My Most Exciting Purchase Today

My most exciting purchase today was a passport wallet. Why? Because in three days I'm meeting my MA and some of her peeps in Prague and then we're going to Vienna for a day. YAY! Tips on "what to do with 48 hours in Prague/ Vienna" welcome. :)

There must be a point....

There must be a point at which it gets so hot it's actually legal to kill people.

So an American walks into a McDonald's...

Recently, on the way back from a conference, J* stopped at the McDonald's in the Cambridge Motor Services. (J* is an American who has lived in the UK for going on 20 years now.)
British people will be the first to tell you that they "know how to queue" (line up). However at the McD's, there were four registers open and one queue for all of them that was beginning to stretch out into the main shopping area, blocking other people from getting by the McD's.
So J* figured the logical thing to do was begin a new queue at one of the open tills, which would more evenly distribute the people at each of the four registers. But as he moved to do so, he was accosted by a tall, lanky British guy about 30 years old or so, who got right in his face and said, "Now how's that fair?! What if one queue moves faster than another one?!?" When J* tried to explain that the queue was getting unruly, the British guy, noting J*'s accent, yelled, "If you don't like it, get the **** back on the boat to America!"
Dialogue from here:
J*: "I've been here for 20 years, sir."
Angry British guy; "Hey we had rationing in THIS country, so we know how to queue, alright! Here, why don't you just cut in front of me, would that make you happy? Eh?!?"
J*: "No, that's ok, I'm not really in that much of a hurry."
Now, several responses could have been made to Angry British guy, aside from the obvious two fingers.
1. You're 30. You weren't even *around* during the WW2 rationing.
2. Well, apparently you missed the brain rations day.
3. You're telling ME to go back to America when you're in line to buy food in McDonald's?? Why don't YOU go to America if McD's is so important to you. There are tons of them there...Oh wait, the way we line up may bother you to no end so nevermind.
4. I've paid taxes and National Insurance here for 20 years, idiot, so if I go back to the US, that's less money the NHS will have to reverse your lobotomy.
5. Are you on crack? Seriously, are you?

I think the thing that bothers me MOST about this episode is that if I were ever to say the equivalent to someone who had immigrated to the US, i.e. told a Mexican gentleman to get back on the boat to where he came from, I would be lambasted and hung from the politically correct gallows...and rightly so. But here it's perfectly acceptable to treat Americans like space invaders. I'm not saying there aren't obnoxious Americans out there, but please. So Angry British guy, if you're out there, just shut up and eat your Big Mac.

Two fun things about yesterday.

1. GREAT haircut by Jose at Taylor Taylor.

2.

In Response....

R*s blog the other day reported: 'According to the July 10 New York Post, a professor from the University of Pennsylvania has been recruited to train other educators—in England—on how to teach "lessons in happiness." These lessons are for 11-year-olds in state schools and are meant to combat "a huge rise in depression."'

R* wonders what could be so wrong over here that 11-year-olds would need happy classes. To be honest, I'm not sure. I mean, yes, there's a tax on practically everything and the tube is hot and smelly and you can't find a Slurpee around here to save your life....on the other hand, the sun doesn't go down until 10 PM these days, there are free music conerts everywhere and Avenue Q finally go here, so yay.

Then again....


*That's* pretty depressing.

I don't even know you...

So I don't quite get why you'd call me 'love', 'hon' or 'darlin.'

I don't get it.

If they *can* make deoderant that doesn't leave white stuff on your shirt, then why don't they just make *all* deoderant that way? I mean, are there people out there who actually *prefer* to have white smudges on their clothes?

Well it was fun while it lasted.

And I want everyone to know how hard I worked to NOT put a "World Cup Runneth Over" post on after the England/ Portugal match. So there.

It makes for a somewhat more sensible cheer....

"Go England!"

(Yes now that America is at the sinkbed of the World Cup chart, it makes sense for me to throw my newfound football enthusiasm toward my adopted country's team and to pretend they've been my favorite....err, favourite all along.)

It makes for a somewhat awkward cheer...

"Yay! We...didn't lose!"

A 3-"nil" loss nonwithstanding...

I refused to let the rump-kicking America got the other night damper my newly-found football fever, so yesterday I watched my "other" country play (and finally beat) Trinidad and Tobago. And as exciting as that was, I have to say that overall, the best adjective to describe the sport of football, I think, would be "tantric"...a whole lotta action, and nobody ever scores.

Fever Part 2

The truth is, due to my unwavering loyalty to my senior year of high school boyfriend, until two weeks ago, I figured I'd witnessed enough soccer matches (sorry, but that's what we call it over across that there pond). I figured I'd put in enough time enthusiastically cheering for a game wherein scoring seemed next to impossible back when I was 17. So when I moved to England and a friend remarked,"Ohhh you'll be there for the World Cup; that'll be craaaazy" I was less than plussed (I figure if there's a non-plussed there can be a less than).
But seeing all these England flags pop up all over the place, and people at school picking their teams in the pool C* drew up and fnding little Diet Coke bottles in the shape of s----r balls at the grocery store....not to mention the new FABULOUS Krispy Kreme World Cup Doughnut....well, it's hard to not get sucked in. I'm a bit dismayed to read about the violence that took place a couple of hours ago at Canary Wharf where they broadcast the England game on two giant screens (especially considering probably everyone there was supporting the same team). Nonetheless, I intend to watch Monday as the American team plays the first game in their series...yup, that's right, I who thought those days were over. I *might* even begin referring to the game as football.
So Woohoo World Cup!
Then again, I might just be in it for the doughnuts..

Oh no, I think I have it.

That's right. World Cup fever. Who'd a thunk it?

"What *is* that strange yellow orb of light in the sky???" or "And you thought tea was for drinking..."

In an amazing-weather stupor I dragged my friend D* to my friend R*'s b-day picnic yesterday and managed to acquire my first sunburn o' the year. Those of you who know me know I'm normally an spf-45 kinda girl, but I guess there was part of me that remained in such disbelief about the aforementioned good weather (this being London and all) so I didn't re-apply enough. Hence the burn.
But here's a tip for y'all: Dunk some teabags in some warm water and apply them to your skin and it totally takes the sting away. I think I owe that l'il tidbit of info to the New York Public Library Desk Reference book, which if you don't own it, you should. And here British people thought tea was merely meant to be imbibed at half-hour intervals throughout the day....
Anyway, the picnic was gooooooorgeous: cans of cider and cones of melty ice cream and light breezes and people with puppies. Happy Birthday, R*!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go scrub the tea-stains from my shoulders. :)

Pet Peeve of the Day

(Note to self: the next pet I own shall be named Peeve.)
OK moving on. I have decided that I hate-hate-hate 'advertorials'....you know, those ads in mags that *look* like articles with intriguing titles so you start reading them and think, 'Wow this magazine really likes these Biore nose strips...' only to look up at the top of the page and see in faint print, 'promotion' or 'special advertising section' or some such euphemism for 'FAKE FEATURE STORY.' Whose idea *was* this ruse? I don't know, but for the record, it's aggravating. Bring back in-your-face-non-subtle-none-too-clever-brightly-colored-magazine-engulfing-ads, I beg you.

"I was prepared to love you anyway."

A favourite recent quote from V* during a recent conversation wherein she expressed relief that I hadn't developed an affected British accent during my time here. But it's nice to know she woulda loved me anyway. :)

I'm over it.

I'm officially never eating chocolate again.

For the record, British chocolate is good. Really good. But this past weekend was Easter weekend, a.k.a. Four Days of Mandatory Chocolate Ingestion. Let's face it; when you're in a new country there is a temptation to do as the locals do, and the locals do swallow down a massive amount of cocoa and sugar products during this season. I have literally seen Easter eggs the size of human heads disappear rapidly, making all the British comments about the gargantuan sizes of American food portions um, ironic to say the least.

All this to say if I don't see another Cadbury egg or Lindt bunny until...well I guess until next Eater, I mean Easter, I'll be ok.

You haven't seen excitement...

until you've witnessed the hyper reaction of an entire office after the announcement: "Hot cross buns upstairs!"
For you Americans, I'll have to explain hot cross buns later as I'm at work.

Five Words for Britain.

Air conditioning. Look into it.

My New Hero

On a recent plane flight, in the rare few moments when I wasn't gripping the armrests in terror, I managed to start reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island, which a friend gave me a few years ago. I'd like to write like him when I grow up, though his hilarious observations about Britain basically render my blog superfluous. OK more superfluous.