little stick in it. Iw.

Than she handed me the stick to dispose of. 

Iw. 

Than Rosie wanted to draw some blood. In my living room.

Iw. Iw Iw.

Her phone rang. Phew, saved by the ring cause that can't be very sanitary, drawing blood in my living room. What if blood got on my couch? Or the carpet? 

Iw.

Rosie left in a hurry and to my dismay her main means of transport was not a black umbrella. 

After Rosie left I couldn't help but think: are there no male midwives? and if there are, would they be called midhusbands?

Yo, Ja, Moi, Me!

Copied but not plagiarized from jenontheedge (thanks Jen!)

All About Me

1. Political Show- The O'Reilly Factor

2. Picnic food- hmmm....tough since my culinary tastes change HOURLY these days. I'd have to say ginger tea since right now I have morning sickness and the thought of any type of food makes me sick to my stomach.

3. Mixed drink-chocolate martini (still crave those :) )

4. U.S. President-Ronald Reagan. Unfortunately, he never received the credit due to him.

5. Kind of student to teach-The little, little, ones, Kinder to second grade age.

6. Hobby you do or wish you still did- play the piano. Mom, why did you let me quit when I was in second grade???

7. Sports Commentator- who? what??

8. Sport to watch on TV-College basketball. Go 'Nova!

9. Animal to have as a pet-I'm against  pets since I'm the one who always ends up taking care of them so none.

10. Halloween costume you have worn-Starsky from Starsky & Hutch. My friend Fabiola was Hutch. Oh no wait, I was Hutch and had a blond wig and she was Starsky!

11. Kind of desert-sticky toffee pudding. Delicious!

12. Comic strip-hmmm....can't say that I have one.

13. Style or make of footwear-Aerosoles. Most comfortable shoes EVER.

14. Ice Cream flavor-NY Superfudge chunk.

15. College or university president-I can't answer this question nor do I want to. RANDOM!

16. Internet news source-Fox News and yes...yahoo!

17. Vacation Spot-The Shangri-la in Oman. It's total and utter relaxation!

18. Wine-Veuve Cliquot which technically is not a wine but still my favorite!

19. Way to waste time instead of working-watching QVC, facebooking, and blogging.

20. Student excuse for late work-We had homework?

21. Reality Show-Reality Shows have contributed to the demise of modern civlization as we know it.

22. Jewelry on a man- none unless it's a wedding band.

23. Pizza topping-sausage

24. Children's Movie-As cheesy as this sounds, High School Musical 2!!!

25. Celebrity you wish would retire- Regis. It's time Reg. You've had a lotta good years but all good things must come to an end. 

Glutein-free ice cream + glutein-free cookies = really bad heartburn!

Radio Ramadan

As I disembarked the long train journey from Truro, Cornwall to civilization  (otherwise known as Bristol, population 500,000) I admired the european architecture of the train station and the Harry Potterisk ambiance. For some strange reason as I exited the station onto the street with my bags in tow, I half expected there to be a mob of people, dressed in dish dashes and aggressively saying "taxi madame" in my face while ignoring my personal space.

To my disappointment what I found was a dark, wet, quiet street where taxi cabs were lined up in an orderly fashion, waiting for their next fare.

As I approached the passenger side window the driver rolled the window down. Startled by the dark man in the drivers seat, I briefly hesitated. When was the last time I saw a non-white person? August 15th, at JFK airport in New York, before moving to Cornwall, that's when.

"The Clifton Hotel?" I said, hesitatingly. 

The driver obviously sensed my hesitation. "yes" he replied.

As I walked to the back of the cab to give the driver my bags, I thought, "what's happening to me? Since when I am startled by non-white people?"

As we left the station the driver turned the radio on. "Radio Ramadan" read on the digital screen. A familiar Arabic tune blared through the car. 

"music to my ears" I thought. It felt so comfortable to hear the music I used to hear almost daily in Oman yet never thought twice about. It's been months since I've heard it, and in a way it made me homesick. I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt like I was home.

Beef Party

Last night I attended a Royal Navy beef party. It was really called, "Trafalgar Night" and was a dinner to commemorate a famous battle against the french and Sir Nelson Somebody or Other. 

It will always go down in history to me as "The Beef Party"  though.

The Beef party was a fancy dress event which meant women had to wear dresses below their knees and navy personnel were in white uniform. The evening consisted of all you can drink  and a full, sit down dinner which lasted about three to three and one half hours. Forty five minutes of those three hours consisted of speeches.

After we bullshat and drank champagne (or orange juice if you were like me and were not drinking)(oh wait, i was the only person not drinking) we were ushered down to the "mess". All of the ladies made a mad dash for the bathroom since you were not allowed to get up during the meal for any reason whatsoever.  This was an extremely difficult concept for me to swallow.

Anyway, down in the mess there where four, long tables  set up. One was horizontally positioned where all of the VIP's sat and faced the rest of us peons. The remaining three tables came out of the VIP table vertically and were parallel to each other. Almost like a big E shape, yet the three tables were bigger than the backbone of the E, if that makes any sense.

Each table seated people on either side and theoretically you were supposed ot be seated with people you worked with, except for us. To our left were two very young officers from Scotland doning very stylish kilts. In front of us was a couple. The female in the couple, obviously a civilian like myself, was taking full advantage of the all you can drink and was drunk before the beef arrived. And to my right was a very nice couple only one month from delivering their second baby. In total, one hundred and eighty people.

anyway, after we had our starter (also known as "appetizer" to us Americans), four very young people entered the room carrying a big piece of beef on their shoulders. they supported the beef on a huge tray and carried it together. 

As they entered the room fell silent. In front of the "beef party" was a very serious woman walking very stiff, much like the nutrcracker. After she painfully marched up to the VIP table she shouted very sternly, "Permission granted for beef party to serve sir?"

That's when I about lost it. BEEF PARTY???? I've had beef, and i've been to many parties, but never in my 33 years have I EVER heard of a BEEF PARTY.

Thankfully, the commander granted permission to the beef party to serve beef and they marched out like 5 stiff nutcrackers from Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker.

Five minutes later identical looking waiters and waitresses scurried around the room strategically placing plates of beef (what else?) in front of us. Than we had to wait for them to individually serve us our veg (otherwise known as vegetables to Americans) AND THAN the gravy.

AT this point it's 8:15, almost 8:30 and I'm about to eat my hand. How long does a pregnant lady have to wait to eat around here??

Of course we had to wait until all 180 people were served their beef, their veg and their gravy before we could eat.

The beef smelled delicious. I could hardly wait. 

Until the gravy was served. As soon as i put the gravy spoon back in the gravy boat a yeast-like odor hit me like a ton of bricks. This of course made my stomach churn. 

"It smells like yeast" I said to my husband.

"Yeah" he replied, as if to say "duh". "It's marmite gravy".

"WHAT?" I yelled, while simultaneously gagging. "Who the hell puts marmite in gravy?"

For those of you who don't know what marmite is, consider yourselves lucky. But I'll tell you anwyay; it's a spread that is made out of yeast extract and you either love it or hate it. If you have ever smelled yeast you know the stench I am speaking of here.

Logically, I CAN'T STAND IT.

"When in Rome" I thought to myself and scarfed down my beef, considering implementing my nine year old daughters method of holding my nose in order to avoid tasting anything yeast-like.

Before we started eating  the chaplain of course stood up and said a prayer that went something like this: 

"God Save the Queen, something something Amen."

Very touching. NOT.

I've done a lot of prayin' in my day but that was the first time I ever prayed for a queen. 

In the end I did decide not to hold my nose and tasted marmite in every. single. chew.

After I mopped the plate clean the reality of the crime i had committed hit me and my stomach started churning again.

I washed down my marmite beef with two desserts and felt a lot better though. (I made my husband give me his)

After the dessert, and the port, and the coffee, and the speeches (yawn) the night ended with songs that contained lyrics such as, "What will we do with a drunken sailor?" and "Jolly tars are our men" and my personal favorite,

 "Rule, Britannia! Britannia Rule the waves: Britons never never never never never never never never never never will be slaves."

As these lyrics were belted out by all kinds of drunks around the room, many of them banged their fists on the tables, causing whatever remaining port in their glasses to fly onto their shirts. Or, onto their dresses. 

Rule Britannia!

Health Care is a NIGHTMARE

The National Healthcare System in this country, termed "NHS" is a nightmare. Before I begin my rant if you are British, and have been subjected to this archaic, backward system you should probably either: 1) stop reading this or 2)stop reading this, seriously.

Monday morning I called the "surgery" (that's what doctor's offices are called here) to make an appointment. They couldn't get me in until Wednesday morning. Fine. Not unheard of to wait two days to see the doctor.

A very simple procedure, one would think, confirmation of pregnancy, turned into a HUGE, two-day nightmare.

Wednesday morning at 8:45am I check into reception and wait for the doctor. There are several doctors at this surgery. A short, dark haired woman who looked like she just got out of university (clue number one) came through the double doors, into the waiting room and said "Theresa Warren". She barely said hello nor introduced herself when I stood up and walked toward her (clue number two).

I followed this young, emotionless doctor all the way down the hallway to the last office on the right. 

"Hmm. not a good sign." I thought to myself. Why is her office the last one in the hallway? Fifteen minutes later it became quite clear.

Dr. young-face asked me what I came in for and I explained to her that I had taken two pregnancy tests which were positive and was here for confirmation. I was also weaning myself off of my anti-depressants and now that I'm pregnant wanted some guidance.

"Before we discuss getting off the drugs let's confirm the pregnancy" she said. 

She than handed me a little, clear jar and sent me to the lu (bathroom).

Upon exiting the lu and walking all the way down the hallway back to Dr. What's-Her-Face's  office I hand her the jar.

Dr. no name stands at the sink, with her back to me, for what seems like an eternity, dipping that silly little stick into the jar containing my urine.

I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Silence.

She breaks the silence with, "It's showing that you are negative". 

My heart starts pounding uncontrollably. 

"What?" I respond, confused. "Are you sure?"

"This test we use here is not 100% but we depend on it for results." 

Let's examine this statement: "this test is not 100%." So...WHY ARE YOU USING IT HERE?

"but we depend on it". OK. But why not use a test that is accurate? Correct me if I'm wrong but usually us common folk seek the help of doctors and depend on the tools they use to diagnose our symptoms. So the point of using a test that isn't always accurate is for I'm sorry, what purpose? Or perhaps Dr. No Name is not reading the test correctly?

"Can you do a blood test, like they do in the states?" I ask, almost pleading, at this point desperate.

"We don't do those here. I can give you a jar though and you can fill it in the morning when you wake. That may be more accurate. Bring it in and i'll send it to a lab and we should have the results by the end of the day."

"Ok" was my response but i was really thinking, "Where the hell am I? This is supposed to be a first world country?"

"I'm sorry what was your name?" I asked as I was leaving.

"Dr. Slim" she said with the same emotionless tone she had been using the entire time I was in the office, despite the fact that she could see I was VERY upset and in tears.

Feeling VERY annoyed, frustrated and wishing I never moved here I left the surgery, in tears, and called my husband.

After our conversation I walked down to the pharmacy and bought another digital pregnancy test, which of course said "positive" when I tested myself.

The next morning I bring in my jar and tell the receptionist, "This is for Dr. Slim".

"Dr. Slim is not in today" the receptionist says. "But I can send this to the lab. Is it for an infection?"

"WHAT???" I snapped. 

"No it's a pregnancy test and Dr. Slim told me to bring it in, and ask for her this morning."

On the verge of tears I demanded to see another doctor. The receptionist tells me there are no appointments available today. I reached for the ziploc bag my jar of urine was in, this time in tears, so i could haul ass out of this hell that is called a "surgery".

"Wait a minute" the receptionist calmly said. At this point we are playing tug-o-war with my urine.

"No. Give me my urine I"m leaving" I somehow managed to say through tears.

"You can see the nurse practitioner at 9:30".

"Ok" I sobbed. "I'll be back in 30 mins".

I waited until I actually exited the building before breaking down uncontrollably and calling my husband, who of course left work and came right over.

After i regained control I 1) cursed the heatlhcare system in this country and 2) cursed Dr. Slim-to-none for her lack of professionalism (in that order).

The Nurse practitioner was much more experienced and much more enjoyable to deal with. She showed me the stick after dipping it into the jar, and said it was positive but the second line was very faint, which was what probably caused Dr. Slim-to-none's confusion.

My husband and I were of course overwhelmed with joy by the news! (even though we knew but now we really know)

One scary, disturbing thought occurred to me though: If I had to go through all of this just to find out i was pregnant, what am I actually going to have to do to deliver this baby??

Stay tuned...

Red Lines

As I looked down at the little white stick on the bathroom floor I saw one red line appear. First it was a faint red line.  As each second passed though, it became redder and redder, the result becoming more and more obvious. I continued to stare at it, hoping my staring would will two red lines to appear, rather than one.

Ten and half years ago I was staring at the same type of stick, watching two red lines appear quicker than I could blink.  Ten and half years ago I was hoping for one red line, but got two. Now I'm hoping for two and got one. Life seems to have a way of playing itself out regardless of who you are or what you want.

American vs. British

Below I have listed the many British terms that I come across almost daily. Next to them, in bold, their American translations.*

BRITISH American

hoover (Did you hoover the house today?)-vacuum (Did you vacuum the house today?)

PMT (pre-menstrual tension) -PMS (pre-menstrual syndrome)

top up (I need to top-up my drink)-refill (I need a drink refill)

sette-couch

you alright?-how are you?

bollocks-shit or the f-bomb

bloody hell- bloody hell

pants-underwear

trousers-pants

buggy/pram- stroller

dear- expensive

dinner- lunch

lu-bathroom

nappies-diapers

*This is a work in progress

The Dilema of Staying Home

 What is the protocol for getting ready for the day as a stay at home mom, (I prefer the term "house manager" but HATE the term "homemaker")? 

My dilemna is this: if I know I'm going to the gym late morning, do I shower when I wake at 7am, get dressed and put make up at that time? OR, do I throw anything on, brush my teeth and wait to shower until after the gym, which is generally anywhere between noon and 1pm?

Keep in mind, every morning at 8 I must walk my little one to the bus stop, where all of the other moms seem to be well put groomed. My  neighbor always looks put togehter when I see her around 8:45 getting into the car with her boys every morning.

Am I embarrassing myself (and my daughter) but walking out of the house every morning looking like I just got hit by a truck? Am I putting the homemaker lifestyle to shame by not taking more care in my appearance?

If I were to shower at 7am AND after my workout, wouldn't that technically be a waste of water and bad for the environment? And if I put make up on at 7am, than sweat at the gym at 11, wouldn't my pores be clogged, thereby risking a greater chance of a break out? It's also not good for your skin to wash it three times per day (i'm talking face here). 

Who would have thought my biggest concern would be when to shower!!

Tom Tom is a Dumb Dumb

"WHERE THE F*&@ AM I???" I barked at my husband over the cell phone one beautiful, sunny day in Cornwall.

The poor man was a bit startled at my bitchy, explosive tone and knew I was on the verge of tears.

"Your STUPID, frigen GPS has brought me somewhere and I have NO idea where I am!"

 "Darling, where are you?" he responded calmly.

Did I not just explain that?

"Well, according to your STUIPID GPS I've arrived at my destination." I barked back. "However, according to what I see I'm stopped, in the middle of a street, in some random neighborhood, in some town."

"What town?"

"I don't know. If I knew I would tell you."

"Darling you didn't type in the correct address."

"Yes I did I typed in the postcode from the internet" I snapped back.

"But darling it doesn't recognize that postcode b/c it's a new building and it's an older GPS. I told you that earlier."

"Fine. I'm going home. and now i have no time to shop for your party this weekend so i guess you will have to shop and than make everything yourself".

Click. I hung up.

For those of you who are not familiar with the GPS (Global Positioning System) in order to arrive at your destination you must punch an address or postcode into the little computer that sits on your dashboard. It theoretically guides you, step by step, by speaking directions as you drive.  There is also a little map on the screen you can look at to see where you are in relation to where you are going.

However, if you have an older GPS , such as my husband, it does not recognize any roads or buildings which have sprung up after its creation.  

The most daunting experience I have had with this GPS was about two weeks ago when I had to schlep to Exeter to pick up my family at a train station two hours away. Where do you suppose the GPS took my daughter and I? To a deserted road, outside of the "city" (I use this term loosely. To be considered a city in my book there must be at least 1 million inhabitants. It seems in this country to be considered a city there must be at least 1,000 inhabitants) where we were supposed to be. It was also 8:15pm, pitch dark, no lights on this "road" nor any sign of life. A very unsettling experience. I ended up calling my father-in-law for help.  I should have tossed that stupid little out-of-date gizmo out the window at that point.

My husband is obsessed with that stupid thing. He takes it everywhere. 

The problem I"ve experienced is that I turn into a zombie behind the wheel, boppin to British pop music while Homer Simpson, John Cleese or some random british woman guide me to my destination (these are the voices in you know whose GPS) rather than paying attention to where I"m going or even guiding my own lazy ass to my destination. 

The result? living in my new environment for six weeks and having NO bloody idea how to get from my home to anywhere more than two miles from my house!

Part of the fun of getting somewhere you have never been is getting yourself there, and lost, along the way.

I remember when my daughter and I moved to Oman. Our first morning we woke up, got in the car, and headed to the grocery store. I frantically stopped at every gas station along the way (two, precisely) in search of a map. 

 Sure, we got lost on the two mile trip home. For a long time. And Emily cried. And I freaked out. But that was FUN! Now looking back I'll never forget that first morning adventure together. 

What did I do on my first solo car ride here in Cornwall? I got in the car, put Tom Tom (the stupid GPS even has a nickname) on, started driving on the wrong side of the road and zoned out. 

The old cliche holds true: trust your instincts. If I had trusted my instincts and tried to navigate my way around my new locale I would not be in this predicament now, nor would I have blown my diet upon arriving home from such a stressful journey today!  Damn you Bunny and your stupid toys!

I did manage to come to grips with the situation this afternoon. I calmed myself down, drove out of the random 'hood I was in, stopped and asked somebody for directions and successfully arrived at my destination.

When I sent my husband a victory text message he immediately called (I also informed him on the text that I tossed the GPS out the window) and asked how I did it, and of course if I really tossed Tom Tom.

"I stopped and asked for directions." I proudly replied.

"What? I would have been too scared to do that" he said. 

  "Hmmmm, that explains your dependence on little computers who speak" I retorted.

Crazytown or Helston?

This morning when I walked to our little town  with my recycled bag to do some shopping I noticed something strange; everybody and their mother was talking about the weather! I kid you not I passed at least FIVE separate conversations about the weather, not including the conversation that a customer in the produce store struck up with the clerk regarding the weather.

This has to be my least favorite topic of conversation.

Than something funny happened; I sadly realized that regardless of where I have lived over the course of my somewhat short life (33 is still young, right?) "the weather" has always been the main topic of conversation. From America to the Middle East and now in Europe, the weather dominates all talk, big or small.

I'm sorry but do we not have anything else more interesting to talk about? Didn't Gordon what's-his-face, the prime minister of this little island, make some sort of epic speech yesterday? Why was this not the topic of conversation instead of the current temperature? Isn't there a war going on? Doesn't anybody want to talk about that instead of the relative humidity?

I have still yet to figure this weather bantering phenomena out.  Perhaps I should launch an investigation?

As I was leaving town (with my recycled bag full of goodies) I passed two old gentlemen standing in front of a shop window, one of whom was waving his cane around quite crazily. As I picked up my gait to pass them quickly the maniacal one with the cane pointed it at me and spit some maniacal phrase out of his mouth that I could not understand. Hesitatingly, I slowed down, turned my head, and kept walking slowly away from him, "excuse me?" 

"What is that?" he demanded while pointing his cane at the shop window. Behind the window was a vase with some...sticks in them? 

"Those are sticks" I replied. That's when I fled the scene and headed straight for home. 

I couldn't help but think, "is this Crazytown or Helston?"

Life With My Sister Madonna-review

I chose to read this book because of my admiration/obsession (it's a fine line) with one of the most successful and wealthiest women in the world. This does not mean I'm a big fan though and after reading this book I can safely say that I am not. However, I still admire her. What better way to gain insight into this diva than via her brother? Yes, biographies have been written on Madonna before but none by her sibling that grew up with her and could offer insight and stories that no other author could.

This book is really about Christopher Ciccone, Madonna's younger brother, and his struggle to make himself who he is. His writing is choppy and there are no smooth transitions from one thought to the next, which I found a bit annoying (hence, he has a co-author who helped him put his thoughts onto paper). A writer he is not, but a complainer he is.

He spends most of the book outlining the many, many ways in which his sister screwed and manipulated him through the years yet he ALWAYS went back to her whenever she snapped her fingers. This became boring and 1/4 into the book the ending wasn't difficult to foresee. As soon as he mentioned his feeling towards Guy, I felt I had already read the ending.

Christopher's whining became tiresome and yes, we get it: YOU ARE LIVING IN MADONNA'S SHADOW. A point I feel IMPOSSIBLE to avoid as her sibling who chose to live in the same world she does. Get over it. Or do something about it, but quit BITCHING about it already!

That being said I still enjoyed reading (perhaps devoured is a better word) and continue to admire one of the most successful women of all time.

Bitch or Meek?

This seems to be the only two categories for women. Unfortunately, I am guilty of classifying my fellow female counterparts into these two narrow categories.

PUT WEIGHTS AWAY AFTER WORKOUT

Are these difficult instructions to follow? Apparently, they are.  EVERYTIME I can go into the weight room (or what I like to call "the real men area", partly b/c there are NEVER any females in there and partly due to the fact that you can ALWAYS hear "men" grunting b/c their weights are SOOOO heavy). 

As I was saying. EVERYTIME I go into the weight room the weights are never put away. I guess real men don't give a shit about cleaning up after themselves? It's more than annoying. It's completely AGGRAVATING. I don't have time to take your four, 20 kilo barbell things off of the bar I'm about to push above my chest. I'm thinking about putting a note next to the note that clearly states, PUT WEIGHTS AWAY AFTER WORKOUT that says BECAUSE YO' MAMA DON'T WORK HERE. 

In addition, whenever I strut in (you have to display a certain amount of attitude, as a female, upon entering this room or you run the risk of being scared away  by confused, perverted "men") I'm not only stared at but at times I swear I can detect a little snicker by some of these "men" (we all know they are really just boys with big muscles). ARGH! BRING IT ON!

Pub Life

I'm not sure what to make of a nation that allows children's play areas in pubs. More on this later.

Naked in the Locker Room

After my spinning workout (I finally forced myself to go) I'm in the locker room trying to unchain myself from the key on the plastic holder that doubles as a bracelet so you can wear it around your wrist during your workout and I hear, "So how was that compared to the states?" 

Even though I hear this statement and it registers, I have no idea it's directed at me. My attention is fixated on unchaining myself so I can go home and eat lunch. 

"Hello?" (well it was more like "Hullo")

As I looked up, I noticed that the two women who were directly across from me during the class, and who graciously  made eye contact and smiled, were directing this question at me. I also noticed their big, brown nipples and their boobs flapping around as they dried themselves with their towels (along with other parts of their body which shall not be named here). 

Ok hello. Although I was born in America and lived there most of my life, I consider myself quite worldly, open minded, liberal and well...CLOTHED. I am by no means uptight. However, I must draw the line. If I don't know you (hell, even if I do know you) I find it very challenging, to say the least, to make polite conversation while you are rubbing your boobs with lotion and flashing your beaver in my face.

I remember the last time I was confronted with this phenomena; Prague, 1997. One morning I let my co-workers convince me to get up at the crack of dawn (not an easy feat for an around the clock partier, i might add) and go to the gym with them. As we all scrambled to the showers after the class, I realized I was the only one scrambling with my towel. The rest had their goodies shamelessly out as they nonchalantly chatted. 

At that point in my life ( I was 22 at the time) it became blatantly clear to me why my mother always, ALWAYS walked around shamelessly naked after a shower.  She is from Europe. And apparently, that's what europeans do.

It's not that I'm ashamed of my body. Well maybe a just a little. But that's not the point. I don't know if I could ever reach that comfort level. The level where I can comfortably walk around a locker room in front of other women stark naked while chatting about the weather.

Getting Sorted and other Britishisms

My father in law just called to share with me that his wife, Sue, was walking down to the wear to pick slows. 

HUH? 

As far as I'm concerned he may as well have been speaking cantonese, hindi, or dutch. 

After some careful research on google I discovered that "sloes" are a berry related to the plum. As far as the "wear" or "where" I have NO idea what that means.

It was only further into our conversation that I was able to decode his message: "Sue went down to the where(?) to pick sloes for our gin."

Uh-ha! Now I understand! Translation: my mother in law went down to the riverbank or some other body of water to pick sloe berries to make gin!

He than added, "She said she was surrounded by hunky firemen."

Now THAT statement I can understand :)

 "You ok"? question or greeting? 

Several times i've been at the grocery store and when I get up to the checkout the attendant says to me, "you ok". 

Yes I'm ok. If I wasn't ok I wouldn't be here spending my husband's money!!!

Do you answer "you ok" with how you are or do you reciprocate the question?

  BLOODY HELL I'm confused!!!!

Spray or Wipe?

It's not true what they say: bad luck does not come in three's. Yesterday was my third, yes third, attempt  at working out here in the UK and I am happy to announce that I was successful! 

As I was running on the treadmill though I did notice the man next to me incorrectly wipe down his machine when finished. He sprayed it with water and than wiped it instead of spraying the paper towel first and than wiping the machine with the paper towel. Didn't Sgt so and so strictly tell us four women at our orientation to NOT directly spray the machine b/c you run the risk of water getting into the electrical system? Obviously Mr. Military next to me either a) doesn't care or b) did not go to the orientation. I wonder if I should report this.

After my rigorous workout where I ventured into the WEIGHT ROOM (there a disclaimer under the sign, "real men only") I went to the vending machine to buy some gatorade (or luzoade-stuff which is what they sell here) and an older gentleman commented on the length of my workout. INAPPROPRIATE??? Definately. As I tried to ignore him and looked at him like, "what the hell are you talking about?" he clarified with, "I get bored on the machines so i look around and see what other people are doing." Oh ok, that makes it all better.

Attempt to Workout, Take Three

I'm not sure which was more annoying: finally motivating to go to the gym with my more-than-reluctant 9 year old daughter in tow only to find out upon arrival that it is closed. Or, leaving my husband and daughter at 10:30am on a Sunday to go jogging only to be bitten by a dog 10 mins into the jog?

Today, as soon as I finish writing this, will be my THIRD attempt to workout since moving here. Hopefully this time I will get through my workout without any interruptions (assuming the gym is open).

Girl Guffs in Royal Mail Post Office

We finally make it to the post office this afternoon only to find the local Royal Mail Post Office in our town is in the back of a seedy convenience store. It was equipped with two teller windows and  a counter that could serve two more customers. Normally, in the United States, the postal people are VERY efficient and friendly.  Not only did we wait in a line that wound around the left side of the store, blocking customers from retrieving dairy products from that side, we waited at least fifteen minutes. During fourteen of those fifteen minutes, my adorable and loving daughter hung on me as if her life depended on it.  The entire wait turned into a game where i would snap at her and tell her to get her 90lbs off of me, where she would respond by whining, strategically waiting 30 seconds AND than leaning her 90lbs on me once again. 

I say this only occurred for fourteen minutes b/c she was kind enough to walk away for what amounted to about, one minute, only to return with a horrible, rotten stink. It took me about one minute to notice this stink. What I did notice first was the woman in front of me side shuffling away from us, very slowly and cordially so we wouldn't notice. 

Than I turned and looked behind me and noticed a very big, new space between the person behind me and myself. 

"Did this little person that stinks more than a skunk really come out of me?" I thought, half embarassed and half livid that she didn't stand near the candy longer rather than stinking up this horrible line where peoples nerves were short anyway due to the wait.

Another Unexpected, Early Closure

I FINALLY motivate my lazy, fat ass to get to the gym and drag Emi (to boot) when low and behold upon arrival the navy squid says to me"we're closing". As I stared at him bewildered a head popped out of the reception window which said "we close at 5pm on Fridays". WHAT THE HELL??????? I"m not even going to go into how utterly ridiculous that is. Oh I get it, all of the squids are at the BAR come Friday afternoon.

We went into town for our daily jaunt as Europeans earlier today. I firmly told EMily, "We need prioritize this trip. Unlike last time, we will complete the most important tasks first and than the remaining in order of importance. We will do this in order to avoid an important shop closing before our frequenting it (remember what happened when the butcher closed at 1pm on wed and we came home without any meat for dinner?)". Ten minutes later i'm frantically rifling through the "40-50% off" purse basket in the surf shop when Emily reminds me, "Mom! You said we have to do things in order of importance!" 

Although it BROKE my heart to put down the 12pound bag i had in my hand, since i'm a mature adult I did so and we left the shop and headed to the post office. Where we waited on line for 20 mins and I almost had a coronary.

Upon leaving the Post Office, we passed a goodwill-type store where a "everything on this rack is 2pounds" rack stood in front of the store on the sidewalk. Two pounds!! How could I pass up not one but TWO fleeces for two pounds each???? Now i have an eggplant colored fleece AND a brown one. AND I found a cute pair of brown boots with heels for...you guessed it...TWO pounds! I also found an ADORABLE long, black sweater for...TEN pounds. Now that I think about it I don't think all of that was such a bargain for $32. In pounds it sounds a lot better but than i have to remember to DOUBLE that number...oh well. Tomorrow is a new day and the gym closes at 1pm (????).

15 hours without the hubby

Ok Bunny left this morning at 6:30am and so far he has called me ten times. no joke. In addition everytime he calls he is so sappy and winey "I miss you darling. I want to be there with you." or "what you doing?" "I'm meant to do that with you". I practically hung up on him during our last two minute and thirty six second conversation b/c i couldn't take it. I sent him a message saying "the heat still has not kicked on you don't have to call me back just letting you know". Four seconds later the phone rings.

Don't get me wrong I love, love, LOVE him to pieces too but that's just too much.

In other news Minnie me and I had a nice hike around the Lizard. I made sandwiches and we sat on the rocks overlooking the water and chatted. She asked me, "If you had three wishes what would they be?" and than "If you had to choose only three superpowers what would they be?" It was brilliant! (look at me all britishy).

We walked to the playground after lunch. Poor thing, she is DYING for some friends. she doesn't know how to go about it. It IS a difficult task, making new friends, even for an adult. "how do you make new friends?" she asked me. We sat by the see saw for awhile as these two girls kept looking at us and listening to our conversation. I asked Emi if she wanted me to start talking to them for her but she said no.  I've noticed similar behaviors between kids trying to make friends and singles at bars trying to meet other single people (of the opposite sex)(or same sex if you are homosexual). First, they keep looking over at you obviously interested in what you are doing. Than, they strategically relocate so they are nearer to where you are, perhaps eavesdropping on your conversation. And finally, they go in for the kill.

tomorrow: biking

call number eleven just came through. I insisted he stop calling me. is that bitchy?

motivate me

Now that Bunny has left it's very difficult to get motivated. My only motivation is Emily right now. poor thing has been watching the tele for HOURS. (bad mom)

When I woke up this morning (for the second time)(at 10:30 I might add) there was an eerie feeling in the air that something was missing. and i felt sad. and lonely. than i told myself to snap out of it and a sense of relief came over me: i don't have to make dinner tonight! (unless i want to feed my offspring but pb&j will do her just fine).

Since it is 11:39am i guess i should go get ready for the day...

August 27, 2008-Day 14

Today marks the official two week mark (is there an official two week mark?) of living in the UK! i'm still freezing my ass off though and desperately trying not to be bothered by the lack of sunlight. Damn I miss the sun in the Middle East. i don't miss the brown, dry, dull coloring though.

Although this is only day 2 of my position as "house manager" (i love that title) this is officially day 1 of my eat-healthy-no-more-cider-or-else-i'm-really-going-to-blow-up diet. it's challenging being home and not stuffing my face every five mins. i do think i've been successful today.

In my quest to be perfect little house manager i made the red sauce for spaghetti dinner this afternoon (yummy). of course my neighbor than came over shortly after i had tasted and declared it perfect to invite us over for a barbie (british for barbecue not to play with barbie dolls). HELLO? i need more notice than three hours!!!! i apologetically declined and instead we are going for drinks. It's Bunny's last night before he goes away for...two nights.

Upon walking into town this morning (well it was very late in the morning) (almost the afternoon) like the well adjusted europeans we are i left all of the buying for the way home which turned out to be a HUGE mistake. How was I supposed to know the butcher and the deli would close at 1pm? what self-respecting butcher closes at 1pm? i still have to find out why. hmmm...

oh i have to order the labels for Emily's uniform (and than sew them all in to EVERY article of clothing for the uniform). yawn.