The Fourth of July was always one of my favorite holidays in the US. Not that I'm terribly patriotic or anything, just...there are fireworks and BBQs and its an excuse to drink = HELLO PERFECT HOLIDAY.
Now, it of course means something else to me. It makes me miss home.
While I'll be having fun tonight celebrating Iain's birthday (it's tomorrow!) down by the Thames...there's a part of my heart that will be back home in my parents back yard, drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade and with a over excitable chihuahua at my feet. (Praying for crumbs.)
If I could fly back home today, even just for a couple hours and to see my parents and my sister, I would in a heart beat.
On the Fourth we'd always go to the same spot to watch fire works. My mom and my sister and I would lay on our backs and wait expectantly for the Sperm Fire Works.
If you don't know which ones I'm talking about, the you don't know what you're missing out.
They're the bright, white ones that look like tad-poles when they're first launched, but then go off in crazy directions...as if searching for a big, unfertilized egg in the sky.
It dawned on me a couple of years ago that they totally looked like gigantic sperm. I started laughing hysterically - only to notice that my sister was cackling to herself as well. Then my mom started laughing,
"OH MY GOD THEY LOOK LIKE SPERM!!!!"
Hopefully the Fourth of July Sperm Fireworks won't be nearly as fun without me this year...(If I can't have a fully complete Fourth of July THEN NOBODY SHOULD.)
Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans.
May this recession end soon, may the gas prices go down, and may all of your BBQ's be fully cooked so you don't end up with the shits all weekend.
This song reminds me of home...
Last night I went to my best friend's house for dinner. I've known her for 27 of my 28 years, so it was a nice relaxed chat around the dinner table, scarfing pasta with tomato sauce and brie chunks followed by the best cheesecake (with the most energetically compacted base) I've had in years, made jointly by her and her future husband.
Around 10pm, as we were considering moving our tired old bones off to bed, there was a crash - weirdly, as if of cutlery falling in the sink - and a cry. We rushed to the window. Em saw a man staggering around and then sitting down heavily on the ground next to a mangled bike. There were no cars around - it seemed his wheel had just caught on the uneven street paving.
Ashley won my heart all over again by bounding downstairs to see what he could do. Two women were milling around confusedly asking the victim if he wanted an ambulance. "He didn't know what he wanted, he was winded and shocked," commented Ashley, as he whipped his phone out and called an ambulance. I called down to see if a blanket was needed as it was a chilly night. Apparently one of the women had already nipped off to get a coat.
I headed down.
Lying on the ground was a young, stocky Asian man, breathing erratically and painfully, with a huge, bleeding scrape down one elbow and a smaller, coin-shaped oozing scab on the knee. He hadn't, thankfully, hit his head (no helmet!), but his chest had landed square on the handlebars.
The ambulance arrived, along with the mandatory police car. No statements were taken as no-one else was involved. His chest was horribly bruised and they checked him over carefully before gently leading him onto a stretcher - he cried out in pain as he sat back and his chest hurt - to be loaded into the ambulance, taken to hospital and x-rayed for broken or bruised ribs.
Except that they didn't leave. The road at the front is closed off into two sections; the gate between is complete controlled by the Fire Brigade. Perhaps that was why the ambulance stayed still? Nope, it was because the tailgate was stuck, lowered, and the vehicle couldn't move.
Another ambulance was summoned with a key to manually raise the tailgate. It didn't work, but our Asian friend (I'm afraid I've forgotten his name) was whisked off for further care. The policeman glumly summoned the Fire Bridgade both to help with the stranded ambulance and open the gate so that we could get out (my car was parked right between the gate the accident site).
We whinged, we moaned, we froze gently in the car; there was no point going back up to Em's flat because we thought we'd be going any minute for about 45 minutes. We worried, we winced and then we whined about wanting to get home to bed. Which, eventually, at around midnight, we did.
Just before my weary head blacked out as it hit the pillow I remembered to thank God for these things:
- That it wasn't me or mine in the accident
- That the man was going to be fine after a bit of TLC
- That I had a warm, cozy bed to go to
- That I had the golden glow of pride in my beloved husband (he might as well be - the wedding's just a formality, really)
I am trying to think of an appropriate way to mark my gratitude (a donation to Shelter? St. John's Ambulance? Doing something voluntary to help another charity?). I don't feel guilty about whining, because it was a way of coping with the situation. It was shocking, and surprisingly upsetting, and it was strange and cold and so I focussed on me, me, me so I didn't have to think about the bigger picture at the time that it was happening. But now that I have time to think, I wish the man well and I am brimming with gratitude.
1. Author
Isn't every blogger a writer already? I don't have the discipline at the moment to sit my arse down and write properly but I hope to manage it one day. I have a few faint ideas that need research, development, tea and Hob Nobs, so who knows?
My problem is partly that I'm so determined to be Neil Gaiman / John Irving / Donna Tartt and not be Dan Brown that I fail to even bother to reach Brownian heights because I have such lack of confidence in my abilities.
2. Children's Book Reader
You know those lovely bookshops that have a children's reading corner? I LOVE that. I was a pretty crap teacher but I used to get rounds of applause (started by kids who didn't like reading) when we had story time. I don't think I'm a brilliant narrator or anything, just so full of enthusiasm for any kind of book that I expect it shows. I don't shirk from silly faces and voices, either.
3. Disney Voiceover Artist
If only I could sing, dagnabbit.
4. Cat Cuddler
Actually, I'm trying to get in touch with the local Cats Protection to volunteer as this. You socialise nervous cats so that they can be rehomed. I so very badly want a cat but we have a no-pets rental and no garden. Arse.
Update:
5. Reviewer
Actually, I sort of am one from time to time, both on www.remotegoat.co.uk and on another blog of mine that I have let slide depressingly by the wayside in recent months, but it would be nice to have time to do it professionally. Theatre, film and books for me, rather than music (I love it, just not obsessive enough about it!). I could use the RG cards and contacts to do far more of it but I've been too busy and protective of my spare time of late to be very ambitious about it. It's on my Arse In Gear List.
WOW! It's been a while since I last posted. This is mostly due to the fact that I've been doing nothing but updating my Twitter and wanking all day because isn't that what people who work from home, like, do and stuff?
LOLZ. Just kidding. How could I possibly be on Twitter all day when this happens every five minutes?
No, but really I have been busy. And not just wanking all the time. (That only takes up at 5-10 minutes at a time, anyway.)
Let's see. What have I been up to?
I suppose the event that sticks out in my mind the most is that last weekend I was worried for a full 24 hours that I was knocked up. I was a few hours away from buying one of those tests when - glory be to god - it happened. It was a weird week, to tell the truth. I had like, 7 pregnancy dreams that involved either twins, a miscarriage, an ultra sound, a pregnancy test, or me just waddling around being pregnant.
All of these dreams were horrible, can I just say that. Horrible. They fucked with my brain, especially when I thought I actually was pregnant. I thought somehow, someway, my uterus was whispering sweet nothings to my subconscious - but alas, the dreams were probably because I:
a) Watched Juno twice. (Once normal, once with the commentary on. Hello NERD.)
b) Watched a special on teenage mothers and young grandmas
c) Went to a screening of Baby Mama...ironically on the same day that I totally thought I was knocked-up. I was not pleased.
I didn't really to write about The Scare, as it wasn't even quite a scare. Flow was like a day late. A day. It was just the combination of dreams and lateness and the realization that if an *accident* were to occur, I know what I would choose to do.
But I was afraid that choice would make me seem selfish.
I'm married. I'm not 16. My life is pretty stable...right?
But in my heart, I know that would take our life into a different place. A place I'm not ready for. A place I don't think I'm mentally capable of navigating very well. That version of my life...I'm not ready to take it on. I'm not...we're not there.
So, that's that.
Thankfully, this choice only had to happen in my brain. I still think from time to time, about the decision we would make. I know it's for the best, but it really made me look at the whole issue in a new way. A woman's right to choose...
I am thankful it's a decision I have the right to make. That I have the option to choose.
But what a fucked up choice it is to have to make.
Well. That was heavy.
Here, have some cute dogs with their hair blowing in the wind...
Nope
- Petting Espressa and falling back asleep while getting ready for work (not good)
- Feeling that the Cymbalta may be killing my emotional passions - lately I feel that I don't care (good or bad) about anything
- Double-dosing Cymbalta to kill knee pain is effective but will also kill an equal amount of phyical pleasure
- Figuring out that sitting is the biggest irritant to my knee - since that's pretty much all I do all day
- I think it's time to see an orthopedic surgeon. I'm a bit paranoid because after the arthroscopic surgery, about 15 yrs ago, that surgeon kind of implied a full knee replacement would be in my future.
- Knowing that my weight is a major contributor to my knee problem but still not being motivated to change my lifestyle and magically loose weight (though, to be fair, the knee makes it damn near impossible to do most forms of exercise)
- Adrian left for NJ (to live) and I didn't get to say goodbye in person
- Despite getting lots of sleep, I'm still really tired ALL the time
- Is it really July already???
- Petting Espressa and falling back asleep while getting ready for work (it felt good)
- Getting lots of restful sleep when double-dosing Cymbalta
- 3-day weekend with no "gotta do" plans
- Getting to hang with MissScotch
- San Francisco (I couldn't live there but I LOVE visiting)
- JetBlue
- Getting great opps for fun because I don't bother to wait for someone else to decide to do it with me (can't tell you how many people bitched about missing out on the $25 concert tix when it was their own damn fault for not being able to make up their mind, in 25 hours)
- Fun sexy men (applying a little "law of attraction" here)
Excuse the TMI, I'm just a bit preoccupied because I've got to go and be scraped with the mini bog brush today for the second time in six months. Apparently about 10% of tests come back with minor abnormalities which should clear up on their own but they've got to double check after half a year.
Honestly, I'm not remotely worried about the results. The chances of my having any form of reproductive system cancer are extremely slim as there is no family history and I do not fit the major risk categories in terms of age and general well-being. Plus if it's caught within six months of finding the original faint abnormalities I have total faith that it could be cured very quickly.
I shouldn't whinge, really, and I should thank my countryman for his groundbreaking and life-saving technique. Honest to God, I'm not really complaining, especially since I have such easy access to something that other women in the developing world are barely aware of. I just find that the indignity of it all is what gets to me. The cranking open and the scrapy-scrapy. *Shudder*
Meh. It'll be fine. And I get to leave work early for the afternoon on a warm day, so there's always a silver lining.
For some reason I am reminded of my sister, clamped to a breast pump around three days after the birth of her gorgeous son, wincing occasionally and saying, with a sigh: "It's not the soreness or the discomfort I object to, it's the feeling like a dairy cow."
First off - GO TO A GEORGE MICHAEL CONCERT!! Even if you don't really care for him... GO!! That was seriously one of the best shows I've ever seen. And knowing I paid $25 for seats, when a woman next to me paid $250, was wonderful. (from what I've seen, the "$25 for 25 hrs" sales are happening the last Fri before the performance)
The sole negative was that the stage was a little low for the amount of floor seating they have. I was probably 30-40 rows away from the stage and spent most of the concert craning my neck in order to see between other people. I just need to make sure to buy different seats for any future shows at Honda Center (section 210 & equiv - first level, directly to the side of the stage, appear to be best).
And I need to dance less - I felt the shooting pain of my knee popping in/out of joint at least 20 times. But I still kept dancing - it was that good!
There was no opening act. George Micheal went on a 8:45 and ended at 11:30p - with only a 20 min intermission. The sound was incredible. The lighting and videos (on the giant monitors) were great. And nearly tripping over Dita Von Teese (and several of her burlesque friends) while walking in didn't hurt matters either - especially when she was featured in the video that accompanied GM's rendition of "Feelin' Good" and I could tell the people near me, "THAT'S who I was telling you is here!" I wanted to take a pic with her but thought it might be tacky to ask - especially cause she was with friends.
I knew very little of George Michael's music but still had a fantastic time. So much so that I'll be buying most of his music this week.
I got home around 12:30am and immediately repacked for SF. I reset the alarm clock for 8am and went to bed around 2am. An airplane woke me up in the morn and I figured it was about 7:55. I decided to roll over and check. Nope... 8:15. Alarm didn't go off because I forgot to turn off the "weekend" option. It's pure luck that I actually woke up then, rather than 11:30. To my complete surprise, I left my house and headed to LB airport on time. I had a hard time finding parking but finally stalked someone and got their space. Then I freaked out because I lost my parking ticket and didn't want to end up charged for a week when I'd only be there for 30 hrs. 10 min of searching later, I decided I had wasted too much time and had to go catch my flight. Which turned out to be 30 min late. (I found the parking ticket when I got back from SF.)
I got to Oakland/SF without event and met up with Secret Agent Scotch. in the Mission district, around 1:30p. For a variety of reasons (including the fact that my knee REALLY did not like walking in SF), we had a relatively mellow weekend. We went to the apt (just as great as she has described it!), had lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall burmese place (kinda scary to look at but really good food), saw Sex & The City (she liked it; I picked it apart), had breakfast-for-dinner at Mel's, then went back to the house for talking and "partying". I got to see the wedding outfit and had a moment where it sort of took my breath away (Steve, you are a lucky lucky man!). I had a great time with the infamous Rudy - he's incredibly cute and fun (and got bonus points for snuggling in bed with me in the morning). We slept in on Sun and got up shortly before PapiChulo and friends came home from their "bachelor camp out". Papi seemed disappointed when he learned that we hadn't done something adventurous the night before and I was left wondering if I should have forced us to go out. I dunno... tough call. In the theme of "bachelorette", we later went to Good Vibrations and left with... books. (I found some flavored lube that I wanted but it was in 4oz bottles and the limit for carry on luggage is 3oz.)
Despite tons of planning, we lost track of time and the BART was behind schedule and I, once again, was running for a plane - the last of the day - that I expected to miss. And, once again, JetBlue WAITED FOR ME. Literally. The gate was empty except for 2 flight attendants who immediately asked, "are you Leenda? We've been holding the plane for you!" Ditto when I got on board. As soon as I was seated, the doors were closed and the plane departed. I was highly embarrassed and originally feeling "WHY do I keep doing this?" But I later realized it's because leaving SF at 4 in the afternoon does not feel right. But 6p is the last flight of the day so, unless I change airlines & airports, I can expect this trend to continue.
By the time my flight landed, my knee was fully pissed off (it does not like being bent/sitting; nor the 2 flights of stairs in Scotch's home) and I had to hobble to my car - eventually using my crutches to get around inside the house.Dear JetBlue, you rock!! Thanks for continuing to accommodate my buttlagging! And please bring back terra blue chips as the inflight snack on your planes. kthxbai.
I was EXHAUSTED by 8p and got to bed a little bit "early" (11-ish), slept well, and headed to the chiro before work today. He adjusted my knee but it still feels awful - can't support my weight and is clearly swollen. Since Scotch and I really didn't do much walking, I'm extremely disappointed that it affected me so severely (now my L foot is also screwed up from trying to compensate when the R one couldn't hold me). I think it's finally time to schedule an orthopedic referral.
And that was my weekend. A bit of an expensive version of "just hanging out" with a cool friend - but I really did enjoy myself.
Now I am hours behind at work but not stressed about it. I could really use a nap but it looks like I'll be at work till around 10p. So I guess I should go start doing something in the hope of getting caught up. Ugh. Paychecks are nice but working sure harshes my buzz.
Happy end to the first 1/2 of 2008!!
So, I will start with the end and tell you that I'm currently checking out hypnotherapy for my increasingly disturbing anxiety attacks when flying. One therapist I'm interested in also claims to treat "excessive guilt", which sounds bloody good to me.
In keeping with going backwards, I'd like to take a moment to address the Greek teachers of Oxford Study Group or whatever the hell you were called, and I'd be happy to translate the following rant into Greek if you have any trouble understanding it:
Here's a tip from someone who didn't even manage to finish teacher training, but was born with a helping of common sense. When you take a group of early teen schoolkids on a summer trip on an aeroplane, please ensure that you don't fuck off down to the front of the plane and leave them to fend for themselves. What happens when you do is that they are obnoxious to cabin staff and are very loud and irritating. They throw blankets around, playfight in the aisles and whack their heads on the ceiling (actually, that bit made us laugh). They also need to be told off THREE TIMES by a member of the cabin crew who has better things to do like, oh, I don't know, keeping us safe and comfortable. Do your job and go and separate the fuckers, or next time I will raise an almighty fuss and embarrass you.
Bilingually.
So, we arrived back safely, if with added migraines, after two extremely restful and pleasant weeks. I can't tell you how much I needed the break. I do feel guilty that I never got round to contacting Iliask - I'd plead seeing relatives but most of the times I intended to drop him a line I fell asleep in the baking heat instead - but this was the first time in ages I actually considered living in Greece one day (as did Ashley, who's now looking around for Greek lessons to add to his fount of random requests and expletives).
The highlights:
- Five days in Athens
- Three nights on board the Ocean Countess taking in excursions to Patmos, Knossos (Heraklion), Mykonos, Santorini and Ephesus (in Kusadasi, Turkey)
- Four nights in Kefallonia, with twice-daily swims and sunbathing before and after the main heat of the day.
At 36 - 39 degrees Celsius every single day, I finally feel warm. Plus we've returned to the first decent days of British summer, which helps. I ate FAR too much of everything and gained 5lbs (most of it Kaimaki ice cream and semolina halva, I'm sure of it), but who could resist heaps of uber-fresh fish, octopus, grilled meat, salad, bread, tsatsiki and horta?
It's good to be back, but I would happily have had another week of it.
Anyway, how have you all been?
Too much stress
Too much stress
Too much stress!!
And stupid stuff too. I mean, most of the stuff on my plate is happy stuff - concert, trip, great company, fun times, alcohol, dancing...
But the planning, making sure I prepared, combined with work and my natural inclination for anxiety is a bad cocktail.
I find myself in "I gotta..." mode. I gotta get this doc done so it's ready for the boss Mon morn. I gotta get the testing started cause we're sooo far behind and everyone's looking to me to get us caught up. I gotta be on top of my game, the shining star, at work. But I've also gotta get out of here early tonight cause I gotta get to Anaheim in time for the concert - and I gotta find parking (that part usually sucks). But, wait, am I gonna want a shirt? If so, I gotta get some more $$ before getting to the arena.
After the concert, I gotta go straight home and figure out why the hell my weekend bag seems so heavy - and repack it (no one needs that much stuff for a 30 hr trip!). Then I gotta make I'm ready to go in the morning.
Gotta get to bed early. Gotta remember to reset the alarm clock first. Gotta actually get up when it goes off. Gotta get dressed and get my shit together. Gotta get Moshi back in the house before I go. Gotta get to the airport with enough time to check in before boarding (surprisingly difficult for me as I tend to think of the departure time as the boarding time and forget to allow an extra hour).
Gotta Gotta Gotta!!
I'm pretty sure I'll be fine once I'm checked in and waiting in the terminal (which reminds me, gotta go do JetBlue internet check in right now (why didn't I get an email reminder?)). Thankfully, the checkin & security process at Long Beach - from curbside to gate - takes about 15 min max (2 min on a good day. I love that airport!).
Soo... send mental valium so that I don't have to take the real stuff (which will just make me tired). And remind me that all of this will be FUN and to get over myself! kthxbai
