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  I should have tossed that stupid little out-of-date gizmo out the window at that point.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).