Cracke, not craic...though it was.

So I want to apologize for my last post. My mood these days tend to change as often as the English weather in spring and I should have known better to write when I was at a low point. I was tempted to delete the post but fuck it; this blog isn’t all skipping through the flowery field all the time. This blog is more like getting a generic box of graham crackers and thinking, “this tastes like preschool” because in preschool they could never afford Honey Maid and it warms your heart a bit that you can actually remember a bit of preschool but disappointing because generic graham crackers just don’t soften up in milk like the real ones do. Maybe that really wasn’t a proper analogy but more of me describing a recent experience.

Anyhow, this past Saturday both Andy and I were convinced that I was going into proper labor. I won’t go into details but the day was mostly spent with me moaning and whining and wondering to myself how bad it had to get before we called up the hospital hoping that they’d to tell us to come in (which from what I hear, the midwives won’t let you come in until you’re crowning). Sadly, I made the mistake of “getting some rest” and woke up Sunday morning quite normal and definitely not in labor anymore. I did however feel great, probably better than I’ve felt in weeks, and we decided to make the most of a sometimes sunny, sometimes chilly, spring day in Liverpool.

We took care of the needed shopping first by going to the New Mersey Retail Park. Retail Parks are a pretty big thing here, both in actual size and in public enthusiasm. They’re a bit like a strip mall but 100 times bigger. Technically speaking, England doesn’t have anything like what America calls a strip mall. Most towns and villages here will have at least one of the following: a newsagent (basically a hardly cleaned and much smaller 7-11), a bakery, a grocery store (small), a pub, a charity shop (similar to Goodwill), a fish and chip shop (also called a chippy), and a bookies – but no strip malls. The bookies, as general information, will be the cleanest establishment of all those listed and it will also have a pretty clean bathroom that you can use if you pretend that you are using it prior to making a bet on the electronic horses. England also has proper shopping malls too, but when you’re after something big (like a bed or a couch) or for DYI stuff, you’re going to end up at one of the many Retail Parks; which we did. I suppose that was a really long way of telling you we went to BandQ Warehouse (Home Depot) for some couch cushions.

Oh retail park, how I love thee.

Afterwards, we decided to head towards the city centre as Andy has been going on about this place called the Ye Olde Cracke that he had been to many years before and absolutely loved. I have to say that Ye Olde Cracke didn’t disappoint. It was located on this tiny little street that we totally didn’t see the first time we drove past. It’s also located between two of the largest cathedrals in the area, the Liverpool Cathedral and the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral (great naming there folks). The Liverpool Cathedral is the 5th largest cathedral in the world (and the largest in the UK) and the Metropolitan one looks like a gigantic wigwam (sadly sans Indians – native, Asian or otherwise). Check me out – I went from horrible whiny post last week to boring tourist information post – somebody give me a rubber chicken for fucks sake. ANYHOW, Ye Olde Cracke is supposedly one of the pubs John Lennon used to hang out in when he went to art school in the area. I can’t confirm that but I can confirm that they had a really awesome beer garden and a weird Chinese guy who will sell you a knock off DVD for 3 pounds. Actually, I can’t confirm that the Chinese guy will always be there but for 3 pounds, our copy of ‘Rango’ wasn’t that bad….not great, but watchable after you got used to the handheld camera shake.

Paying for parking...1 pound 40 for an hour in case you're interested.

Another random shot - trying to seem arty.  Failing.  Need rubber chicken.

Andy standing next to some art.  It has some meaning, this art, but I don't know what it is because I didn't bother to read the plaque. 

Nothing like a Super Lambanana to brighten one's day.

The Cracke!

The beer garden.  Also, the Facebook masses agree with me that Andy is in desperate need of a haircut.

After a pint, we headed down the road to Liverpool’s Chinatown. Well, technically we got ourselves a bit screwed up looking for parking so we ended up in a Chinese grocery store first. In California I was used to having the Japanese grocery store nearby so I was really stoked that there was a place here I could pick up proper ramen noodles, soy sauce, pot stickers and most importantly, Koala March cookies. We managed to find the entrance to Chinatown after a bit of searching but it was pretty much shut due to it being Sunday (fecking Sunday working hours!) but we did stop into this tiny little pub called ‘the Nook’ because I was dying for a pee. Of course we had to stay and have a drink and for the prices (2.80 for a pint of lager and a small 7-up) and entertainment – this was Chinatown after all – it was well worth it.

Chinatown...pretty but fucking shut.  Stupid Sundays!

It was a good day and it completely made up for the week’s worth of pissy good for nothing pregnancy mood swings I’ve been having. Well, I say that, Andy might feel a bit different.


On an unrelated\related note: Please send Honey Maid graham crackers.

I'd just run away now if I were you

So I’m in a bit of a conundrum. Now that we are all moved in to our new place and all the shopping and hell that is putting together miles upon miles of IKEA furniture is complete, I’ve only got one thing to focus on - which is this shortly coming to an end pregnancy. I’ve done my best to keep my pregnancy related topics out of this blog because personally I don’t find it particularly interesting, especially with everything else that’s been going on. But now that it’s all that’s left I feel like I have to dip my toes in water – or leave this blog unattended with animated tumble weeds blowing through.

Truth is I’m grumpy and uncomfortable and don’t feel much like writing much. To stop writing until I get out of this funk (i.e. give birth) is like a death sentence to the blog itself. I’ve found that if I stop writing one week, that one week turns to two, then a month then god knows how long while I come up with lame posts that begin with “I’m sorry for neglecting you.” I figure it’s probably best to bore you shitless with the crap I do have sitting in my head like a neglected turd that no matter how many times you flush the water never reaches it then to stop writing until I have something entertaining to say.

So yes…grumpy and uncomfortable. I’ve got two weeks until my due date which means absolute crap in relation to when babies decide they want to come out into the world and start their invariable journey of screaming louder than a fog horn and stealing from your purse. I’m not going to lie, it’s no secret to anyone that I absolutely despise being pregnant. Some women reveal in this shit but they are utter lunatics that don’t like whiskey (or, to be fair, tried for years and years to get pregnant unsuccessfully before finally cracking the code). I hate it. I hate every single aspect of it. The stupid pants with elastic belly waists that come up to your boobs (but never manage to stay there). The grunting when you put on your socks. Going for a pee then feeling like you have to pee again before you’re even finished washing your hands. Feeling justified for eating Oreos for breakfast only to have that sinking feeling on how hard it’s going to be to lose the Oreo cookie thighs when it’s all said and done. The backaches, the stomach aches, the hip aches, the puking, the tossing and turning trying to sleep, and the utter constant fucking question, “when are you due?” FUCK OFF PREGNANCY, I HATE YOU.

You know what pregnancy is like? Writing a complete paragraph ranting and raving and after re-reading it all you can think to yourself is, “I could really go for some Oreos.”

SIDE NOTE: The Tesco by our new house sells Oreos - and Philadelphia cream cheese. Small miracle.

I’m ready to be done. That is to say, I’m ready to not be knocked up anymore. I’ve been ready since October really, but now that it’s safe for him to come out, even more so. The nursery is ready – it’s actually the most decorated room in the house now as we’re still waiting for our stuff from the States to come in. (It’s actually a bet I have with myself – wondering which will arrive first, our things or the kid.) Andy joked today about putting a piece of chocolate by my crotch and telling the kid, “If you come out, you can have some candy!” I bought a fucking pineapple yesterday because someone told me eating pineapple can help bring on labor (though apparently only if you eat like 7 whole pineapples a day)(dammit!). I’d go jogging if I had enough energy to put on shoes and leave the house for more than 15 minutes – or if I knew that I wouldn’t pee my pants in the first 30 seconds.

I’d like to mention that patience has never been my strong suit and seriously, I cannot stop thinking about Oreos now.

Blah.

I’ll return shortly, hopefully in a better mood, hopefully 8 pounds lighter and buzzed on whiskey. If not, I’ll warn you in advance so you can skip the post and move on to a list on why Chuck Norris is better than Superman.

This post is delivered to you straight to your door.

So I’m currently drinking Horlicks Light Chocolate Malt which is slowly becoming my Favorite Hot Drink EVER. It’s chocolately and malty and although it has like, the worst name since the Kum & Go in Kansas, it’s delicious. I would highly recommend it. It’s actually supposed to make you sleepy but I haven’t had a problem with zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ZZZ hmph…what was I saying? Sadly, I can only assume that when people from the States come and visit me and I’ll do my usual crap where I force a food or beverage on them telling them it’s The Best Thing EVER and they will try it and humorously give me an “it’s ok, I guess”. Maybe I need to change my tactics and just slip this to them instead of the cup of tea I’ll promise and let them make their own assumptions – which would be “England’s tea sure tastes a lot like hot chocolate.”

Mmmm....

In case you thought I was lying.

ANYWAYS, since I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath wondering if we got approved for the house in Mossley Hill (illusions of grandeur anyone?), I’m proud to say that we did. We got the keys on Saturday but since our bed won’t be delivered until this Wednesday, we aren’t officially moving in until then. Ever since we got approved there has been this Great Money Suck occurring as we rush around buying everything that we previously sold 2 months ago (those being things that plugged in or that were too big to ship) as well as things that we didn’t need before but we sure as hell need now. Obviously there are the baby things but mostly it’s the storage. For those who don’t know, in England (and I’m sure the rest of the UK if not Europe in general) houses do not typically come with closets. In the house that we are moving into – 3 bedrooms remember – there are approximately no closets. None. Zilch. Zero. There aren’t any shelves either. It’s all just walls, electric sockets and a door to each and every room. Honestly, not having closets is fine, but it’s just the expense (that we didn’t plan for) of buying cabinets and storage units so our clothes and what else isn’t piled in a heap in the corner of the room (I totally had an ex-boyfriend in my early 20’s who did that – 3 foot high piles of god knows what – and he had a closet available) that’s the pain.

Just see how fast the song gets in your head.

Which brings us to the delivery schedule. Because we bought a lot of big things that couldn’t fit in the car, we are having item after item delivered to the house starting on Wednesday. I’m sure our new neighbors are going to think that I’m a daytime prostitute what with all the strange men that will be coming to the house in the next few days. I’m even having groceries delivered! Now hear me out on this – Andy works days and I don’t have a car. Andy also hates grocery shopping. The Tesco by our house is a half mile away, which isn’t bad, but I’m also 8 months pregnant and need to buy our first big grocery haul which is going to be heavy. For 4 quid delivery, I went online and got everything we need and they’ll drop it off at my front door. The front door! Since laundry can no longer be my favorite chore, I think online grocery shopping in my pajamas will slowly move up the ranks to the Best Chore Ever.

I'll never have to leave the house again!

So yes! Bed on Wednesday, cable and internet on Thursday (no internet for over 24 hours…the humanity!), and the ugly ass couch on Friday. Did I say that? Alright, listen. We got a couch and a matching chair and a foot rest. We needed the price to be reasonable, the couch comfortable, and the delivery of said couch as soon as possible. We found a couch that was all of these things but I think its hideous looking. I think it looks like a bunch of filtered cigarettes all lined up in a row. Andy likes it. Andy works all day to keep us fed so I said that it was OK. I also know that after 5 years of cat scratching and baby puke\toddler dirt\small child jam hands that we will need a new couch. I can deal with it; it is comfortable and affordable after all. Just don’t think that this couch is in any way is my “style”. I am more the comfortable minimalist type then the “Let’s sit on a pack of Marlboros” type. The foot rest with built in storage is pretty sweet though. And come Saturday, Andy and I can lay out on our new couch watching cable TV eating frozen pizza because really, that’s all we’ll be able to afford to do. I honestly can’t wait.

 Don't laugh, you all will be sleeping on this when you come and visit.

Settling...

So I was going to do a UK food entry type thing for you all this week but it turns out I’ve got a bunch of other things to ramble on about (mostly for my amusement rather than yours-sorry!) so I’m going to do that instead. Well, maybe I’ll throw in a bit about the food, I don’t know yet…it will all come clear as all the bits rambling about in my head are firmly down on electronic paper.

I guess I better just get on with the news of this past week. It’s been a very hectic week but Andy and I got a shitload of necessary things done and I’m feeling a lot more comfortable with my current situation because of it. First of all, we bought a car. We’ve been using a rental car that we picked up from the airport almost 4 weeks ago and that we are due to return this upcoming Saturday. Buying a car wasn’t high on our radar until we realized that we were seriously on a time crunch. I had offered to help Andy look for cars on the internet while he slaved away at work but I ended up getting entirely too frustrated since I had no clue on the quality of the makes and models of cars here. Driving around this past month, I was mainly seeing Vauxhalls, Peugeots, Fiats and Fords on the road. Ford is the only brand I was familiar with and honestly Ford and I don’t have a very good relationship (despite what Andy tells me about Fords being better built here). Thankfully someone at Andy’s work recommended a used car dealership to him and we dropped by there at about 6 PM last Thursday.

Now Andy had told me that buying a car in the UK was a pain in the ass but that it was no where near as bad as trying to buy a car in the US. I can now firmly attest to that and in fact, would say that buying a car in the UK in no more worse than picking up a carton of milk at the grocery store. We got to the dealership and started looking around. No one came up to bother us – in fact, we had to find someone to help us narrow down our search. Once Andy found one that he liked that was in our price range, we took a 5 minute unassisted test drive (meaning the dealer didn’t require to sit in the car with us rambling on about the car’s features), went back to the dealer’s office and put down a small deposit, then agreed on a time to pick it up. You can’t drive off the lot with the car until you have the paperwork stating that you are properly insured for it. At no time did the dealership ever ask to see Andy’s driving license. The whole process took 45 minutes. I’m sure if we were financing the car (which we couldn’t do since neither of us as a lick of credit history in this country) it might have taken a bit longer, but I can’t see that it would have been that much longer. What’s funny is that car dealerships here adhere to the same general work ethic that infects the entire UK. The dealership closed at 7 PM. If this process had taken an hour and 15 minutes, instead of 45, the dealer would have told us to come back the next day to finish up. That would have never happened in the US. If a dealer in the US thought he had a chance of making a sale, he would stay 4 hours later than closing time to make sure that it he made a commission. Anyhow, two days later with insurance certificate in hand, we went back, paid the rest of the money for the car, and drove off – all of 10 minutes.

I’m proud to say that we are now the owners of one 2007 Peugeot 307 in blue. It’s not the best car in the world but we like it and it’s big enough to fit the gigantic stroller I insisted on getting because it didn’t make me cry when using it (the stroller, not the car).

Not our actual car, but this is exactly what it looks like.  It's French (don't hold that against us), I've named it 'Pierre' of course.

The 2nd bit of big news is that we also managed to find a house to rent. Well, our applications are currently being processed but we should know by the end of the week if we have ourselves somewhere to live. The place we found is only the 3rd house we looked at and it’s in a different area then I thought we’d be, but it’s a fantastic place and I’m crossing my butt cheeks hoping that we get approved. The house is in Mossley Hill, which is a really nice area of Liverpool, with lots of nice shops and families and big parks nearby. The house itself has two large bedrooms, one small bedroom, kitchen, dining room, living room and a large back patio for Chloe to yell at birds in. Unfortunately the place only has one bathroom. It does however, have the toilet in the same room as the actual shower\bath so, you know, we got that going for us. I’m also going to have to live sans dryer, dishwasher, and garbage disposal until we are more flush again next year but honestly, if I don’t have to live in the hellholes first two places we had looked at were, I can deal. This place is at least clean and recently renovated unlike the others.

Jaysus, the first place we looked at was awful. I wish I could take pictures because I don’t know if anyone would believe me on how bad it was. The place was in Aigburth – a terraced house with three “bedrooms” and two “bathrooms”. I want you first to imagine your grandma’s house. You know the grandma – the one who has lived in the same house since First World War and hasn’t redecorated since 1943. The same grandma who is long since widowed and is arthritically challenged, as well as has a serious case of dementia, but who refuses to get any help so hasn’t cleaned the house properly since 1996. Imagine this grandma finally passes to the Great Beyond and you are walking into the house for the first time. Imagine a kitchen where the only way you could tell it was the new millennium was the 8 year old washing machine sitting under a decrepit sink. Imagine the “family bathroom” that was located directly off the kitchen that looks more like a utility room than anything remotely similar to a bathroom. There was no bath to start with – or a shower stall for that matter. What was there was a shower head hanging off the corner of the wall, with a dirty shower curtain sectioning off one of the corners of the room with a drain in the middle of the floor (all cement, painted a lovely shade of turquoise blue). I imagine prison showers to be very similar. Going for 650 pounds a month I honestly thought that it was very likely we’d be staying with Andy’s mum until Henry was 5 years old.

The 2nd place we looked at wasn’t much better but at least it had a proper bathtub (1950’s pink!). It was honestly after the 2nd place that we decided that Aigburth was entirely too student-like for us (I’m getting old) and that we were much better suited for the less bohemian and less crack heads walking around in the middle of the day lifestyle. You know, we’re having a kid….I can admit defeat to my youth. I might be kicking and screaming a bit but at least I’m kicking and screaming from a nice coffee house with a hot decaf latte in my hand.

So that’s the news. I might update later on this week with more gibber jabber on food or what not but I can’t promise anything. I might be too busy putting together IKEA furniture…or giving birth…or searching for a new hair conditioner as my supply from the US has just run out (ack!).

No one ever addresses Blackpool's rock problem

As I’ve mentioned before, Andy and I have been staying with his mum until we find a place of our own. While I have nothing bad to say about Andy’s mum, the fact of the matter is that we’re staying with parents/a parent, which no matter how lovely that parent or parents are, it’s just a drag. Truth be told, I don’t think it has anything to do with staying with your folks – anytime you are basically living in someone else’s home it’s going to be a bit tough. So while we have only been in the UK for just over two weeks, we decided that we most definitely needed to take a weekend vacation for sanity purposes – both ours and for Andy’s mum (as having long term house guests isn’t exactly that fantastic either).

When we first decided to take this “mini-break”, I had it in my head that I wanted to see Stonehenge. While I still want to see Stonehenge (and will see Stonehenge dammit!), we didn’t think going somewhere 4-5 hours away was the best idea. I may be 5 weeks away from my due date but babies come when they want to. I suddenly had this fear of walking into Stonehenge and having some voodoo Druid magic make me give birth then and there but the baby would be possessed with glowing yellow eyes and a fondness for collecting droid parts. I obviously don’t know much about Druids but I always suspected that they looked a lot like jawas in ‘Star Wars’. ANYHOW, at the last minute we agreed that Blackpool was a good choice for our weekend away; though to be fair it was only because Andy used to say that Las Vegas was like Blackpool on acid. I was curious to see what Las Vegas sans acid actually looked like. Andy forgot to mention that Las Vegas sans acid is pretty closed during the winter months as its still recovering in a closet wondering why monocles and top hats are so damn freaky and for the love of god, stop that wall moving!

Surely I can't be the only one who thought Druids look like jawas.

Blackpool is only 50 some miles away from Liverpool, so even though we set off in the late afternoon on Friday, we still managed to make it there in little over an hour. On the way, I learned that highway ‘accidents’ are called motorway ‘incidents’ here. Pointless trivia point for those back home. You’re welcome.

Blackpool Tower - under construction

When we arrived, we went ahead and checked into our B&B, the Craimer. I feel horrible about saying anything bad about this place because really, it was very clean and modern and the owners were incredibly nice. I mean, I think they were nice. One of the owners, Craig, was Scottish so I could only understand every 14th word coming out of his mouth, but I can recognize “bitch” and “slag” no matter how heavy your brogue is so I’m pretty confident he was a friendly sort. For 92 pounds for two nights we got a double en-suite room that included breakfast. They also had a little bar and pool table that guests can hang out in. As I said, it was clean and had to have been recently renovated. That said, the actually room we got was fucking tiny. I mean midget size. To any of you who have been on a cruise ship and couldn’t afford anything but economy class, you can picture the kind of room size I’m talking about (actually, think a wee bit smaller). The bathroom contained a shower stall, toilet, and a sink that would not be out of place on a small sized boat – all three fit into a space no larger than your average size bathtub. It was tiny and neither Andy nor I are tiny people. Let’s just say that for two days I wasn’t able to wash, much less shave, anywhere past the top of my knees and I hope you don’t hold that against me.

The Craimer: Fantastic for jawas!

Taken from sitting on the bed in the far corner of the room.  End of the bed is a 8 inch gap to the bathroom door.  Door on left is the door out (3 feet from bed)

After check in, we headed out to explore Blackpool. We actually did a lot of what we used to do when on vacation pre pregnancy – stopped in a pub for a couple drinks, went out and got some food, then went to a different pub for more drinks. Andy did my drinking for me though I fully admit to having a single pint of Guinness at this Irish pub called Scruffy Murphy’s. As a person who doesn’t normally like Guinness (it contains calcium and iron by the way) it was hands down the best pint of beer I’ve had – which only goes to show how much I miss beer.

Blackpool, not on acid, but on some heavy cough syrup.

The next day after Bed&Breakfast breakfast, we headed to the promenade to do some touristy things. Mainly I wanted to go to Blackpool Sea Life because if there is one thing I can’t turn down is an aquarium. People are usually surprised by this since I don’t like fish. Or, as I always end correcting them, I don’t like EATING fish but I like watching them swim around as nature intended - in a glass tank with fake algae, a backlight illuminating their colorful scales, and a little sign telling me just what the fuck creature I’m looking at. I had a coupon for the Blackpool aquarium but found out when we got there that my stupid coupon was expired. We ended up paying almost 15 pounds per person because of it. I had a feeling that 15 pounds was not worth what I was about to experience at this aquarium but the draw of fishes in glass tanks was too much to turn down. Overall, I had a good time though Andy was bored shitless, so we left after an hour and went and played some indoor mini golf next door.

I like making Andy pose in front of things.  No reason.

"Why hello my friend!  Please come and give me a kiss you lovely land walker!"

"No?  How about a hug?"

Andy, disobeying the sign and pointing at fish.

Not only am I disobeying the sign but I'm being perverse and pointing at the shark's "junk"

In the late afternoon we wandered into the WHO shop which to anyone who is a Sci-Fi fan is going to put you in serious heaven. Walking in Andy turned to me and said, “OK, I give you permission to geek out.” Personally, I don’t think he was giving me permission as much as he was giving himself permission. There were security guards all over the place so I didn’t feel like I could take pictures, but let’s just say that I questioned Andy on whether or not the life sized Dalek would fit in the rental car. I’m sorry to say I didn’t purchase anything simply for the fact that I wanted to purchase EVERYTHING and I felt that if I only got one thing, the rest of the things in the shop would feel lonely without it.

"Who's awesome? That's right, WHO is awesome."

After that, we stopped at another pub, Churchill's Bar, where they were having some afternoon karaoke going on. While I’m not a huge fan of karaoke, both of us had a really good time here. There were two men hosting it – one Andy described as the “skinny gay Christian” one and the other I described as the “short dancing leprechauny” one. We were laughing our asses off. When no one was coming up to sing, the short one would put on this montage of old songs (think “Roll out the barrel” and “Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me”) while doing jigs – serious JIGS. The singers that did come up were really good except for this 70 year old lady, barely able to stand, trying to do a rendition of “I Got You Babe”. While the leprechauny one was holding her up, she would mumble all the lyrics except when she got to the chorus where it was, “i got YOU BABE!” I tried to get Andy to go up to sing but he claimed he wasn’t drunk enough. Poof.

For dinner we went to West Coast Rock Café because I had a coupon (not expired!) for it. Fuck, I’m glad we went here. The food was awesome, which I don’t get to say very often anymore. It was “Tex-Mex” and while they really didn’t have much in the way of Mexican food (only a burrito and fajitas) the food was American sized portions and taste. I didn’t know the portions would be so big (as I’m already getting used to proper UK portion sizes) and ended up ordering what I thought would be three small starters rather than the 3 starters as big as my face.

After dinner I was exhausted (grrrr, pregnancy) so we ended up going back to our B&B. We got the owner off of his couch to open the bar so we could play pool. Actually, after two games of pool, I went upstairs to lie down and Andy stayed in the bar and talked with the owner for another hour or so. Seriously, this Scottish guy was really friendly and if you are tiny, please stay at his B&B.

On Sunday we woke up early so we could get breakfast somewhere besides the B&B and to go to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. However, Blackpool on Sunday morning is pretty much shut down and Blackpool in winter means that 80% of the attractions (including the wax museum) are closed due to renovations to be completed before the start of the season (which I think is in April). We ended up finding this very small out of the way café that was open, had breakfast, and just ended up heading home.

The promenade.  Mostly closed and in construction.

So that was Blackpool. To all those who have been, YES, I TRIED THE ROCK (and it was good).

The Glamorous Expat Life

So I have been a proper expat for approximately 10 days now. In these ten days I have done…well, I’ve just been living really. Call me delusional (though I hope that I’m not the only delusional expat out there) but when I thought about living abroad, I had all these grandiose ideas on how living abroad would be so glamorous and exciting and filled with new discoveries everywhere I turned. While the new discoveries bit is quite valid in many aspects, the real truth is being an expat is not glamorous or not incredibly exciting simply for the whole lot of Basic Living you’re actually doing.

Let’s put it this way – when you go on vacation somewhere, to a foreign land or hell, even to Florida, you’re on vacation. You don’t think about laundry detergent or which bank has the best APR’s or what form you need to fill out for a grocery store savings card. You’re on vacation. On vacation your main concern is having fun, eating fatty foods, and taking 168 pictures of landscapes to bore your friends with back home. You don’t look around and think to yourself whether or not the area around the hotel would have a good school system, do you? But that’s what it’s like being an expat. It’s just real life- regular basic living, isn’t it? The only difference from trying to get settled in another town in the country you are born in and trying to get settled in a new country completely different from your own is that people talk funny and you spend entirely way too much time identifying the worth of the coins you have jangling around in your pocket.

I also think your mind is a lot more open when you are on vacation. Or maybe that’s just me. I just know that when I was here last year for 3 weeks I was all about trying all the local foods and just taking in whatever England could throw at me. This time around I find myself already searching for American equivalents to the every day things I use. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about that a year ago. Why would I? There’s no point in finding Britain’s answer to Secret solid deodorant if I’m going to be back in the US in 3 weeks. Bring on the roll-on!

This all may sound like doom and gloom. Andy is probably reading this right now shaking his head and mumbling about me being a bit fat complainer; which I must respond, I’M NOT COMPLAINING. I’m actually stating some facts here and I’m stating them for all those out there who are thinking about moving abroad and are as delusional as I was. Because if you are delusional (like I was), the reality can hit you in the face pretty fucking hard and maybe it would help if someone had told us (the delusional people) a little bit about how it actually goes down. So, hey dumbass, it’s not going to be a vacation, it’s just going to be your life.

With all that NOT complaining stated, I have to tell you that life here isn’t so bad. It’s actually quite good really, for regular life. Technically, we’re still in limbo living at Andy’s mum’s house at the moment; anxious to get on with proper settling down in our own place and all that, but it’s been good regardless. Now that we’re here we’ve been able to buying the big things that the baby is going to need – stroller, crib, car seat – also things that plug in like the baby monitor and bottle warmer. That’s actually been a huge relief. For someone who considers herself efficient and just likes to get things done already, it’s great not to be waddling around at 34 weeks without a clue on how we’re getting the baby home from the hospital. Baby aside, we’ve gotten a lot of the basic things taken care of – opening a bank account, got new phones with really long phone numbers (which I admit fully I can never remember what mine is), got the saving card at the grocery store (and Costa Coffee – uber important!). I’ve also got to experience a lot of normal UK life – going to the tip (aka: dump\landfill), going to the Trafford Centre (aka: big ass mall), going to the cinema on Friday night to see Simon Pegg’s new movie, “Paul” (I was the only one in the theater who laughed a the illegal alien joke), and eating out A LOT. We’ve visited the cat twice in quarantine, which is really a big ass compound in the middle of the countryside (she’s doing fine, though has let herself go by gaining a least a pound in two weeks). We’ve helped Andy’s mum buy a new laptop and Blu Ray player at Curry’s (aka: similar to Best Buy but they have Best Buy too).

The Willage (aka: Crosby Village).  I've been to Costa no less than 8 times in the last 10 days.

Our abode and fantastically awful Vauxhall rental car

Headed into the Birkenhead Tunnel to go see Chloe

Our chubby little monster

Me, trying to show off my bulging belly in Sefton Park but failing miserably.  At least I have water shooting out of my head.

Like I said, we’ve been busy and it’s been good but it’s not terribly exciting, it’s just life. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I do have one small anecdote for you, which is to describe Little Chef. Little Chef is a chain diner type place, usually located along a traveling route. I would say it’s similar to a Stuckey’s or Waffle House in the States. When we go and see Chloe in quarantine (which is in the countryside remember), we actually pass two Little Chef’s on the way. The first time we headed that way, I couldn’t hold my bladder any longer and asked Andy if we could stop at Little Chef so I could pee. Walking in to Little Chef is like visiting an area that just got a visit from the Dementors (Harry Potter reference – I don’t care how dorky it is, I’m not changing it as it’s the only way to describe it). Everyone there, from the customers to the employees just looked like the joy had been sucked out of them. Like they were all there, in that Little Chef, wondering what they had done in their life wrong that they somehow ended up there, at Little Chef, for the rest of their days. Even their mascot, Charlie, looks like he has a forced smile. Growing up my parents used to threaten to drop us off at jail when we were misbehaving. When Henry misbehaves, I’m going to threaten to drop him off at Little Chef.

I feel the life draining from me just looking at this.

That’s about it for me. Now that the laundry is done, I’ve got to run into the willage (aka: Crosby Village) to get some bread and vegetables from Sainsbury’s because that is the sort of glamorous expat life I lead.

Giraffes on Parade

So I know a lot of people who read my blog either live in the UK, have lived or been to the UK or read a fuck load a bunch of other blogs about expats living in the UK. I want to just tell you, this post isn’t for you. This post covers things that a billion other blogs have lamented about before so this is neither original nor life changing. This post is basically for my dearest friend, Beth, who while certainly has traveled outside of the US before has never actually been to Europe. What I want Beth to do right now, if she’s reading, is to get up from her couch or desk or whatever and take a stroll into her bathroom and kitchen and take a good hard look. When she’s done, I want her to take another look and then give a kiss to her appliances. She’s a clean person so I’m pretty sure she won’t mind doing this.

By the way, I could have called this post “For Beth”, or “For Fuck’s Sake” or “Sometimes America actually gets it right” but I didn’t. Since I don’t actually have a title for this post quite yet, I’m tempted to call it “Giraffes on Parade” just to be silly. Yes, that’s definitely what I’ll do.

If you aren’t Beth and you’re still reading, chances are that the other blogs you have read have complained on and on about the bathroom\kitchen differences between the US and the UK. I would like to state for the record that it’s my fucking turn. In an effort to not be a complete Negative Nancy, I’ve included some good bits at the end because really, I do enjoy being here and am grateful to have the chance. However, complaining is 100 times more funny than being all Shiny Happy Heather, so the majority will be bitching.

Let’s start out with the bathroom since that’s where most of the pain comes from. Here is the bathroom, as innocent as you please:

Because of the angle, you might be thinking to yourself that I couldn’t manage to get the toilet in the frame. Let me assure you that I did not. There is no toilet in the bathroom. It’s a BATHroom, which means that it is only required to have a BATH. What I find funny is that Andy’s mum had some flooding issues last year and this whole bathroom needed to be replaced. There used to be a bidet in here. Notice there is no longer a bidet in here. That bidet could have easily been replaced with another toilet since the plumbing was in place. But no. A handy 3 drawer system went in its place instead. In case you are wondering, the toilet (water closet) is in another room just a few steps down the hall. That’s all fine and dandy but what does one do when one has their period (don’t mean to be all gross here but let’s talk practicalities)? When Ole Flo is in town and I am done taking a shower, I do this lovely sprint type maneuver from toweling off in the shower to getting my ass on the toilet as not to make a mess (if you know what I mean). Because there are other people in this house, if I were to have Ole Flo in town (which thank fuck I’m avoiding at the present…thank you baby!), I would have to be somewhat dressed to leave the bathroom to make it to the water closet which by that time a mess could have already occurred and I also run the risk of losing my spot in the bathroom. Seriously, if you have a toilet in the same room as your shower\bath, hug it. Hug it hard for me.

To the right, the bathroom.  To the left, the toilet.

Moving on.

While we are still in the bathroom, let’s talk about this sink situation:

You will notice that there are two taps. One is for Freezing Ice Water and the other is for Boil Some Ramen Noodles. The concept here, of course, is to use the plug and fill the sink with a combination of both as to get a lovely mixture of Slightly Warm to Soothe Your Soul water. But really, who has time for that? If it’s late at night and I’m doing my 3 in the morning bathroom run (thanks baby!) I’m not going to risk third degree burns and will just turn my hands into popsicles for a quick wash. During the day I’m more daring and will try to wash my hands with the boiling water hoping to be finished in the 4 seconds it takes for the water to reach that point. I have lost this battle a few times already. I also feel incredibly guilty for not adhering to the ‘sing “Happy Birthday” while you wash your hands to make sure that they are properly clean’ mantra. Oprah would have a fit.

One last detail about the bathroom and that’s the shower. Or I should say, the shower “door”:

That is the complete shower door. There are no shower curtains to fill the gap for where the shower door ends. I’m a big girl. I’m also pregnant. Even though I huddle under the shower, half of me is never quite covered by the shower door. The shower door also swings in and out. This means that on occasion, when I’m washing my hair and have soap in my eyes and can’t properly see, my elbow will knock against the door causing it to swing open slightly bringing a hefty amount of shampoo and water down the outside of the shower which makes my mother in law hate me for ruining her new floor. I’m just kidding, she doesn’t hate me. I don’t think. Yet.

With these three things, I must admit that getting ready in the morning is a bit stressful. It feels like a chore. I completely get why some Brits don’t shower every day…or even just once a week. It’s scary in there.

The last few things I want to show you aren’t really complaints. They are just differences that I thought Beth would get a kick out of. Oh wait…there is one complaint. No dryer. Since I’ve hashed that one to bits I’ll just post some photo evidence. Andy will need to thank me for cutting out the bit of the picture that has his underwear hanging on the radiator.

On to the differences:

That’s the electric plugs. There are two switches, one for each side of the plug. You have to “switch on” whichever plug you want to use. These are also the closest plugs we have to the bathroom (and they are in the bedroom) so I use these plugs with an extension cord to reach the mirror that is on the OTHER side of the bedroom to do my hair. Seriously Beth, give your bathroom a kiss.

This is the fridge:

This is actually a pretty big refrigerator for the UK. The bottom half is the freezer bit and the top half is the regular fridge bit. It’s not uncommon for UK households to only have a fridge the size as the one below, which is what Andy’s mum only had before the flood. This also explains why many Brits go grocery shopping at least every other day as there is no room to do a mega shop:

Also very common this side of the world is the washing bucket in the sink. While the washing bucket makes absolutely no sense to me, it doesn’t really bother me so it’s not a complaint, more of “Huh?”:

For some fun stuff, here is the how the milk and juice is packaged:

Here’s what I’ve been eating for breakfast for the last 4 days. Sadly it is neither as sugary or as chocolately as its American sugar cereal counterparts but I guess that’s a good thing (grumble grumble):

And finally, what the UK got right:

Yes, that’s the automatic tea kettle. We have these in the States. Hell, we had one ourselves in California. The UK tea kettles are different though. They are magical. When I used to plug in our tea kettle in California, I could safely run a load of laundry before the kettle was ready. Not these UK versions. You plug this baby in and by the time you get a tea bag in your cup the kettle is ready. I’ve never seen water boil so fast in my life. I’m impressed. I’m so impressed I’m going to give it a kiss. And a hug even. Fuck, just burned myself. I never learn.

Up to this point...

So I’m currently sitting in bed upstairs at Andy’s mom’s (sorry, “mum’s”) house under a duvet with no top sheet, drinking a GeeBee No Sugar Added Cherryade fizzy drink (that tastes slightly like that one type of cough syrup you had as a kid that didn’t make your mouth turn inside out), while Andy’s mum is downstairs watching ‘Hustle’ while Andy fights a losing battle with his new Blackberry phone under the Orange network on the settee next to her. I must be in the UK.

It’s going to be hard trying to sum up the last two weeks in a coherent and entertaining blog post. This is on top of being jetlagged and suffering from a cold picked up from the bowels of the frozen tundra that is Wisconsin. I guess I’m saying is that this post might be humorous because it makes no sense, or it could just not make much sense and you can wait for the next post where I attempt to entertain my best friend, Beth, with English household oddities.

Right. Best get started then, shall I?

The last week in California went entirely too fast. There wasn’t a day where we weren’t doing something marked as Really Important and I started to question my choice on working until the 2nd to last day before we left. Of course work let me out a half day early on my last day which only lead to me sitting in the hotel room watching shitty network television for 4 hours before Andy got back from whatever it was that he was doing so in the end, it was probably best that I did earn those Last Day Dollars. (Was that a run-on sentence? Probably. Fuck it, I’m jetlagged.) Anyhow, while still in California, we went to what was formally Moe’s Pub Quiz (now Vicki’s Pub Quiz) at the Harp and we came in 3rd place, had a last curry meal with Dave & Jill at Mother India, had last drinks with Dave & Maggie, and did a couple other things that I have since forgotten. I do know that I never got to properly say good-bye to Mari, Gunter, Michele, Patrick and Marilyn which makes me really bummed out though I suppose it gives me leverage to guilt them all into coming out here sometime in the future.

For expat blog purposes, I must inform you that Chloe (el gato) flew out to the UK a good week before we did. There was this huge pet carrier issue we ran into that resulted in us buying no less than 4 carriers (of which only 1 could be returned) before we had the right one. Note to all those shipping your pets, the carrier needs to be big enough so that when your pet stands up, its head doesn’t touch (and I mean, not one little furry ear touch) the top of the carrier. Also, there is a PetSmart near LAX just as a general FYI. I worried for a good 24 hours while Chloe was in route here. She doesn’t do change well and I thought the whole process might be too much for her little heart. I needn’t have worried. We called the quarantine place the morning after she arrived to find out how she was. After a general chit chat, the quarantine guy said to Andy, “When you come to visit, you’ll know the people who have dealt with her by the bandages.” Heh. That’s my girl.

Piss and vinegar.  That's how I like my pets.

On Friday, February 4th, we flew out to Wisconsin. AirTran no longer has food for sale on the LA to Milwaukee flight, as another FYI. That information might be useful to you if you happen to get nervous before flights so you decide only to have a banana thinking you’ll just buy a sandwich mid-flight and all you get is two lousy bags of pretzels. My dad and stepmom picked us up from the airport and when they asked me how I was I said, “I’m fucking hungry.” I might get a bit moody when I haven’t eaten. We had a great Conejito’s dinner that I don’t regret even though it gave me Conejito’s ass the next day during the family going away party\baby shower. As promised, I’m not going to blog about the 2nd shower as it was pretty uneventful (though Beth and her mom showed up which was like, the best gift ever).

On Sunday was the Super Bowl. I actually have some pictures from that. Being in Wisconsin when the Packers happened to be playing in the Super Bowl is nothing short of a miracle. Cosmically, everything lined up for us to be there. Andy and I headed down to Champion’s, my old Wisconsin local, at 10 AM to watch the Liverpool vs. Chelsea football match. I’m not sure the owner, Bobby, would have opened up the pub early for the game if it wasn’t for me pestering him to do so but I like to think (very immodestly) that he did it for me. After Liverpool won (!!), we had plans to kind of bum around the East Side getting some lunch and having some coffee. However, we got frightened into staying at Champion’s when someone else at the pub mentioned that it would start filling up for the Super Bowl at 1 PM even though kick off wasn’t until 5:30 PM. We seriously had rock star seating at this point (at an empty pub, go figure) and we didn’t want to lose it. So we stayed. At Champion’s. For 7 ½ hours before the Super Bowl even started. If there is something that I have learned in that 7 ½ hours of sitting there is that time goes really fucking slow when you aren’t drinking. What’s worse is that the pub didn’t actually start filling up until 3:30 PM so we would have had plenty of time to bum around. But that’s neither here nor there. The Packers fucking won the Super Bowl! And it was awesome! There was lots of shouting, and cheering, and dancing and shots being done by everyone but me (damn pregnancy!) and Andy got completely off his face and kept squeezing me and telling me how happy he was that I brought him to Wisconsin for a Packer’s Super Bowl win (not in those exact words and not as coherently). And Andy doesn’t even like American football!

Andy watching Bobby cook the brats for the game.  Yes, as a matter of fact, it was fucking cold that day.

When you say "Wisconsin", you said it all!

Look at that excitement.  Not bad for a Scouser.

 I miss Champion's!

...and I really miss shots.

I should have taken this picture during hour 4 at the pub.  Ach well.

On Monday I hung out with my mom while Andy went out drinking with my brother, Adam, to celebrate the Packers win. As tempted as I am to go into details about my day with my mom, in the off chance she does read this blog, she would be absolutely mortified if I posted what I want to post for the entire world to see. All I can say is that it’s a shame that I can’t because any story that ends with “and I had to drive my mom to the Oak Creak Police Department so she wouldn’t get put in the slammer” is a great story to tell. I know, you totally hate me now, don’t you?

On Tuesday I got hit with this cold. I seriously spent my last day in the United States in bed with a jar of mentholatum and a heating pad. There aren’t words enough to tell you how much that sucks monkey balls. Oh sure, I know I’ll be back to the States at some point but I wanted to give it a proper good bye. I wanted to at least have some more Mexican food, instead of the stomach settling mac & cheese and tomato soup. On the plus side, I did get to see “the Social Network” and was rather pleased with it.

Obviously on Wednesday, we left. There isn’t much to tell about the journey except that it was long, hard to do on a cold, and exhausting when I don’t have the ability to sleep on planes. But we made it just fine. Thank you airplane pilots, airplane mechanics and terrorists who took the day off.

Anyhow, I don’t know if I’m excited yet. None of it seems real to be completely honest with you. It’s a bit like a cannon shot me back to my Christmas 2009 vacation and any moment the same cannon will shoot me back to my apartment in Costa Mesa. I just need some more sleep I think, and some powerful cold meds. And I’m sure sometime next week I’ll wake up under this duvet with no cover sheets with a half glass of GeeBee’s CherryAde next to me and it will all come flooding in. “WTFHID!”