Revenge of the Hufflepuffs

So, Aberystwyth was voted the #1 safest town in all of Britain!!!


This fact makes my behaviour in this story make a little more sense.


So today we found out that, keeping with my tradition of horrible July's, our flat has been sold, and we have our notice. As both my flatmate & I were freaking out about moving in the midst of thesizing/disserting, I decided to go for a nice run (after, of course, Oreos and a quick Smallville marathon). It was about 9ish at this point, but again--safe--and also, still really light out. After wandering around a bit, I decided to go down a nice, paved, fairly well-used thoroughfare, when I more or less accidentally started climbing the semi-forested hill up to a local monument. A quarter of the way up, I saw what looked like a skunk scuddling off the path, but remembering that there aren't supposed to be skunks in the UK, and after a quick prayer of "Please Lord, don't let me get sprayed by a skunk. Or get poison oak. Other than that, I'm good", I moved on.

After reaching the top (the view might actually be better in the dusk because then you can see all the town lights), I decided to go down the other way because it had a wider path, and a wider berth from the probably-badger (side note: everything I know about badgers I have learned from Harry Potter/Pottermore, but I do know that they're black and white, live in the UK, are brave, loyal, and absolutely savage). About halfway down I turned from the open path into the forest section, at which point I remembered that: a) that part's completely overhung with foliage, leading to b) the ground is rather wet and slippery there, not to mention, c) the right side of the path drops off sharply, and finally d) it's on the East side of the hill. But, as I was already so far down, and since, by the time I hiked back up it would be dark on that side too, I plunged ahead (also because I'm not always terribly bright. Let's not forget that either).

Allow me to paint a proverbial picture: before long, I'm more or less shuffling down the path to keep from sliding on the mud, and only stepping on gravel, because that's the only part of the walkway that I can see clearly. Being either in that atmosphere, or just being my mother's child, I start singing. For reasons I'm not entirely sure of, I sing Gershwin. In the midst of a chorus of "Someone to Watch Over Me", I hear someone coming up the path, and am a little embarrassed, because I'm singin' Gershwin while baby-stepping. But, for maybe the first time in my life, I'm also a little relieved to have someone interrupt my forest-walking, and even better, I realize that it's probably a nice couple, because they have a dog with them! Until I realize that there's no people, and that that is NOT a dog.

It's a badger.


It was two badgers actually. And both of them were charging straight for me. The path dropped off to my right, and there's no way I could've outrun them, even if there weren't a morass all around me. Briefly assessing my options, I figured that if they were attacking as a pack, "shock and awe" probably wasn't going to cut it. I had a flash of how bloody my legs were going to be, and that this was definitely going to end in the hospital (I also had the good sense to judge myself for my previous prayer, and the limitations thereof). So I decided all I could do was kick the first one in the head really hard, and deal with the second one later.

Sadly for the climax of this story, but happily for my legs, they pulled up short about three feet from me, at which point the one in front utilised the pause to attack the one behind it. Still, I'm going to find comfort in knowing that, when facing real fear, I'm gonna fight. Besides, there's something immensely satisfying at being able to say "I was charged by two wild badgers tonight". Because if nothing else, it means that my life will never get less weird.

Major Life Changes

So, now may be a good time to make this announcement:

I am starting a second Master's degree at Aberystwyth University in September. Does that seem like a sudden decision to you? Yeah, well, me too. I applied on a whim about 3 weeks ago. I just checked my email--it was July 18th that they received my application.

Things have been stagnate for a while for me and it seemed like nothing I tried worked out. So, when my live in landlady threw yet another fit and told me I had to leave by August, I jumped on the catalyst and applied to AU. Life had really become unbearable anyway, living with a (genuinely) psychotic, racist, old bigot anyway, so I decided to change things up significantly. I considered going back to the US, but I didn't want to let one bad (albeit Umbridge-level bad) landlady drive me out of the UK. I don't even know how I found this Master's, which is History and Heritage, but it builds perfectly on my first degree and will help to give me real experience managing a Heritage site. I never thought I'd get in this close to the deadline, and figured that even if I did, I'd never be able to get things ready in time. And yet, somehow, everything just combined to make this happen. All the  references and documents just seemed to appear and were processed immediately. I applied for a student loan and was approved two days later. I went to look for housing in Aber and found my dream flat after viewing only two flats. Referencing for the lease was supposed to take a few days, it was done within an hour. I needed documents from the school--it took a half an hour. I feel that it is very obvious that this is what I'm supposed to be doing, and since I'm a religious-type person, I would go so far as to say that I feel the hand of Deity in my life.

The really fun bit is, since I was desperate to leave Harrow (which I will never be able to think about without shuddering) just as my brother and his wife and my nieces and nephew were coming to visit me, they decided to stick around for a month with me. We're living in Nottinghamshire, in a gorgeous historic property with awesome neighbours just 20 minutes away from the Sherwood Forest Trust. We went to the Robin Hood Festival yesterday. In a word? Awesome. In 4 words? It was really awesome.

So, life had a major dip, but is looking pretty amazing now. Cymru am byth!

In Which I Am Brutally Attacked By a Mammoth Moth

I have been being stalked by a moth. It's shown up night after night when I am in the kitchen or brushing my teeth. A huge moth. One of those you-can-see-every-hair-on-its-massive-body type moths.

So last night I was taking a bath. Brand new razor, shaving my legs. Being a brand new razor, I guess I miscalculated either the sharpness or bulk of the razor (it's one of those Venus-wishes-it-were-an-electric-razor kinds) and I ended up cutting my foot. Rather badly. The term 'bloodbath' got new meaning. Anyway, the moth that had been stalking me, in what I can only assume was the supreme act of moth-ly devotion, took a swan dive towards my head, presumably to rescue me from the razor. I dodged right to avoid being face-planted and breathed a shaken sigh of release as the moth flew down to the left of the bath. Just as I was starting to relax, I happened to notice that it hadn't missed the bath. It was in fact there, in the bath water, swimming towards me. I immediately tried to jump out of the bath to avoid its sodden body sticking to me, an act that was complicated by two things: one) the fact that we have no handles on the side of the wall and two) the fact that up to that point I had been trying to keep my bleeding foot out of the stinging water. When I managed to get out and ascertain that the moth was not on my person, I pulled the drain and looked at the moth. It was still swimming, and despite its attempt to grope me, I couldn't just leave it to drown there, so I attempted to fish it out of the slowly draining pool with the round end of my razor. The moth, apparently having seen what the razor had done to me and fearing it, swam for its little life away from the S.S. Moth Rescue and continued to do so for the 3 minutes that I tried valiantly to rescue it. Perhaps it will tell you something about the size, lung capacity and general boss-ness of this moth when I tell you that at the end of this time, it was still swimming around, perfectly alive. Finally, extremely creeped out, wet and cold, I grabbed a lid from the shelf o' product, scooped it up and flung it out the window.

I can only hope that its wet wings and harrowing escape free me from its further attentions.

'Suspect Am Culinary Genius'

If you've ever seen Bridget Jones' Diary, you know that that ambitious statement ends in blue soup, orange marmalade and omelets. And she didn't even make the omelets. Or the marmalade.

As I'm currently looking for gainful employment, I have decided to become the housewife of my flatmate. This involves a lot of cooking, which, as she is an actual culinary genius, tends to be a little intimidating. I made dinner for the first time without any help a few weeks ago and it turned out great! Since then I have had many more successes (with slight amounts of failure) until today. Today was my cooking Waterloo. I got a cookbook that is supposed to incorporate a lot of veggies in seemingly innocuous form. I am starting to learn something that hadn't previously occurred to me (in a cooking context): if it sounds like it couldn't possibly work out, it's not going to. If someone told you that you could add puréed cauliflower to a mixture and still get cheese sauce at the end, you should really think twice. I kept thinking that it must be my lack of knowledge on the subject. It's not. So today, I did my super prepared grocery shopping--with a menu in mind and buying from the clearance sections--and settled in for a day of dips: namely, cheese and spinach/artichoke. I have made the spinach and artichoke before, but I neglected to realize when I found that pound of sour cream for .86 p that it was fat free and that that would make a difference. It turned into great globs of melted cheese with chunks of artichoke and spinach in a cream-ish brine. Sadly, it was the cheese sauce that pulled ahead (dramatically speaking). The cookbook says to boil cauliflower in chicken stock, purée it, put back on heat, add cheese, and purée again. Whatever the end result of this madness was supposed to be, the actual result was a cheesy cauliflower soup. I will never forget the way my dear flatmate sat there with a spoon, eating my 'soup' and said only 'It's got a great flavour profile--the flavours really work together,' instead of saying 'It has the world's mankiest, grainy texture and btw, you promised me cheese sauce for the tortilla chips'. Somehow, watching her gamely going on to finish the entire bowl (which I poured from a blender like it was a smoothie), and saying that if you added a little bit of rocket it was great, made me realize that this was one of the funniest moments of my life to date. It was even funnier than waking up this morning and realizing that a large part of my dream had taken place in the tavern from The Great Mouse Detective, complete with a human-sized mouse in a cabaret outfit singing jazz.

All I can say is, God bless those who eat it anyway.

"The hospitality in this country is as warm as the weather."

So, customs was interesting. Because I used airline points to get out here the first time, and single flights are twice as expensive as roundtrip ones, I am in a cycle of buying roundtrip tickets from the UK to the US instead of the other way around. So when I arrived yesterday, they detained me (and gave me the third degree) for not having a return ticket. They ended up having to call my friend and grill her about my plans to even let me in the country. And made me pull up my bank account online to prove that I had the funds for a return ticket. I'm starting to get un-scared enough to be a little indignant, but for now, this is how I feel:

How to Give Advice and Not Be a Jerk.

A lot of my friends have been having trouble lately with (usually unintentionally) rude people, being judgmental, controlling or superior as regards issues in their friend's lives. So here's a handy guide for giving people advice about their life problems:

"I am so sorry that you are having [problem]. Your feelings on it are totally understandable and valid. Would you like to discuss it?"

If no, DROP IT. Change the topic immediately.

If yes, actively listen. After speaker has finished: "If you would like to hear it, I have some advice on [problem]."

If no, conclude with "What can I do to make your life better?" and offer hugs/cake.

If yes, proceed: "I have experienced/heard about/looked up [solution] that in my experience has/is said to work well. I completely understand that this may not work for you, after all, I have no way of knowing how this is effecting you individually, and there is no such thing as a 'one size fits all' solution to [problem], nor am I an expert on [problem] or on your life. I hope that you are feeling the love and support of those around you, and I would like to know what I can do to make your life better." Then offer them hugs/cake.

Later, when following up: "How did my advice pan out? How can I support you further?" or "I see that have not taken my advice. Good for you. Going your own way can be very difficult, but takes a very strong person."

Offer hugs/cake.

Now, friends, I am truly sorry that there are so many people that struggle with how to address these situations. I also realize that this advice may not work for you. But in my experience, I have had excellent results with this method, as it tends to make people feel acknowledged and loved. I understand if you chose not to take it. I just want to make your lives better. Would you like a hug and/or cake?

Doctor Who Poses Unusual Questions

So, I just finished watching Dr Who The Unicorn and the Wasp (hysterically funny for fans of Agatha Christie, by the way), and I have to say this: if the person who I loved, really and truly, more than anything, revealed to me that he was in fact a giant insect who had taken human form to "learn about us" I would kill him.

I wouldn't be able to help myself.

All ye space insects, ye be warned.

Really, in the words of Allie Brosh--another brilliant author who swears a lot--specifically regarding spiders:

"Sometimes when I express the hatred and fear I feel when I think of spiders, someone will be like "But spiders have families too!!"  Like somehow that will make me become sympathetic and understanding toward spiders.  But that's exactly the point.  Spiders have families and their families are also spiders."

Why I Wore Lingerie to My Colonoscopy

Yes, the parade of doctors have yet to find a reasonable answer, so they assured me that the next step in the chain was a colonoscopy.

PLEASE NOTE: IF YOU READ ON, YOU'RE ASKING FOR IT.

Now, thanks to these health professionals, I have had my nether regions poked and prodded by all sorts of people. I used to think a pap-smear was weird and gross. Now all I can say is "at least things are SUPPOSED to go up there". #1 on the List of Places I Don't Ever Want People's Fingers To Be? Answered last month, and a week after that, and a week after that...

So back to the colonoscopy. I of course realized, when they informed me that my lower intestines were going to make their film debut, that we had only two options for costuming here: either Alien Abduction Victim ('cause I was getting probed) or Prom Night (since my butt was losing its virginity). I was leaning towards Prom Night since it was more fun, but it was settled when I realized how down I've been on myself lately. I am disgusting quite a lot of the time because I just feel too tired or gross to make an effort. And really, I don't know of anything LESS sexy than a colonoscopy. So this was my stand. I may be doing something totally gross, but that does not make me any less of a sexy, sexy, brick-house senorita.

Now, even I am not crazy enough to post a picture of myself in lingerie on my blog, but let's just say that it was medium blue with white polka dots and red ribbons. And that my roommates got to get into it by going with me to get manis/pedis so I could have matching nails. And that I finally got to trot out the 3 inch, net, red heels I've been saving for a special occasion. Ditto the perfume and lotion. I felt like a million bucks.

That was of course before the night before. I feel like it needs to be its own title: "Stay tuned for The Night Before!" After some pretty fabulous advice from my only colonoscopy friend, I booked a night at a hotel, so I could have my own bathroom while the preparatory purges took effect (and brought toilet wipes. Would have died without the toilet wipes). Of course, I was so little looking forward to this stage that I decided to just eat less. Which means I spent from Sunday to Tuesday nights not eating. It's a miracle that everyone survived. But back to the hotel: at first it wasn't so bad. Cable tv, squishy bed, private (and connected) toilet. But the funny thing about laxatives are, they don't stop when there's no more food in your stomach. I began to curse the fact that liquid had ever been invented. I poured out the bottles of soda/water that I had bought "to ensure that you do not suffer from dehydration". I have never been so up close and personal with my stomach acid, and I puke a LOT. There's a sweet little note on the prep sheet: "if irritation is a problem, simply spread some Vaseline on affected areas". If you ever read this and think, like me, that this must not be a problem for most people, have someone hit you in the face, and bring the freaking Vaseline. Believe me.

Fast forwarding past the "Holy *?!#$%, what am I going to do?!" moment, I made it safely to the waiting room the next morning, though, due to check out times, I arrived 3 hours early. Please note, if you ever have to pick somebody up from a colonoscopy and you bring food into the waiting room, you are THE BIGGEST JERK EVER.  Never before have I appreciated what a nicotine addict feels when someone lights up near them. I felt like all those descriptions of vampires hunting by smell and had multiple visions of myself leaping at them, teeth bared and claws extended. Then I went to the restroom to get away from the smell and salivated at all the lovely tap water that I couldn't drink anymore.

When they pulled me into the room, I like that the nurse totally got my rationale of doing un-sexy things in sexy clothes, though she made me change into the paper shorts anyway (after I saw how they had torn them, I was kinda glad she had). They tried to find my veins for forever (ha! good luck with that when I've been off water for 12 hours!) while the doctor tried to find the suitable words to describe the sedative they'd be using. Finally I just looked at him and said "Happy Juice". My happy juice worked wonders at first (spinning rooms are fun) but then they kept asking me to turn over while pumping air into my colon and I all I could think was "PLEASE HEAVEN NO! MY INTESTINES ARE BURSTING!". In fact, the sedative didn't work at all after the first few minutes, particularly not when they were ripping the SIX (count 'em) biopsy samples from my bowel.

After a recovery time that I was completely awake for, they set me down in a room with a cookie basket and told me that I had no tumors. Would have been better news if I hadn't proceeded to throw up the two packets of chocolate cookies I just ate.

Oddly enough, today the sedative was in full force. I had a mild case of couch-lock as I tried to get up this morning (ie. mind on, everything else off). I also understand why they tell you not to use any machinery (including kettles) or sign any legal documents or checks for the next 24 hours (so does my Amazon account. Do I really need that blender?).

Wasn't that bad of an experience, really. I mean, cameras are less invasive than fingers. Still, not wanting to ever do that again.

Update (not interesting)

So I went back to that hospital from last time to hear the analysis of my blood test. If they get any worse, there will literally be a camera following Michael Scott around. I expected Eric Idle or John Cleese every time a new doctor walked out.

On a side note: Rose macaroons=Big-time loser. Ew. On the other hand, almond marshmallow was nice.

It's snowing, and for the first time ever, Tottenham is pretty (and I love getting all sassy and screaming "Cause that's how we DO it in Tottenham!").

So far I love my classes a lot.

Just reread Northanger Abbey: good insight for the super young/immature.

I want to take ribbon climbing classes.

I get to see Sarah (my sister) in Minnesota for half-term! Mexican food, here I come!

On a similar note, Qdoba: You may want to get the nacho cheese ready, cause I'm buying the tub.

All in all, not one of my better mornings.

So this is mostly a gripe post. But then, I feel that this is gripe-worthy.

So a few days ago (Sunday), I got a blister. I really didn't think anything of it--just a blister. Not even bad enough for a band aid. I was, however, pretty concerned about my roommate, who had picked up some virus that left her exhausted, vomiting, and, at one memorable moment, convulsing on the floor.

On Monday, I noticed that my blister was really starting to hurt. Half of it was a water blister, the other half look all weird--it was probably healing already. So I sterilized a needle and very gently squished the water out. That oughta do it. Band-aid! Talked to Lu (flatmate), who still had this whatever-it-was and was actually having a relapsed that night. She said that the first time she started convulsing, she'd gotten really nauseated, then started to pass out, and then was really, really tired, and some of that was happening again. Poor Lulu!

Tuesday I'm out and about and heading for classes, and am just having a really hard time concentrating. Enough so that I finally just ditched Latin at the halfway break. Well, I told the professor that it'd been real, and then I dropped the class (ps, I did this with a lot more tact and charm than it sounds like). I went to my next class and all I could keep thinking was "My foot hurts. My foot really hurts." Afterwards, I pulled off my shoe, and lo and behold, there was a round red spot around the band aid. I had a Dr's appointment the following day anyway (to discuss allergy options, but surely we could squeeze this in), so I went to Covent Garden to meet a friend for dinner. I arrived before she did and as I was waiting, all of the sudden I was sure that I was going to throw up. Badly enough that I started looking for a secluded corner or a sewage drain. In the fresh air that started to pass, but then I was sure that I was going to pass out. I started edging towards the security guards, so they'd take care of me when I did. My friend showed up, we started walking to dinner and I thought "Maybe it's just PMS. After all, my legs are kinda shaky, too, and that's usually a sign."  Had a lovely dinner with her, but right at the end I got tired. TIRED. We parted ways and I barely made it home. I know I went into the bathroom. I know I meant to wash my face. I have no idea if I did it. All I remember was suddenly thinking that I was so tired that it really didn't matter whether or not I had. The only thing I really focused on was washing my foot, because it still hurt and I was worried that it might get infected. This all happened at 8:15pm. I texted my roommate and passed out immediately.

At 2:30 Wednesday morning I woke up because my foot HURT. I tried to move it, or get my mind off it, but it just hurt way too bad. At 3:00 I decided to go to the restroom and had to hop and slink down the banisters so I wouldn't put any pressure on that foot. At 4am I went downstairs and called Medical Advice to see if there was something that I should be doing for my foot. She told me to go to my GP and tell them that I needed to be seen within 24 hours, because it did sound like my foot was infected. I made myself something to eat and then remembered--fasting blood test that morning. I went back upstairs and tried to rest, but I had to be up early anyway for an appointment made weeks ago with a stomach specialist at St. Bart's Hospital. When I got back into bed, I flopped backwards and yelped because it hurt my hip. At 6, when my roommate woke up, she said that she'd read my text last night and it sounded like I'd got what she had (which, by the way, no one knows what it is. The ER that she went to after convulsing told her simply "a virus"). She was attempting to go to work for the first time in a week or so. When I showed her my foot, she said I shouldn't leave the hospital without getting someone to look at it. She left shortly afterwards which is when I attempted to get dressed. Setting my foot on the floor, however, made me scream. I had to put my pants on with one leg resting on the bed. Putting my sock on was an experience not to be repeated, and when I finally hobbled downstairs, I couldn't put my shoe on for 10 minutes. I'm glad that none of my other roommmates were home, because it probably sounded like I was being stabbed. I limped to the bus station, where (naturally) my bus came right before I got there, and then not again for 20 minutes. The bus was packed full, but I had to keep my foot up to keep from dying. About halfway there I wanted to jump out and tell somebody to call me an ambulance. And then vomit. Somehow, I held on until my stop, which was unfortunately still a 10 minute walk away. Then I realized that I wasn't going anywhere on that foot. I finally did call 999, and explained how I was unable to reach the hospital, and they told me that since I wasn't life-threatening, no one would come for an hour or so and I was much better off taking a cab.

I called up a cab company and when I said I needed to go to St Bart's hospital, and he said "That's where you want to go?". Really, what kind of person tosses out the name of a hospital and then is like "Psych! Naw, I want a tea shop."?! He more or less refused to send me a cab because he said I could catch a black and white and it would be quicker. So as I'm desperately trying to stay upright, I hobble out to the curb and wait for 15 minutes until a free cab comes by. Of course, he only takes cash, so we have to do a loop to a cash machine, where I hobble out to get enough to pay him. He did at least drop me as close as he could. Incredibly long walk to Minor Injuries Reception, and no one's there. Finally I threw caution to the wind and decided to get to my appointment first, because the doctor's booked a month in advance. I removed my shoe, and limped across the building, the courtyard, and to an elevator that actually worked. When I got in the technician told me that the doctor was out sick that day, so we'd just take some blood and then I'd get a letter when he could see me again. When he asked me if I fainted at the sight of blood I said yes, just so I could lie down. Since I'd been fasting, my veins were moving at a snail's pace. That, however, gave me time to show him my foot and after that he called a wheelchair for me back to Minor Injury.

I finally got in to see the nurse and he said that since this was an Injury Unit they couldn't do anything about the possible virus, but that yes, my foot was infected, and was currently spreading up my leg, causing the hip (or lymph) pain that I'd been experiencing. He then offered to draw around the red part of my foot, because if it spreads I will need further attention, stat. For now, he gave me a dose of codeine and paracetamol (the British answer for whatever ails you), told me to rest with my foot iced and elevated for at least 48 hours, and gave me 2 different types of antibiotics. One is to be taken 3 times a day and the other 4, and to be taken on an empty stomach only, because food interferes with them (*Side Note: when I worked this out at home, I realized that this means that I can eat only between 10-11am, 2-3pm, 6-7pm, and 10pm-7am). I told him that I was fasting already so I might as well take them now. Then he wheeled me to the hallway so I could call a cab. When the cab arrived, he kept telling me to come out, but finally came in to get my wheelchair and took it to the car. Another cash-only cab, he told me that we'd stop on the way if I could manage it.

About 10 minutes in I realized that I was going throw up. Immediately. So I told him to stop, stop, pull over, pull over and then GOING TO VOMIT! which got his attention. I opened the door and he screamed "Not in the car!", which fyi, was the reason I told him to stop. Just when I had about finished, he told me that the company didn't like "people like this" in the cars, but there was a pharmacy just ahead, so I could go there and get a cab. He ripped my coat, purse and shoe out of the backseat and handed them to me, so I could walk a block to the pharmacy and get him his ("we'll just call it") 10 pounds. Luckily, the paracetamol was taking effect by this time. I got into the pharmacy looking like death served cold, and told the pharmacist that I was sick and my cab had just kicked me out, so could he call me another one and let me buy something so I could get cash back to pay the driver? The guy jumped on the phone, and gave me my cash back, so cab driver #1 could get out of there (he'd driven up and then came in), and then offered me a chair so I could wait until the car came. As we started driving (and after I'd gotten a second batch of cash out for this guy) I told him that I didn't mean to sound like a 3 year old, but I was having a rough morning, and how far away were we? I ended up telling him the whole story, and he was appropriately indignant about the other guy (and I'm just sayin, it's not like I threw up in the car. Rude.). Out of gratitude, I didn't puke my guts up again until after I was dropped off, even though we got caught on a 15 minute detour.

I made it home by 12. All of that managed to happen in the am. Really, not one of my better mornings.

Tangents

Here's how I feel about verbal tangents: when you're just sitting around enjoying a good chat, a tangent is like taking a leisurely stroll in the woods, and wandering down a small path. Why not? It's just as lovely here as on the path. Maybe more so. When you have something important to tell me, its like watching a tv drama: 

Friend: "Oh! I have something I need to to tell you!"

(Detective: "We've identified the missing woman.")

Friend: "It was crazy! So this woman walked into the store..."

(Detective: "And our jane doe is ...")

Friend: "Oh and today my boss was wearing the same sunglasses as my friend Nina!"

(Announcer: "Come on down to Mattressland!")

Friend: "...such a coincidence!..."

(Announcer: "Eat it up! Eat it up! Here at Moe's you'll eat it up!") 

Friend: "...and then she couldn't return them!... 

(Announcer: "those embarrassing itches...") 

Friend: "but getting back to the point, she got arrested!"

(Detective: "Andrea Wheeler.")

Me: "I don't remember why I cared..."

Potty Lessons

Well, I'm a nanny and for my kids, lately it's all been about the potty.

D's big news is that he can now pee standing up! It's a great moment for him. Meanwhile, while we were discussing the bathroom, his sister turned to me and said "Mommy doesn't like pee on her floor". All I could respond was "Well, that's fair." Getting to the potty in time is a big issue in this house...for both of them.

Meanwhile, H is just learning to use the potty, so he likes to sit on it, but just as a nice place to read.  If I ask him what it's name is, he says "poo-poos". And yet it's still his favorite place to store his toys...

Lastly, Liz's family came over to pick up her bed and stuff, and after their young daughter used the potty, she told me "the toilet is the right place to pee". Seems that her family had been camping quite a bit this summer, and she was starting to believe that peeing in trees/jars was perfectly normal. They're starting a retraining program with her.

As a side note, I used to hate it when people told me to "go potty before we leave" because it sounded so babyish. Now when I ask people where the restroom is, it comes out something like "where's the po...oh...um...toilet."

Things I Don't Want To Think About

You'd think that NOT talking about things would make them better, wouldn't you? Well, you'd be wrong. As they say, what hasn't begun can never end. Besides, I find that expressing myself usually helps. So, the list features:

-I feel really jiggly because I've been gorging myself for a week.

-My tv is now on its way to Utah as payment for fostering my cat.

-My roommate is now her way to Utah because she wants she see this guy that's she marrying in 2 weeks.

-A rather long time ago, I drilled 2 rather large holes in the wall to hold the tv, before remembering that tv mounts and indeed, screws of any kind, are specifically mentioned in my contract in the "You May NOT" section. I now am staring at those 2 holes.

-I need to find a buyer for my car (and hopefully not one who's going to turn out to be the next Craigslist killer).

-I'm going to have to clean this place top to bottom in a month.

-I'm going to need to dispose of all my stuff with the month (including some things that I like but just don't have room for).

-Shoes, my poor shoes...

-I need to find a roommate/place to live where I won't a) go crazy or b) drive anybody else crazy.

See now? Getting all those out made me see the nice things clearer. It's great to have a good vent.

This is our happy song.

After all the blah, I wanted to update you all about something happy. But nothing snarky and/or blog-worthy came to me. So I'm just going to tell you all, I saw "Mirror, Mirror" (PS. anybody else find it a little ironic that Julia Roberts also starred in a movie whose soundtrack includes "Mirror, Mirror"? Anyone? Yeah, it's "Pretty Woman"). 

And:

a) Julia Roberts (aka her accent) was not always as bad as I expected.

b) It was a fun kid's movie, with a couple of little boy humor moments I could've done without (though apparently the larva are a real thing, beauty treatment-wise. Ew.).

c) They do a full-on Bollywood song and dance number at the end. Don't get me wrong, I think more movies should burst into song, but it was very unexpected given the lack of anything musical throughout the film.

I seem to be all about the fairy tales these days. Then again, so is Hollywood and everywhere else. As Once Upon a Time says "To believe in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

Speaking of which, I LOVE the show "Once Upon a Time". I also, at times, violently hate the writers. Every time a teeny little good thing happens something horrible happens just to crush you!! And, just in case you are the writers and you happen to Google yourselves and this comes up, just know this: Getting Snow and Charming back together would be nice. Getting Rumpelstiltskin and Belle back together is crucial. Maybe it's because David is just so darn unlikable now. Or maybe it's because Rumpel has the most compelling storyline of the plot. One way or another, make it so! P.S. I really do love your show. Despite the fact that you're a little bit sadistic.

Zoloft and Paxil and Buspar and Xanax...

So, in case you haven't heard, my throat started swelling until it pretty much closed. They checked for strep, which it wasn't, so they gave me some Prednisone and told me to go home. It's helping (breathing neither hurts nor is difficult anymore) but adding 3 pills to my daily routine made me look back and realize how many meds I'm on.

There are good and bad things about being on meds. 

Bad things include: 

     When I go on a trip, I spend so much time making sure I have every one of my meds that I usually forget something pivotal, like my contacts...

     Just one more thing to remember to do morning and night.

     If I forget them, even for one day, I'll start getting nervous and angsty without knowing why (until I remember).

     They're a big expense EVERY MONTH (at least mine are).

     Sometimes they make me feel broken.

     Some people have very bad reactions to hearing about them (avoidance, gossiping, thinking you're crazy or asking you when you're going to be "healed").

Good things include:

     My body is now incapable of retaining excess salt! (No bloating for me :D )

     In fact, the only electrolyte my body can retain is potassium, which, since I hate the evil bananas, is a good choice!

     When I'm having a really bad day, I put on sunglasses and a head scarf, swig those pills back and pretend that I'm Bette Davis.

     They work. More often than not.

     To expound: They help me to feel like a normal person. If I'm freaking out, I know I have them.

     I can feel proud of myself for solving problems without using them. And being proud of yourself for NOT doing something is great! No physical effort required.

    

I heard that it usually takes 19 years for a person with OCD to get the proper help. My first cognizant symptom was when I was 3 years old. I realized that something was not normal and I was not okay when I was 16. I got diagnosed when I was 21. I got medication when I was 25. I'm still working on the exact science today.

If you think you might have mental health issues, just know that my way took much too long. You're not the only one. And I find it very freeing to be able to put a name to the problem.

Sometimes I can be very difficult because of my illness. For example, I will freak out if you say "I'm so OCD!" like it's only people who like neatness. Sometimes, something small you do or say will activate one of my triggers and I will be rude because my OCD's telling me that there is a threat. I may say something, or I may just have to leave immediately. Sometimes I will write you emails/call you to apologize for something ridiculous after a long time, because I've decided that I mishandled it, or was in some other way wrong. In fact, sometimes when I'll apologize, it'll sound like I was making everything up before, because I'm judging myself so harshly that I don't want to leave anything (even a passing thought) out. Change is hard for me. Even taking a vacation can be difficult. Working on somebody else's schedule can be hard for me. I will get strangely upset and sentimental about things that really shouldn't be that important when I feel like I'm losing control of a situation.

I appreciate your support and friendship. It's made me so happy even when I wasn't able to show it in a way you understood. I appreciate concessions you make for the things that I'm dealing with, even if you don't really understand those things. I especially appreciate those of you who have talked to me about your own issues so I know I'm not a total weirdo.

So apparently not sharing every moment of your life on a public forum is "secretive"

So yes, I am sort of dating somebody. I'm going to transcribe our DTR for you, since it will maybe shed some light on the subject:

Me: "So when people ask me what we are, I don't know what to tell them."
Him: "I tell them 'We are what we are'".
Me: "I like it!"

Seriously.

Won't you take me to...

D (undisclosed child I'm sitting for) and I pass our days in an odd variety of ways. Most recently, with a Wii. Who knew that Wii Fit Kids could send me limping up the stairs for days? Today we started Wii Dance. D had a very specific song he wanted to dance to. Here's how it went:

D: "No, go that way..."

Me: "This one?"

D: "No, keep going..."

Me: "This one?"

D: "No, go back..."

Me: "Wait. Funkytown?"

D: "Yeah! Funkytown."

I think he actually beat me at this one, which I try to make sure happens fairly regularly. I do all of our sports/dances/games with my left hand...badly. But it's easier to let him win when we're playing games by hand. From what I gather, his older sister trumps him pretty soundly at everything, so I think that he needs to win when she's gone (of course, I could also be hindering his progress by metaphorically "breaking the shell open for him", but that's another discussion). When we're playing Candyland, all I have to do is stack the deck while he's moving his piece. But with Wii, I have to dance without moving half my body, which means he thinks he should do it too.

Here's how big of a girl I am, by the way. His sister has those Disney fairies that they just came out with to go with the new Tinkerbell stories. I LOVE them. My very first day, I brought them into "Oscar's Trash Can Game" (filling up a box with everything in the toy room) and since then we've played with them every day. Oddly enough, right before I started with D, I saw a picture of my cousin putting a tiny green shoe on a fairy for his daughter and thought how sweet it was of him! And I was delighted when I found that the shoes on our fairies came off too! Trouble is, they come off everywhere, all the time. They stick in the drum set and get lost in the Potato Heads. If they were his, I wouldn't mind so much, but his sister is the type to cry if a shoe gets lost. I say this, because I know I would if they were mine.

Being such a girl, I was unprepared for boy games. Games like screaming an alarm noise at the top of your lungs and "The Volcano's going to get you!"or getting eaten time after time by an airplane. My repertoire of mechanical noises has doubled.

Lastly, a few days ago we were playing and D said "Where are the fairies? I'm going to have them for dinner." Since he loves play-cooking and has even made me pancakes on occasion, I said "If you're having dinner with them it's to dinner, and if you're eating them, it's for dinner." He grinned up at me and said "Yeah. FOR dinner."

Job!

For those of you wondering how I was living without any form of income, I can now happily say, I have a job. As a nanny. It's very part time, but the mom told me that she'd pass my info on, and I've got other kumquats on the fire anyhoo (not to say I wouldn't accept more kumquats if you've got any handy).

I'm only looking after 1 kid (4 year old), who seems super sweet, and the parents seem remarkably sane. Like people I'd talk to if I ever got out. And now that I'm working there, I'm really glad that I nice to their elderly neighbor who got all upset about my parking!

So, yay for me. Glitter and confetti to follow.

Decisions

So, I suppose now's the time to catch y'all up on my life for real.

The reason I haven't been writing is because I was planning on quitting my job, and I really couldn't say anything about my life without mentioning that. But, we are now done, I have not only put in my notice, but also finished my 2 weeks. Since most of you already know why, I won't rehash too much, but suffice it to say that my boss and I are still on good terms, but it just seemed like time to move on. After all, it had been 3 years.

Now I'm looking for something to keep me solvent until August when I get to move to LONDON! I applied to the University of Nottingham and King's College London in 2 programs. And as much as I love Nottingham (I mean, it's NOTTINGHAM) I realized that the program was just not suited to me. Which is really a shame, because it's about 65% cheaper to live in Nottingham compared to London. I applied to KCL in Medieval Studies and Theatre Studies because I want to continue on to Dramaturgy (history for theatre)/theatre museums and eventually teaching. I'm still waiting to hear on Nottingham (they just received the last of my documents), but I interviewed today with the Theatre program, and I was accepted to the Medieval Studies! I feel pretty strongly towards the Medieval Studies, first because it's an excellent program, and secondly because the head of the department went to so much effort to get to know me. If she's willing to put this much time into a candidate, I know I'll have a great support system there. The Theatre department was a) impressed and interested by my application (I believe the word "captivating" was bandied about) but b) focuses in on a theory of theatre that doesn't mesh as much with what I've done before. Liability or asset?


If you know me well, then the answer to your next question is, no, I'm not taking him with me. As much as I would love taking Nigel with me (to the point that I even got him ready for his kitty passport), I realized that I need to be focusing on school, and I'll feel horrible if I leave him alone in a tiny, dark flat all day. Luckily, Liz, my roomie, has agreed to keep him. I'm so happy that they love each other. After all, she doesn't flail about in her sleep, so he actually gets to stay on the bed with her.


So yay. Everything's out in the open now. I like feeling like I can talk about things. Especially since I talk so much regardless.

I get kissed by a "little person"; or, "Down Home Country 2"

So I went back to the country, aka Ninety-Six, SC. My roomie and I both had a weekend off, so we decided to relax. Good news! No more cicadas!!!! The locust are gone!!!!!!!! I got to swing on the tree swing!!

We arrived Saturday night and spent the evening eating, talking and watching Connie & Carla. If you haven't seen it , I highly recommend it. As Liz's mom said, it was the best laugh she'd had in a long time.

Then next morning we went to church a little early because we were singing in the choir. Yes that's right, we were singing. In. The. Choir. They needed help and apparently the choir director heard Liz was coming home for the weekend. So when we got there, remember how I said last time that everybody descended on Liz? This time, I got included. Everybody remembered me too, so I got the same "How have you been?", "What have you been up to?", "It's so good to see you again!". On the way in this sweet little woman grabbed me and went for the mouth, but I turned at the last moment. This would say "kissed by a midget" but apparently that's an offensive term. But calling them "little people", like a leprechaun, is apparently correct and kind. I guess that's just the way it is. And to be honest, I don't think she was a little person. She was just hobbit-sized.

That afternoon we also went to Star Fort, and me being me, I jumped into the middle of the ruins. Well, site. The part that I found the funniest is that the British were stuck inside, surrounded by Rebs, while there was a perfectly lovely settlement of the Britisher's families not half a mile away. How strange would it have been to be that close but have it be like different worlds? And points for the Southerners for not just attacking the villagers and then picking off the British one by one as they came out that ridiculously tiny door.

I got to meet a lot of Liz's nieces and nephews. Now, with 5 nieces of my own, I'm pretty used to hearing "What does the kitty say?" or "How does the piggy talk?" but until I went down there, I've never heard those followed up by "How does the gator go?" Among the family were Liz's super Southern sister-in-law and retinue, with the cutest Southern manners I've ever seen. For example, Hayden, 5ish I think, turned to her aunt and said "Carrie, may I have a glass of water please?" Her mother immediately turned and said "What did you just say?!" to which her daughter immediately replied "Miss Carrie, may I have a glass of water please?". Those kids are raised right. Apparently, however, I wasn't, since after forgetting Hayden's name I said "Oh, little one...Ginger!" Her mother fixed me with the steeliest gaze I'd ever seen and said solemnly "I forgive you. Once."

I must say, I'm enjoying my Country spice, even though I keep seeing more of the things that remind me that I know nothing out here.