To Curtis Kim on his birthday

Today is Curtis Kim’s birthday. Every year on February 9th, I think of Curtis.

Curtis sat next to me in Mrs. Hoffman’s second grade class in Seoul, Korea. He had a bowl cut and rarely spoke. His blue cake sticker was next to my pink cake sticker on the Birthday Calendar that hung behind our desks.

Back then, I didn’t know anyone who very nearly shared my birthday so I was especially enthralled by this. I knew that when it was Curtis’ birthday, it was only one. more. day to my own. I was almost as excited for his birthday as I was for mine.

Twenty years later and I still think of Curtis Kim.

(I am pretty sure Curtis does not think of me every year on February 10th.)

And I still get excited because we’re almost to the pink cake sticker! The pink cake sticker! A photo of me was also on the sticker. It was a photo of my face with my permed bangs. PERMED BANGS.  On a second grader!

(Maybe Curtis Kim remembers those.)

So happy birthday Curtis. Let’s hurry up and get your day over with.

Recovering from a case of the January blues

I always thought January was the most depressing month. I swear I heard the most suicides happen in January. Well, no suicide attempts for me. Unless of course stuffing your face with Sour Patch Kids counts. It was a lonely night, ok?

(Studies show suicides happen mainly in May.  Shocking.)

January is depressing though. That’s why  Blue Monday exists. I successfully made it past Blue Monday too. I didn’t even know it was Blue Monday because at that point all the days were running together and every day seemed like a Monday. Or worse, a Tuesday.

But now it’s February. I love February. It’s a short month (which means pay day comes back around quickly). It’s my birthday month. It’s Valentine’s Day which I don’t really care about that much (mainly because it screws up a lot of birthday plans and don’t you dare try to combine the two) but hey, a holiday is a holiday.

Oh, and Pancake Day is in there somewhere and I like pancakes. (The American kind, none of those wussy English tissue paper pancakes. Lemon and sugar? Are you kidding me? Pass the Aunt Jemima. See how a real woman does it!)

Now look at my photos from my vacation

I went to Oslo last week. I don’t think I mentioned that before. It’s been planned for ages but with everything going on in my professional life,* I forgot about that whole work/life balance thing and almost ducked out of the trip. I was all, but work neeeeeeds me! And then I slapped myself.

(*Professional life? Yes,  I felt like an ass writing that. )

Man, am I glad the guilt of paying for checked luggage on Ryanair got me on that plane! (I kid. I really wanted to see my friends, Abby and Lane. And life is too short not to spend a weekend with the cutest pooches ever. I’m talking about actual dogs…this is not some weird description of my friends… though they are really cute too.)

I’m not really sure I would have posted about this trip except that Abby commented on some photos around my house and it got me thinking. She said she had no idea I had been to all the places I’d been. Well, I’ll be! From my blog, everyone probably just thinks I fly back and forth between the UK and US…which isn’t that far from the truth but I have seen quite a bit of Europe too.

It’s just that…well, I never think people are that interested in what I’ve done on my trips. It’s like when someone returns from their vacation and you’re forced to look through all their photos. It may be interesting but it’s still a vacation you were not fortunate enough to go on!

But if you want photos and a detailed description of my vacation then who am I to keep you from them?

We went to Oslo in January. Was that a bad idea? I hadn’t really thought about it. It was very cold and snowy but also beautiful. I don’t really have any photos to prove this because I spent most of the time playing with Lane’s dogs, drinking wine and pear vodka, and discussing everything from celebrities to socialism.

Lane is in Oslo because her husband plays hockey professionally. We went to one of his games and I will admit that when the team was skating onto the ice, I got a little emotional. There is just something about seeing someone living their dream. We were sitting with the wives/girlfriends/parents/siblings of the players and I suddenly knew what Victoria Beckham must feel like. (Besides just plain hungry.) And I cried.

In all seriousness, my hat’s off to Lane because she has put her own dreams on hold so her husband can pursue his. I’m not sure I could do it.

I complain about adjusting to life in the UK but it’s different to move every ten months and not necessarily knowing where you’ll be after the season is over. I complain about not having space for all the dishes we received for our wedding. Her dishes are still in boxes at her parents’ house in the US.

I thought her life sounded sort of glamorous and don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of brilliant things about it. I certainly saw how close she is to her husband and how nice it is to spend so much time with him. Not having a 9-5 job does have its perks. She’s home during the day so she can have dogs and I am most jealous about that.  I’m not really doing her lifestyle justice and she does a much better job talking about herself than I do.

So, I could tell you about the architecture and the museums and the food of Norway or I could just be honest. I didn’t go to any museums. I definitely ate the food and it was all very good. (They have chocolate covered Bugles!) I liked the houses there. But the best part of Oslo was that I spent it with two friends who I don’t see enough and who have both been lifelines for me in this life abroad.

As always, it is nice to see another expat way of life and just be reminded that we all make sacrifices. And though we don’t always end up where we think we will,  it doesn’t make where we are any less special or interesting or worthy.

I miss the dreams about my teeth falling out

The other night I dreamed I had a baby. I didn’t dream of the pregnancy or the labor. I just had a baby in the dream. I wasn’t freaked out or anything. It just was what it was. I named the baby Graziella but called her Grits for short.

I kept misplacing the baby.  But I wasn’t freaking out about where my baby was. It was the same sort of feeling when you misplace your favorite necklace. Funny, I could have sworn I put the baby right here. Where did that baby go? Oh well.  Baby’ll turn up eventually. Now what’s on TV?

Turns out my dad put the baby in the garage because the baby was in the way. This didn’t freak me out either. There Grits was, sitting in her carrier baby seat thingamajig, in between the cars.

We went on a trip and I put the baby in my bag. I forgot about Grits and hours later realized the baby was in my bag and she must be hungry. I asked Scott to get baby food and I tried to feed the baby. Grits wouldn’t open her eyes.  Then I realized she was dead.

I woke up and thought WTF!?! I’m dreaming of dead babies! And I named my baby Grits! Something is seriously wrong with me.

I consulted the dream dictionary on Dream Moods to figure out what it all means.

“To see a baby in your dream, signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings”

Oooh, this could be good for me!

“If you dream that you forgot you had a baby, then it suggests that you are trying to hide your own vulnerabilities; You do not want to let others know of your weaknesses.”

Huh…ok, I’ll buy that. I am in the middle of frustrating work-related situation so…ok, Dream Moods. Hit me with another.

“If you dream that a baby is neglected, then it suggests that you are not paying enough attention to yourself. You are not utilizing your full potential. “

Exactly! That’s what I’ve been saying! I need a spa day STAT! Also, can I quote Dream Moods in my resume?

“To dream about a starving baby, represents your dependence on others. “

Well, was the baby really starving? I mean, it wasn’t like she was crying or anything. But I did have her in that bag for a long time and she did die. God, this is horrible. I can’t believe my dependency on others has driven me to have dead baby dreams! Feel sorry for me. I need attention! I need you!

“To see a dead baby in your dream, symbolizes the ending of something that is part of you.”

Oh crap. This doesn’t sound good. Where’s my new beginning?! Where is all the warmth and innocence? Stupid baby. You tricked me!

I spent a great deal of time thinking about this. It was all very fitting. There are a lot of changes happening and I have been feeling stressed, frustrated, sad, and worried about what is next. People I am very close to are moving on. Something is ending. This makes perfect sense.

But then I read this:

“To see or feed baby food in your dream, indicates that nurturance and care is needed in a waking situation. Alternatively, the dream may be a metaphor to indicate that you need to eat smaller portions of food.”

Ahhh. I see. Yeah…that’s more like it.

Phew!

In a pickle

Dill pickles. We just don’t have them here. The supermarkets say they have them but they lie. Those are not dill pickles. Costco has some pretty good ones but while I love my trips to Costco, we don’t go enough. So whenever I see a new jar of pickles in the supermarket, I have to try them out.

I was going to say that these pickles were pretty good. They aren’t as crisp as I like them and the dill flavoring is not exactly right but it’s the closest I’ve found (except for the ones at Costco).

However! While I was examining the Polish label, I saw this little guy pleading with me. Don’t eat me!

I suddenly understood what it would feel like to see the outline of Jesus’ face in a piece of toast. But the more I looked at it, the more creeped out I got. It looked like a terrified face drowning.

It didn’t stop me from eating them though. Until I took a bite and saw another one staring up at me.

Let’s hope the snow lets up so I can get out of the house. Or else you might start seeing photos of the way our laundry pile is starting to resemble  Mother Theresa sitting on a chair. Now that’s really creepy when the lights are out and you’re trying to fall asleep.

And now we can move to America

Just when I’ve finally discovered where to find Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Wing Sauce in the Greater London area, World Market decides to one up me with all this English goodness.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Exhibit C

Exhibit D – Z (or, in other words, now we can move to the DC area)

Stop by for a scone or some mushy peas. Visit the British Pantry.

Over and out

That Mother Nature is such a bitch!

She just couldn’t wait until Saturday night, could she? No, she had to go and snow all over the place.

We expected it really. It was all too good to be true. Flights were being cancelled and our flight was still going. Delayed at Heathrow but still scheduled to fly. We spent several hours in the pub at Heathrow downing diet Cokes and a full English breakfast before finally boarding the plane. The pilot said the plane was headed to Washington Dulles. He acknowledged the snow but said they were hopeful. They had turned on Channel 9 (an exclusive feature on United Airlines that allows passengers to listen to pilots’ conversations with air traffic control) so Scott was happy and I was happy to watch (and cry my way through) The Time-Traveler’s Wife for the fourth time. It was all going too well.

45 minutes before landing and we’re sitting there, watching the little plane make its way across the east coast on those seat back tvs. We’re so close. The pilot announces we’re not far away and that the seatbelt sign will be coming on soon. Scott turned to me and said, “They’ve switched off channel 9.” I try to give him a sympathetic look but I don’t share his aviation passion. Channel 9 freaks me out.

And then he said, “We’re not descending anymore either.”

We look at the tv screens and sure enough the little plane is now heading north. No. No. No.

“Maybe they are trying to fly around the snow?” I said, ever hopeful.

And then we see it. The little target sign on Chicago. Everyone on the plane sees it and there is a resounding nooooooooo!

I pressed my face against the window and shouted, Wait, wait, just drop me off here. This is good for me. I can see my house from here…look, my parents are shoveling the driveway! Let me out!

The pilot said, “Well, folks, we were trying to get you to Washington but we’ve just found out Dulles closed half an hour ago. We planned for this and we are now heading to Chicago because that’s most convenient for us. There will be two members of United staff to help you rebook but don’t hold your breath. Oh, and a shift change is about to happen so…yeah, good luck in Immigration. Welcome to America.”

He might as well have said that because it took us six hours to get off the runway, clear Immigration, change terminals,  and figure out how the heck we were getting to Washington. This was after being told by a supervisor that there would be a shift change at 1am and no one would be coming back on until 3:30am. Oh and those people wanting to go to Washington? Ha! You won’t be there for several days. But sure, stand in line. Hotel for the night? Ha! It’s not United’s fault that Washington had so much snow.

We found a customer service desk and waited in line to speak to the woman standing under a big sign that read, “Customer Service”. When we were finally at the front of the line, she announced, “I can only help with baggage questions so if your question is about anything else you have to go back upstairs.”

Scott said, “Isn’t this customer service? I’m a customer and I need service.” She didn’t get it. Back upstairs we went.

People were getting impatient and emotions were running high. Most people were being told that there was nothing United Airlines could do and they could get on a flight 2-4 days later with a bazillion connections. Oh, and here, have a piece of paper that says call this number to try to get a discount on a hotel.

All I could think about was taking my boots off. We had been up for 24 hours and I’d been in those boots for about 23 hours. I was still thinking about my feet when we were finally called up to the United check-in desks. We were polite and calm, mostly because we didn’t have the strength to raise our voices,  and asked if there was any way we could get to Washington before Wednesday.  The agent said he’d check everything. We waited some more and finally he said that the best he could do was a flight on Monday morning to Reagan National Airport in DC. Monday was better than Wednesday so we took it. He surprised us by giving us vouchers for food and a hotel. Shout out to Bob Stouffer in Chicago! You rock! My feet thank you!

Our little diversion to Chicago actually turned out to be quite nice. We got to see my cousins who live in the city and we ate some awesome pizza. We arrived in Washington yesterday with no further complications or diversions.

It’s good to be home-home.

Merry Christmas!

Mother Nature is on my naughty list

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The Brits love talking about the weather. There are books devoted entirely to why Brits make small talk about the weather. That saying “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute and it’ll change” can be heard often here. (Though I think people use that saying all over the world. Except maybe in the Atacama Desert where it is just dry and more dry. And not many people live there anyway so there probably isn’t a lot of small talk going on.)

Yesterday: While my coworkers excitedly chatted about whether the light snowflakes were sticking or not and who would be the unlucky soul updating the website to inform everyone that it would, in fact, be a snow day, I didn’t join in the excitement. I like snow. I like snow at Christmas. I do not want snow right now. I have a plane to catch!

On my way home last night, all was clear at Kings Cross. When the train passed Finsbury Park, I noticed the snow was sticking. When I got off at my stop, there was already a thick layer of snow and the wind made it look like a blizzard. Of course not a real blizzard. This is England. Please don’t comment about how you know snow and this was not real snow. I know this is nothing compared to what you get in Fargo.

And coming from the DC metro area, I am certainly used to the hype about snow. I don’t know anyone over here running out to stock up on milk, batteries, flashlights and duct tape. No, they aren’t panicking. They just like talking about the impending chaos.

So! Last night I got off at my stop and made my way to the taxi queue. (Scott is out of town or else I’m sure he would have been there to save me from the cold.) There were 50 people already waiting. I didn’t actually count but I did that thing where it looks like you’re counting by raising your head, going around counting each head and mumbling numbers to yourself. It was definitely more than 30. Looked like 50. Could have been 20.

At any rate, that’s a lot of people waiting for taxis and because I only live a 12 minute walk away,* I usually feel bad taking a cab anyway. **

(* Scott would say it’s only 5 minutes. He’s lying. It might be 9 minutes in boy walking terms. I’ll give him that.)

(** Sometimes I limp when I get out of the taxi so they don’t think I’m just lazy.)

I wanted a cab, I really did. But something came over me and just pulled me down the walking path. I guess it was the hypothermia starting to set in and messing with my brain. (Loss of judgment and reasoning is a symptom, you know).

I walked. And I walked. Peter Auty’s “Walking in the Air” was playing in the distance. I was trying to think about happy things like Christmas trees and warm chicken noodle soup. I kept walking.

The wind was pelting the snow against my face. I had to keep taking my mittens off to wipe my face in order to see where I was going. I stopped in an underpass to call my friend to tell her where I was in case I froze to death and never showed up to work. Then I wiped my face again and realized I had lost a contact. I now had only one eye to guide me home.

Forget thoughts of soup and tinsel. I was thinking about curling up in the bushes and waiting for the wild dogs to eat me at sunrise. (We don’t have wild dogs here. Well, we do when they escape from the zoo. But like I said, the hypothermia! The confusion! The loss of reasoning!) I also didn’t want to die with that irritating, slightly creepy Peter Auty song in my head.

Somehow I made it home and lived to tell you this miraculous story.

And to make this point: I didn’t want snow. I didn’t want to talk about snow. And guess who has a snow day? Me! And guess who doesn’t? Most of my coworkers who live south of me. Because weather is really weird and we had a bunch of snow in Hertfordshire but central London got nothing.

Roads were closed, taxi companies weren’t taking pick ups, and I don’t think my heart could take another expedition in the snow so I’ve got myself a snow day. But this just means I have all day to check the weather in DC and panic about it. Fingers crossed I get there tomorrow. (And preferably direct…none of this-layover-in-Pittsburgh-or-rent-a-car-and-drive business.)

Christmas, I’m so ready for you. Snow? I’ll take you on again tomorrow night – anytime after 7pm EST.

If the tiara fits

I’ve done a lot of posting and running lately. Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you with the most photo-heavy post I’ve ever written.

Remember when I was freaking out about possibly failing my identity interview? And I said I hadn’t received my British passport yet? Well, yeah…I did eventually receive it and it was actually issued on the day of my interview. Which means that I wasn’t as ditzy as I thought. Or maybe they just felt sorry for me. Either way, I’m here and they can never kick me out!

Then it was Thanksgiving and my sisters came to visit. There were things going on at work too but I won’t talk about it because, let’s face it, no one likes to hear someone go on and on about their job. But all you need to know is that I got bad news on Thanksgiving and I was all, but…but…but it’s Thanksgiving! (The big boss didn’t care.)

So I had Thanksgiving and tried to get into the holiday spirit but then I heard that Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal were breaking up. I was reminded of the Nick and Jessica break up over Thanksgiving in 2005. Only this was worse because Reese is my celebrity best friend and Jake… well, need I say more?

(Thankfully a source close to the couple dismissed the story and said they are still definitely together. Praise the Lord and pass the mashed potatoes!)

As you can see, I had a lot to be thankful for. I had my sisters, my husband, my friends, my job…oh wait, scratch that. Let me start again, I had my sisters, my husband, my friends, a British passport and a party to attend! A party for me! For becoming British!

Is there any other way to celebrate than going to the pub? I think not.

And celebrate we did.

We dressed up.

We ate patriotic cupcakes.

We danced.

We waited for a cab for a very long time in a weird fried chicken joint.

And then the princess couldn’t wait anymore.

Thank you and good night.

Leaving out food for Santa

After watching a commercial advertising food to leave out for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, I asked Scott what he left for Santa when he was a kid.

“Mince pies and beer.”

“No cookies?” I asked. He knows I mean biscuits. (You know what they say about being married for awhile…you stop making the effort.)

“No!” he balks.

“Hmm…” I say, thoughtfully. I’m thinking about how much I dislike mince pies. But I do like those little apple –

Then he continues, “I swear, Santa must have hated America. Cookies and milk? After a hard day’s graft? What?!”

Shaking his head, he mutters, “Cookies and milk…ha!”

So, readers from all over the world, if you celebrated Christmas…and you did the whole Santa thing…what did you leave for Santa?