Browing out

Getting your eyebrows threaded while you have a hangover is quite possibly one of the most unpleasant experiences in the world.

I could leave it at that. I am sure there are plenty of you out there that know exactly what I’m talking about and can totally sympathize with me. Though some of you might be thinking, why didn’t you just cancel? Well, because I have dark, thick brows and there should always be two of them. And also I am going to the US in six days to see family and friends. Annnd a good threader is hard to come by.

I should know. For most of my five years living abroad, I saved up my eyebrow hair so I could return to my threader back in the states. One particular visit I had an eyebrow appointment an hour after I was due to land. And it takes 45 minutes to get to the spa from the airport. My flight was delayed by a few hours. My poor father had to call the spa several times to give them updates on my status. To this day, after all that, I’m not sure he knows what threading is. (Happy Father’s Day!)

So, you see, I had to keep my appointment, white wine-induced hangover be damned!

As I was laying back in the chair, contemplating a little snooze while I waited, the threader walked in. She said hello and then stopped in her tracks.

“Alright?”

I smiled, never knowing exactly what to say when a British person says this. Do they want to know if you’re all right? Are they just saying hello? It’s a minefield! (More on this another time because I have opinions about this!)

Then she said, “Hungover.”

It was not a question. She knew.

She followed it up with, “Well, this is going to be painful for a Saturday morning.”

And it was.

I don’t know what happened but by the time I got home, my eyebrows had swelled up way more than usual. My head was literally throbbing. I spent the rest of the day looking like Cro-Magnun Man.

But (Cro-Magnun) man, was it worth it! I guess you could say I’m well and truly settled in England now. I have a hair stylist I really like and finally a threader that does a good job and is only a five-minute walk away. Those are the true signs of settlement. Forget home ownership and citizenship. Pssht.

And the time saved by not having a string of beauty appointments right when I land? I can now spend it with family, friends, artificial cheese products, DSW Designer Shoe Warehouse, sweet tea, Sephora, and Mexican food.

Five days!

I’ll miss more than Yorkshire pudding

When we move back to the US, I’ll really miss the vacation time we get over here. The fact that everyone from the McDonald’s employee to the CEO gets at least 20 days paid leave a year is pretty incredible.

One Thanksgiving years ago, Scott and I were telling family friends about the vacation time in the UK. One of the American friends boasted, “Well, I get 20 days too. Everything comes out of it – vacation, sick days, whatever. It’s great.”

No, no, my friend. You don’t get it. We get 20 days* vacation and our sick days don’t come out of that pool of days. We don’t have to worry about not being able to go on vacation in July because we had food poisoning in January.

And what we get in the UK is even less than what people get in France, Germany, Italy, and many more countries.

Let that marinade for a minute.

So, when I think about moving back to the US, I worry about this.

I’m used to this.

I want this.

I need this.

*Scott and I both get even more days. We are very grateful for trips like this.

Thankful this is my biggest worry right now

It’s not unusual to be up so early on Thanksgiving. There are massive turkeys to be cooked, pies to be baked, tables to be set, laundry piles to be stashed. It is unusual to be up so early on Thanksgiving when you’re not doing any of those turkey day-related things.

For the first time in almost five years of living in England, I have Thanksgiving off. Not because I chose to take the holiday time but because I now work for an American organization. It really is the best of both worlds for me. But because none of our friends have today off, we’re still celebrating on Saturday and that’s fine.

So why am I up at 6 am on my day off? Because I keep thinking of items to add to the shopping list, because I’m trying to figure out how to fit turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes in the standard (but small) ovens over here, because I’ve done Thanksgiving for the last four years and while the food is delicious and we have fun, it’s still an ordeal. Our refrigerators and ovens were not made for Thanksgiving for a large crowd. (I haven’t even begun to worry about where people will sit. That will probably hit me around 3 am tomorrow morning.)

After four years, I have discovered a few tricks and I have learned to cut down on menu items that need to be served hot or that take a great deal of assembly space. I know where to find pumpkin and marshmallows and canned yams. I know that cooking several turkey breasts is far easier than the whole bird. It’s not the same but it’s the way it has to be.

That pretty much sums up Thanksgiving abroad. It’s not the same, but it’s the way it has to be. The Chex mix has no Chex in it. It has no rice or corn based cereals in it (Rice Krispies and Corn Flakes don’t really work in this situation. The Cheerios in the mix have a slight sweetness to them since I wasn’t willing to buy regular American Cheerios for £8). It tastes pretty good though. It’s not the same but…yep, you get it.

It’s all worth it because a year without my mom’s sweet potatoes and stuffing is just not right. Even if I have to follow her recipes and do it myself. And Scott likes Thanksgiving and encourages me to organize our celebration every year. I know he loves the food, but I think he also knows that deep down it’s important to me and I would be upset not to celebrate at all.

Of course I’m missing my family today but I’ve got so much to be thankful for this year. I really do. Keeping your traditions alive while living abroad can be tricky, but thanks to the power of search engines and the beauty of the iPhone, I can stay in bed, in the dark, and Google my worries away.

(This post was not written in bed from the iPhone. I really have been up early, fretting about Saturday’s menu and worrying about the dry clean only pillow cases I just threw in the washing machine. Sometimes I think the manufacturers just write “dry clean only” because it’s easier than listing the washing machine guidelines. Wash with cold water, only with similar colors. Dry flat. Use warm iron, etc. They don’t really mean you must dry clean them. Right?)

C6

I’m back in chilly London after a week in mostly sunny Washington DC. Although I had a week full of autumnal activities planned, half of the week was spent in 90 degree heat and it felt weird picking pumpkins when I just wanted to be sat in a dark, air-conditioned room hooked up to an IV of sweet tea.

I had a great week at home and loved spending so much time with family. Scott couldn’t take the time off work so I invited a friend of mine to accompany me home. We spent the week eating, shopping, drinking, and laughing. But as they say, all good things must come to an end. And I really felt it this time. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep I was getting due to jet-lag and caffeine and my sister’s 30th birthday bash on my last night in the country.

All I know is that the lump in my throat showed up on Friday and did not budge until…well, there it is. Still.

***

Before I even go home, I know exactly how it will end. It will end with me a few pounds heavier, my wallet lighter, my nails manicured, my eyebrows groomed, my shoe collection replenished, and my heart aching. This visit was no different (well, I haven’t weighed myself but I didn’t exactly eat lettuce all week.)

It started on Friday with the lump. The lump that nearly choked me every time I thought about leaving or seeing my high school friends or not getting to run by Target one last time.

I mostly remained dry-eyed throughout the weekend (barring the crying episode I had with close friends after too many drinks on Saturday night). Then on Sunday night, as the exhaustion set in and Wegman’s food hall proved too overwhelming, the lump started choking me again. I announced that I wouldn’t be crying in a supermarket, for God’s sake, and swallowed hard.

When I said goodbye to my sisters, I couldn’t swallow fast enough and the choking sensation returned. I so did not want to cry. I was tired of being sad. I was tired of almost crying. I know the drill. I do this all the time. But the choking feeling led to one quick sob into my sister’s hair as she hugged me goodbye. It was all very dramatic, I assure you.

This moment repeated itself when my other sister called to say goodbye once more and then again when my parents hugged me goodbye at the airport early Monday morning. I told them I did not want to cry and I hurried down to security, before I could burst into uncontrollable sobs outside Cinnabon.

I managed to make it to the gate, all the while telling myself to relax and that it will be ok. It’s always ok. I sat by the window, watching the planes. Well, not so much watching, but just staring, thinking.

An elderly couple sat across from me. The man wore their boarding passes and passports in a canvas holder around his neck. The woman sat on the edge of her seat with her hands balled up in her lap. The woman said, “I’m so nervous. I am going to ask someone how we know when to get on the plane.”

The man looked at her and said, loudly. “C6.”

She said, “Yes, that’s the gate number. I said I am going to ask someone to help us get on the plane.”

“C6! C….6!” the man said again, pointing to the sign above us.

She patted his hand and nodded. Then she looked at me, smiling apologetically. I watched her husband take her hand and they sat together, looking out the window. Every few minutes the man would say, “What? What did you say?” And she would shake her head, no, I didn’t say anything.

Suddenly the man said, “My hearing aid! My hearing aid’s gone!” and the couple tried to get up to look but their bodies wouldn’t let them. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around the floor looking for the hearing aid. The man grew more and more panicked at the prospect of flying to Europe without it. His voice grew louder and louder as I looked underneath the seats and around fellow passengers’ legs.

When I stood up to tell the man I couldn’t find the hearing aid, I noticed it dangling from his coat collar.

“Well, gee, that hasn’t happened before! Good thing I’m wearing this jacket today!”

His wife helped him sit back down. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and tucked the hearing aid back in his ear.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it to England,” he said, laughing. “Let’s just get on that plane before anything else happens.”

“We’re going to see our daughter,” the woman said to me.

“I told you, Beatrice – C6. We’re at the right gate!”

The woman opened her mouth to repeat herself but then quickly stopped. Instead she reached over and patted his hand.

And then I cried. Big, hot tears. Right there at gate C6.

I cried because I didn’t want to leave. I cried because I don’t want to get old and wrinkly. I cried because I didn’t spend a lot of time with my dad. I cried because there’s never enough time. I cried because no matter how much I pack into my life there are still missing pieces. I cried because of the guilt for being happy in England and I cried because no one makes me feel guilty except myself. I cried because, surprisingly, I am the one keeping us here.

***

I was on the Tube last night with an American colleague who has been in London for the same amount of time as me and is also married to a Brit.

I told her it was, as always, hard to leave. I told her it never gets easier and I always feel more confused about where I should be. She nodded, sympathetically.

Suddenly conscious of my rambling, I said, “I’m preaching to the choir here, I know.”

She smiled and said, “I wondered if you had found a solution for us.”

***

Still looking…

Make like a tree and leave

God, I love autumn. As I laid on the sofa on Saturday, recovering from a near-death neti pot experience, I looked out the window and realized that the leaves were already in full autumnal change. When did that happen?

***

I decided the crisp air might be just what I needed to ease my horrendous head cold so I took a stroll into town. But as soon as I had purchased the Gossip Girl season three boxed set, I turned back for home, fearful any other close encounters with screaming children,  chain-smoking teenagers, or blaring dance remixes would make my eyeballs bleed.

Back home, I pulled out the neti pot my mom gave me last year and scanned the instructions. I had seen Jessica Simpson use a neti pot on her latest show about beauty around the world. How hard can this be?

Very! Very hard, indeed! Your head has to be just so or you suddenly feel like you’ve just been washed ashore, sputtering salt water and reminding yourself that you’re not drowning or being eaten by a shark. You’re in your bathroom, standing over the sink, blinking back the tears as you spit out the water. Not a pleasant experience when you already feel like someone has stacked bricks on top of your sinuses and is doing step aerobics on them.

I attempted the neti pot an hour or so later, after I was done gazing out the window at the gold and red leaves. If Jessica Simpson can do this, I can do this.

And I did. Kind of. I don’t want to get into specifics seeing as I have already told you about my toilet in last week’s post. You don’t need to know this much about me…but let’s just say my head felt lighter afterward. I felt lighter.

Is this the same feeling people experience after having a colonic? I wonder. I think the neti pot may make a reappearance before winter is upon us.

***

Autumn always makes me that little bit more homesick. So it’s a good thing I’m going to the US in just a couple of weeks. Bring on the pumpkin and apple picking, the seasonal drinks at Starbucks, the shopping bags full of sweaters and fall boots, and the aisles of Halloween candy at Target.

Visit Forks and experience Twilight

With Eclipse in cinemas now, I think it is the perfect time to recap my visit to Forks, Washington. We went a couple of months ago at the end of a three week road trip from Chicago to Seattle. Forks is about four hours from Seattle but I made a deal with Scott that I’d go to the Boeing Factory with him if he went to Forks with me. He agreed. I don’t think he realized what he was getting himself into.

While I don’t really consider myself a twihard fan, I certainly enjoy the stories and general hooplah around the movies and I totally predicted RPattz and KStew were doing the nasty way before US Weekly said they were.

If you’re new to this Twilight craze, you’ll need to know that Forks is the town Stephenie Meyer decided to use as the backdrop to her vampire/werewolf/human love triangle saga.

(It’s also the rainiest place in the US. This is important because the vampires don’t ever go out in the sun because they sparkle in the sunlight. Just read the books. They’ll tell you everything.)

As I understand it, Stephenie Meyer researched the town but never actually visited it before writing the books. Also the way certain aspects of the town are described in the book are different to how they are portrayed in the movies. (This was very hard for Scott to come to terms with. As if we haven’t suspended belief enough, now we have to believe that Edward Cullen lived in that house?! I was about ready to smack him upside the head by stop #3 on the Twilight map.)

Now, with all those points out of the way, let me take you on a virtual tour of Forks.

Once we passed Port Angeles, I had my camera ready but that stretch of road between the two towns is pretty long. I didn’t actually take any photos until we saw this:

And we could only take this photo after waiting for several cars full of middle-aged women to finish up posing in front of the sign. Then we made our way to the Forks Visitor’s Center where we picked up a map of all the Twilight sights in town.

As I said, Stephenie Meyer didn’t base the houses in the books on specific houses in the town but residents in Forks have fully embraced the Twilight mania and have offered their homes as stops on the tours. You can take photos by the “Home of the Swans” sign but don’t go up to the door. Real people live here.

The biggest home in Forks is a big white farmhouse style house which was meant to be the Cullen Residence. It’s actually a B&B so you’re welcome to go up on the porch and read the messages Esme leaves every day about where the Cullens are.

Esme said Edward wasn’t around but I saw him lurking behind the door. (It was sunny so he couldn’t come out to play.)

As you can see, small businesses also take advantage of all the Twilight tourists. Who knew the treaty line was sponsored by Pepsi?

The beach at La Push is gorgeous and worth a visit.

I kid you not there was some sort of animal rustling around in the forest in La Push. I snapped a few photos before the animal came bounding out of the bushes. It turned out to be a big, fluffy blackish-brown dog. Whose dog? Not sure – it came out of nowhere and didn’t have a collar…so I am going to pretend it was a wolf.

We actually stayed in a Twilight-themed room at the Pacific Inn Motel. Highly recommend this for the ultimate cheese factor. Check out the photos of our Edward Cullen room.

The main street in Forks has maybe eight stores and two of them are completely Twilight related. The merchandise is absolutely overpriced but they are definitely worth checking out. If only to take photos of yourself standing in the gazebo between Bella and Edward.

I only bought a few bits and pieces. They had everything from the dolls to dvds to cosmetics to posters to jewelry.

Sadly, there isn’t much in Forks and you can tell the residents have really taken on board the Twilight fans because I’m guessing they wouldn’t get many visitors otherwise.

Which is a real shame because the area is absolutely breathtaking. Dazzling, even.

Does this count as music therapy?

Summer always makes me feel homesick. I want to be at my parents’ house, laying out on the deck, seeking sweet, cool relief in the air conditioned house when needed, eating my mom’s macaroni salad, buying too many pairs of Old Navy flip flops. I want to roll down the windows and blast Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle” just like the Summer of ’99.

The thing is, I’ve never spent a summer in the US while I’ve been in the “real world” so my memory of summers are those filled with internships and odd jobs, knowing that come September I’d be back to being a student. Those days are long gone so I try to remind myself that my visions are not realistic today.

But I can’t help myself.  Tomorrow is the Fourth of July and I am homesick for parades and block parties and I couldn’t even tell you the last time I ever went to one of those things. Most Independence Days were spent lugging coolers and camping chairs around the Pentagon in 100 degree heat looking for the best spot to watch the fireworks.

Homesickness isn’t rational though and so my mind gets caught up with all the patriotic schmaltz.  (It probably doesn’t help that I now work with way more Americans than ever before in London.)

It probably also doesn’t help that I’ve given up diet soda and it really goes to show you that WTF is in those drinks! because man, I have never wanted a diet Pepsi like I do right now. I’m two weeks into my soda ban and significant caffeine cut-back and only tripped up last weekend.  I had two vodka and diet Cokes late Saturday night. You know what they say about your judgment on nights out. Oh, and I had one or two diet Cokes too last night. Ok, this isn’t going that well. Where was I even going with this?

Oh yes! I was trying to blame my recent melancholy on the lack of artificial sweeteners in my body.

Hmm, I don’t think that’s going to work.

I guess I can only own up to it. I am a teensy bit homesick this summer. There, I said it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go download some Aguilera and give my neighbor a run for his money.

World Cup woes

We watched the England vs. USA game in a pub last weekend. The place was packed. The beer was flowing. The England fans outnumbered the USA fans but I still waved my American flag proudly. It was a great game even if England fans don’t agree.

I figured that if the USA goes out, I can always cheer for England.

But after yesterday, I’m not so sure.

We watched the games from the comfort of our own flat. We cheered for the USA.

And we tried to cheer for England but…well, you know how that went.

After the game, Scott got up, pulled at his shirt  and said, “I need to go take this abomination off.”

Then we went to bed early.

I’m hoping today will be a better day.

We can’t all be winners all the time

You all had such amazing ideas for crisp flavors – maybe the Walkers Crisp People will see this post and decide to do American- style crisps – ham and mustard, buffalo wings, cheddar and maple, Old Bay Seasoning, peach bellini, loaded hot dog, somebody stop me before I drool all over my laptop.

I couldn’t possibly choose my favorite so I picked a random number. Congratulations to lovestoeat who said, “hhmmmm a local chip? probably something citrus with a red pepper or jalapeno kick to it …i love things like mango pepper salsas or citrus rubs with a kick, so a citrus chip with a kick is def what i would choose to represent Florida!”

I think she would definitely enjoy the Brazilian Salsa and South African Sweet Chutney crisps. We’ll see when she gets them.

Thank you everyone for trying your luck. I had fun reading all the responses. And now I am craving crisps that don’t even exist!

——————————–

Saturday is the England vs. USA football match and we will be in the pub with friends, watching the big game. I ordered American flags for an extortionate price and paid for express shipping, just in case.

Speaking of flags, you may have heard about a few fans in Liverpool, England who set an American flag on fire. Does it make me sad? Of course it does. I actually heard about it through facebook. Quite a few of my facebook friends have posted a link to a Fox Sports article about it. (Frankly I’m more concerned about the Fox bit of that sentence.)

But I’m even more worried that Americans think this is what the majority of England feels. The writer did state that most Britons would “never condone such idiocy.” I’m grateful for that statement…but still.

It’s funny how things change.

I used to feel like I have to be conscious about how Britons see Americans.  Now I’m so conscious of how Americans see Britons.  God, this dual citizen stuff is hard. Where’s that in your study guide, Home Office? Eh?

And who said football was just a game?

You Capture: sky

A seagull outside Ivar’s in Seattle.

A storm on my right, sunshine on my left somewhere out west.

The most vibrant blue sky I’ve ever seen without a cloud in sight.

Amazing sunset that the locals of Buffalo, Wyoming get to see nearly every night.