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.