They're Baaa-aack

I've been feeding the next door neighbors' cat all week because they are out of town. I say "neighbors' cat", but it's really a stray cat called Hissing Syd, who won't come within 10 feet of people, but who will sit exactly that distance from his food bowls and look around in judgement if they are empty when he gets there much in the way of a normal house cat. I grabbed the cat food and was about to walk through my back door when crumpled in the door jam I saw the biggest spider I have ever seen in England. So big in fact, that I looked it over for some moments actually thinking "maybe it's not a spider. Maybe it's a scraggly piece of something that fell off of a bush." But nothing else in the world has leg joints in exactly those places. Nothing. I seriously didn't know they had spiders as big as this here. I think it must have followed me here from the U.S...from Texas probably (I'm made to understand everything is bigger there). It wasn't moving and looked as if it had been smushed by the door, so I made the assumption it was dead and closed the door on it. Then I grabbed the cat food, went out the front door (after very carefully checking the entire doorway for spiders, because if I missed something and then came back and there was one outside THAT door I wouldn't be able to get back in the house), walked halfway across the island to the common entrance to the marina, and then all the way back to their garden while muttering "ohgodohgodohgod" with my heart trying to escape from my chest the entire time to feed the goddamn cat. I am now back in my own house, have texted StereoNinja to inform him that I am NEVER GOING IN THE GARDEN EVER AGAIN. I am checking everything in the house for spiders before I touch it (I looked inside the Dorito bag) and experiencing a mild to moderate level of general panic that I know will subside gradually over the next few days UNLESS another spider appears.

What I hate about this phobia is not so much that it controls where I can go and what I can do - there are work arounds for that, obviously, as I've just walked clear across an island to feet a cat sitting 30 feet from my backyard - but the (I assume, I'm not a psychiatrist) post traumatic stress that I end up living with for days, sometimes weeks at a time. And the effect is cumulative: seeing another spider in that state doesn't just extend how long it lasts but heightens that feeling. I was already in that state before the incident today from a small spider I saw on the outside of my car a few days ago. I've walked the two miles into town twice since then rather have to face getting in my car. I tell myself I'm getting exercise, but I'm really just paralyzed by the thought that if it has gotten in the car I'll be trapped with it and no one can help me.

It's the worst time of year for me. Spring is when all the spiders come back, and just to reiterate, I live IN a river. In the past few weeks, I've seen StereoNinja lunge across a room to step on a spider I hadn't seen yet and go into the toilet and immediately come back out again to get the bug spray before going back in there calling over his shoulder "I didn't just see three spiders in there." I've seen two in my bedroom when he wasn't home that I had to spray myself before texting completely insane yet wholly serious messages to him: that I needed him to remove their dead bodies when he got home and then burn our duvet, or that I was moving to France. And now it's effecting him too. He used to see a spider and not have any sort of reaction at all but now when he sees one he has almost a fear response - not of the spider itself but more like "Oh god holy shit there's a spider in the house kill it immediately before Amber finds out AAAAGGHHHH".

Ugh. You guys. IT WAS SO FUCKING BIG and it was ALMOST INSIDE MY HOUSE. I don't know how to stop thinking about it. Even the "research" I'm doing on "extreme" pornography for my next paper isn't helping me. SINCE WHEN CAN I NOT CONCENTRATE ON PORN?

Cockles And Mussels, Alive, Alive, Oh

Having seen the weather report in our area for last weekend (a month's worth of rain in 48 hours), and having failed to remember to plan anything for a trip to Prague (remembering stuff is not StereoNinja's forte and my ongoing depression battle is fucking with memory type things - I'm feeling quite a bit better by the way), StereoNinja and I decided on a last minute escape to Dublin for the weekend. (It's a good thing we did - while the flooding did not return to the levels it was at when our only road got swallowed by the Thames, we found out from neighbors that the power was out to the island from late Friday morning until Sunday afternoon. Everything in our house from the oven to the the heating is electric. It would have been like camping and as previously explained I do not camp.) And I'm kind of in love with it now.

I had never been to Dublin before, and StereoNinja had never managed to go there while also having a good time. Since I really don't know a lot about Ireland, I didn't have any real expectations of what it would be like. What it is like is awesome. Without travelling anywhere else on the Earth I haven't already been, I will say with total confidence that Dublin has the friendliest cab drivers in the world. Seriously, apart from one or two guys (we took cabs EVERYWHERE because we decided to escape rain by going someplace that was also pissing down rain because we're imbeciles) every cab driver wanted to know all about us and what brought us to Dublin, professed to adore America, gave informal city tours complete with history about buildings (which sometimes have no windows because England used to tax windows so they just built them without any because fuck you), gave solicited and unsolicited advice on what we should see and where we should drink, and generally rounded fares down to avoid anyone have to deal with coins which I thought was great because I despise them.

I was a bit worried before we got on the plane about whether there would be anything for me to eat there. Since I don't like potatoes, and the stereotype of Ireland is that everything is made out of potatoes there, I was somewhat concerned that I might starve to death. This turned out to be entirely unfounded. The restaurants in Dublin are universally spectacular, based on the fact that every time one of us said "Do you want to just go in here?" the food there was so good I had to be restrained from humping it. Maybe the best Italian restaurant I've ever been to in my life was in Dublin (amaretto tiramisu you guys. AMARETTO TIRAMISU). We went to a french place for lunch and I loved it, and if you remember I wouldn't eat much of anything when I was in actual France.

We also partook of Dublin's many museums. Recommended for nerds: The Science Gallery at Trinity College, currently running the "Fail Better" exhibit - a collection of inventions that didn't work, but which led to advances in science or some other positive contribution. Recommended for sheer hilarity: The Ireland Natural History Museum, which seems to basically be a room full of taxidermied animals of varying age, quality, and disrepair. The fucking massive extinct deer skeletons near the entrance are singularly impressive. The basking shark hanging from the ceiling, if I'm being kind, has probably seen better days. To be fair to the museum, the upper and lower floors of it are currently closed, but on the other hand it is severely lacking in any information on the animals apart from their name.

Deer: huge; impressive.

Basking shark: c'mon, man.

Our first cab driver, upon hearing that we wanted to go hear some real Irish music, directed us to the Brazen Head, which is self described as the oldest pub in Ireland. It was described by the cab driver as "nearly a thousand years old". It's actually a little over 900 years old, but I suppose "nearly a thousand" is correct depending on where you're rounding from. We met a nice German kid there, but did not meet the Brazilians who were also in the house. I know they were there because of the gregarious and extremely drunk Irishman who kept shouting at them, "BRAZIL? BRAZIL? THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN DUBLIN ALL THE WAY FROM BRAZIL?" There was a little group in the corner playing, who unfortunately had a broken amplifier and were therefore mostly drowned out by the noise from the table of vapid, oblivious women who were all talking at once AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE and failed to notice either the music or the collective death stare of literally everyone else in the room. That was until an enterprising guy at the next table started a shushing campaign that grew until the ENTIRE pub would hiss at them every time they got out of hand.

We also checked out the Guinness Storehouse, home of all things Guinness. For those of you Americans who have been to the Budweiser brewery in St. Louis, just, no. The Storehouse makes that place look like a miniaturized Lego model of a brewery, it is that massive. Additionally, when you get up to the top where your free pint of Guinness awaits you, not only do they take the time and care to draw you a lovely shamrock in your foam, but the 360 degree windows that make up the walls of the room give you an aerial view of the entirety of Dublin and beyond, all the way to the mountains in one directions and all the way to the sea in another. Of course, I used the opportunity to text Cap and taunt him because I am an asshole sister.

Enjoy your beer, insignificant speck of a human.

Dublin, with its abundant cabs, myriad of pubs, river flowing through it, cool stuff to do, nice people, great food and many college students, reminded me quite a lot of Chicago. Except for this one thing that happened that made me realize how spoiled Americans are. Because one thing we have precious little of in America is domestic terrorism. When bombs go off at the Boston Marathon or Oklahoma City or the Atlanta Olympics, they are weird, isolated things that shock us because it is not a thing that happens in America, so infrequently in fact that we don't even think about it and take that for granted. Meanwhile, in Dublin, in our first cab on the way to the hotel, the very friendly cab driver/tour guide/historian said to us, "This is a great area right here. It used to have statues absolutely everywhere, on all these corners. But of course the IRA blew them all up." And he said it with such casual resignation, because stuff used to blow up there - a lot - and that was his normal. So, you know, be aware of how lucky you are and shit, because you could think that all your statues blowing up is normal.

ANYBUTT, I fucking LOVED Dublin, as evidenced by everything that came out of my mouth while we were there was prefaced by "Next time we come, we should..." and that's just not something I typically say because I am of the television generation and easily bored. You should totally go there if you like doing things that are fun and/or being around nice people. You should probably also be okay with a bit of rain and own an umbrella.

Shove It, Popeye

 I am sitting on the counter in the kitchen. StereoNinja is about to fry some spinach because everything he eats is gross.

Me: I guess I should help you or move. I'm practically sitting on the spinach.

StereoNinja: You look like you'd rather sit on it than eat it.

Me: Well it looks more comfortable than delicious.

Drownin' In The Rain, We're Drownin' In The Rain

Remember when I said the water was receding? Well it's now worse than it was when it crested the last time. Lake Titicacao is indistinguishable from the river and it's all flowing so fast that we've been watching ducks go by backwards since they aren't strong enough to swim upstream or even stay in one place. Also rain is forecast in my town for at least the next five days. The only road out of the island is impassable by anything other than a monster truck, and conversations with other islanders about what we can do about it amounted to "Yeah, you're pretty much screwed." Being as my car is roughly the size of half a semi-truck tire, I'm effectively stranded in my house, conveniently (?) during reading week, meaning I don't have to swim to the station to catch a train to London for class, so I've got that going for me. StereoNinja bought us both waders today, which I put on to try them for size and am now still wearing them. I told StereoNinja it was for safety:

me: I'm leaving these on.
StereoNinja: You're going to just wear them around the house?
me: Well, in a couple of hours the water might be in the house.

But really it's just because I'm pretending to be a fisherman. I'm trapped, don't judge my methods of entertaining myself.

I'd like to point out that the last time it rained this much in England, my country didn't even exist yet. Speaking of my country, sorry about all the snow there most of you, and for those of you in California, if you can figure out a way to get this water over to you, you're more than welcome to have it.

Are You Ready To Explain Some Football?

Last night was my first Super Bowl in exile, and I have to say, seriously, what the fuck. But let me back up a bit.

I had managed to get excited about the Super Bowl in a way that I hadn't gotten excited about Christmas or my birthday. And I prepared for it as well: I dressed up in all the NFL branded clothing that I own, I made Rice Krispie treats shaped like footballs, and I drank an enormous amount of caffeine so I could make it to kickoff at ELEVEN FUCKING THIRTY local time. I commandeered StereoNinja and his teenage daughter to watch it with me because all my other friends have "jobs to go to in the morning" or some shit, and we all ate a cheeseball I had made, despite them both eyeing it with suspicion at first because no one here has ever seen a cheeseball before. StereoNinja had watched some of the Seattle game with me two weeks ago, and so at least had basic concepts figured out like downs and field goals; his daughter had no experience and insisted the game was called "handegg".

The pregame show was that we didn't get a real pregame show. What we got was some Irish guy I've been told is called Colin Murray and is famous for something, and a very uncomfortable looking and disinterested Terrell Davis, whose name Channel 4 managed to misspell. My best guess is that Colin Murray has never seen an American football game before in his life, and I spent the hour before kickoff screaming things at the tv like "FIELD! IT'S CALLED A FIELD." and "NO YOUR HEADSET ISN'T WEIRD THAT'S JUST HOW THEY ARE BECAUSE IT'S A FOOTBALL GAME". Even StereoNinja was annoyed, and displayed his recently gained knowledge: "Yeah. It's not called a pitch goal, it's called a FIELD goal. And why does he keep touching everybody?" because he was, Colin Murray that is, touching his co-presenters on the arm or the shoulder with an an uncomfortable degree of frequency. Meanwhile whatever he was saying was so confusing, Terrell Davis stopped listening to him and and started absentmindedly picking at the edge of the table on live television.

And then the game started. I'm assuming many of you saw the start of the game, and potentially the rest of it, so I don't need to tell you what a clusterfuck that was for Denver from LITERALLY THE FIRST PLAY OF THE GAME. What I did have to do was begin my companions' American football education by trying to explain what a safety is because of course I did. I also had to explain a shotgun formation because I had previously told StereoNinja in great detail and with extensive demonstrations how the quarterback lines up under center, which was not at all an exercise in crotch grabbing disguised as sports education SHUT UP. And throughout the game I was struggling to justify to StereoNinja my belief that Peyton Manning is the greatest quarterback of our time, AND that the mistakes he was making were not always his fault because the offensive line apparently decided not to play. Based on that game I wouldn't have believed me either.

It was actually kind of fun explaining things that it hadn't occurred to me would need explaining because I've just been watching it all my life. Like how a false start works:

StereoNinja: What happened?

me: False start. That guy jumped.

StereoNinja: WHAT? He barely even flinched!

me: I know. Doesn't matter. You can't move until the ball is snapped.

StereoNinja: What about that guy? That guy is moving. And that other guy is moving too!

me: Oh, right. Some of the players are allowed to move. But not the ones on the line of scrimmage.

StereoNinja: On what?

me: Um, on the blue line.

and flags and timeouts:

StereoNinja: Someone threw their gloves on the field.

me: No they didn't.

StereoNinja: Then what are those yellow things?

me: A penalty flag. The officials throw them when there's a penalty.

StereoNinja: Why?

me: .....because that's how they do it.

later

StereoNinja: Penalty?

me: No.

StereoNinja: But they threw that red thing.

me: That's a challenge flag. The coaches throw them when they want to dispute the call on the field. Um, but you can only do it a few times. Also if you get it wrong they take one of your timeouts.

SN daughter: What's a timeout?

me: It's so you can stop the clock. You get three per half.

SN daughter: But the clock is already stopped.

me: No, the play clock not the game clock.

SN daughter: What?

me: Um.

I did get some amusing help from StereoNinja with explaining the game to his daughter, such as first down: "Do you see that yellow line? That's how far the ball has to go. Also that line isn't really on the field." and she did seem to grasp what was happening overall as evidenced by this comment: "The oranges suck. The catchy man can't even catch it."

We stayed up for the halftime show for some reason where I learned that Bruno Mars can play the drums and thinks he's James Brown and the Red Hot Chili Peppers still can't afford to buy shirts apparently. But by then it was 1:30 in the morning and it didn't appear the game was going to be a contest of any sort so we just went to bed. So my first Super Bowl in exile probably could have been better, but I certainly was having a better time than Peyton Manning was.

England: They Have Stuff Too

Here's another example of "little differences": Last night, StereoNinja and I went to dinner at a steak restaurant called Cattle Grid. It was the most American thing I've encountered since I've been here. Now, I have no evidence that its intention is to come off as American, but it absolutely fucking does. It has a very American decor to it, authentically, not "this is what we imagine America looks like" decor, a menu that list its beef and pork dished under the headings "COW' and "PIG", enormous American sized portions of things including a massive rack of barbecue ribs the likes of which I have never seen here, onion strings which I have also never seen here before and which caused me to actually audibly gasp when they were offered to me and a highly American looking desert menu meaning we didn't order any because StereoNinja couldn't get a cheese plate (also that whole thing about the giant portions). There were only two things that gave it away. One was a completely disinterested server - not a bad server, just a man who was clearly not working for tips. The other is a thing that keeps happening to me every time we eat somewhere which is StereoNinja has to remind me to properly arrange my cutlery. Because unlike America, where they are watching you and waiting for you to slow down, or coming by to refill your drink since it's free refills ALL THE TIME in Fatassland, and they ask you while they're there "Can I take your plate?", the only way to have your plate cleared here is to align your fork and knife right next to each other across your plate. If you leave your utensils either on the table or strewn about your plate all willy-nilly in the wrong configuration, you will be sitting there waiting for the check (cheque) for hours. It's like the Bat signal for "I have finished my meal." And I ALWAYS forget.

Right so, anyway, not my point. What I actually meant to do right now was write about some of the things I love about being here, because I feel like all I've done is complain so far, and it's really not that I don't like it here, it's just that it's not home yet. So here's a few things that I think are fantastic that you have thus far dropped the ball on, America:

Roast dinner. Yeah, ok, we have roast dinners in the U.S., but there are certain designated days for them which are Thanksgiving and Christmas. The rest of the year you just are like "Oh won't it be great when it's Thanksgiving and we'll have roast turkey again?" Yeah, um, yer doin it wrong. Because it is Roast Day here EVERY SUNDAY. You can make a roast at home or you can go to a carvery or you can go round someone else's house - whatever. Oh and another thing: Yorkshire puddings. Get in on that, Murica, you are missing out.

QI. There is not a show being produced right now on American television that I am aware of that is nearly as awesome as QI. A show that is funny AND has Stephen Fry AND you get to learn cool stuff? It's like an arrow of joy aimed straight at my little nerd girl heart. I am particularly overjoyed when there's an episode that has either Bill Bailey or Jeremy Clarkson who say they funniest things and know some of the weirdest shit. And I lose my fucking mind every time I actually know the answer and shout things at the television like "NO! It's because it has a three foot long tongue!" or "Oh my god, I know this one! IT'S A THING FOR EXTRACTING BOOGERS FROM A CORPSE!"

Road signs. I find the road signs here to be generally more helpful than the ones in America. Like, coming up to a roundabout or a slip road (this is an on or off ramp), there will be a sign with a picture of the exact roundabout or shape of slip road you are about to encounter. But that's not even what I like about them. The best thing about the signs is how ambiguous they are if you don't already know what they mean. Before I started driving, I started making up my own meanings for some of the ones I thought were funny.

Windsocks are dangerous

WARNING: Killer duck

Sad wiener

No perspective

I didn't make up a meaning for this, I just want to vandalize it and make it into a centaur.

Beware of men with giant umbrellas

Caution: Bra in the road

SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER.

See, so some stuff is great, but it's not gonna get me a slice of Pequod's or an episode of Tosh.0.

Answers That Aren't 42 And Also A Thing About My Birthday

MIXED NEWS, EVERYONE! I have finished and turned in both of my papers (yay!) which I am pretty sure are both complete garbage (boo). But I'm back for now and I'm going to write some blog posts, starting with answering the questions you guys left for me in the comments:

exoticchemist said...

I'm curious as to what exactly triggers you to feel homesick. Is it just randomly wishing you were back in the US? Missing family and friends? Or is it specifically the differences between the US and UK? Maybe this is a dumb question...

It's not a dumb question, but it is a hard one to articulate. For one thing, I am now having a completely different cultural experience from the rest of my countrymen. While I don't miss snow (AT ALL), and I certainly don't want to be living in temperatures that can kill you in minutes, the whole polar vortex episode was hard on me because I felt...I don't know, left out. I still like to imagine that I am from Chicago and Chicago is my home and everyone at home was having this shitty but nevertheless collective experience and I wasn't there. And what made it worse was the UK was having a different collective experience with seriously damaging flooding seemingly everywhere, which is the experience I had, but it was the wrong one. And by the way, I'm crying right now. Sure I miss my family and my friends, but I can talk to them because the internet is magic. What I can't do is go back in time to when everyone was at the terrifying weather party and show up this time and be in on the jokes and know the stories.

Maya's comment was spot fucking on, and I really just wanted to post it and write "THIS ------>" next to it, but I'll elaborate instead. Maya said this: " I think, for me anyway, it was the fact that most things in the UK are so similar to North America that the differences, even the little ones, felt like a personal affront." I would say especially the little ones; the kind of things you never notice until they are different. In America, almost invariably, when you go inside a public building you just walk into it without breaking stride because the door is going to shut behind you. But in England where many of the buildings are older than my country, you walk into the building and you have to remember to shut the door behind you or it will just swing in the wind until the person at the desk gets up and closes it while glaring at you. There are no screens in the windows because there aren't that many bugs; you go shopping several times a week because the bread and the vegetables haven't been engineered to last for 2 months; the toilet doesn't flush the same way. I cannot fucking find wax paper at the store - grease proof baking paper is the closest thing. I know these things all sound dumb and petty because they are, but they add up into this sick feeling that this is not your home, no matter how much you want it to be.

Ok, that was sad. Let's do a different one:

Anonymous said...

44 degrees celcius here in Australia today, nature is bi-polar (and yeah that whole global warming thing). my question - did you ever choose a stripper name? or did I miss the big reveal in one of your posts?

Well anonymous, I'm pretty sure all of North America hates you right now, despite the fact that if it were 44 degrees there (111 F) they would be complaining that it was too hot. I did choose a stripper name and I did write a (half-assed) post about it. For the show I went with Phoebe Moon because I am a nerd. Now that I am in the UK however, I'll be using Poppy Cox because it's better and people get that joke here.

S said...

What have you learned about Brits/Britain by living here that you didn't learn by visiting?

Many many things, actually. I've learned that the words "noodle" and "pasta" are in no way interchangeable. In related news, I've learned that I'll need to bring a shit ton of Ramen back with me when I visit the states because the equivalents here are yucky in comparison. I've learned that people will fall over laughing if you pronounce squirrel as "skwerl". I've learned that driving students aren't allowed on the motorway, which means that when people get their first driving license, they have not learned to drive on one, which seems kind of dumb. Just last week I learned that when I say "look at those cans" no one realizes I'm talking about boobs. I've learned what stollen is, and that I hate it (raisins. why must everybody ruin perfectly good bakery with raisins? Knock it off already). I've learned that Christmas tree skirts aren't a thing here. I've learned that StereoNinja can't say prosciutto correctly. One thing that I already knew, but can't seem to get used to is being greeted with the phrase "You all right?". The American equivalent would be "How are you?". "You all right?" is what you would ask if someone just fell down the stairs or slipped on some black ice and landed on their head or just was walking around looking all sad. So whenever I'm asked that I immediately am confused about why they think I might not be all right. Gets me every time.

Thank you all for your questions. I like answering questions, so send more if you like and ask about whatever you want: stuff about me or why do Americans do that weird thing or where can I buy dildos or what is it about Patrick Stewart that makes him so sexy or Chris Christie, seriously, wtf is with that guy - whatever you want.

I'm not going to do a birthday wrap up post because it was overshadowed by paper writing and homesickness, but I did want to mention that StereoNinja bought me a telescope. HE BOUGHT ME A TELESCOPE. A FUCKING TELESCOPE. This feeling that I'm feeling is I think what it would be like for a normal person if their partner bought them a surprise Ferrari or a diamond as big as their hand. I HAVE A TELESCOPE YOU GUYS, and I live somewhere that I can actually use it. If it ever stops being shitty weather, that is.

It Can't Always Be About Raping Zebras

StereoNinja, reviewing my paper on masculinities in boylesque: (reads a passage out loud in a mocking tone of voice)...hahaha you sound so academic.

Me: It's an academic paper. It's not going to read like Bizzybiz.

A Question Deserves An Answer

Anonymous said... 

Where for art thou Amberance? 

10:49 PM 

Very good question, anonymous. It's been a rough couple of months. Moving to a new country, even one that you love, is emotionally more difficult than it is possible to prepare for. Christmas, which is normally my FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD, was mostly a nightmare, and my birthday, which is Sunday and which I would normally have been reminding you all about on a daily basis for the last six weeks is only being observed at all this year to appease StereoNinja, who has made it very clear that my strategy of hiding in the bedroom ignoring him (and everyone else) while failing to engage in any of my beloved hobbies (blogging, my birthday, gratuitous nudity) is no longer acceptable. Having now spoken to a number of people who have already done this, I've had to severely lower my expectations for the foreseeable future, as the collective wisdom of those who have gone before me is that I will continue to burst into tears at completely random intervals due to vicious and overwhelming homesickness for at least 18 months. I don't even want to talk about how miserable I was on New Years, though at least I managed to leave Devon the day before it disappeared into the sea.

I have two papers due in a week, so as I said in November, let me get those written and turned in, and then check back here as I plan to reward myself by writing the next Fifty Shades review and/or going to Prague (oh yeah, I've decided I want to spend a weekend in Prague though I have absolutely no idea what is actually in Prague or why I want to go there - my main motivation seems to be the ability to say "When I was in Prague over the weekend..." - so advice on what I should actually DO in Prague would be lovely). I've been ready to write it for a while actually, but have been putting it off because I felt that I was upset about the wrong things and was trying to adjust my rage to match my logic. It hasn't worked, so I'm just going to write it the way I'm feeling it and then pack my bags for my journey to Hades since I am a terrible person.

Where I am at this very minute is sitting in my living room looking out at the sea. While all you guys in the U.S. have been at the travelling Antarctica Experience exhibition this week (the first time I saw someone write "Chiberia" made me laugh much harder than was probably warranted), the U.K. has been dealing with its own disastrous weather since roughly Christmas, mostly in the form of massive rainstorms combined with extremely high tides and a recent habit of building homes on floodplains. In typical British fashion, this was described on the news in the most hilariously understated way possible as "unusual weather". Living on an island in the Thames as I do, it is impossible not to notice. The field directly across the river from us which is typically filled with sheep first became a lake (which I named Lake Titicacao because tits! and chocolate! and I'm a massive child!) and then a few days ago even that was swallowed up and now the whole thing is just part of the river. Our marina is entirely flooded, the water covering not only the gangway that goes around the outside of the marina but also the first two steps leading up to our garden It is an inch from covering the third, which would leave only two more stairs before we go from living on riverfront property to living in the actual river. There are two roads leading into the island, but only one road that leads away from it, and that road is also flooded, meaning I actually drove my car through the Thames twice this morning. I was lucky I made it through - on my way back, there were two cars stranded on the road who had tried to drive through the river but were too low profile to get through and were now stranded in non-working cars waiting for rescue. If the river doesn't crest today I may be stranded here all weekend. Every once in a while, a helicopter flies over and I imagine them looking down at us and saying "Yep, still flooded." I think I should write a really rude message for them or draw some tits so their day will be more interesting.

Anyway, give me a week to finish my papers and I will write you guys a scathing review about how E.L. James has apparently never been to a bank and being threatened with rape is super romantic. 

P.S. I have enjoyed answering this question. Feel free to send me more questions you would like answers to and I'll answer them in a future blog post. It will be like a conversation!

Sorry, Dudes.

Hey. So I know I failed at the last 4 days of NaBloPoMo, which I'm sorry about, but the school stuff has come up again, and the Christmas stuff, and the depression fatigue/dullness. I have read the next batch of chapters, two of which I live tweeted (I have updated that post with a transcript in case you missed it). I'll get something up soon. It felt good blogging again, I don't want to slip back into not doing it again.

Tonight!

I'm reading 50 Shades today. I'm one chapter into the three I was planning to read tonight and I'm already getting very pissed off about it. I'm going to take a break for a few hours and do real life stuff, but at 8:00 pm GMT I'm going to live tweet the other two chapters I'm reading today over on my Twitter account. A brief recount of what I just read so you don't feel behind: Ana and Christian fight for the entire chapter and then a bombshell happens. Since it's impossible to actually spoil this story, the bombshell is that Jack Hyde calls her. Can't wait to see what that insanity is all about. So, 8:00 pm GMT (3:00 pm EST, 2:00 Central, noon Pacific if you don't feel like doing that math, America. Europe, you're on your own.) on Twitter. Hope to see you there!

P.S. I realize I should have announced this like two days ago so people would have had time to plan, but I've just thought of it and I won't have time to do it later this week with school and Thanksgiving. And I'll add the tweets to this post later on, so no one will miss anything, really.

Update:

Here's the results of the live tweet, including page numbers so I could remember what I was talking about.

Got my rum. Got the book. Here we go #50live

445: This is an insane amount of hatred. Hyde could have just gotten a new job by now

445: Can't they just find him based on the cell signal?

446: Well, he has her phone, that's a good clue. Also it's this book so of course he has her. Asshat.

446: FACT: terror tastes like metal.

446: Your plan to free Mia starts with go home and change clothes? What is wrong with you?

447: You have to keep CHRISTIAN safe? Are you high? Also, where was Mia's security. You're slipping Christian.

448: You can't complain about Christian's unsafe gun storage and then put it in the waistband of your pants dumbshit.

448: Yeah call him from inside the house. That's not suspicious.

449: "I have to collect five million dollars." Kidnap Monopoly!

450: He's not following you because I'm sure Christian has a tracker on your car.

450: DON'T DESCRIBE THE BANK WE KNOW WHAT A BANK LOOKS LIKE

451: NO. One bank doesn't hold the cash reserve for that entire part of the country. That's not how banks work. Jesus fuck

451: Oh your name doesn't match your account on official ID? No problem! - No bank, ever in recorded history

451: Your husband is not the authority here IT'S A FUCKING BANK

451: I'm going to stab something. This is not how banking works. I WORKED FOR A BANK

452: He's a rapist and he hates you. She'd already be raped by now.

452: Oh Jesus Christ. Plus you lie to him ALL THE FUCKING TIME

453: JUST FUCKING TELL HIM YOU DUMB FUCKING TWAT

454: Why would you tell the police? You never tell the police about anything.

455: It is absurd, he's going to rape the crap out of you, not be like "kthxbye!"

456: Because he's following you, how can you possibly be this stupid?

457: In what universe would that even work?

459: Unprovoked. Are you fucking serious? Only an idiot would have gotten in that car. Or done any of this really.

460: "Darkness.....peace." I FUCKING HATE YOU SO HARD

460: Exactly how I thought it would end. Your attempt at unpredictability has failed again, James.

Ok, Chapter 23. Just had a short break to vent to StereoNinja and down my rum and coke.

461: He wants the baby. THAT'S what you're thinking about? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

461: Seriously, why can't I move and where is Mia should be your first two thoughts if you are a normal person. Oh wait...

462: If he roofied her and DIDN'T rape her I will buy a hat and eat it.

462: No, she was incredibly STUPID. It's different. Also Christian will heart guns now, I can already tell.

463: More paperwork! Can't have that! NO ONE TALKS LIKE THIS

463: This is a horrible story telling device, James. Just pure shit.

463: Oh my god this conversation is not happening.

463: No, the ones you love are the ones you should be trying NOT to hurt you jackass.

464: I beg to differ, I am truly LIVID at this author.

464: NO YOU DON'T HAVE TO PEE YOU WOULD HAVE A CATHETER HAS THIS WOMAN EVEN SEEN A HOSPITAL

466: Oh you DO have one. Then it's in wrong because YOU SHOULDN'T NEED TO PEE WITH A CATHETER.

466: Good idea Christian, tell the nurse how to do her job and to rush while she's at it. I fucking hate you.

469: "She wasn't harmed." I don't believe you.

470: No Ana, that's what he ALWAYS thinks. Jesus how do you no know this?

471: Why does it matter that the doctor is African-American? It's like you've only seen 3 black people in your whole life

474: Tracking device on the Saab. I WIN ONE TO NOTHING

475: No Ana, a hospital that knows you are pregnant prescribed you pain meds that would hurt the baby. Idiot.

480: You'll be a terrible father Christian. TERRIBLE

481: YOU ARE NOT NAMING THAT KID BLIP FUCK OFF

That's it tonight. I'm going to go wash the terrible off me now.

Tip Top

I had the BEST day yesterday you guys.

So we've bought a lot of IKEA furniture since moving here, since I sold all of mine (it is cheaper to buy everything again than it is to ship it, and given how long it took my not furniture things to ship I'd just as soon not be living out of a suitcase for three months anyway) and as everyone knows, when you buy IKEA furniture, you end up with a mountain of cardboard and Styrofoam you need to get rid of. Now, for all the Americans, let me explain something to you about England. There's no room here. The houses are small, the streets are narrow, the standard size refrigerator is  roughly the size of the one you took to college with you freshman year. And because there's nowhere to, say, bury a big pile of trash out in the vast desert (and also no desert), you have to recycle pretty much everything (I say have to, but you should be recycling crap anyway you bums). And this involves a visit to the tip.

Again, for the benefit of the Americans, the tip is pretty much the dump, except sorted for recycling to a degree our country isn't even aware of and you have to drive your junk there yourself. Top Gear did an episode where James and Jeremy go caravaning and spend the bulk of the episode either washing their caravans or throwing things away at the tip, including the Stig.

I am fucking in love with the tip. You just drive up to it, park, and run around throwing your crap into various absolutely enormous bins. If you're not sure which bin you crap goes in, there are friendly guys in orange vests who will direct you to the right place. The also have humongous metal claw reachy-thingys (technical term) that they use to fish out things people have already put into the wrong bin. I was so fascinated I almost forgot to throw my 7000 Coke cans into the scrap metal bin. And then an actual caravan drove up to throw things away and I almost peed my pants.

On the way there, we passed a sign saying they were selling real Christmas trees at this garden center practically across the street from the tip, so on the way back we decided to stop and have a look at their inventory. I've been growing more and more concerned with each passing day that I would be unable to get a suitable tree since I don't have a single friend who has ever bought one taller than about 4 feet, which is only half a tree and totally unacceptable. Not only did this place have Christmas trees that could actually reach my ceiling, but they also had a pet shop, which we went in to look at birds because StereoNinja loves them and also so I could try to have a conversation with the bunnies. We noticed a door leading to another part of the shop, and when we went through we discovered they were selling dishes and aprons and beers that were all Christmas themed. I was super psyched, picked up a Santa spoon rest and a gravy boat, took one last glance around the store and noticed a ramp leading to yet another store area above us...and it was twinkling. "OH MY GOD SHINY THINGS!" I shouted, for real, as I ran up the ramp to a GIANT CHRISTMAS STORE leaving StereoNinja in my dust and presumably shaking his head in frustration and wondering why he'd brought me there in the first place. You guys. It was a MAGICAL WONDERLAND. I may have said several times that I would go back there later this week and just sit in there the entire day.

I don't even remember what we did the rest of the day since all I could think about was the tip and the Christmas store and how everything was coming up Milhouse for me. It was the best day ever.

New Segment - Short Movie Reviews

I just watched Powder for the first time, because StereoNinja hadn't seen it either and the reviews on Netflix were good. It was a mistake. Here's my take:

Synopsis: An electromagnetic albino teenager with alopecia gets ripped away from his home "for his own good". Everyone is a complete asshole to him, including several adults who try to beat him up. He accidentally kills a kid, then saves him, then runs away, then gets struck by lightning and then the sky eats him.

Seriously. The sky eats him.

That's the movie.

Oh except for the part where Jeff Goldblum starts stroking his face like a creepy pedophile. Jeff Goldblum is supposed to be the good guy, by the way.

I give it 3 out 5 what the fucks.

Who Dat?

Today is Doctor Who Day, or for the three readers I have who aren't gigantic nerds, today is the day that the 50th Anniversary Doctor Who special episode airs. I have prepared by putting on Dalek socks and forcing StereoNinja to sit through episodes from the 10th doctor era that he had somehow missed. (He hadn't actually seen 'Blink' until Wednesday somehow. I'm not sure he's a real nerd. Or a real ninja*.) I also got lost on Cake Wrecks for a few hours after the cake master sent me this link to some amazing Doctor Who cakes, which is what happens every time I wind up looking at Cake Wrecks. I'll come back and update this post with my reaction after it airs. Whee!










*OR IS HE?

I Think I'll Just Take A Nap For A Week

I have just finished my paper and turned it in. I'm pretty sure it's fucking terrible, mainly because I have no idea what I'm doing. I've been assured by my classmates that their papers also suck, and by the stranger that all grad students think they don't know what they're doing.

It's a miracle I even got it done, actually. I had been at the kitchen table all morning revising and trying to relearn how to write references and in line citations since I'm in a different country now. I needed a break so I thought I'd fold some laundry. By the way, I do laundry now. So I picked up some things I had folded the day before to put on the table...

...AND A FUCKING SPIDER FELL OUT OF THEM.

An outside spider even, I don't know what the fuck it was doing in the house (yes I do, it was trying to GET ON ME). It jumped out of the laundry I WAS HOLDING IN MY HANDS and started running around my kitchen table and ALL OVER MY FUCKING PAPERS. I grabbed the raid and sprayed it. Like, seven fucking times because the motherfucker just would not die. Then I called StereoNinja in hysterics because there was now a dead spider (which had just tried to GET ON ME) in between me and my laptop and he crawled on my papers and I'll have to throw them all out and HOW WILL I FINISH MY PAPER IF I CAN'T GET TO MY LAPTOP? I am not kidding - a dead spider is only slightly less dangerous than a live one, plus what if his friends come looking for him?

StereoNinja, by the way, is either the most amazing boyfriend in recorded history or a terrible enabler. He actually came home from work to clean up the dead spider carcass, check all the laundry for more spiders, lay all my papers that the spider had crawled on out on the table so I could look at them without having to touch them, and eat a bacon sandwich (ok, that last one has nothing to do with rescuing me from spiders, but still). I seriously have no idea how he puts up with this.

Anyway, once the house was despidered, I was able to finish my paper, and since then I've just been staring at my screen wondering what I used to do before I wrote papers for school. Anyone remember?

Important Safety Information

Still working on my paper. Here for your entertainment is something from years ago that popped into my head the other day for reasons I can't remember:

Terrorism Preparedness Guide

Stay vigilant against those arrows, y'all.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME

The closest car park to Shepard's Bush Empire (where They Might Be Giants played last night) is at the Westfield mall, and since they have a discount for showgoers at that venue and there's food inside, we decided that's where we should park.

I'm not a shopper. This is known. Before yesterday I hadn't even been to a mall in years. There really aren't malls in Chicago, or at least, not away from Michigan Avenue, and even those ones aren't malls in the way that suburban people understand them. Even if there were though, if I have a choice between ordering shit online and having it delivered to my house without interacting with anyone else or going to a shopping mall and having to fend off shop girls trying to "help me", be personable at the cashier's desk and fighting a tide of strangers in the open areas who always seem to be moving en masse in the direction opposite mine, I am always going to chose to stay the fuck home.

Imagine my surprise, then, when we walked into the Westfield mall last night in search of quick and cheap food and I discovered I felt something I haven't felt since I got here - I felt like I was at home. Because while I haven't been to a mall in years, I did grow up in the suburbs, and I got dragged to the mall by parents and friends ALL THE TIME. I understand shopping malls. I know how they work. It felt familiar. It felt American. It felt...right. I found myself eating a quesadilla and wondering when I could go back there and walk around. Not to shop - I really and truly HATE to shop and will do almost anything to get out of it - I just want to go and wander around and, I don't know, just be there.

I'd noticed a similar feeling on the way to Gary Numan the night before, when we'd stopped for food at services (Americans: rest stop) and I'd gone straight over to the KFC. In America, I would never have done any such thing. There's no reason to eat chicken if it's not going to be from Boston Market, and there's not really any reason to get fast food at all that isn't from either Chipotle or Potbelly. KFC is not even on my radar. I couldn't even tell you where to find one. But here, I find myself thinking "I'll go to KFC" because I know exactly what I'm getting into with that decision (by the way Americans, popcorn chicken is ALWAYS on the menu here. It's not a limited time thing. Though this is offset by the fact that there's no honey mustard (a reader commented that I can steal some from Domino's but I haven't tried it yet).). I've probably had KFC about half a dozen times since I've been here. Prior to that, I hadn't eaten there in AT LEAST 10 years.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

Dial A Blogpost

I am currently enjoying the They Might Be Giants concert. They have an out of tune melodica and some sock puppets. Describing it any further would be futile, so instead please enjoy this video of The Mesopotamians.

Total Written Nonsense

It's not really helping with my paper situation that I just happened to have packed as many social obligations into this week as I normally allow for in 6 months. On Saturday night, StereoNinja and I were at a charity ball. I wore a long evening gown because it was a ball and in my head that's what you wear to a ball. I've seen Cinderella, I know what goes down. Realizing that I am the worst ever at being a girl, StereoNinja checked with a couple women at work who were going and who told him no one wears long dresses, which he relayed to me in fear that I would be the only one in a long dress and would be mortified. And there was a time when that may have been the case, but once you've been naked on stage, wearing any sort of clothes in public seems pointless, so I wore it anyway. I was not the only one - there were loads of women in long dresses which I pointed out triumphantly and repeatedly every time another one walked in to the room, though in absolute fairness I think I was the only one under 50 wearing one. WHATEVER I LOOKED FABULOUS. Particularly after I took the little confetti foil stars that were adorning our table and stuck a dozen of them to my chest. They stayed on all night and now our house has a bunch of stars all over the floor.

Tonight was a Gary Numan concert in Brighton. I was complaining on the way home that I had nothing to write about for NaBloPoMo this week and StereoNinja was all "But we just left Gary Numan" and I was like "It's a blog, not a fucking diary. Nobody wants to hear about every stupid thing that I'm doing." and he frowned at me and said "Maybe you should write about how your boyfriend doesn't know the difference between a blog and a diary." So...that happened.

Tomorrow we are going to a They Might Be Giants concert, so maybe there will be something I can write about that, or if not I'm sure there's some kind of new cat video I could get my hands on. This is the internet, after all. As soon as my paper is done on Friday, I'll get to work on another 50 Shades post.

I'm Already Pretty Good At This, Actually

I am really busy writing a paper for class this week. (I am also really busy freaking out about it because I don't remember how to write a fucking paper without swearing or sarcasm. See?) So my NaBloPoMo posts this week are going to be pretty shitty, at least until Friday. In the meantime, please enjoy the new Reverend Horton Heat Video, which stars my dance teacher Michelle L'Amour and some of the Chicago Starlets, two of whom are friends from my student show class who I am very proud of:

Reverend Horton Heat - Let Me Teach You How to Eat