Thursday's Pointless Post

I'm having the sort of day where this seems really funny:

I'm hoping that he has the mind to leave me his tank.  I want something to stick my feet in.

The Big Bear post that was.

Just to prove how relaxed we were, Andy and I slept in until 8:30 on Saturday morning in Big Bear. This is a rare thing for us as I tend to start flopping about the minute the sun rises. If I’m to be honest (and maybe a bit gross), most weekends I’m cursed with the dreaded trifecta. The trifecta in my world is the waking up at 6 AM to pee. In the midst of falling back to sleep after my pee, I’ll realize that I have to actually – you know – take the kids to the park (or whatever euphemism you want to use) and so I get up again to do that. After that’s all taken care of I’m a bit more awake than before so trying to get back to dreamland is tough, especially since the tri of the trifecta is about to hit. That of course is hunger. If my stomach isn’t growling too badly, I can usually sneak in another hour of light sleeping. That usually doesn’t happen and by 6:30 AM I’ll be downstairs eating some Raisin Bran wishing “How Clean Is Your House?” isn’t the one thing that is on when I’m trying to digest food. Of course the cat, who is very insistent that everyone be up at the exact same time lest there is a fire or a shortage of cat kibble, will start walking all over Andy until he gets up. This is why most Saturday mornings you will find both Andy and I laying on the couch at 7 AM wondering what the fuck we are going to do until 11 AM when the rest of the world decides to join us (in being awake, not being on the couch – our couch isn’t that big).

That was a long fucking paragraph to stress to you how relaxed we were. I hope you enjoyed it.

Big Bear Frontier: Our hotel (cabin? resort?).   Sadly, I did not sleep in the covered wagon.

After getting up, we spent a leisurely couple hours getting ready. And by getting ready, I mean watching the tail end of “the Hangover” followed by the tail end of “Men in Black II” and eating oatmeal raisin cookies. By 10:30 we were ready for some real food and walked up the road from some breakfast.

I should mention the nature, shouldn’t I? There was some. Nature that is. Um…it smelled really fresh…pine tree like? Uh, there were some boulder type things, and the lake, and the trees like I mentioned earlier….oh, and it was so pleasantly cold. I wore a jacket – for warmth!

A Christmas tree with toilet cleaning products on it.  That's nature-y, right?

After breakfast we walked around Big Bear Village (“the Willage”) for a couple hours where I dragged Andy into loads of tourist shops looking at kitschy things with ‘Big Bear’ written all over them. Technically I was looking for a hat to wear because my ears were cold and I can never seem to remember to bring one the 18,000 hats I have at home with me anytime we go somewhere.

The Moose Hat

The sad deer hat

By the way, I determined that you can’t have a proper shop in Big Bear unless you have a big carved bear made from wood in front of your store. A little helpful advice from your friend Moe for those of you thinking you might want to open a kitschy store that sells stuff with ‘Big Bear’ written all over it anytime in the near future.

 

Because I'm so helpful, I'm even pointing you to the right direction to get your wooden bear sculpture.

Around noon, we ended up walking back to the hotel (cabin? resort?) to grab the car so we could take a pleasant, relaxing drive around the lake. On the other side of the lake from Big Bear there’s this small little town called Fawnskin. I remarked to Andy that ‘Fawnskin’ was kind of a sick name to call a town. He agreed, “It’s a bit like calling something Babypelt, isn’t it?” I can attest that there isn’t much going on in Fawnskin. I did get excited for a moment when we passed ‘Fawn Park’ thinking to myself that it had to be this wonderful fantastic place where you could go and pet baby deer, but I was sadly disappointed it was only for human children. I mean, I doubt they would kick a fawn out if it happened to wander in the park, but if I were a fawn, I’d be staying the fuck away from Fawnskin at any cost.

After our drive, we headed back to the Willage to see if we could rent a boat. I will say right now that if there’s a body of water that I haven’t been on, I’ll want to go on it. I love being on a boat. It’s one of my Most Favorite Things. I’d totally own a boat if I was rich and I wasn’t worried that people would keep begging me to take them out on my boat like I always do to people who have boats (sorry Patrick & Michele). The first marina we went to was only renting a 10 seater pontoon boat for $110 an hour. Since we failed to bring our 8 friends with us, we walked a half mile down the road to the next marina who was thankfully renting a scary 4-person aluminum fishing boat for $45 for 2 hours – life vests included! We were so in.

I think Andy looks wicked handsome in this shot.  He's always handsome but maybe it's the motor in his hands that really brings it out.

The two hour boat ride was by far the best bit of the whole weekend. Andy drove most of the time being very safe and avoiding other boats and making sure to put the white flag up when we just stopped to float along. When Andy asked if I wanted to drive, I said, “hell yeah!” and proceeded to put the motor at full capacity, driving in circles so our little scary aluminum boat bounced through the wake getting us wet. I was giggling the entire time.

The hat I decided on.  I know, I look like a Conehead.  I would have gotten the moose hat but it didn't cover my ears.

The rest of the weekend was fun, but boring to blog about – we had dinner, we went to go see “Red” (see that movie, it’s awesome), soaked in our room’s hot tub, and then spent the rest of the evening the same as before – junk food and HBO. It was exactly what we needed.

(I would like to say that even though Andy was such a granny driving up the mountains, he certainly wasn’t coming down. The road was clear, the weather nice, and Andy drove perfectly….that is to say, fast. He passed other cars! I was so proud.)

Who doesn't love a good poll? Not saying this is one, but you know, in general.

I’ll be posting the rest of the Big Bear entry shortly.  In the meantime, why don’t you amuse yourself by filling out the poll to the right?   I’m afraid I forgot to add ‘big toothy badger’ as one of the options.  

We’ll know the results November 9^th.  

The Big Bear Post that should have been but wasn't...*

Andy and I have been under a lot of stress recently due to the Big Move in a little less than 3 months and obviously the impending becoming parents situation. While we really couldn’t afford to go on a weekend away, we really had to lest we slowly go insane.

When Andy asked me where I wanted to go for the weekend, Big Bear Lake was the first thing out of my mouth. It was one of the few places that are within the 2 hour driving range from where we live that I had never gone to before. Most of you may not know, or may not remember, that I used to live in Colorado for a good portion of my late teens\early twenties. With all that time I spent living in and around the majestic peaks of the Rocky Mountains, the last thing I wanted to do in Southern California was go hang out in less than impressive mountain ranges (the Sierras get more impressive the more north you go if I’m to be fair), especially with all the warm beaches to go to instead. But like I said, I’ve never been up there and it’s probably going to be a fair amount of time before I see mountains again. I don’t hear of many people heading to England for the” fresh powder”. Well, I’m sure they have some sort of powder but it’s not the type you ski on.

My younger years in Colorado.  Yes, it was the Nineties.  Yes, I love to scowl.

We started the drive up to Big Bear after getting off of work Friday night. This is a dangerous time to drive anywhere in Southern California, especially the route we had to take. In Southern California there is only one major freeway that goes from the beach cities to the inland cities, the mountains, and Las Vegas – the dreaded Hwy 91. To say the 91 is a parking lot on any given day and\or time is an understatement of extreme proportions. The length of the 91 from Orange County to Riverside is about 40 miles, but it might take you 3 hours to go that 40 miles. Most of you probably don’t give a toss about this information but I’ve got to tell you, if you find yourself having to take the 91 for any reason on a Friday night at 6 PM, take the 241 toll road for $5 and save yourself at least an hour of misery on that fucking Highway of Hell.

HWY 91: Avoid at all costs!  Oh wait, you can't.

(End Rant)

By the time we made it to the base of the Sierras, it was dark and it was starting to drizzle. Andy has had LASIK surgery so he has a hard time driving at night since most headlights create a halo effect creating another layer of the danger driving up the mountains. As he was driving, Andy began to fret. And when I say “fret”, I mean he started shouting, “I can’t see! I can’t fucking see anything!” over and over again. Giggling, I offered to drive. I had no problem seeing the road and as I said previously, I lived in Colorado so I was used to driving mountain roads. Andy refused to let me drive. Soon, the fog rolled in. It was heavy fog where you couldn’t see 15 feet ahead. Andy started to “fret” some more in between “whimpering” and “driving like a fucking girl”. I told him to pull over and let me drive. While he kept pulling over at every turn out to let faster cars by (i.e. all of the cars), he still refused to let me drive. So I kept insisting that he let me take over, in between giggling “girl” under my breath and using the GPS to tell him what type of turn was coming up. It was a long hour on that road and when the fog finally cleared and Andy felt safe enough to go over 15 MPH, he admitted that he didn’t want me to drive because of my “condition”. Like my hormones are surging so badly that I’d decide to end it all and purposely drive off a cliff because the fog was just too much for my “delicate constitution”. Grrr.

Imagine this, but with darkness, drizzle, and the cloud of Zeus upon you.

(End Rant)

By the time we got to our hotel (cabin? resort?) it was 9:30 PM and we were pretty knackered. We popped open a couple beers (O’Douls for me - *sigh*), ate some junk food, and watched HBO until we went to sleep. I will have to say that the minute we were unpacked, I felt more relaxed than I had in months. This was going to be good for us.

*This post wasn’t supposed to be two parts but that’s what happens when my “delicate constitution” takes over. OK, I’m just hungry and its lunch time.

The process has officially begun...

I just officially submitted my application for my UK Settlement visa. I think I still have around 6 hairs left on my head, the rest are in random piles covering the floor, the laptop, and unfortunately my Diet Hansen’s Black Cherry soda can – gross. Last night was when I did the majority of the work. Because I live in the US, I had to fill out my application online at Visa4UK website (more formally known as the Home Office – UK Border Agency). I’d like to note that Andy made me check no less than 5 times that Visa4UK was in fact the correct website to fill out the application because any web address that is too lazy to spell out ‘for’ and uses ‘4’ instead looks really fucking dodgy. I assure you all that Visa4UK is in fact the correct site though I cannot vouch for IHazAUKVisa.com or UKVisaRFun4UandSoRBoobies.com.

You run my life now, don't look so smug about it.  Oh wait, you're British, you can't help it.

The application itself was relatively standard – had to give my passport information, my citizenship status, work status, who my parents are, when I married Andy, how and when we met, if Andy and I live together, what does Andy do, and where we planned on staying once we got to the UK. Like I said, fairly easy to fill out though having Andy perched at my shoulder the entire time making sure I didn’t make a mistake was a bit unnerving. It doesn’t help that Andy is a keyboard user and I’m a mouse user so every time I used the drop-down with my mouse to select ‘United States’ or ‘United Kingdom’ a little bit of Andy died inside – especially since I refused to type in ‘U’ thus getting us to the selections a bit quicker (actually, I did that on purpose to annoy Andy – I know to press ‘U’ – isn’t just more fun to scroll through all the selections?). All in all it took about an hour to fill out. It probably would have been quicker if we didn’t have to keep getting up to find all the random passports that we have thrown about the house.

United Kingdom: Upsetting people looking for 'England' in a drop down list since 1707.

When I was finally finished with the application, I transferred the funds over to the correct account and went to submit my payment of $1043.00. My payment was denied. Andy of course didn’t believe I typed in the credit card information correctly and tried it himself but it was denied again. We called our bank only to learn that the transfer of funds wouldn’t be available until tomorrow morning but that everything else was fine. I tried again this morning. Still denied. Fed up, I called the number Visa4UK told me to call if there was a problem. Here’s a bit of information for you all:

1) If you call the number Visa4UK tells you to call, you will be informed to call another number (because it would be too damn hard to put THAT number on the website in the first place). And if you call that number, no matter what reason and for however long the call might take, it will cost $12. If you care to talk to a nice Indian lady about the weather instead of having lunch today, feel free to call that number.

2) The rest of the world works on the A for Alpha spelling out system. Nice Indian ladies in Britain have no idea what you mean by A is for Apple, C is for, um, um…Cat, R is for uuuuuuuh Robert?

3) If your payment does not go through online, then you are truly fucked as it is the ONLY way to submit payment for this application. Seriously. It was confirmed by the nice S is for Sierra Indian lady.

4) Sending an email to your husband in a panic about the whole payment thing will only result in the bank calling you as soon as you press ‘Send’ to ask if you want to allow payment of these strange charges. After you tell the bank, “Yes fuckers, which is what I verified with you LAST NIGHT” you will able to go back online and submit the payment successfully.

Next on the expat process is my biometrics appointment November 2nd where I get my fingerprints taken and a scan is done of my irises and earlobes in an effort to determine if I am, in fact, a pregnant terrorist. In case the UK Border Agency is reading, I can save you the effort and tell you that I’m not, but yo, I’m cool with your checks or whatever.

I can’t believe I just said, ‘yo’.

Anti-Social Week

Today officially marks the end of Anti-Social Week. ASW only lasted 5 days, but it was a much needed anti-social 5 days as the week previous got me to my limit of time spent with other human beings (other than Andy, who I can just politely ignore so he doesn’t actually count).

On that Monday (Oct. 11th), one of our professor friends had come over to buy Andy’s computer as we are currently liquidated as much crap as we can before the big move. Andy had rebuilt the PC but since our friend only had a dial up connection at home (I seriously was flabbergasted that dial up still exists) Andy felt he had to download all the needed updates and drivers for our friend. This process lasted close to 4 hours in which there was a lot of beer drinking (them) and me looking weary in my pajamas.

On Tuesday was the pub quiz at the Olde Ship where we took 3rd place and won a bottle of gin. This prize was of course useless to me – even when I can drink I stay away from gin like it was a cancerous boil. I still had fun though even though I am kicking myself for not remembering Carl Perkins. Carl Perkins would probably kick me for forgetting him if he was still alive. You know, I don’t even know if Carl Perkins is still alive – Whew, just checked – dead as a doorknob for 12 years. Lucky break!

On Wednesday was my own pub quiz at the Harp. It was a Halloween themed quiz and I brought in candy for everyone and had flashing ghost necklaces and special Halloween pencils but hardly anyone fucking showed. I’m not bitter or anything.

Thursday was cleaning night to prepare for Friday’s arrival of my dad and step mom who were staying with us for the weekend. I’d like to point out that both my dad and my step mom are incredibly skinny. Granted, they also go for hour long walks in the morning before breakfast and my dad is a private contractor so he’s always on the move and my step mom works in nursing (same thing) so they obviously burn a hellva lot more calories than I do sitting in a fucking cube all day long. Because of their lack of concern about their weight they tend to eat a fair amount of crap. I got home on that Friday afternoon and already my normally barren kitchen was filled with shit like cookies, chocolate bars, potato chips, peanuts, licorice ropes, cinnamon rolls, a case of beer, an d FULL CALORIE RANCH DRESSING (!!!!). Oh sure, they also brought in the saddest bunch of browning bananas to be ‘healthy’ but c’mon! You have to understand how growing up not athletically inclined as them that I ended up being a chubby kid.

Anyhow, the weekend was a lot of eating and driving around and general chit chat that lasted to the wee hours of 10 PM (they’re old, I’m pregnant – give us a break). On Sunday Andy and I took my dad to the OC Auto Show because looking at cars is something my dad and I both really enjoy doing. While there he made me take loads of pictures of Lamborghinis to torture my brother and his pipe dreams of owning one with.

Sadly, my brother will never sit in this car - unless he suddenly decides he wants to be a male model.

My dad sans the cookies he always seems to be eating.

A Ford Mustang turned into a pool table.  From Andy, "That's really the best use for it, isn't it?"

By the time my folks left on Monday morning, I was exhausted and had drained my head of things to say that didn’t involve the plot line to “Grey’s Anatomy”. It was then that I declared it Anti-Social Week and have been enjoying my recluse-ness ever since. I even bought a book on crochet in which to hole myself in tonight and learn how to make a scarf! It’s sad to think how excited I am about that actually, especially since I’m still working on the same scarf I started back in 2005 when I bought a book on knitting.

Oh sure, you THINK your Friday is going to be exciting, but comparably, it's not.  Sorry.

On the expat front, nothing has happened. The paperwork from Andy’s work is something that we are still waiting for. The cat will cost us around $5000 to get over – we’re currently trying to find alternatives to selling our kidneys to be able to afford it. Um…that’s it really - a lot of waiting and wishing on magical money frogs.

Check that out!  Money frogs actually exist!  I thought I just made that shit up.  The internet is such a fantastic place.

Now go away. I’m reclusing.

Yeah, I went there.

OK, listen.

I'm not a person who coos over stupid baby animal pictures on the internet.  I'm certainly not the type who POSTS pictures of stupid baby animal pictures on my blog thus adding to the sheer amount of fucking stupid ass baby animal pictures on the web.   But this blog is called BADGERS with knives.   Every now and again I deserve the right to post something about a goddamn badger.  Or multiple badgers...who may or may not be carrying knives (usually not sadly).   It is not my fault if sometimes these badger postings are of the baby animal variety.  Fucking sue me.

The badgers are prepped and  trained to wield knives by the time they are cute enough to have their baby picture plastered over the web.   Sneaky fucking badgers.

Expat in Waiting

So yesterday I joined Expat Blogs and submitted my blog to be approved for expat-ism. I was really excited to be a part of Expat Blogs because that is where I discovered the very awesome blogs of Liz and Vegemite Wife (two people I hope will be my very best online friends) (I just creeped myself out with that statement). I felt a wee bit guilty about submitted my blog since I’m not technically an expat yet, but I tried to justify it to myself by saying that people reading my blog might forgive me if I gave them lots of posts about the process of becoming an expat. Apparently the fine people of Expat Blogs agreed with my inner thoughts and approved me for a listing. I can only hope the UK Border Agency is as quick and forgiving but I’m not holding my breath.

With that said, I thought I would give all the hopeful young people (or old people who feel young) (or the young people who feel old before their time) wanting to move to the UK a little update on what the process has been for me thus far. Not wanted to exclude everyone else, I’ll make sure to throw in lots of references to previous posts that only you will understand because you have been there from the beginning and are Totally Awesome and are totally my best online (and real live) friends forever, kisses and hugs. (gag!)

I want to begin by saying that I am lucky. I am married to a British citizen. The process for me getting to the UK is relatively easy compared to those who are trying to get a Student Visa or a Working Visa. You could probably compare the my process to yours as I have to locate the magical mermaid gem of Princess Hebbiezambia of Poland which is guarded by 18 furious half canine\half human guards who shoot lasers out of their eyes and you have to do the same thing but do with Kleenex boxes for shoes and lobsters clamped to your ears. I get to apply for a Settlement Visa which allows me to work right away and which allows me to apply for British citizenship after 3 years. It also includes the very helpful notes that: “You can not apply for the Settlement Visa until at least 3 months prior to your departure date.” “Please do not plan for a departure date as we cannot guarantee your visa will be approved by that date.” “Processing times may take 3 months.”

Makes your head spin, doesn’t it? I’ve reviewed the application for this visa no less than 20 times. I get through the first couple pages being very meticulous. I read every line and make a mental note of what I need to fulfill the requirements. By the third page my brain starts to get cloudy and confused and by page 20 I’m so frustrated that I make Andy look at it for me as he’s very soothing with his, “Oh, this is easy…no problem.” Fact of the matter is, I have almost all the paperwork I need to complete the application except for Andy’s work stuff – which we are still patiently waiting (and have been since July) for his company’s HR department to get to us. We’re suppose to have it by the end of this month but I’ve never been one to trust the department whose main job it is is to send out chocolate covered walnuts on employee’s birthdays. Regardless, we have to leave by the end of January or else I’ll be no longer able to fly as the airlines are terrified that I’ll add another screaming baby on board somewhere over the Atlantic which I failed to purchase a ticket for.

There is a section on the application that I’m a bit concerned about. The application asks us to state the date and place where Andy and I first met. We can’t remember that. We know it was at the Harp but neither of us can remember the year, much less the exact date. I just know that when I first met Andy I hated him and continued to hate him for a year or so and even went as far as to avoid the Harp because I thought he might show up there. I don’t suppose I should put that on the application, should I? Andy says that it won’t matter because I’m not a mail order bride from Russia (little does he know) or part of some sort of arranged marriage (he obviously didn’t get the shipments of goats my father sent). I no longer hate Andy by the way. Anyhow, Andy and I have decided to make up a date which I’m a bit paranoid by as I am unable to lie in front of Government Officials, or even give answers that make any sense. Last time I was crossing the border from Mexico back to the US, the border agent asked what nationality I was and I shouted, “United States!” Crossing into Canada the border agent asked what I had in the cooler in the back seat and I said, “Um…um…there’s 3 cans of soda…um…half a bag of beef jerky…uh uh uh…maybe some ice left…um…OH! There’s yogurt!” Like yogurt was an illegal bag of pot flavored elephant ivory or something.

Shit! I forgot the references! Um…um….um…..GIRAFFE HOLDING THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA! Bloody Marys!

So that’s where I’m at right now - still waiting. Once the paperwork is collected, there’s a lot of form filling, fingerprint taking, humongous visa fees to pay, and interviews with Government Officials (“I like yogurt! Let me in your country!”). I’ll keep you posted. Until then, happy Friday everyone. Have a drink or 6 for me – preferably whiskey.

Why I never get invited to after work happy hours...

At my office today, they have decided to put together an “International Food Fare” as an employee team building lunch. We have a lot of Indians, Asians, and Latinos in the office so I’m assuming that is what the majority of the offerings will be.

Yesterday, I was working with one of the above referenced Latinos when the Office Coordinator came up to my co-worker and asked him if he’d be willing to bring in a Mexican dish for today. I had to stop myself from feigning insult and exclaiming, “Well, my family is originally from Slovenia. Do you not want me to bring in a nice horse casserole?”

You might have thought I was lying...but no.   Beth would be sad about this but I wouldn't be opposed to giving the burger a go.

Sadly, I have learned early on that most people in this office do not get my humor and decided to just keep the joke to myself.

Some news, then some more news.

So I’m a bit disappointed that no one but Andy commented on my going to jail post. It’s by far the best life story I have in my arsenal; if it did not amuse then things are looking very dire indeed. I’m guessing I’m going to have to step things up and finally spill forth all the going-ons behind the going-ons in order to keep you all interested. And yes, since you asked, I AM fishing for comments.

The first order of business is to admit why I have strayed off my beloved sauce – that is to say, why nary a drop of whiskey, Harp lager, vodka mixed with anything (Chocolate sauce? Why not?), and house margarita has breezed past my lips in two months. Anyone with a brain in their head and any inkling of my lifestyle can probably guess this teetotalism isn’t voluntary. My comfy seat on the wagon is of course due to one of these brewing:

One of the first thoughts I had when I found out is, “Oh Jaysus. People are going to think the end of the world is coming.” You see, I’m not really what you call a child-liker. I don’t coo over babies, I don’t offer to babysit someone's rug rats, and I certainly never (used to) browse through Target wistfully caressing the soft fabric of a toddler’s size 2T pant set. I also get really annoyed at the kids I see running around restaurants screaming (OK, I’m actually more annoyed at the parents). Anyone who knows me- and even knows me very well – might be shocked that I of all people decided to breed.

I don’t know if I can really explain it. I think being married put me more in the perspective of family. Because of this feeling of family I am experiencing, after I came home from my yearly this past June, I sat down with Andy and said, “You know, I’m getting older. I’m definitely fatter. I don’t know if I can even physically have kids. I think that if you agree, that we should stop being careful and let whatever happen, happen.” I said this for a couple reasons – 1) I didn’t think having a child with Andy would terrible – in fact, I thought it could be a Very Awesome Thing and 2) Because I thought it would take at least a year to happen, if it happened at all.

As it turned out, it took approximately 1 week…and Andy and I aren’t exactly “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. (I probably shouldn’t have said that on the Internet.)

So there’s that news, and that’s all I’m really going to go into about it here. This isn’t a pregnancy blog and it’s not a baby blog. I just thought you all should know why I haven’t had a hangover in two months. Is it weird to miss hangovers? I think I just miss Carl's Jr cheeseburgers tasting so good.

What could possibly top the news of a (now) 3-inch human growing beneath the layers of my belly fat? Well, our final moving plans of course! Andy is going to read this and get all paranoid that my work will also read this and get all, “if you’re leaving, we’re going to fire your ass” on me – but I think it’s very doubtful. I could be wrong, but no one mentioned the earthquake post which I think is much more damning then my intent to move. Moving on…(pun, bad but intentional) The final word is that in January Andy and I are going to be British. Well, he’s already British and I can only ever pretend to be British and then very badly so, but we will be in England nevertheless. We’re going back to his hometown of Liverpool which means that my child will be a Scouser. What this really means is that I will never understand a god damn word my child says. So yes! Liverpool! Home of the Beatles and the Super Lambanana! I’m actually really really stoked about this move. I’m excited to eat biscuits. I’m looking forward to be so close to other foreign speaking countries (I’ve commanded Andy to take me to Rome for my next birthday).

Super Lambanana, how I love thee!

I’m actually sitting here trying to think of other things I’m going to look forward to but my mind has suddenly gone blank. I must really like their biscuits so that every other positive aspect of the British Empire has been wiped away from my head.

Hob Nobs make me lose my mind.

If anyone is keeping track, I have just admitted that not only am I having a very life changing baby but in less than 4 months, I’m uprooting every little American fiber of my being and hurling it across the ocean. I may seem very calm and collected (I’m just really tired) but I’m actually freaking out quite a bit. The worst thing about it all is that now, of all possible times, is when I could really use a drink.