Because I know you all worry, I just wanted to let you know that I did not die in a fiery plane crash. I have made it to America alive...although not well. I decided to pick up an English cold as a parting gift and have been dealing with that (and shopping at Target) since my return.
Once I am properly on the mend, I will give you a nice lengthy post about my reverse culture shock - something I honestly didn't think I'd have but got anyway.
30 September 2012
17 September 2012
Ta-ra, as they say.
So like I may have mentioned, it's been a bit hectic around these parts. We had the shippers come in two Fridays ago. Because they were earlier than expected we managed to clean the entire house that same day – though because they were earlier than expected, I didn't get half the bedding washed as I had hoped and thus some it was tossed and the rest we have to carry with us for two months. Fun times. We have also temporarily moved into my mother-in-law's house which you may remembered from my first post about it contains it's own set of challenges. I will state it again for those who don't want to re-read – my mother-in-law is brilliant. Staying at a place that is not your own for an extended amount of time, whomever house it may be, sucks monkey balls. But that is what must be done and being done it is. I do leave for the States (sans husband and son) next Tuesday so I think I can manage not ripping out those un-mixer taps in a feat of rage for a week. Maybe.
Since I only have a week left here, I thought it might be time to compile a list for you some of the things that I will really miss from England. I can't possibly list them all, especially since I probably don't even realize all the things I will miss. I'm sure three months from now I'll be walking along thinking, “Damn, I could really go for some Smarties right now...and a bag of Hula Hoops.” Or who knows, it might be, “Damn, I really wish my produce was excessively packaged for hygiene.” It's hard to say.
VAT INCLUDED
OK, let's state for the record that the cost of VAT (value added tax)(ie: sales tax) is typically higher than any in the States. The standard VAT rate is currently 20%. Compare that to the current sales tax rate of California which is 9.75%. That's fucking a lot. I'm not going to miss the VAT rate. I am going to miss 'VAT included'. What VAT included means is that when you see a price tag in the store, that is the price you are going to pay. In the UK, I can buy a bottle of bubbles for £1.30 (What? I have a kid!) and a can of tuna for £1.65 (What? I have a cat!) and when I go up to pay, I know I will have to give the cashier £2.95. If I'm in the States and the bubbles were $1.30 and the tuna $1.65, I'd probably give the cashier the evil eye if she rings up some sort of amount where I have to go searching for 3 pennies. And the amount is always something that requires 3 pennies and I never seem to have more than 2 pennies and I'm pissed off that I don't have any thing smaller than a quarter which is going to result in more change and DAMMIT, JUST INCLUDE THE FUCKING SALES TAX ALREADY.
So yeah, I'm going to miss that.
TIPPING
Since we're on the subject of money, let's talk about tipping. We all know that the British are completely shit tippers. This is why waitresses in the States don't like waiting on customers that are clearly from across the pond. While the Brits know that when they are in the States they are suppose to tip, some feign ignorance and others leave 5-10% honestly believing that it's a decent tip. To the latter half, we have to excuse them. A 5-10% tip in this country is honestly a decent tip. When I went to the hairdressers, I tipped the stylist £5 for a £50 haircut. That's 10%. The stylist held my fiver back to me and said, “You gave me too much.” I said, “It's a tip.” She said, “That's too much...are you sure?” I said, “You deserve it.” She took the cash but she had that look on her face that showed she thought I was crazy giving her so much money.
I guess you may be wondering what I'm going to miss...well, it's not having to tip, or if I do tip, not feeling required to leave 20%. That really sounds terrible, doesn't it? It shouldn't. I was a waitress for many years. I was a bartender after that. In the States I know that people in the service industry count on their tips for their livelihood. In the States I tip, and I tip well. I just don't like the feeling of guilt I have if I don't tip well because the service was bad (and I when I say I don't tip well, it means I leave 13%, and the service has to be complete and utter shit for me to ever do that). Here, I don't have to concern myself with that. The bartender I'm talking to or the waitress that is serving my food is being paid properly by their employers. They don't count on my tip to pay their rent. If they are rude (which if they aren't counting on tips happens a lot) you don't tip and you don't feel crap about it. If they are friendly and pleasant, you give them 10% - and they always thank you for it.
WALKING
Now I miss driving. I miss driving a lot. I'm really looking forward to getting behind the wheel again and cruising down the freeway at 90 mph blasting some tunes scaring old ladies gripping the their steering wheel as I pass. That said, I'm also going to miss walking. I'm going to miss my toned calves. I'm going to miss spending a day at a fair and not having my legs ache for two days afterward. I can swear to you, myself and all the personal trainers in the world that I will continue to walk once I get back to the States. But I won't. There isn't a convenient bus to get me to Target. There isn't a quick train to hop on to get me to the beach. And you can't ignore the fact that I'd look completely daft taking a little pull shopping trolley to the grocery store every day. The car will be used and it will be used a lot. I guess it would be fair to say that I'm really going to miss a proper functioning public transport system too.
PARKS
The United States of America doesn't have any parks! None! Not a blade of grass in sight! All concrete and 7-11's!
Yes, I lie. The States have parks, and lots of them. From my experience, there are two park types in the States– the small jungle gym type of ones that are in a neighborhood with at least one homeless person sleeping under a tree and the big massive parks with no jungle gyms but plenty of coyotes, bears, and dead bodies that have been dumped by the latest mass murderer. I'm not a big fan of the parks in America. I've always avoided the small ones because I didn't have a kid (so that will change...just have to step over the homeless guy to get to the slide) and I definitely avoided the bigger ones as I never wanted to discover a body. That is fact. I have an irrational fear of discovering a dead body....or a dead squirrel...or a dead anything really, that isn't a bug because bugs are disgusting.
The parks here are different. They tend to be bigger and lusher and always have a jungle gym and a duck pond and seem to be manicured enough that if there was a dead body in there, the maintenance team would have discovered it hours before I'd have a chance to.
PINTS OF BEER IN LABELED PINT GLASS
So have you ever been out with your friends and it's your turn to buy the round and two of your friends order a Miller Lite and one friend orders a Coors Light (by the way, why are your friends drinking such crap?) and when you get the drinks the bartender has put a straw in the Coors Light so that you know that the one with the straw is the piss from Colorado and not the piss from Wisconsin? You don't get that here.
Not to say that they don't have shit beer here, they do, but it's clearly labeled so that everyone can see that you are drinking shit beer. I guess I shouldn't say 'labeled'. There isn't a sticker or anything. It's just when you order a Guinness, it comes in a Guinness glass. If you order a Carling, it comes in a Carling glass. If you order a Strongbow, it comes in a Strongbow glass. So on and so forth. No confusion, no fucking little straws bobbing at the top of a pint. Pure brilliance I tell you. Though, it does take away that mystery of two people tasting each others pints trying to figure out if they've got the right one...that's always a laugh.
THE NHS
Yes, I said it again. I will miss the shit NHS. This is only because I had a glance at what our insurance premiums are going to be for our family of three and it made me shake in the corner whispering, “stay healthy stay healthy stay healthy”. Seriously America, get your shit together...I don't like missing the NHS. That's just wrong.
THE CHIPPY
There isn't a lot of food I'm going to miss in the UK. I will miss the chocolate and beer but that's obvious and I can get both reasonably easy in the States. The food from the chippy though, well...how can I explain how something is so not good, nor good for you, but yet has a special place in my heart that I know I will crave? I honestly don't know anything more British then a bucket full of barely cooked chips hot from the fryer wrapped in 6 layers of newspaper smelling of vinegar and salt swinging in a plastic bag on your arm stumbling home from a night at the pub. It's that really. That is what it is like living here. If you understand those chips, then you understand England.
EXPAT BEGONE
This is my last post from the UK. I'll miss writing about here. I'll miss just being an expat. Thanks for reading though, and I'll see you on the other side of the pond (if I don't die in a fiery plane crash).
Since I only have a week left here, I thought it might be time to compile a list for you some of the things that I will really miss from England. I can't possibly list them all, especially since I probably don't even realize all the things I will miss. I'm sure three months from now I'll be walking along thinking, “Damn, I could really go for some Smarties right now...and a bag of Hula Hoops.” Or who knows, it might be, “Damn, I really wish my produce was excessively packaged for hygiene.” It's hard to say.
VAT INCLUDED
OK, let's state for the record that the cost of VAT (value added tax)(ie: sales tax) is typically higher than any in the States. The standard VAT rate is currently 20%. Compare that to the current sales tax rate of California which is 9.75%. That's fucking a lot. I'm not going to miss the VAT rate. I am going to miss 'VAT included'. What VAT included means is that when you see a price tag in the store, that is the price you are going to pay. In the UK, I can buy a bottle of bubbles for £1.30 (What? I have a kid!) and a can of tuna for £1.65 (What? I have a cat!) and when I go up to pay, I know I will have to give the cashier £2.95. If I'm in the States and the bubbles were $1.30 and the tuna $1.65, I'd probably give the cashier the evil eye if she rings up some sort of amount where I have to go searching for 3 pennies. And the amount is always something that requires 3 pennies and I never seem to have more than 2 pennies and I'm pissed off that I don't have any thing smaller than a quarter which is going to result in more change and DAMMIT, JUST INCLUDE THE FUCKING SALES TAX ALREADY.
So yeah, I'm going to miss that.
TIPPING
Since we're on the subject of money, let's talk about tipping. We all know that the British are completely shit tippers. This is why waitresses in the States don't like waiting on customers that are clearly from across the pond. While the Brits know that when they are in the States they are suppose to tip, some feign ignorance and others leave 5-10% honestly believing that it's a decent tip. To the latter half, we have to excuse them. A 5-10% tip in this country is honestly a decent tip. When I went to the hairdressers, I tipped the stylist £5 for a £50 haircut. That's 10%. The stylist held my fiver back to me and said, “You gave me too much.” I said, “It's a tip.” She said, “That's too much...are you sure?” I said, “You deserve it.” She took the cash but she had that look on her face that showed she thought I was crazy giving her so much money.
I guess you may be wondering what I'm going to miss...well, it's not having to tip, or if I do tip, not feeling required to leave 20%. That really sounds terrible, doesn't it? It shouldn't. I was a waitress for many years. I was a bartender after that. In the States I know that people in the service industry count on their tips for their livelihood. In the States I tip, and I tip well. I just don't like the feeling of guilt I have if I don't tip well because the service was bad (and I when I say I don't tip well, it means I leave 13%, and the service has to be complete and utter shit for me to ever do that). Here, I don't have to concern myself with that. The bartender I'm talking to or the waitress that is serving my food is being paid properly by their employers. They don't count on my tip to pay their rent. If they are rude (which if they aren't counting on tips happens a lot) you don't tip and you don't feel crap about it. If they are friendly and pleasant, you give them 10% - and they always thank you for it.
WALKING
Now I miss driving. I miss driving a lot. I'm really looking forward to getting behind the wheel again and cruising down the freeway at 90 mph blasting some tunes scaring old ladies gripping the their steering wheel as I pass. That said, I'm also going to miss walking. I'm going to miss my toned calves. I'm going to miss spending a day at a fair and not having my legs ache for two days afterward. I can swear to you, myself and all the personal trainers in the world that I will continue to walk once I get back to the States. But I won't. There isn't a convenient bus to get me to Target. There isn't a quick train to hop on to get me to the beach. And you can't ignore the fact that I'd look completely daft taking a little pull shopping trolley to the grocery store every day. The car will be used and it will be used a lot. I guess it would be fair to say that I'm really going to miss a proper functioning public transport system too.
PARKS
The United States of America doesn't have any parks! None! Not a blade of grass in sight! All concrete and 7-11's!
Yes, I lie. The States have parks, and lots of them. From my experience, there are two park types in the States– the small jungle gym type of ones that are in a neighborhood with at least one homeless person sleeping under a tree and the big massive parks with no jungle gyms but plenty of coyotes, bears, and dead bodies that have been dumped by the latest mass murderer. I'm not a big fan of the parks in America. I've always avoided the small ones because I didn't have a kid (so that will change...just have to step over the homeless guy to get to the slide) and I definitely avoided the bigger ones as I never wanted to discover a body. That is fact. I have an irrational fear of discovering a dead body....or a dead squirrel...or a dead anything really, that isn't a bug because bugs are disgusting.
The parks here are different. They tend to be bigger and lusher and always have a jungle gym and a duck pond and seem to be manicured enough that if there was a dead body in there, the maintenance team would have discovered it hours before I'd have a chance to.
PINTS OF BEER IN LABELED PINT GLASS
So have you ever been out with your friends and it's your turn to buy the round and two of your friends order a Miller Lite and one friend orders a Coors Light (by the way, why are your friends drinking such crap?) and when you get the drinks the bartender has put a straw in the Coors Light so that you know that the one with the straw is the piss from Colorado and not the piss from Wisconsin? You don't get that here.
Not to say that they don't have shit beer here, they do, but it's clearly labeled so that everyone can see that you are drinking shit beer. I guess I shouldn't say 'labeled'. There isn't a sticker or anything. It's just when you order a Guinness, it comes in a Guinness glass. If you order a Carling, it comes in a Carling glass. If you order a Strongbow, it comes in a Strongbow glass. So on and so forth. No confusion, no fucking little straws bobbing at the top of a pint. Pure brilliance I tell you. Though, it does take away that mystery of two people tasting each others pints trying to figure out if they've got the right one...that's always a laugh.
THE NHS
Yes, I said it again. I will miss the shit NHS. This is only because I had a glance at what our insurance premiums are going to be for our family of three and it made me shake in the corner whispering, “stay healthy stay healthy stay healthy”. Seriously America, get your shit together...I don't like missing the NHS. That's just wrong.
THE CHIPPY
There isn't a lot of food I'm going to miss in the UK. I will miss the chocolate and beer but that's obvious and I can get both reasonably easy in the States. The food from the chippy though, well...how can I explain how something is so not good, nor good for you, but yet has a special place in my heart that I know I will crave? I honestly don't know anything more British then a bucket full of barely cooked chips hot from the fryer wrapped in 6 layers of newspaper smelling of vinegar and salt swinging in a plastic bag on your arm stumbling home from a night at the pub. It's that really. That is what it is like living here. If you understand those chips, then you understand England.
EXPAT BEGONE
This is my last post from the UK. I'll miss writing about here. I'll miss just being an expat. Thanks for reading though, and I'll see you on the other side of the pond (if I don't die in a fiery plane crash).
09 September 2012
Oh America...
...you so crazy.*
*This piece of shit post was brought to you by "I'm so fucking tired right now, I could sleep for 18 days", "Moving houses is a ball ache" and "Have you seen my camera cord\ear phones\kid's baby blanket\extra pajama bottoms? No? Shit, they must have been shipped."
03 September 2012
Filler
So I didn't mean to drop the whole Moving Bomb and then run away from the blog. As you may have guessed, my forced level of secrecy up to this point pretty much means that when I say that I'm moving, we are like, moving now. The big shipping van comes on Friday. Yeah. That's not to say that we won't be in England a bit longer. We will. But the madness of packing and sorting and trying to keep a 17 month old not only occupied but happy with all the changes going on around him...well, it's been stressful. Seriously, I've completely broken out in zits (BrE: spots) this last week, been having problems sleeping, having mini panic attacks (have I mentioned how much I hate flying?) and have been flip-flopping into pure adrenaline MUST PACK MUST PACK stages back into sitting on the couch with my hand in a bag of crisps watching 'Snog, Marry, Avoid' (as a general rule, one should follow the 'avoid' in regards to viewing this program) trying to forget there are 8 things (at least) in my field of vision that I should probably take care of. Blogging, I'm afraid, is going to be taking a back seat in my To-do list for at least a month. Though that's not to say I won't be here at all....just probably not as regular.
Am I ever really regular on this blog though? Yeah, that's what I thought.
ANYHOW, I do plan on doing a post sometime before I leave about all the things that I am really going to miss about the UK. Yes, there really are quite a few things. I thought about doing a post about all the things I didn't like about the UK but that's just basically a re-hash of 'all the things I miss about America'.
The one thing I will mention that I don't think I'll miss about the UK is having an accent. When I came to the UK on holiday 3 years ago I was a bit scared to open my mouth and speak. For whatever god forsaken reason, I didn't want anyone to hear my accent and start thinking, “stupid American”. Or, when I had a few pints in me and I didn't care if they were thinking “stupid American” as long as they confirmed that is precisely where I was from, I was disappointed when most of the time people didn't say, “Oh, you must be (a stupid) American!”. For the three weeks we were here that time, only 4 people mentioned anything about my accent – or what they refer to as 'a (stupid) American twang'.
Now that I've lived here for awhile, I have no qualms about talking or speaking. Truthfully, now that I've been here awhile, I actually find it – um, I don't want to say 'annoying' because it's not exactly that – distracting when I'm talking to a person and they interrupt me to ask if I'm American. I could be going into Tesco and up at the service desk to ask where they keep the plain white vinegar for cleaning and the lady responding will be, “oh, it's in the same aisle as the – hey, are you American?”
It's also a bit annoying (and truly annoying this time) to explain to people that yes, I'm American but I do actually live here now. It wasn't always the case. When I first moved here I got a lot of joy of saying exactly that. Now that the glamor of living the UK has subsided, so has my thrill of informing people that “Yes, I am an American who tore off the chains of mediocrity and decided to broaden my mind abroad!”
Oh, and on the same lines, I'm not going to miss going into B and Q and asking the lady where the Spackle is.
“Excuse me, where can I find the Spackle?”
“Spac....?”
“Spackle. You know, Spackle. For the holes in the wall. Spackle.”
blank stare
“Spackle. SPAA-CUL”
Andy, from behind, interrupting me, “Where's the 'poly filla'?”
“Aisle 24, sir.”
Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to
25 August 2012
Quitters
So Andy has finally given me the go ahead to announce our big news to you. Actually, he didn't so much as give me the go ahead as much as it was me saying, “this is fucking stupid, I'm breaking the news in my blog in two weeks.” I've asked him many times for the reasoning behind his need for secrecy but I didn't catch much of it save rapid ramblings regarding a ticket tape parade. You guys, men are weird.
To all those who might have guessed that I'm pregnant again, you are absolutely right.
Oh. Ha. Ha ha. HA HA HA HA HA!
No, quite happily, I am completely free of human organisms growing inside of me save those that are all mine and to celebrate that fact, I'm having myself a nice big vodka drink as we speak. Chin chin.
The big news that I have to share is that we are moving back to America. The States. The land of the free and the home of big fucking restaurant portions. God bless In-n-Out burgers....and kosher dill pickles! I realize that this news means that a lot of you will stop reading this blog. An expat blog whose author is no longer an expat is, well, just another American talking crap about American things. I can't promise you this space will be interesting to you anymore but I'll keep on writing because that's just what I do. Hope you stick around long enough that I send you yearly Christmas cards....and believe me, I do do that shit. Ha, I said 'do-do'.
I'm sure many of you who have been considering making that big move across to England might question why we have decided, after only a year and a half, to move back. I can only give our reasons for the decision and hope that in the end you make up yours knowing as much as you can about the place and saying, “fuck it, I'm doing it anyway.” Research is a wonderful thing but sometimes you just have to go out and experience the shit for yourself. You might find that you discover something that works for you that didn't us. I will say this to the end of days – it may not have worked out for me and my family but I don't for a minute regret coming to the UK. I have learned a lot in a year and a half. I'm a different person than I was. I'm grateful for that. My cousin, Shannen, who has lived in Japan and South America and seen most of this world has always said to me, “If you want to go, then go. If it doesn't work out, you can always come home.” Basically I'm telling you, if you are considering moving to the UK, then fucking do it already. If it doesn't work out, you can always come home.
But enough about you already. Here are the three main reasons why we made the choice to pack up all our shit (and the damn fucking expensive ass cat!) and move overseas all over again.
THE WEATHER
This is the least important reason. I grew up in Wisconsin for fuck's sake. Wisconsin is like, the Arctic – except when it's not and it's like a Korean sweat shop (for the record, May and June are usually quite lovely). I'm used to bad weather. I survived the winter here in the UK without much complaint. It's been the summer that has absolutely killed me. There's an advert playing the radio here that promotes 'The Great British Summer!'. I often turn to Andy and say, “they mean that sarcastically, don't they?” While not all British summers have been the deluge that this one has, this summer was quite enough to say, “You know, I would really prefer not to be DAMP anymore.” They talk about the rain in England and Ireland but until you spend 5 months on end just being damp ALL THE FUCKING TIME do you appreciate what that kind of rain really means.
The "Great British Summer"...at least there's booze.
THE MONEY
….Or the complete lack of it. I haven't been this poor since I was in my early twenties. I'm almost 40 for fuck's sake, I don't want to be poor anymore. I don't like discussing money, especially on a public forum such as this one. I could discuss to you exactly why we don't have any money, but it's boring. I'm also sure everyone could tell me ways that I could have more money (“stop smoking and drinking dumb ass!”)(“get a job and somehow find affordable day care!”) (oh..ha. Ha ha!) but at the end of the day, the way Andy and I want to live our lives is the way we want to live our lives. The long and the short of it is that Andy and I can't afford our lifestyle in the UK. We don't want to take all our vacations in a forest camping. We don't want to stay home watching television every weekend. This is actually the one point that makes me so angry when I stop to think about it. Continental Europe is RIGHT THERE. It's right there people! I could spit and hit France! Can we afford to go to France? Not right now we can't. Maybe if we saved for half a year....for a weekend away. To put this in geographical prospective – it's like being in Wisconsin and saving up for half a year to have a weekend away in Michigan. I've said to myself sometimes, “...if I was only a really good swimmer I could totally save on airfare.”
Andy knows that if we had this much cash, I'd throw it on the bed and roll around in it.
THE FRIENDS
I can't begin to tell you how much both Andy and I miss having friends. While Andy never gets out much at all (see paragraph above), I do manage to get to the Children's Center and around town a lot during the week. A year and a half ago I would have thought that with all my outings, surely I would have a gaggle of persons to be able to call on a Saturday afternoon to invite out for a coffee (or a drink) by now. Nope. Not a single fucking person. The only person I managed to start a friendship with had the balls to up and move away. This is actually the one point that I think someone else who is considering coming to England will have a lot better luck than me. Maybe you're younger. Maybe you don't have any kids. Maybe you are just more sociable. I don't know – I think maybe all the forces in nature worked against Andy and I in this aspect. All I know is that when I saw this posted on Facebook, there wasn't a giant sized Dairy Milk bar in the world that could keep us here anymore.
Keep that seat warm and the beer cold, guys.
So yeah. We gave it a go and it didn't work out. No regrets.
California, we're coming home.
23 August 2012
21 August 2012
All the Questions before the Big One...
So I just want to start out and thank you everyone who commented on my last post (*cough* the two of you). Thankfully there were so many questions from those two people that I have enough to write an entire post answering those questions. As an added bonus, they didn't make me go anywhere to satisfy their far-away curiosity. I've been sick with a head cold this week and found it hard to find the energy to shower much less leave the house.
Alrighty then, let's jump right in, shall we?
QUESTION #1: Well, I know I have more questions, but one thing I wonder is what it's like to be an American in Liverpool. Do people treat you differently? Assume you're related to Tim Howard (Everton)? Do you have a cool factor?
I'd like to state from the get-go that I do not have, and will never have, a cool factor. Looking back, I think the only time in my life I had anything regarding “cool” was when I was a bartender in my very early twenties. And really, I was only 'cool' because I controlled how drunk you got and you paid me money for it.
I don't think there is much of a difference being an American in Liverpool (or the UK) as it is for any other foreigner in this country. People occasionally will ask where I'm from and when I tell them, they will say, “Oh! I thought from your accent you were Canadian.” I blame my Wisconsin accent for the Canadian thing by the way. That is usually how far it will go unless the person asking has been to the States or has relatives in the States and then they will tell me which state they have been\or their relative lives in. It is never a state that I particularly like. If the person is really chatty (rarely), they will ask how I like it here and I'm obliged to say how great Liverpool is but “how about this weather, huh?” Then we will all agree that rain is the substance that will kill us all. The End.
The most interesting story I have in the entire time that I've been here is the time a women on the bus (after overhearing my accent talking to Henry) purposely stopped me on the street after I got off the bus to ask me, “What is a Homecoming Queen?” Like all her life she had been waiting to meet an American to ask that question.
(Sorry I'm ignoring the Tim Howard question – I seriously have no idea who he is.)
QUESTION #2: One question I've asked you before in a previous post was in regard to femininity/attire there. Specifically, the high "skank factor" being the norm, vs an exception (as in the States...sorry any Brits). Maybe, if you're up for it, you could share some insights you've had on gender, and social norms? You know, in your spare time.
This is going to be a really hard question to answer simply because I don't go to clubs or really, go out anytime past 6 o'clock anymore. I can only tell you what I see in the daylight hours and really, I don't think it's THAT much different than in the States. I may have mentioned before that I have never felt comfortable leaving the house in a sweatshirt in the UK like I would back home. At the same time, I don't feel like I have to dress up. But my step mother when she visited had made a comment that she felt everyone was more 'made up' then she was used to, so it's all a matter of opinion.
The best way to break it up is this – people here are going to dress however the hell they feel like, just like back in America. The biggest difference, I feel, is that most people reserve their sweatshirts and fleece coats for rambling in the country. The good people of the UK love a good ramble in the country after all. In every day life, you throw on some jeans\skirt\slacks, a shirt\blouse, and some sensible shoes and call it a day.
I hope that answered your question, though I seriously doubt it did!
QUESTION #3: Do you have gas stations that sell cigarettes, beer, and lotto tickets?
Yep, just like in the States! I don't know if the gas stations (ie: petrol stations) had to adhere to the new rules, but in Tesco, they are no longer able to 'display' cigarettes. All the cigarettes have to be behind a plain white panel\door type thing so if you are asking for cigarettes, you sure as hell better know what brand you intend to buy. This is apparently because cigarette packaging is so fun and colorful that children will surely be sucked into the alluring red triangles of a pack of Marlboro’s.
QUESTION #4: Are all the gas stations open 24 / 7?
I had to ask Andy this as he is in charge of getting the petrol. He said, “I would say most of the major chains are open 24 hours. Independents and rural ones tend not to be.” So there you go.
QUESTION #5: Do you have Fast Food places Mickey D Taco Hell Bugger King Fun places like that or just Pub Food?
McDonald’s, KFC, Subway, Pizza Hut and Burger King, yes. Taco Bell, Wendy's, Jack in the Box, no. They did have a Taco Bell in Spain though. I say with a heavy heart (read: embarrassment) that I miss Taco Bell.
QUESTION #6: What about delivery Pizza Jimmy John or Chinese?
Gail, I'm assuming you mean Papa John's pizza and not Jimmy John's sub sandwiches? They do indeed have Papa John's pizza and we order from them at least once a month (oh god, I'm really showing why I have a weight problem, aren't I?).
They also have loads of Chinese delivery too, though the menus are completely different and I never seem to find exactly what I'm looking for. If we're going to be honest, we all know that Chinese food in America is really just American food served over some rice that we call Chinese. In the States, if I order Chinese food, I'll usually get the Beef with broccoli and snow peas. Here, you order your meat (beef, chicken, pork, 'special' (I still have no idea what type of meat 'special' is), or prawn) and then you choose your sauce (teriyaki, OK sauce, sweet & sour, garlic & spring onion, etc). I've never seen it where they list the vegetables you're going to get with it and half the time I have no idea what all the sauces are. I don't know if the Chinese food is conformed to British tastes like it is in America. I'd guess the answer is yes (having never been to China) but I can't say for sure.
QUESTION #7: What is the food that made Liverpool famous like Milwaukee has Beer and Brats and
Chicago has the Hotdog and Deep Dish Pizza?
Good question! The food that Liverpool is known for is scouse. That is why people from Liverpool are called 'Scousers'. Scouse is a type of lamb or beef stew, very VERY similar to a typical Irish stew with potatoes and carrots. It makes sense, as Liverpool has a lot of Irish heritage being one of the first port of call when the Irish were fleeing due to the potato famine. Look at me! I'm being all historical!
I've actually made Scouse. I've even made vegetarian Scouse for Andy - it's called 'Blind Scouse'.
If I had another food Liverpool is known for – and this is only going by the number of restaurants I see of this type – then it's fast food chicken. I'm guessing this is due to the famine of students with great late night hunger from the Red Bull cocktail.
QUESTION #8: Did you ever find a proper Dill Pickle?
No, and stop rubbing it in.
14 August 2012
No seriously, the parks are really quite lovely
So my sister was in town last week which is why there has been a bit of an absence here on this blog. Funny enough, my sister and I really didn't do anything particularly blog worthy. She just had back surgery two months ago and she was on plenty of drugs that prevented her from drinking. Not that my sister is much of a drinker anyhow – she's the athletic type that is very comfortable drinking water while the rest of us are getting stupid. Not that she doesn't partake now and again but...whatever. She was here, it was awesome, we remained sober, it was still awesome.
What she and I (and Henry) did mostly was go to parks. Maggie apparently brought the California sunshine with her and it was lovely and 70's for all of last week (I'm completely ignoring the Tuesday morning when we went out and got completely soaked from a sudden cloud opening making me all sorts of Grumpy Gus until that fucking sun showed itself again). Did you know, there are a lot of parks around here, and they are all quite lovely. We also took a long walk on the prom(enade) that follows the River Mersey which was also really great.
I know, I know. I have no stories. What can I say? It's my sister. We talked shit for 6 days. That's what sisters do.
I also don't have much of a post for you because I've been really busy with this big thing that is coming down the pipeline. Fuck me. I haven't worked in an office for over a year and I'm still saying shit like 'coming down the pipeline'. Somebody get me a TPS report, stat. I'll have a good post about this 'big thing coming down the pipeline' in a couple of weeks, until then, I'll pose a couple questions to you all. Yes, these questions are a total cop-out for coming up with my own ideas for the next blog post. Feel free to answer via comments if you want:
OK, we may have had a pint and a half. That's not really drinking, is it?
What she and I (and Henry) did mostly was go to parks. Maggie apparently brought the California sunshine with her and it was lovely and 70's for all of last week (I'm completely ignoring the Tuesday morning when we went out and got completely soaked from a sudden cloud opening making me all sorts of Grumpy Gus until that fucking sun showed itself again). Did you know, there are a lot of parks around here, and they are all quite lovely. We also took a long walk on the prom(enade) that follows the River Mersey which was also really great.
In a park! Surprise!
I know, I know. I have no stories. What can I say? It's my sister. We talked shit for 6 days. That's what sisters do.
I also don't have much of a post for you because I've been really busy with this big thing that is coming down the pipeline. Fuck me. I haven't worked in an office for over a year and I'm still saying shit like 'coming down the pipeline'. Somebody get me a TPS report, stat. I'll have a good post about this 'big thing coming down the pipeline' in a couple of weeks, until then, I'll pose a couple questions to you all. Yes, these questions are a total cop-out for coming up with my own ideas for the next blog post. Feel free to answer via comments if you want:
- Besides the Beatles, what, if anything do you think defines Liverpool? No stealing hubcap jokes – that's a dead horse.
- If I haven't covered it already, where in Liverpool would you'd like me to write about and\or explore? Mind, I could be wrong, but I don't think they have crack dens. Or maybe they do. I'll ask Henry, he likes making dens.
- Oh, and just a general 'I wish I knew' question – who is the lady who breaks in shoes for the Queen? Does she do other things besides just breaking in shoes? I stay up at night wondering about this lady. I bet her feet just ache, like, ALL THE TIME.
Yes, someone else actually broke these in for the Queen. Apparently by traipsing through a mud puddle. Who is that woman?!
01 August 2012
Letting Go of 1988
So, the Olympics appear to be on. I really didn't want to do a post about the Olympics but since I can't seem to avoid them – mostly since Andy is “I'll watch anything labeled as a 'competition'” - it's been a bit hard to. I mean, the Olympics have been playing on our television pretty much nonstop since Saturday.
I will be completely honest and say that I have never been a fan of the Olympics. Not that I have anything against them, I just don't care for them. Part of it, of course, has to do with my complete disinterest in sports as a whole. Mainly though, my dislike of the Olympics stems from childhood. Back before DVR's, we had to watch all our television programs live. I know, right? If there was a show you wanted to watch, you had to be in front of the TV at the exact moment it came on or else you'd miss it. You'd also have to hold your bladder through the commercials or else run to the bathroom really really quickly (I'd say 'skip the hand washing' but in my house, with my mother, there was no such thing as skipping a potential wash of something). What does that have to do with the Olympics? I suppose not much since all the shows that I really really liked as a kid were never on during the agonizing two weeks of the Olympics. Not much of anything was on during the two weeks of the Olympics which means that for two weeks, instead of crushing after Kirk Cameron in 'Growing Pains' (What the hell Kirk? Is there a way to go back in time and take down my poster of you and set it on fire?) or getting a life lesson on 'Family Ties' or 'the Cosby Show', all I had to do was homework and organizing my cassette tape collection (seeing as I had about 20 tapes, this didn't take long). Worse yet, back then both the Winter and Summer Olympics were on in the SAME YEAR. Basically, a whole month of 1988 was completely ruined as far as my brain was concerned.
I don't think I've ever forgiven the Olympics for 1988.
Now that I'm living in Britain and the Olympics are right here, it's hard not to get interested on some level. Mind, the Olympics have been in the States before, but never in the state I was residing in so for all intents and purposes they could have been held on the moon. It's kind of cool seeing signs on the motorway here that read 'Next Right for Park and Ride Olympics'. It's also kind of cool not having to wade through the Team USA! shit during this period. Oh sure, there's Team GB where ever you go here but since I'm not British I don't feel like I'm affiliated with it in any way (not to mention there is a distinct lack of an implied exclamation mark like there is with Team USA!). It's been alright, this Olympics stuff, and as I said, interesting on some level even (saving that Andy doesn't make me watch canoeing again – or white water rafting – or white water canoeing – whatever the fuck it's called). Henry even likes the equestrian events because he is All About Horses right now.
So yeah.
All my thoughts and feelings aside, yesterday the Vegemite Wife texted me to see if I wanted a front row ticket to the Women's Football event playing that day. Honestly, swear to god, I wanted to go. Not because I like football and obviously not because I'm all 'Yay Olympics!' but more of the fact that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. When else in my life am I going to be offered a front row seat to an Olympic event? Never again, I can pretty much guarantee. Most sadly, I had to say no as there was no one to watch Henry on that short of notice and still get to Manchester in time (granted, if there was no Henry, I'd be working and I'd still have to say no)(grrr). Since I don't have a cool “I was at the Olympics” story for you, you can read hers.
In case you were wondering, in this house, on this sofa, it's definitely a Team USA! place to be. Unless of course you are on the other side of the same sofa, in the same house, then it's all Team GB up in your face. Henry is supporting Team Horse and is thus far quite disappointed the black one with the white spots hasn't gotten the gold yet.
I will be completely honest and say that I have never been a fan of the Olympics. Not that I have anything against them, I just don't care for them. Part of it, of course, has to do with my complete disinterest in sports as a whole. Mainly though, my dislike of the Olympics stems from childhood. Back before DVR's, we had to watch all our television programs live. I know, right? If there was a show you wanted to watch, you had to be in front of the TV at the exact moment it came on or else you'd miss it. You'd also have to hold your bladder through the commercials or else run to the bathroom really really quickly (I'd say 'skip the hand washing' but in my house, with my mother, there was no such thing as skipping a potential wash of something). What does that have to do with the Olympics? I suppose not much since all the shows that I really really liked as a kid were never on during the agonizing two weeks of the Olympics. Not much of anything was on during the two weeks of the Olympics which means that for two weeks, instead of crushing after Kirk Cameron in 'Growing Pains' (What the hell Kirk? Is there a way to go back in time and take down my poster of you and set it on fire?) or getting a life lesson on 'Family Ties' or 'the Cosby Show', all I had to do was homework and organizing my cassette tape collection (seeing as I had about 20 tapes, this didn't take long). Worse yet, back then both the Winter and Summer Olympics were on in the SAME YEAR. Basically, a whole month of 1988 was completely ruined as far as my brain was concerned.
I don't think I've ever forgiven the Olympics for 1988.
I'm looking at you Calgary.
Now that I'm living in Britain and the Olympics are right here, it's hard not to get interested on some level. Mind, the Olympics have been in the States before, but never in the state I was residing in so for all intents and purposes they could have been held on the moon. It's kind of cool seeing signs on the motorway here that read 'Next Right for Park and Ride Olympics'. It's also kind of cool not having to wade through the Team USA! shit during this period. Oh sure, there's Team GB where ever you go here but since I'm not British I don't feel like I'm affiliated with it in any way (not to mention there is a distinct lack of an implied exclamation mark like there is with Team USA!). It's been alright, this Olympics stuff, and as I said, interesting on some level even (saving that Andy doesn't make me watch canoeing again – or white water rafting – or white water canoeing – whatever the fuck it's called). Henry even likes the equestrian events because he is All About Horses right now.
So yeah.
All my thoughts and feelings aside, yesterday the Vegemite Wife texted me to see if I wanted a front row ticket to the Women's Football event playing that day. Honestly, swear to god, I wanted to go. Not because I like football and obviously not because I'm all 'Yay Olympics!' but more of the fact that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. When else in my life am I going to be offered a front row seat to an Olympic event? Never again, I can pretty much guarantee. Most sadly, I had to say no as there was no one to watch Henry on that short of notice and still get to Manchester in time (granted, if there was no Henry, I'd be working and I'd still have to say no)(grrr). Since I don't have a cool “I was at the Olympics” story for you, you can read hers.
In case you were wondering, in this house, on this sofa, it's definitely a Team USA! place to be. Unless of course you are on the other side of the same sofa, in the same house, then it's all Team GB up in your face. Henry is supporting Team Horse and is thus far quite disappointed the black one with the white spots hasn't gotten the gold yet.
24 July 2012
About f*cking time...
This is just a short service announcement to let you know that summer has finally arrived in the UK. It's OK to visit us now. Pack some sunscreen and shorts but don't forget your umbrella and your finest wool sweater because, you know, it's Britain...shit can change.
This is also the England of My Imagination...all this is missing is Mr. Darcy wet from the pond.
19 July 2012
The Scouser and the American go to a reception
So one of the other things I had always wanted to do once I got to England was to go to an English wedding. If I'm to be honest, the reason for this completely had to do with the elaborate hats the women in this country wear to such events. Somewhere deep in my soul I wanted to have a reason to wear multiple feathers and flowers and hell, throw in a live bird since we're all here, on top of my head. Oh sure, I can at any time wear feathers and flowers and for all intents and purposes a live chipmunk on my head because it's my right as a human to, but it would be without reason. Not that I haven't done things without reason before, but when you get to live animals perched on your noggin perhaps it is best to have an explanation.
This past weekend Andy and I were FINALLY invited to an English wedding. Well, we were only invited to the reception which means I am still looking for a reason to wear a fancy hat on my head, but at least I got to see all the other women's hats up close and personal like. You know, to weed out (pun intended) what I liked and what I didn't when it finally came to my moment of glorified hat wearing.
The wedding reception we were invited to was being held by one of Andy's friends from back in California. His friend is British and was working in the States on a work visa until he was downsized from his job. As per the stipulations of his US work visa, he had to leave the US pretty immediately (Andy and I can't remember if it was 10 days or a whole month but it was a fucking short period of time to get your whole life together to move back to the UK). While the whole being kicked out of the country because your employer can't keep you sucks some major ass, it ended up working out for the guy as he reconnected with his university girlfriend, had a beautiful baby girl, and obviously got hitched. Yay him. And yay us, as we got to go to the reception.
Now to clarify, as I had to have Andy do to me that day – the reception in British terms doesn't seem to be the complete same as in American terms. In the States it's not completely uncommon to have a small family-only type wedding ceremony but then have an everyone's invited to the reception type thing. The reception being both a sit down dinner (or buffet) with the drinking and dancing afterward. In British terms it appears to be a 3 part affair – the wedding ceremony, the wedding sit down dinner, then the reception. People who are invited to the ceremony are invited to the sit down dinner. People who are only invited to the reception do not get dinner (though we got some pub grub buffet style late in the evening).
The reception was in Burnley, which is a small town about an hour out of Liverpool. If you've never heard of Burnley, that's alright. It's Burnley after all, which meant the next morning I was very content staying in bed for an extra couple hours because I was in no rush to get up and explore Burnley. The actual reception was in one of those old stone, not quite a castle, hotel type places with high ceilings and furniture from your great grandfather's time. They did have a very gorgeous atrium which screams of the England of my imagination and I spent a lot of time in there drinking cider. Bulmers No17 if I'm to be specific, and the 80 year old bartender corrected me every time I ordered it. “It's not 'balm-ers', it's 'bull-mers'.”
Obviously we didn't bring Henry with us because we didn't feel like being responsible that evening. As it was, 80% of the people we talked to either had kids there or had kids sleeping in the hotel room upstairs with their nans. It also happens that these kids all seemed to be around Henry's age so even though he wasn't there, he was talked about quite a bit. Parents of small children don't have much in the way of lives so we talk about our kid's lives instead. I basically came away that evening knowing that there isn't a kid in the history of the world that sleeps properly and I kind of feel better about it now.
That was a big part of the evening. Andy and I actually got to talk to people. Oh sure, it was mostly about our kids but we were talking. And what I found peculiar is that it appears in a social environment like a wedding, English people are more than happy to give you their name! Hurray! Not that I remembered any of the names, I was drinking cider, remember?
The best bit of the whole evening though came towards the end when this drunken women stumbled outside where we were all smoking cigarettes in the rain. “Oh hey!” she said to Andy and me, “You're the Scouser and the American, right?” I don't know why but I LOVED that. The Scouser and the American....that's totally a movie title right there.
Anyhow, we ended the evening shortly after midnight after the hotel bar closed down.
“We'll take a pint of Carling and a Strawberry Balm-ers please.”
“We aren't serving anymore.”
“Andy! Hey Andy! I think it's time we head back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“They aren't serving anymore.”
“You know, you're right. We should probably head back. We have a bottle of wine there, right?”
“Absolutely. And egg mayo sandwiches!”
I didn't get to wear feathers, flowers, or a live kookaburra on my head, but it was still a really great night.
I could totally pull this off.
This past weekend Andy and I were FINALLY invited to an English wedding. Well, we were only invited to the reception which means I am still looking for a reason to wear a fancy hat on my head, but at least I got to see all the other women's hats up close and personal like. You know, to weed out (pun intended) what I liked and what I didn't when it finally came to my moment of glorified hat wearing.
The wedding reception we were invited to was being held by one of Andy's friends from back in California. His friend is British and was working in the States on a work visa until he was downsized from his job. As per the stipulations of his US work visa, he had to leave the US pretty immediately (Andy and I can't remember if it was 10 days or a whole month but it was a fucking short period of time to get your whole life together to move back to the UK). While the whole being kicked out of the country because your employer can't keep you sucks some major ass, it ended up working out for the guy as he reconnected with his university girlfriend, had a beautiful baby girl, and obviously got hitched. Yay him. And yay us, as we got to go to the reception.
The dress...that train was kept out for the entire night. Yes, I may have stepped on it a few times.
Now to clarify, as I had to have Andy do to me that day – the reception in British terms doesn't seem to be the complete same as in American terms. In the States it's not completely uncommon to have a small family-only type wedding ceremony but then have an everyone's invited to the reception type thing. The reception being both a sit down dinner (or buffet) with the drinking and dancing afterward. In British terms it appears to be a 3 part affair – the wedding ceremony, the wedding sit down dinner, then the reception. People who are invited to the ceremony are invited to the sit down dinner. People who are only invited to the reception do not get dinner (though we got some pub grub buffet style late in the evening).
The groom and my groom. Groovy.
The reception was in Burnley, which is a small town about an hour out of Liverpool. If you've never heard of Burnley, that's alright. It's Burnley after all, which meant the next morning I was very content staying in bed for an extra couple hours because I was in no rush to get up and explore Burnley. The actual reception was in one of those old stone, not quite a castle, hotel type places with high ceilings and furniture from your great grandfather's time. They did have a very gorgeous atrium which screams of the England of my imagination and I spent a lot of time in there drinking cider. Bulmers No17 if I'm to be specific, and the 80 year old bartender corrected me every time I ordered it. “It's not 'balm-ers', it's 'bull-mers'.”
I love me a nice atrium. It's like being in nature but with less bugs.
Andy gets very poetic around nature. Which is why we try to keep him out of it.
Nature just makes me giggle. No wait, that's the cider.
Obviously we didn't bring Henry with us because we didn't feel like being responsible that evening. As it was, 80% of the people we talked to either had kids there or had kids sleeping in the hotel room upstairs with their nans. It also happens that these kids all seemed to be around Henry's age so even though he wasn't there, he was talked about quite a bit. Parents of small children don't have much in the way of lives so we talk about our kid's lives instead. I basically came away that evening knowing that there isn't a kid in the history of the world that sleeps properly and I kind of feel better about it now.
I hid behind Andy because my dress showed off too much of my tits. No really, it did.
That was a big part of the evening. Andy and I actually got to talk to people. Oh sure, it was mostly about our kids but we were talking. And what I found peculiar is that it appears in a social environment like a wedding, English people are more than happy to give you their name! Hurray! Not that I remembered any of the names, I was drinking cider, remember?
About the time things got really REALLY fun.
The best bit of the whole evening though came towards the end when this drunken women stumbled outside where we were all smoking cigarettes in the rain. “Oh hey!” she said to Andy and me, “You're the Scouser and the American, right?” I don't know why but I LOVED that. The Scouser and the American....that's totally a movie title right there.
Anyhow, we ended the evening shortly after midnight after the hotel bar closed down.
“We'll take a pint of Carling and a Strawberry Balm-ers please.”
“We aren't serving anymore.”
“Andy! Hey Andy! I think it's time we head back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
“They aren't serving anymore.”
“You know, you're right. We should probably head back. We have a bottle of wine there, right?”
“Absolutely. And egg mayo sandwiches!”
Best wishes to you both.
I didn't get to wear feathers, flowers, or a live kookaburra on my head, but it was still a really great night.
05 July 2012
British Bits (Non-Dirty Version)
So I've been saving little bits I've come across in my British life and tucked them away for a rainy day when I didn't have much else to write about. Since it's been monsoon weather for the last forever days, the “rainy day” analogy is quite apt. Also, since it's been raining (and raining and raining and fuck me it's never going to be summer again) and we haven't done anything more than look mournfully out the window wondering if the sun still actually exists, I think it's time I whipped these bits out. That sounded dirty. Heh.
As a quick side note: Seeing as my peoples in Wisconsin are suffering through 100+ temps with humidity, this is all I'm going to say about the rain* we've been having (rainy-est summer since 1910!). I will forever trade 'never feeling dry again' to 'sweating my tits off while never feeling dry again'.
BRITISH BIT #1: The Milk Man
From my understanding, you can still get milk delivered to your door 1950's style in the States. I personally have never seen such services advertised, nor have I seen any deliveries around the neighborhood in the States, nor do I know any milkmen, save the dead kind (punk joke). I hear it's still done though so if you are interested, I'd start doing some web searches. Here in England, milk delivery is certainly not as popular as it was 50 years ago, but it's still going at a fair pace. We have some elderlies who live next door to us who get their milk delivered so every few days one of these pulls up outside:
This is called a 'milk float'. I don't know why. It's an electric powered vehicle (like a golf cart or Duffy boat) and I think the top speed is something like 20 mph. You see, if you are delivering milk at the ass crack of dawn, you need a quiet motor. It's also an open setup so the milkman can get the milk easily without a noisy door opening and closing all the time. This also means that if you are crafty enough, you can nick yourself a bottle.
I Do Not Condone the Nicking of Milk...I'm just saying, you know, in general.
Seriously though, I have never stolen milk. I stole a singing, jiggling, light up spider from Target once when I was 16, but never milk off a milk float.
BRITISH BIT #2: Informative AA signs
Before Beth asks (and I know she will after seeing the picture), the AA is the British Motoring Association. Basically, it's the UK version of AAA (Pronounced to the non-Yanks as 'triple-a'). There isn't a single person in the UK over the age of 25 (including those who do not drive) who do not have a waiting for the AA tow truck story to tell you. You could probably get that story from them two years before you get their first name so you know, it's something to start a conversation with anyhow.
Unlike the States, in the UK, it appears that the AA has full right to put up legal road signs directing one to attractions they think drivers might be interested in. For example:
I like to think of it as driving along the I-5 in LA to see proper road sign telling me that 'Stan's Medical Marijuana is 2 miles, next left'.
BRITISH BIT #3: You tell me what 24 hours means
Ah Tesco...open 24 hours except on the weekend when, you know, it might actually be useful.
BRITISH BIT #4: The after effects of rain can be pretty
I took this from our back patio (sorry, back garden)(there is no plants or grass in our garden, it's just concrete so I don't know why I have to call it a 'garden') after we've had a bit of rain (ha ha...it's always raining). I liked this picture a lot, so I modified it to have a fancy frame so you can tell me how awesome my photography is. It obviously didn't look as impressive without the frame. See if you can spot the magical fairies!
Just kidding, there are no magical fairies in this photo. It's still pretty though, right?
BRITISH BIT #5: Tequila
Even though the weather has said otherwise, it is technically summer. When it turns summer, an old girl's thoughts turn to margaritas. You thought I'd say strappy shoes and light salad dressing didn't you? You didn't? Oh, bless you, you are starting to know me. Finding a place that serves margaritas is, well, difficult. When you do find a place that sell them, they are overpriced and never taste quite like the ones back home. Not knowing how to make a margarita is, quite frankly, appalling. Next the barmen here will tell me they don't know how to make a Harvey Wallbanger or a Monkey Gland. However, the overpriced bit, well, I kind of understand.
Below are the prices for the smallest (50cl or 16 oz) bottles of tequila. Oh, who am I kidding? In 3 stores, this was ALL they had for tequila. If you went for the cheapest bottle there, you'd still be paying $16.50 for it. That bottle of Jager? $28 US dollars. Thank god I'm not 19 anymore or I'd be really bummed about that.
On the upside, if I was 19 I'd be happily enjoying these WKD, commonly known as 'alcopops'. My 19 year old self – holding a sad looking, heartburn inducing wine cooler in my hand – is jealous. My 38 year old self is appalled at the youth of today.
BRITISH BIT #6: Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah
If you are an anglophile you probably already know of HP Sauce. You probably have a bottle of it in your fridge right now, bought from the Cost Plus World Market saved for those rare times you pick up a couple of Cumberland sausages from the specialty butcher. Hey, I'm not making fun of you – I WAS you. You probably also love Guinness because there is a rare anglophile that doesn't. Well Anglophile, this is for you. Actually, it's not for you because you don't live here. Ha ha ha ha ha!!! Don't get too depressed, I'm sure you got to wear shorts sometime this year already.
BRITISH BIT #7: This is fucked up in any country
When I'm in Liverpool One wasting time with Henry, we always end up going to John Lewis at some point because they have, hands down, the best toilets. That is to say that they have a lot of toilets and many of them are big enough to fit myself and Henry's stroller in. I rarely buy anything at John Lewis – even though I really love their shit – because it's expensive. I once bought something there on sale for 4 pounds and twice I bought FUCKING HELL, HOW MUCH? pajamas for Henry because I couldn't find any other place that had footy pajamas with zippers (I know, right?) even though I fucking looked (I paid 18 pounds ($28) for a single pair of pajamas – and we used the SHIT out of them, I made sure of it). What I'm trying to say is, John Lewis is great if you are the type that has extra money that you're not really doing anything else with. If I was rich, I'd shop at John Lewis all the time. I would not, however, pay 225 pounds ($350) for a trash can.
Don't believe me? Here's the close up:
When I walked through and saw this, I stopped to examine the bin. Was it automatic? No. Did it self clean? No. Did it come with a butler service to empty it for you every day? Sadly no. It is a metal trash bin with a non-slip base. Apparently it has a 5 year guarantee. Whoop-fucking-dee. For that price it ought to be big enough to hide in in the event of a nuclear war.
So that's what I've got for you this week. Oh, apparently a 'somersault' is called a 'roly-poly' here.
*I still ended up complaining more about the weather. Go figure.
As a quick side note: Seeing as my peoples in Wisconsin are suffering through 100+ temps with humidity, this is all I'm going to say about the rain* we've been having (rainy-est summer since 1910!). I will forever trade 'never feeling dry again' to 'sweating my tits off while never feeling dry again'.
BRITISH BIT #1: The Milk Man
From my understanding, you can still get milk delivered to your door 1950's style in the States. I personally have never seen such services advertised, nor have I seen any deliveries around the neighborhood in the States, nor do I know any milkmen, save the dead kind (punk joke). I hear it's still done though so if you are interested, I'd start doing some web searches. Here in England, milk delivery is certainly not as popular as it was 50 years ago, but it's still going at a fair pace. We have some elderlies who live next door to us who get their milk delivered so every few days one of these pulls up outside:
This is called a 'milk float'. I don't know why. It's an electric powered vehicle (like a golf cart or Duffy boat) and I think the top speed is something like 20 mph. You see, if you are delivering milk at the ass crack of dawn, you need a quiet motor. It's also an open setup so the milkman can get the milk easily without a noisy door opening and closing all the time. This also means that if you are crafty enough, you can nick yourself a bottle.
I Do Not Condone the Nicking of Milk...I'm just saying, you know, in general.
Seriously though, I have never stolen milk. I stole a singing, jiggling, light up spider from Target once when I was 16, but never milk off a milk float.
BRITISH BIT #2: Informative AA signs
Before Beth asks (and I know she will after seeing the picture), the AA is the British Motoring Association. Basically, it's the UK version of AAA (Pronounced to the non-Yanks as 'triple-a'). There isn't a single person in the UK over the age of 25 (including those who do not drive) who do not have a waiting for the AA tow truck story to tell you. You could probably get that story from them two years before you get their first name so you know, it's something to start a conversation with anyhow.
Unlike the States, in the UK, it appears that the AA has full right to put up legal road signs directing one to attractions they think drivers might be interested in. For example:
I like to think of it as driving along the I-5 in LA to see proper road sign telling me that 'Stan's Medical Marijuana is 2 miles, next left'.
BRITISH BIT #3: You tell me what 24 hours means
Ah Tesco...open 24 hours except on the weekend when, you know, it might actually be useful.
BRITISH BIT #4: The after effects of rain can be pretty
I took this from our back patio (sorry, back garden)(there is no plants or grass in our garden, it's just concrete so I don't know why I have to call it a 'garden') after we've had a bit of rain (ha ha...it's always raining). I liked this picture a lot, so I modified it to have a fancy frame so you can tell me how awesome my photography is. It obviously didn't look as impressive without the frame. See if you can spot the magical fairies!
Just kidding, there are no magical fairies in this photo. It's still pretty though, right?
BRITISH BIT #5: Tequila
Even though the weather has said otherwise, it is technically summer. When it turns summer, an old girl's thoughts turn to margaritas. You thought I'd say strappy shoes and light salad dressing didn't you? You didn't? Oh, bless you, you are starting to know me. Finding a place that serves margaritas is, well, difficult. When you do find a place that sell them, they are overpriced and never taste quite like the ones back home. Not knowing how to make a margarita is, quite frankly, appalling. Next the barmen here will tell me they don't know how to make a Harvey Wallbanger or a Monkey Gland. However, the overpriced bit, well, I kind of understand.
Below are the prices for the smallest (50cl or 16 oz) bottles of tequila. Oh, who am I kidding? In 3 stores, this was ALL they had for tequila. If you went for the cheapest bottle there, you'd still be paying $16.50 for it. That bottle of Jager? $28 US dollars. Thank god I'm not 19 anymore or I'd be really bummed about that.
On the upside, if I was 19 I'd be happily enjoying these WKD, commonly known as 'alcopops'. My 19 year old self – holding a sad looking, heartburn inducing wine cooler in my hand – is jealous. My 38 year old self is appalled at the youth of today.
BRITISH BIT #6: Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah
If you are an anglophile you probably already know of HP Sauce. You probably have a bottle of it in your fridge right now, bought from the Cost Plus World Market saved for those rare times you pick up a couple of Cumberland sausages from the specialty butcher. Hey, I'm not making fun of you – I WAS you. You probably also love Guinness because there is a rare anglophile that doesn't. Well Anglophile, this is for you. Actually, it's not for you because you don't live here. Ha ha ha ha ha!!! Don't get too depressed, I'm sure you got to wear shorts sometime this year already.
BRITISH BIT #7: This is fucked up in any country
When I'm in Liverpool One wasting time with Henry, we always end up going to John Lewis at some point because they have, hands down, the best toilets. That is to say that they have a lot of toilets and many of them are big enough to fit myself and Henry's stroller in. I rarely buy anything at John Lewis – even though I really love their shit – because it's expensive. I once bought something there on sale for 4 pounds and twice I bought FUCKING HELL, HOW MUCH? pajamas for Henry because I couldn't find any other place that had footy pajamas with zippers (I know, right?) even though I fucking looked (I paid 18 pounds ($28) for a single pair of pajamas – and we used the SHIT out of them, I made sure of it). What I'm trying to say is, John Lewis is great if you are the type that has extra money that you're not really doing anything else with. If I was rich, I'd shop at John Lewis all the time. I would not, however, pay 225 pounds ($350) for a trash can.
Don't believe me? Here's the close up:
When I walked through and saw this, I stopped to examine the bin. Was it automatic? No. Did it self clean? No. Did it come with a butler service to empty it for you every day? Sadly no. It is a metal trash bin with a non-slip base. Apparently it has a 5 year guarantee. Whoop-fucking-dee. For that price it ought to be big enough to hide in in the event of a nuclear war.
So that's what I've got for you this week. Oh, apparently a 'somersault' is called a 'roly-poly' here.
*I still ended up complaining more about the weather. Go figure.
28 June 2012
24 Hours in Belfast
So it's my birthday today. I didn't really do jack shit for my birthday except go shopping and make myself a birthday cake. I also listened to my 1 year old throw the mother of all tantrums in Mothercare because he wanted to take every single toy off the shelf in random toddler fashion and I wanted him to sit still in his stroller while he told me how pretty I am (it's my birthday after all). Lest you think I am the most pathetic birthday celebrator ever, my husband did give me a birthday trip to Belfast. A 24 hour trip to Belfast no less, which we arrived back from yesterday.
Belfast all came about as I, as always, wanted to go somewhere for my birthday. My first thought was Dublin. We needed somewhere that was both incredibly cheap and incredibly quick to get to from Liverpool and at 50 pounds round trip and a half hour long flight, Dublin fit the bill. It was looking at accommodations in Dublin that made me change my mind. Basically, if we didn't mind staying in a hostel with 4 other people in our room, we could have afforded to stay in Dublin. But since I'm neither 25 nor have a problem with noise when I try to sleep, Dublin was right out. Belfast hit our radar because it was still cheap to fly to, quick to get to, and neither Andy or I have ever been there. Not to mention, we have a couple friends from Belfast (who now currently live in CA) so it was easy to get suggestions on what to do and see when we were there.
Now, when you only have 24 hours in a place, you really have to prioritize what it is you all want to do. The most important thing, I feel, was seeing as many pubs as we could.
We went purely on recommendations when choosing our pubs. OK, there were some exceptions – like the hotel bar in the Premier Inn because I had an emergency toilet situation – and the rum bar because I liked the pirate on their sign - but otherwise, it was all places our friends told us to go. Some were good, some weren't, some were fantastic. I think hands down Kelly's Cellars was the favorite as noted that it was the first pub we went to and also the last. A note to Bernadette, the lovely young lady who was having her 2nd date with Stuart a whole year after having the first, hope it worked out for you – Stuart was pretty fit.
That does bring up a thing about Belfast, the people there are super friendly. From the bus drivers to the bar patrons to the guy who sold me a bottle of water from Spur, everyone seemed really open to talking to strangers and get this, they even told us their names. Fuck, it was so nice to introduce myself, I think I seriously had forgotten how to do it at first.
Now, don't get me wrong, we did a few other things besides drink. We saw City Hall for example and we saw the Big Fish. I personally loved the Big Fish as it's becoming increasingly clear to me that I like seemingly pointless statues of over-sized animals...and poultry...and fish. Anyhow, I liked the Big Fish so much I gave it tongue.
The next morning was a bit brutal as far as the head situation went. Our flight was leaving at 2 PM so I wanted to cram some Belfast history in, if I could manage to open my burning eyeballs enough to do so. On yet another recommendation, we decided to do the Black Taxi Tour of Belfast. For 30 quid, a very knowledgeable taxi driver will take you around to the sights and give you a bit of history about The Troubles. While I thought the tour was fantastic and pretty neutral in regards to Catholic vs. Protestant, it was a lot to get your head around. Overwhelming, I believe is the word. Sad, is another. I'm posting some pictures from the tour very unbiasedly, as I do not support one side or another. I think what is amazing is the people of Belfast who live under these murals every day.
So that was our 24 hours in Belfast. It went too quickly and there was so much more to see so I hope I can back one day. If nothing else, I really need to find out what happened with Bernadette and Stuart...and give more tongue to that lovely Big Fish.
Belfast all came about as I, as always, wanted to go somewhere for my birthday. My first thought was Dublin. We needed somewhere that was both incredibly cheap and incredibly quick to get to from Liverpool and at 50 pounds round trip and a half hour long flight, Dublin fit the bill. It was looking at accommodations in Dublin that made me change my mind. Basically, if we didn't mind staying in a hostel with 4 other people in our room, we could have afforded to stay in Dublin. But since I'm neither 25 nor have a problem with noise when I try to sleep, Dublin was right out. Belfast hit our radar because it was still cheap to fly to, quick to get to, and neither Andy or I have ever been there. Not to mention, we have a couple friends from Belfast (who now currently live in CA) so it was easy to get suggestions on what to do and see when we were there.
Now, when you only have 24 hours in a place, you really have to prioritize what it is you all want to do. The most important thing, I feel, was seeing as many pubs as we could.
We went purely on recommendations when choosing our pubs. OK, there were some exceptions – like the hotel bar in the Premier Inn because I had an emergency toilet situation – and the rum bar because I liked the pirate on their sign - but otherwise, it was all places our friends told us to go. Some were good, some weren't, some were fantastic. I think hands down Kelly's Cellars was the favorite as noted that it was the first pub we went to and also the last. A note to Bernadette, the lovely young lady who was having her 2nd date with Stuart a whole year after having the first, hope it worked out for you – Stuart was pretty fit.
You'll like it here.
Worth going just for the architecture.
I may have stolen a Bushmills jug from here. Maybe.
So many pubs, so little time.
In whiskey we trust.
That does bring up a thing about Belfast, the people there are super friendly. From the bus drivers to the bar patrons to the guy who sold me a bottle of water from Spur, everyone seemed really open to talking to strangers and get this, they even told us their names. Fuck, it was so nice to introduce myself, I think I seriously had forgotten how to do it at first.
Now, don't get me wrong, we did a few other things besides drink. We saw City Hall for example and we saw the Big Fish. I personally loved the Big Fish as it's becoming increasingly clear to me that I like seemingly pointless statues of over-sized animals...and poultry...and fish. Anyhow, I liked the Big Fish so much I gave it tongue.
City Hall
Yes, I know where that fish has been and I don't care.
The next morning was a bit brutal as far as the head situation went. Our flight was leaving at 2 PM so I wanted to cram some Belfast history in, if I could manage to open my burning eyeballs enough to do so. On yet another recommendation, we decided to do the Black Taxi Tour of Belfast. For 30 quid, a very knowledgeable taxi driver will take you around to the sights and give you a bit of history about The Troubles. While I thought the tour was fantastic and pretty neutral in regards to Catholic vs. Protestant, it was a lot to get your head around. Overwhelming, I believe is the word. Sad, is another. I'm posting some pictures from the tour very unbiasedly, as I do not support one side or another. I think what is amazing is the people of Belfast who live under these murals every day.
Andy and our tour guide.
"Secret Lovers! That's what we are!"
14 June 2012
Everything else that wasn't cheese rolling
So now that its been over a week since the Jubilee Weekend and no one gives a shit about it anymore, I think I shall talk about it. Your welcome. Actually, I'm not going to say much about the Jubilee itself, there isn't much to say. Queen sits on throne for 60 years, the people of Great Britain go ape shit over wearing Union Jack garb and attending crowded parades, flotillas, concerts and street parties where they serve little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. The End. What's really important is that we all got two days off of work (including me, since we dropped the kid off at his nan's those two days). That's cause for celebration right there.
Now, Andy and mine's original plan for our two wonderful days off was to head down to Stonehenge, then double back and go to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Well, the original ORIGINAL plan was to take the entire week off and hit Cornwall and the Isle of Wight as well but our finances just didn't allow it. Obviously cheese rolling was a must and I've been wanting to see Stonehenge since we moved here so we cut it down to just that. However, on the day we left, neither of us had gotten much sleep (thanks Henry) and the drive down south was painful to say the least. I personally gave myself a panic attack by drinking caffeinated coffee to wake me up, then irritated the crap out of Andy by changing the radio stations every 10 seconds. In an effort to take my mind off of not freaking the fuck out, I started looking up the parking situation at Stonehenge on my smart phone. It was then that I ran into this very helpful article. After reading it and realizing that we had over 3 hours to go until we were able to look at some old rocks, I decided to change the plan. For clarification, I still do want to see Stonehenge one day, I just think that it's something to see if you happen to be passing through to somewhere else, that's all.
With the Stonehenge plans scrapped, we started looking at other places that we could go to before we went to Gloucester. And when I say 'we', but I really mean 'I'. It was when I was looking at the map that I decided that we would go to Cardiff. Being a big fan of 'Dr. Who', especially during the Eccleston/Tennant years, and consequentially 'Torchwood' to a lesser degree, I was really excited to see Cardiff.
I would be a damn liar if I told you I didn't squeal like a little girl the first time we drove past the main site in Cardiff.
Like all things television vs. reality, there was a bit of a disappointment seeing it all up close and NOT having the Doctor, Rose, Captain Jack and the like running around chasing aliens (or even impersonators, I would have accepted impersonators!) but that is sadly television vs. reality. It was still cool to see and we even found the entrance to Torchwood – both of them actually.
Television vs. Reality:
What really was the highlight though was that we met Iggle Piggle. From here on end, we can torture our child and say that Andy is Iggle Piggle's best friend and here is the proof.
After having a pint, a walk around, a chat with Iggle Piggle and lunch, we finally headed out to Gloucester. I would like to state for the record that unless you plan to go to the cheese rolling (which I have already stated that you most definitely should) or if you are a big Beatrix Potter buff (and I mean, a seriously addict for all things Peter Rabbit) there is no logical reason to ever vacation in Gloucester. After being there for two days, I honestly started to wonder why we didn't stay in Cardiff and just jot over to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Poor planning on my part I think. Gloucester is nice, but it's no different from any other medium sized village in the rest of England. There isn't much to see there on the way of attractions (cheese rolling aside). I think for my Wisconsin peeps, it's the equivalent of deciding to stay in Waukesha for two days...just because.
That said, we did happen to have the best pub food I've ever eaten in England thus far. I don't know if Gloucester in general has really great pub food or if we just got really fucking lucky, but the food was excellent. If you go to Gloucester (for the cheese rolling) make sure to stop at the Fountain Inn and Cafe Rene for food. Both are located down little cobblestone alleys but have plenty of signage out front so they aren't hard to find.
So what else did we do in Gloucester besides the cheese rolling? Why drink and make asses of ourselves of course.
Now, Andy and mine's original plan for our two wonderful days off was to head down to Stonehenge, then double back and go to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Well, the original ORIGINAL plan was to take the entire week off and hit Cornwall and the Isle of Wight as well but our finances just didn't allow it. Obviously cheese rolling was a must and I've been wanting to see Stonehenge since we moved here so we cut it down to just that. However, on the day we left, neither of us had gotten much sleep (thanks Henry) and the drive down south was painful to say the least. I personally gave myself a panic attack by drinking caffeinated coffee to wake me up, then irritated the crap out of Andy by changing the radio stations every 10 seconds. In an effort to take my mind off of not freaking the fuck out, I started looking up the parking situation at Stonehenge on my smart phone. It was then that I ran into this very helpful article. After reading it and realizing that we had over 3 hours to go until we were able to look at some old rocks, I decided to change the plan. For clarification, I still do want to see Stonehenge one day, I just think that it's something to see if you happen to be passing through to somewhere else, that's all.
I may never see you...please open a pub near these particular stones and I may make the effort.
With the Stonehenge plans scrapped, we started looking at other places that we could go to before we went to Gloucester. And when I say 'we', but I really mean 'I'. It was when I was looking at the map that I decided that we would go to Cardiff. Being a big fan of 'Dr. Who', especially during the Eccleston/Tennant years, and consequentially 'Torchwood' to a lesser degree, I was really excited to see Cardiff.
I would be a damn liar if I told you I didn't squeal like a little girl the first time we drove past the main site in Cardiff.
Like all things television vs. reality, there was a bit of a disappointment seeing it all up close and NOT having the Doctor, Rose, Captain Jack and the like running around chasing aliens (or even impersonators, I would have accepted impersonators!) but that is sadly television vs. reality. It was still cool to see and we even found the entrance to Torchwood – both of them actually.
Television vs. Reality:
TELEVISION
REALITY
TELEVISION
REALITY
MORE REALITY
TELEVISION
REALITY (with Lady Boys)
What really was the highlight though was that we met Iggle Piggle. From here on end, we can torture our child and say that Andy is Iggle Piggle's best friend and here is the proof.
BFF's
After having a pint, a walk around, a chat with Iggle Piggle and lunch, we finally headed out to Gloucester. I would like to state for the record that unless you plan to go to the cheese rolling (which I have already stated that you most definitely should) or if you are a big Beatrix Potter buff (and I mean, a seriously addict for all things Peter Rabbit) there is no logical reason to ever vacation in Gloucester. After being there for two days, I honestly started to wonder why we didn't stay in Cardiff and just jot over to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Poor planning on my part I think. Gloucester is nice, but it's no different from any other medium sized village in the rest of England. There isn't much to see there on the way of attractions (cheese rolling aside). I think for my Wisconsin peeps, it's the equivalent of deciding to stay in Waukesha for two days...just because.
Beatrix Potter Fans, I've just saved you a trip.
That said, we did happen to have the best pub food I've ever eaten in England thus far. I don't know if Gloucester in general has really great pub food or if we just got really fucking lucky, but the food was excellent. If you go to Gloucester (for the cheese rolling) make sure to stop at the Fountain Inn and Cafe Rene for food. Both are located down little cobblestone alleys but have plenty of signage out front so they aren't hard to find.
So what else did we do in Gloucester besides the cheese rolling? Why drink and make asses of ourselves of course.
I believe that drink was called 'Sex on the Docks'
Help! I'm stuck in a phone booth on Jubilee Weekend!
Or maybe you can go to Gloucester just to hang out here.
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