pirates

Finally saw Pirates of the Caribbean 3. It was rubbish - and I love a good pirate movie so I was disappointed. Even Johnny Sparrow was uninteresting and I love him. But then right until the very end, Orlando Bloom dresses as a baddie, Hellllooo!

Never seen it in him before. Too girly/foppish for my taste. But put the lad in a black mutton sleeve shirt and a saucy bandana. Oh my.

Going public

So something weird is happening. After all these months of semi-private rantings and mumblings, I googled starbhanta and lo and behold there is my blog.! A somewhat specific google I know, but still, I was secure in my little 'only friends and family' world (funny how you list friends before family there isnt it? seems a little illogical or disrespectful somehow). ANYWAY, now I feel all exposed and open to scrutiny. Possibly by those who feature regularly. Until now I've avoided releasing the url, but an unfortunate linking of blogs resulted in general release recently - so who knows WHAT they've seen. I do know lovely Amy, the only person to get a real namecheck was moderately offended by me referring to her as 'way way older than me'. But in my defense I believe she said it first. And anyway, when you get to be this old, every month is a blessing, so more than a year IS way way older. So I guess I'll have to be more careful now. That's in addition to hoping that the people I've now warmed up to dont backtrack and see the nasty names I called them 9 months ago. OR I could just carry on hurting feelings and making enemies for the rest of my life, which is MUCH more fun for sure. Decision made.

So back to me me me. I notice I have an American pattern of phrasing slipping into my language more and more. I also am looking at the word 'defense' above and wondering if this is the correct spelling. If so, where is it correct? Here or there? It's very confusing. I also notice that I am becoming just a little Alice in Wonderland with these thoughts. I suspect the new esspresso machine (baby blue, very pretty) may be the culprit. 40+ people should not drink coffee after 6pm. It should be a law. It's now almost 1 am and I'm still sat here rambling. I'll need a latte to get me moving tomorrow, then I'll hit caffeine slump at 2 and will need another, then I'll be so awake at 7pm I'll think - oh yes, esspresso, what a good idea and then the whole vicious circle will start again. I'm now beginning to understand the whole addiction chain, which to be honest, despite my 40-a-day habit in my late teens, I never really got. It's very clever you know. I wonder can you buy shares in Starbucks and illy? I must look into that when I stop spending my money on baby blue coffee machines and the like and have something to invest in my old age.

There's another point on the fear of everything front. I've started worrying about my old age. Not that I worry too much about being old - quite looking forward to it in some ways. Shoving into queues, bad manners, and comfy shoes - right up my street. I'm a tad worried about how I'll cope being skint - because I will be skint (see baby blue coffee machine above!) I hope my sisters - who love and cherish me dearly, continue to be married to frugal and sensible husbands and take pity on me. (I married Peter Pan so I've already written off being rescued by him). Maybe if I send them really expensive christmas gifts every year...

Continents week

Every year, the kid's school picks a continent, each class picks a country and projects ensue. On the Friday, there is an open day, the kids get passports and traipse from country to country (class to class) doing crafts, sampling local foods, etc etc. It's great fund. Parent of course are roped in left right and centre. This year it was Europe. There was of course a 'Scotland' room. Husband of course, at the drop of a hat dons his kilt. He LOVES the attention, all the moms giving it 'oooh dont you look great', 'is it true what they say?' etc etc etc. He did say it was a less frightening experience than your usual Scottish wedding / Hogmany with drunken aunties tugging at his pleats, trying to sneak a peek.

His highlight came late in the day though. He's stood there in the classroom,in full regalia- kilt, socks, jacket, waiscoat, sporran - the lot. Munching shortbread, spouting forth about the lochs and glens, generally holding court in his best Sean Connery accent. 'Oh I know' says one mom 'it sounds lovely. Tell me, have you ever been to Scotland?'

Soft southern ways

Another month has passed without a blog entry. Just been so darned busy. Right after Thanksgiving, (we went to the lighthouse again, I feel a tradition in the making) we were off to Maui. Which was great. We have all become totally soft and just two days of rain is enough to send me into S.A.D. mode. And of course now it feels cold to us in California. When we came here to find a house in February 06 everyone on the beach was in duffle coats and big russian hats. We were in tshirts and jeans and laughing at how soft they all were. Now, I'm the cold rife at work every day and have just gone out and bought 2 pairs of wooly tights!! Saying that though, it is December and wooly tights and a denim jacket would NOT have kept me warm in Aberfoyle in December, for sure!

Anyhow, Maui. I had good intentions and made a list of noteworthy thoughts. As usual the list in itself is more entertaining than my usual ramblings. Explanations where the note still means something to me -(note to self: must make better notes).

MAUI - RAIN?

BURNT MEN/SPF MACHISMO

NAZI IN GOLF CART
A jobsworth security guard insisted we get out of the hot tub because the kids were under 12 years old. (lots of old folk in the complex). I tried to argue since there was no-one else in the pool area. He insisted, calling me 'ma am' in the process (which is always offensive to me for some reason). His reasons were a) its a house rule. I argued that wisdom of that one b) it's bad for their health - its too hot . I argued that the hot tub at home was 5 degrees hotter c) they wee in the tub. - to which I became a grossly offended Princess Ann - alike. ' I can assure you sir that my children DO NOT!'
We still got out though cos he wouldn't go away.

LOST MY BOTTLE
Spent a lot of time wondering why I have become scared of stuff. Scared of snorkelling too deep. Scared of helicopter rides. Scared of big tropical rainstorms. Is it motherhood or old age, I wonder? I'm still wondering.

HOLIDAY DISCOVERIES
All the family quality time pays off. I now know that my daughter can make arm farts and my son likes gambling and trucker hats with snakes on.

BIKINIS ARE FOR FLAT CHESTED GIRLS AND OLD WOMEN
I am neither. But now happy that I will one day wear a bikini again without having to diet, exercise or feel ashamed.

HOW VOLCANOS ARE MADE (AND SPELLED)
I knew neither as my six year old pointed out ( I had an e in there somewhere). I now know both.

HOW SUGAR CANE BECOMES SUGAR
The scottish school system should be ashamed of me.( I do know how to roll my own and smuggle vodka into a school disco for under 15's though.)

HAWAII HAS ONLY 12 LETTERS IN THE LANGUAGE.
Honestly. Not a helpful language for the poorly educated and directionally challenged among us.

DR WHO MEGATHON
My kids love Dr Who. We watched an episode each day, when it was too hot, or in the evening before bed. And replayed the entire series on the flight back. Great ressurection BBC.

MOTHER'S LOVE.
I'm not a great swimmer. The waves in Hawaii are BIG. We got bundled a few times. When I had charge of the little boy, I opened my eyes whilst underneath the rushing surf, grabbed him and pulled him to me even though that ditched me on my head, in the process of being thrown upside down I righted him and placed him on his feet, and covered his eyes when I was balanced on my neck in the surf with a bucketful of sand rushing up my nose. It was not pretty or graceful, and he still accused me of letting him go. But I know better.

SURF RASH HURTS
Especially when you are too hefty and not old enough to be wearing a bikini.

Lucky white heather

We agreed to host a party last weekend. Long story, but basically friend couldn't find a good space for her 40th and our ocean view fit the bill, so we were persuaded - with not too much difficulty I hasten to add. Lets face it, if someone says throw us a party, we'll invite the guests, pay a caterer, bring in a barman and booze, book entertainment AND supply a clean up crew. You just come and enjoy yourself - you're gonna say yes!

So we plan for an inside /outside party. On Friday we all graft to transform the guest room into a lounge bar, open up the doors to the patio, hang fairy lights on the fences, set up the firepit and position the bouganvilla, the caterer drops off glassware, the 'piano' arrives and the bar is set up overlooking the bluffs. We admire our handywork while sipping a beer on the deck, looking for comets in the sky. Bliss.

And it true Scottish party plan style, Saturday morning it's raining.

We bag the fairy light connectors. 1pm its still pouring, so we set up a canopy over the bar. 3pm its peein wi rain. 4.30 pm, birthday girls husband forbids the fairy lights cos he's had 3 shocks already. 5pm the caterer arrives and the house lights start to flicker. 6pm We break into the earthquake kit for storm lamps to put on the stairs which are pitch black for some reason. 6.30 I hit the shower. 7pm guest start to arrive. It rained and rained and rained. The firepit was lit 4 times before we gave up on it. The patio heaters were steaming in the drizzle. The barman was wearing a stockmans hat.

And it was a GREAT party. The rain forced us to keep close and chatty in the bar tent. The piano became a singalong zone and the whole place was lovely decked out in candlelight.
Sunday morning, the sun was splitting the heavens as we all traipsed to Cafe Luca for breakfast.

(Minus husband who couldnt surface until 3pm - some of us get wiser with age - some don't)

horsey talk

Around this time last year, I took some horse-riding lessons. I've always been strangely afraid of horses with no sound reason. Although our niece used to hang out at a riding school and one of her little friends had her nose kicked off by a horse - literally kicked right off her face, so I suppose that's a good enough reason for me to be cautious. I took the lessons because Twinkle was desperate to get horsey - I believe its a little girl phase - although I never recall that from my childhood. Not many horses around where I come from though - except pulling the rag mans cart. Anyway, I took the lessons, bought the cowboy boots, spent QT Sundays with Twinkle, learned how to saddle a horse (gently) catch a horse in paddock (edge up slowly) and even ride a horse (kinda), experienced English and Western (its all in the girth), trail and ring riding (snakes and rails require different skill sets), but when it came to cleaning hooves I quit. There is nothing in this world that will convince me that squatting near a horses backside, grabbing a heaving great leg and resting it on my knee while attempting to scrape sh** with a blunt hook is something worth paying $90 an hour for.
All said though I'm happy to turn up and ride when I'm on holiday now though - which I never was before, so I suppose it was worth it.

Anyway, I recall at the time of these lessons, thinking how when people talk horse, they don't seem to be aware of non-horse context. I presume because they live and breathe horses. It all came back to me this week. Amy at work, is a horsey type, she rode when she lived on the East Coast. Still nags her parents for a horse for her birthday every year (she's older than me even - and thats'way old'). Hasn't been able to ride for a while because of a dodgy shoulder. Anyway, she was chatting to a visitor the other day, who apparently has lots of horses. He's lamenting that his daughter is now more interested in boys and cars. Amy was saying how she never gets to ride any more. Oh, he says, you should come by. We've a lovely arab who'd appreciate a nice ride now and then.

Now I ask you - is it just me?

sloe

comes from blackthorn bushes apparently. found it on another blog.

yumm

Had some fantastic syrupy sloe gin last week courtesy of the lovely visitors from Duck Cottage. We were supposed to leave it till Christmas but we had friends here and my black martini glasses where begging to be used. So what the hell. I refilled the bottle with Bombay Saphire when it was done. Recycled the sloe's if you like - well it is the law to recycle everything here in NorCal. I'll let you know if that works.

What is a sloe? I know its a berry thing ( saw em in the gin) but is there another name for it? Do they grow on a sloe bush? Is there a California version I wonder? And what else do you use Sloe's for then? And is the plural of sloe, sloes?? Must google that.

service

In recent weeks we've had horrid mac problems at home. My laptop keeps crashing, husbands had died, been reborn, died mended, and finally died, deed, capoot. I've spared the gory details of his laptop from this blog - too painful and tedious to relive in word form. But finally, three weeks ago, we gave up on it.

NOW, this means he has to use my laptop. And of course, bleets and whines every time it crashes, a problem excaberated by his constantly downloading crap video clips from his mates, shareware- ing music and storing gazillions of pics of him and his beloved motorcycle - at the side of the road, on a desert road, by a roadsign, on a twisty road, on a tree lined road, etc etc etc. Anyhow, we decide my laptop's problem, unlike his, (which by now has been certified dead and disected accordingly by an overpaid third party), could be fixed by simply replacing the battery. Great. I also have a $100 apple credit burning a hole in my handbag since the iPhone price reduction debacle, so decide this is as good a use as any. We traipse off to the apple store in Palo Alto.

The apple store is usually a family favorite. Kids get to sit and play games. He gets to press buttons and ooh and aah at shiny things, I get to buy some overpriced gadget/accessory/cable under the guise of 'I need it for work'. Not so today. No kids table, loaded with imacs for them to play games on. What? Husband is too depressed to press buttons because he hates apple because his laptop died and it's their fault (according to the 'we hate apple' site). Son then has a meltdown when I tell him he cant have a new $80 game just because he thinks he should. Daughter gets iPod envy because she 'only' has a shuffle and blue isnt her favourite color now anyway so cashes in on her post sleepover grumpiness to the max. Needless to say it gets ugly.

Then, when we do eventually leave we happen to be clutching a gigantic shiny new imac, a battery, an iPhone recharger and some overpriced insurance/extended warranty thing. I can't help but acknowledge its no big surprise my kids are consumer nasty little brats at times, when their parents cant go shopping for a $120 batter without spending 15 times that on a whim.

When we left the UK I was pissed off with the commercialism of everything and how my then 7year-old cared about what label was on her trainers. I knew we were partly to blame, and I did hope we'd change that by coming to Northern California. Among the other things I wanted to change was our eating habits, our lack of outdoorsy activity and our dependancy on tech toys and gadgets.

So I'm reflecting on that now.

The commercialism funnily, is one of the major changes we have managed to make. Here our kids dont care what trainers they wear (not yet anyway), the 9 years dont have mobile phones. In some circles labels do matter - but its just not as all consuming as it felt in the UK. Maybe we're sheltered from it here on the artsy coast, but it is definately less all pervading. And being surrounded by an immigrant population who are working in fields for $4 and hour, and living four families to a home, kinda helps put perspective on some decisions.

The outdoorsy thing we are defo much better at. The tech toys - I dont know if we'll ever beat that. I suspect its just life today - and we're in the wrong place if we think we're gonna escape it! So maybe we''ll just keep an eye on that one.

Eating habits. Potential divorce topic, so I'm gonna skim over that for now - and just keep trying.

My guilt today did do some good though. I've decided that I'm not going shopping again now without a list, a budget and at least two weeks to review and edit the list (that'll be fun at Christmas). And I've now made the decision that the bug is staying. It may be old and iffy. But it goes, so no new car for me this year. I'm self discipline central on the consumer front now.

Oh and as a punishment for my lack of focus and control, when I got home, I found the mac 'genius' had given me the wrong damn battery - and I still had the $100 credit voucher. SO my quandry now is this - does spending the voucher count as shopping? Hmm

this is halloween this is halloween tra la la la la

Homage to Tim Burton in the title ( for those of you who didn't immediately get it.)

So who owes me $10 ? Bang on 8.15am - as we finish lacing the last leather effect wrist gauntlet - 'but I want to be an all black ninja!'

The school parade made me laugh at some of the great costumes. For me, first prize went to the garbage bin complete with rumaging racoon inside. As anticipated, there were 265 ninja's of various descriptions. Marching alongside the 493 little mexican girls dressed as blonde princesses. Were two little white boys dressed as mexicans in ponchs, sombreros and huge moustaches. Classic non-pc costumes.

At work, one scary clown made me scream out loud when he emerged from behind a door. I was furious for a full 15 minutes until I realised someone else was out at lunch - 'oh get Amy, get Amy!' (which he did).

'Trick or treating' was a blast this year. we ganged up with a crowd of friends and assailed their block with about 14 teeny kids. Our gang included a 3 year-old fluffy pig, a cheetah a teeny tiny superman, a bionicle, 2 ninjas (of course), a flower fairy, a witch, a groovy cowgirl and a pokemon trainer. I was resplendent in my pumpkin beret.

A full 2 hours of 'twick or tweeeeeeehheet', 'daddy, daddy, I got candy' and 'that pumpkin moved' was followed by good ole bobbin for apples and a glass of spiced cider. ( I opted for the mojito though). A wholesome fun evening was had and we learned a whole new halloween custom. The booty trade.

Now although this sounds like an inner city sexual favor, it is in fact completely innocent and entirely fascinating. The kids pour out and count their 'booty' of candy. They then embark on seemingly endless sweetie swap transactions. 2 milk duds for an eyeball. A mini snickers for a full size skittles. A jelly booger for a dismembered finger. etc etc And boy are those older kids ruthless in their rip offs. Since when was a mini starburst roll ( opal fruits to the ancient among us) equivalent to two frankenstein shaped sucker rings????? Never, I tell you. But we're watching the process intently - because believe me, when teen spots and boyfriends start to appear, all those wee brothers will be claiming revenge for those booty trades - big time.

horrid behaviours

So it's halloween tomorrow with all the usual trauma that surrounds a 6 year olds costume decision. This year Twinkle has dialled down the ghoul factor and is going as a 'cute storybook witch' (lots of orange and lime green). Son is a ninja - one of 24 I suspect, last year there were about 250 annekin skywalkers - that was an interesting matrix-meets -star-wars moment for the teachers

In typical fashion he had a very specific idea of his costume in mind. It has to be a plain black ninja, no embellishment, no weapons, no compromise. So we look online for about a month (I'm way too busy to be sewing this year). 'No that one has a dragon I want plain black'. No that one has a blue belt I want plain black. No that one has a red stripe I want...' 4 days to go and I'm freakin out - I anticipate major meltdown on Halloween morn. So we traipse across town to a party shop mid 4 days before halloween hell. (only comes second to ToysRus in Christmas week). They have the costume, in his size for only $15. Bingo. We wait in line. They pull the costume. We get in line again. We reach the checkout. "I dont want to be plain black I want the leather ninja costume'.

Now at this point any other mother would slap him and tell him he was an all black ninja and thats the end of it. But I have been that mother transforming a spider outfit into a bat outfit 15 minutes before the party and I an NOT reliving that martha stewart moment. So he gets the leather ninja outfit for $35 and it will go in the same box as the $50 skywalker outfit never to surface again come Thursday, I know! AND I will at this stage place a $10 /£5 bet with anyone who wishes to take it, that tomorrow at 7.30 am he'll want to be an all black ninja again. (or a puppy!)

Where did I put that evil wine?

ohmagawd

another earthquake. 8.04pm we're all sitting on the floor and there's a boom. Because we have great big windows we all looked at those first thinking it was a huge gust of wind - then the house shuddered. We've obviously integrated into California now though, because we immediately leapt to the computer to check out the seismic scale! It was a 5.6 - moderate apparently the scale goes up to 7 - that does not translate to moderate in my book, but who am I to argue. Anyway nothing fell off shelves, the chimney didn't crumble (thankfully as I was sitting under it) and the tea lights in the pumpkins perched on the deck rail were still lit - so no harm done. Little boy got a little freaked out though and twinkle of course milked the event for every last ounce of drama - forcing us to practice our duck and cover technique.

Oh how we laughed when our friends started phoning to see if our house on the cliff was still here. Personally I think they were all planning to loot our substantial earthquake kit. (they laugh at us now you know, but come the big one, I know I'm gonna need to turn that gun on our neighbours to protect the corn beef).

Despite my blase attitude I'll now spend the whole night listening for a tsunami.

a matter of taste

America goes all out for Halloween. We realised this last year when we were confronted by life-size zombi's in cages and entire houses decked out as witches lairs. This year I'm relishing in all of the good taste stuff that is created. From electric pumpkin carvers (awesome) to jelly body parts to flashing bubbles shaped like cats. The best stuff though is edible. This week the kids will eat only spider shaped pasta and husband is drinking wine named 'evil'. (It is aptly named!). When a workmates regular package from mom arrived I was gobsmacked though. Among the beautifully wrapped treats were the usual ghost shaped lollipops and chocolate cats. Second prize for bad taste went to chocolate coated oreo cookies topped with a little icing tombstone (sweet). First prize went unchallenged to the huge chocolate coffin. Complete with RIP and woodgrain effect this sucker competed for inappropiateness only with the obligatory 'sexy' witch-mom who shows up at every playgroup dress up party. The coffin was complete in it's glory when we popped the chocolate slab lid to reveal a white chocolate skeleton resplendant on his orange cushion. He's too intricate to eat so he's resting in the fridge until we have a santa to replace him.

ouch

We have young people staying for a couple of weeks so we duly trooped of to a theme park at the weekend. Last time we went there, I braved a leg dangly roller coaster thingy -it was singularly the worst experience of my life! I will never do that again,

But I do go on old wooden rollercoasters and waltzer type things. Well I did until this weekend. This week the first ride I tried, an airplane / roundabout designed for small children left me nauseous for the rest of the day. On The Grizzly - a wooden rollercoaster I wasn't holding on. Not becuase I was feeling brave, but because it is so rattly (is that a real word?) I found myself literally clutching my temples in an attempt to stop my brain from slamming against the inside of my skull so violently.

Twinkle of course wanted to go around twice. I said no.

mixed messages

At the beginning of the school year, parents are asked to attend a parent / teacher conference. Here you sit down with your child, discuss progress and agree a set of goals for the year.

As my little darlings are perfectly behaved geniuses this is a cake walk for us. It is very weird though, how they both clam up and get all akward because their two worlds are meeting at a tiny table (teachers never think to bring in big chairs in this situation) and all eyes are on them. This week I was left feeling all antsy though. Twinkle's new teacher is pretty straightforward and a nice lady. And she seems to be actually teaching math which is a BIG deal in this household which is scarred by last years long division fiasco, But she kept slipping into that baby talk thing that people sometimes do. It drives Twinkle NUTS and I've been constantly telling her off for being disrespectful when she imitates it. I'm telling you, after twenty minutes of it, I bonded very deeply with my child. The woman actually said 'lickety split' for gods sake!

THEN in the boy's session his teacher, who is lovely, set him a goal of 'being willing to make mistakes'. I know where she's coming from on the confidence thang but she actually said 'its ok to get it wrong'. Excuse me but he's six how the hell is he supposed to interpret that? So when he gets 2 out of 5 in a test she's gonna say, yeah its ok to get it wrong? I doubt it.

snack attack

The lovely office manager/company grown up, was going to Safeway last week. 'I'll stock up on snacks' she says. 'What do you all want?' In typical Northern Californian style the list went like this...
trail mix, dried fruit, some green apples (not red, they use too many pesticides), and nuts.

Now, in Scotland the list would go like this ...
hobnobs, kitkats, mcvities rich tea, cheese n onion crisps, something healthy - oh bananas, and diet coke.

So I was terribly impressed with them all and feeling a wee bit smug with myself, and my new healthy environment. Until today that is, when i had a stinking hangover and all there was to eat was freekin trail mix and nuts!

Luckily I expanded my emergency handbag kit after the last earthquake and I found a mini snickers and a tetley teabag in my handbag. Man it was goood!

Of course!

Son still wanders into our bed many nights despite being six. Breaking the habit would involve one of us getting up and walking him back to his own bed. Since my husband with the overly acute hearing sleeps with earplugs and pretends to be dead at the slightest hint of tiny footsteps, that would mean I have to get up and walk him back to bed. ( I save my spousal sleep punches for very special occassions). So the boy will probably still be clambering into the middle of the bed when he's 23.

The upside is, we have an enormous 'Cal King' bed. Which 42 little boys could climb into and you wouldn't really notice. So most nights I dont even notice. Last night however, he had a bit of a cough, so I stirred just as he was clambering onto the bed. In the half darkness I could see this swollen and mis-shapen blob lumbering towards me. I sat bolt upright thinking the annoying cough was in fact a symptom of the leprosy or elephantitis he'd contracted sometime since 8pm that evening. On closer inspection the lumps reveal themselves to be a selection of toy bears, pokemon, mice and dragons. All stuffed into the waistband and pockets of his PJ,s. He rolls over and goes to sleep.

This evening I'm watching him ritually gather and stuff the menagerie into his troos again. I'm getting worried. Is this going to turn into some weird lifelong fetish? So casually I ask him why he's stuffing his stuffed animals into his trousers. He stops. Looks at me like I've grown another head and replies 'To keep them safe of course! '.

lord help us

At the weekend I ran in a charity 10K/Half marathon event. I did the 10k obviously as I run very slowly and dont have the patience for a half marathon. I say that like I COULD run a half marathon. God, I'm funny!

Anyway. I run the 10k. Do quite respectably. Don't die in the process. Which is always a distinct possibility. I'm feeling quite good about myself.

Two days later the charity who organise the event publish the results. They publish them on the internet, email all participants with the list, post it in the local paper. I'm check my results. Hey, 28th in the woman's 10k. Sweet. (sweeping past the fact that there were only 40 something 10k runners) - it's the first time I've gone down from a 3 figure position, so I'm good with that.

Hmm what's that number on the right? MY AGE!!!?!!! They published my age!!!!?! What the hell!?!!! Palpitations. Cold sweats. Light head. Trauma. Nausea. Oh, there are a few 20-somethings who finished after me? Sweeeeeeet.

mouths of babes

My son has embarked on a whole new life mission. His sole purpose these days is to horrify his unsuspecting parents in public places, bu uttering non-pc statements in the loudest voice he can muster. In Scotland we could get away with this. People would look on, smile whimsically and utter, 'och , he's only a bairn'. But this Northern California people. Any vaguely non-uber-sensitive statement draws the eyes of all around. You can feel them breathing the suspicion 'well you know where he must have heard that'. Mostly I'm immune to this. The 'shag now shag later' incident I passed off with a laugh.

The second in this unfortunate series of events I've only very recently recovered from. Almost. We were at the fairy tale/superhero dress up party of the newly 6 year old Princess Maya Indigo. Kids parties, in my experience all have the potential for disaster. But this one had gone well. The family live in a lighthouse, so the little darlings had frolicked happily in the garden, parents had mingled in the beautiful setting, the cake - a lilac and pink cool-whip marvel was transported safely to table and no-one had thrown up yet. So it was time to leave. My little charmer and I are climbing the hill to the gate at the same time as some of his buddies and his parents. All is mellow and the Walton mountain-esque goodbye series begins. All at a lilac cool-whip and sugar charged pitch. 'bye Ryan' 'bye Gus' 'bye Erik' 'bye Gus' 'bye Mya' 'bye Gus' 'bye little chinese boy' SILENCE

This evening he excelled. Cub Scouts sign-up night. He's blatantly only interested because they've used alluring words like camping, and submarine, and crossbow and BB gun. (American cub scouts obviously). Dad is chatting to some people who have brand new twins. Boy looks into pushchair and goes ' oooh dad, look pixies'. Nervous laugh from dad. 'No they are new little babies.' Top of voice. 'No they are pixies -look they have pointy ears.!'

All very cute unless you are the one looking at the pointy eared mother with nothing to say.

I know, I know, he's just a bairn.

Parental debate

Two CONSTANT sources of heated debate in our house.

1. Childhood nutrition
2. Appropriate viewing material


1. Debate will rage for the next 20 years - I accept that
2. Kids have been blessed with Austin Powers 2 on TIVO. Further debate ensues. Father thinks it's fine (this is the man who gave them Dodgeball and Zoolander). I'm reluctantly persuaded (read ridiculed) that the humor and smut are way over their heads.

Friends arrive next day for playdate. My 6-year old quips to the mom, ' hi - would you like to shag now - or shag later'?

Yep, WAY over their heads.

and I rest my case.

bad thing happen in threes

It's true.

1. Bug breaks down (I know thats old now)
2. apple reduce price of fancy schmancy iphone by 30%. 2 months after we pay full price for one. (I know, I get no sympathy for that)
3. Puncture on Kansas bicycle (I know - I didn't think I went fast enough either)


I've written off the apple experience.
But I need a reliable vehicle.
Seriously considering buying a pick up.
Will SOO p**s off the hippie community at the school gates.
But worth it just for the attention!

llamas again

Had a very California weekend. All wrapped up in our little darlings' busy social life.

Saturday:
Drop hubbie off at Bart to go into city and pick up newly repaired Bug. ($800!!)
Take kids home to change into superhero and fairytale character costumes - boy refused to dress up but took his plastic sword and silver gun 'just in case'. Aye just in case the neighbours didnt already think we were totally non-pc neanderthals. Daughter wore princess outfit with skull and crossbone print leggings peeping out underneath -v Madonna.
Visit kids party at lighthouse.
Dash home to make phone calls.
Meet friend for coffee and bagel.
Back to party for carrotcake birthday cake.
Rush Twinkle home to pick up wetsuits.
Kayak lesson in the harbor
Movie and pizza.

Sunday:
Go for 3 mile run.
Gather children for party at local kids farm
Hang out in the sunshine, kids chase chickens, pick lettuce, feed sheep and bunnies (but not the white ones who have a sign over them saying 'vicious') - and Rusty the llama.
Into town to run 'errands'
Home to cook dinner on barbecue on the deck
Drop visiting playdate home - stay for beer and corn chowder.
Home for a nice Chardonay and a bit of blogging.

All round a busy but lovely weekend.

Oh, and apparently there used to be two llamas, but Rusty killed the other one. Nice. He and the white bunnies obviously come from the Possil side of the farm then!

The gender gap

Life on a temporary visa can be stressful. The ever present uncertainty of what life will be like in 18 months get wearing, and every normal life decision is excaberated by doubt, and postponement. In the car with the family today, my mind was in it's perpetual state of 'what if and should we'.

Should we buy a house here? Should we sell our house in Scotland to raise the deposit? What if our visa isn't extended? We'd have to go back to nothing and lose lots of money on the place here. But if we only borrow against the equity will we be able to afford a place here? We're mad living in the most expensive part of America. Maybe we should move to Texas where housing is more affordable. But would I get work there? Would it pay the same as here or is the housing cost relative to salaries? Maybe we should postpone buying till we renew our visa, but then visas are extended year or year so it would be the same problem for another 3 years. How much will we spend on rent in three years? 3x12=36, 36x$gazillion = $36gazillion oh god thats loads. I'd get tax relief if it was a mortgage, how much tax relief? $36gazillion x.....

'Aww man!!' I'm rudely interupted by husband the driver. Who's looking like he's left the gas on.

'What?'

'I forgot to put HP sauce on my bacon sandwich this morning"!

I swear - I couldn't make that up, if I tried.

Mechanical woes.

Typical sods law car problems recently.
As you may or may not know, when we sold up in Scotland to move here we lost SO much money on cars, I took an oath to never buy an expensive new brief again. So we arrived here, and bought a 1997 Audi and a 1999 VW bug. Both were fine and dandy, although the previous owner of the Audi used to drive in bare feet and we never managed to expell the stench from the carpets. (not good on hot days).

Now, we still dont know if we'll stay here or not. We'd like to stay, but who knows when you have to keep reapplying for visas. (was speaking to someone at the beach party yesterday who has lived here legally for 20 years, has 4 american kids, is married to an american, and still feels sick every time she comes through immigration because she's not a citizen). But if we do we'll need a mortgage and to get a mortgage you need a credit score, to get a credit score you need credit, the easiest credit to get is a car loan - you know where I'm going with this. So we bought a new car. Fine. Much negotiation about what old car to get rid of. Husband is advocating the bug (its mine) I'm advocating the Audi (his). Both cars are fine. The Audi still smells of feet. I win. Off into the sunset goes the Audi.

6 weeks later the Bug starts to play up. A couple of stressful breakdowns - we get it fixed. Everyone says - get rid its a vw once they start to play up ...
10 weeks later (Thursday) I drive up to SF for a lunch meeting. All well and good. Its scorching hot. I jump in the black bug - which is like and oven when its sunny. Set off for the coast. Get on the main access road to the freeway - its 3.30pm - Stop at traffic lights. The bug just stops. In the middle of 2 lanes. Right in front of the ball park main gate. Just stops. I sit there being honked and shouted at trying to phone AAA. I am deeply unimpressed. But not as unimpressed as the-trying-to-escape-before-rushhour SF business district piling up behind me.

Now, breaking down in America is interesting. Unlike Britain where only murderers stop to speak to you, one has lots of conversations when stranded in America. (I think I blogged this experience the last time the bug played up - the 6 week point. But just for the record.) I was waiting almost an hour for my pickup truck (Ramone from El Salvador). In that time I chatted with: 2 visiting rednecks in a pickup (they pushed my car to the side of the road), 2 SF motorcycle cops (20 minutes apart), an Asian guy who lived in the posh building I was in front of (not impressed cos it wasnt a mercedes), the security guard from the building I was in front of (Rosie, 69 years old and still carrying a walkie talkie, who patrols a building site in Golden Gate park at night and hides in the bushes if she hears anything), a posh gent on a foldup bike who thought I was stood there for the fun of it and stopped to admire the design aesthetic of the bug ( you can imagine my tone there), 3 well buffed young men in hair gel who were walking in their small yappie dogs and 1600 horn honkers who I eventually hid in a doorway to avoid. (Which is how I met Rosie and the asian chap).

To add insult to injury, when the tow truck dropped the car off, the boy from the garage jumped in and it started first time.

The bug is still in the garage. It will be on Craigslist shortly. Going cheap.

The audi apparently is still going strong at 152000 miles.

Our new office building is finally finished

and we moved in 2 weeks back. 3 mile commute to work, its GREAT. I take my little bicycle, stick my laptop in the wicker basket and head off down airport boulevard like an escapee from Kansas. Occassionaly I shriek 'I'll get you my pretty' at a passing pick-up, just for the hell of it.

I love the fact that some of the guys from work arrive on their uber racing bikes, all pointy helmets and neon lycra and click-in shoes, sweating profusely - and I draw up at the same time in a cardigan and ballet pumps with a genteel glow. Now to be fair, they are travelling a whole 2 miles more than me. And going 700 times faster. But still, I get to smirk at them with very European nonchalance - especially when they gasp and shake their heads in horror at my complete lack of cranial protection. (Americans!)
Although, admittedly it is to them I turn when I get a flat tyre or my saddle is at an odd angle or there's a squeek, or one of my 7(!) gears is odd. Then they miraculously produce gadgets, and wrenches and technical things from nowhere to fix it. Amazing what you can stash in lycra and click in shoes - apparently!

enid

Shortstories posted a comment under the 'pants' entry (nice to know someone is out there) saying I should be getting more mileage out of the word 'fanny'. It reminded me to share this one.

Being a conscientious mother, I encourage my children to read. I vividly remember the Mallory Towers series from my childhood and reckoned Twinkle was at the ideal age for all those ginger beer-esque adventures, so I hit Amazon with gusto. Nothing! Nowt! Couldn't find a thang. Has Enid Blyton become so non-pc she's been banned? What?

Eventually I find The Adventures of the Faraway Tree. Aha! I remember that, different worlds on clouds, Moonface, Silky, bread and jam. Great!

It arrives 3 weeks later. Twinkle DEVOURS it! Loves it, recommends it to all her friends. I sit down to read it to her brother.

The main characters are Jo, Fanny and Dick.

That'll be us barred from the 4th Grade reading circle then.

my goodness a month has passed almost to the day

since I last blogged. Not that I've been hugely busy, just always have other stuff to get done. Like my blog buddy shortstories lamented, it sometimes feels like a big time commitment when you get into blogging. But oddly , i miss it when I dont do it. Especially now that I've acknowledged I'm increasingly becoming a scatty old woman. I worry that I'm losing my life experiences for ever because my RAM is full of stuff I don't need. I forget the oddest things - and remember even odder stuff. I have been known to forget where my car is parked - or the fact that I took a ride that morning and have no car with me! How the valet guy laughed at that one! Or I forget that I took my laptop home the night before (despite working on it for 5 hours) and go all the way to work only to have to turn around and go return it because I have no hard drive to work from).
My grey-matter filing system has definately become 'bespoke' in recent years. Suppose it comes to us all in time. Although, I can always take comfort in knowing I'm not as bad as hubbie - who I did manage to convince once he was a year older than he actually was - with no effort at all. How he swung between /irked/pleased/cross/annoyed/delighted a year later when he got to celebrate the same birthday all over again.

Disturbed

Saw Hairspray today. John Travolta as the 'large' mom ( the Devine role to those of us who remember the 80's version). When I first saw him I though - no, this wont work for me. Then there were places where I thought - Oh he's pulled it off! But overall I'm just kinda disturbed by the experience. Will see if the nightime brings nightmares - then I'll decide.
A few very adult jokes in there, which was a tad uncomfortable with small children. Needless to say it went right over their heads - thankfully. Although you never know. After the last 'what do you mean babies dont exit via the bellybutton? ' conversation I'm bracing myself for the classic 'what's a communicable disease?' . Big breaths.

Pants

Not completely American I admit. But never ceases to amuse me when one bloke says to another at work ' are those new pants? very cool!' To offset this they continue to make me say 'potato' for no reason though.

vacation

Long time no post - shame on me. Writers block, busy life - boring life. But now that I've remembered how to log on (!) back to my rambling habits.

Just back from vacation (another Americanism that's crept in to the dialect - used to be holidays before). Went to Oahu in Hawaii. LOVED IT. Palm trees, beaches, mai tai' s. Mmmmm.

Wee girl became snorkelling demon. Snorkelling in the pool, in the sea, in the shower, on the loo (photo's to prove it on request). Wee boy became a hula demon. Father NOT impressed by that. Mai Tai muddled mother found it hysterical.

Snorkelling with a 9 year old is very interesting. Especially in shallow rocky bays. (Shark's Cove to be specific). She's scooting around without a care, I keep getting my boobs and budha belly scuffed on the rocks. Ouch. Also, her fascination with BIG fish was slightly disconcerting. I know I'm a coward/freak/wimp/woose etc etc etc, but I do not like to be swimming with big giant silver and green stripy toothy boggle eyed beasts. (God knows I dated enough of them in the 80's!) Wee nemo-esque blue and yellow things are fine - but the big giant ugly thangs - eeeeek!

Very friendly people in Hawaii - especially the buff young men. No wonder the middle-aged ladies all look so cheery.

Usual ridiculously bad American road signage. Husband forced us to visit Pearl Harbor, took us longer to find it than it did to tour it. But terribly informative. terribly. (See previous blog on middle-aged men and their fascination with all things war related).

Previous to Hawaii...
Birthday parties x 3. - Beach party sooo much easier than bouncy castle with midges.
Surf camp - 9 year old can surf, husband can't.
First and second visitors of the summer - must start charging for that spare room.
4th of July parade - free candy, barbecue, fireworks, lost sister in crowd, found er again.
Sonoma cabin - floppy futon and farty bruv-in-law. Managed to lose control of my arm during conversation and literally THROW a glass of red wine over young sister. She took it well. (compensation for farty bruv-in-law).

Post Hawaii (bikini shame) now on fish, veg, white wine and chocolate diet. Will keep you posted on that one. Training for mid Sept 10K. My legs hurt. Best tip from marathon-runner-skinny-blonde-friend/personal trainer. 'the trick is to stop running before you can't breathe any more'. Sooo glad I'm not paying her!

nuns

Seems everyone is doing stuff

We've had a rash of hobby-itis this past few weeks. Daughter is on the local girls softball team. She's had 2 games and is bored already. I'm forcing her to stick it out till end of season though. If for no reason other than to recoup the cost of the mitt, the sign-up, the team photos, the cleats, the trousers, etc etc etc.
Since she's being forced to be there she passes her time productively in the dugout (she IS a benchwarmer) by learning new chants ('she's number wuuuuhhn,- Alice is her naaaahhme,- she's wunnathereasons, - we're gonna win this gaaaaaamme);blowing HUGE hair-matting-blue-hubba-bubba bubbles; and fashion 'stylin' the uniforms. (if you twist stripy socks you get spiral socks - soooo cooooool - apparently). At the end of the game she has no concept of the score. She plays for the coasters. So far they've been beaten by the Kittens and drawn with the Livewires. Both times she reckons the other team had the advantage because they have either a better uniform (kittens) or better name! I fear her heart isn't in the game sadly. !!!

Wee boy's fave hobby is currently reading. He is now a certified boffin, having just been assessed at school as a Fifth grade level reader!!!! His sister is furious - she too is a Fifth grade level reader, but she's just finishing 3rd grade while he is just finishing KG - to her this is some sort of personal affront and it drives her MAD. This irritation is only excaberated by his new hobby of reading everything. He is reading anything he can get his hands on, (and I'm constantly hiding my copies of People and Marie Claire). He reads out loud as we drive along, challenging her to read-offs. This is all fine until you pull up alongside some graffiti. Yikes. Every time this happens I'm reminded of the now famous shop name incident. ' m-a-n-g-o mango. m-a-c-y-s macys, f-c-u-k f..... ' Yes you can imagine.

Hubby is now officially back from his weekend endurance trip. Between last Thursday am and Sat night he went from Moss Beach, to Nevada, to Idaho, to Utah, to Nevada, (again) and back to California. Pulled a classic by wearing head to toe black leather - then realizing that it's 108 in Nevada in June.!!! However, he had fun - he says.

So not to be outdone, I've been looking for my own hobby. Have considered a motorbike of my own (don't have a motorbike yet), surfing (need swim lessons first) I dabbled in running (too hard). So instead I've taken up knitting! I feel it befits a woman of my mature years and certainly fits with my talent for sitting on my arse drinking wine. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be very good at it. (The knitting, that is - I'm very good at the sitting and drinking bit). I mean, how hard could it be really? But no, its not really working. I've made 2 hats so far. Son is wearing his with pride, but unfortunately it has so many holes, he looks like he's wearing an enormous hairnet. I keep telling him it's gangsta, though so struts around in it thinking he's cool. (Thats the problem with boffins - very gullible on the style front). Hat numero 2 is too small even for daughters tiny heed. However, I turned the situation around by sewing on a handle and some beads. She's been wearing her new 'purse' all day. I'm rather proud of my creative recovery on that one (unfortunately everything falls out of the 'purse' through the holes eventually). I KNOW they just feel sorry for me, but I cover for them and wear purple string bracelets, and enormous bead keyrings and shrunken plastic brooches every day - so I'll bask in my creative glow for a little longer. ( I will of course remove the hairnet before he goes to school - there's funny and there's downright cruel.)

Home alone

Husband has gone off on one of his great lonesome adventures. When asked for his route he replied ' East for a day, then north, then loop back'. Must be great being him!
The routine for these trips goes like this:
'I think I'll go on another trip"
(me) 'ok just arrange childcare and give me dates so I can work around it'
'I can't go -its not fair'
'no its fine, just get everything organized first'
'I'll think about it'

6 weeks of brooding and increasing irritability

(me) would you please go on a feekin trip and give us all a break?
'oh that's a good idea... if you dont mind'

3 weeks of intense map reading
1 week of intense mission planning and packing (must happen in middle of living room and must take 5 days)

' it will be good to get some space and everythings organized, you'll hardly notice the difference in your routine.

Day 1 of trip. I work from home today (just in case). He plans on leaving at 5am - so I'll need to drop the kids off at school.
My 'hardly notice the difference' day went like this:
7 .00 get up, deal with emails, get ready
7.45 Get kids up, ready, out to school.
8.30 Drive to school. Drop kids off, deal with admin in school office, hand in various forms and payments that have been lying around for 2 weeks but need to be dealt with Today.
9.00 Do all of housework in 30 mins flat
9.30 Start work
10.00 see husband off on trip (5am !!!!!!!!) ' take photos of me leaving, come see my new topbox, let me show you my route;
10.15 - 2.30 Work
2.40 Drive to school. Pick up kids
2.40 -2.50 pressganged by kids into buying books at bookclub thing at school
2.50 3.20 Hijacked to hang art as husband had volunteered but forgotten, so they were looking for him.
3.30 Drive home. Feed and water children while taking phone call from husband with progress update. 'Its 110 degrees, but the plains are fabulous
3.45 - 6.00 work while minding children, supervising homework and providing constant snacks
6.00 - 7.15 Drive to HMB. Softball practice for child A. Read Ninja tree house book to child B in car while waiting.
7.70 - 8.30 Drive to School. Open house at school, checkout both classes, artwork, projects in corridors, lug home a forest of paper.
8.30 Drive home. Feed and water children while taking second progress call from husband ' the plains are really boring, I'm heading north tomorrow, my hips hurt'
9.30 finally get kids to bed
9.30 - 11.00 catch up on work, confirm tomorrows pick-ups, rideshares etc etc
11.00 make packed lunches
11.30 Replace sofa covers husband washed 4 days ago.
11.50 - bed

Nope, hardly noticed the difference.

The llama's fine - in case you were wondering.

BUT apparently the antivenom has to be followed by a course of antibotics. Antibiotics kill bacteria or enzymes or somesuch, and llamas need same bacteria/enzymes/somesuch to digest food. So a course of injections is also needed to replace the stuff that the antibiotics kill. Sound familiar? Nose lump - doctor- scan - ent guy- dentist- xrays - orthadontic surgeon- huge bills. Its a conspiracy I tell you. Even the poor llaaaaaamaaaas are susceptable. Hmm.

'how was your weekend?'

This morning it was all the usual stuff,
' saw Pirates of Caribbean 3 - it was rubbish '
'went for a 10 mile bike run'
'learned to surf in hawaii' (maybe that one isnt so usual)
'went to a barbecue'

Then the classic line of all time - 'mom's llama got bit by a rattlesnake so we spent all day yesterday trying to catch her '.

This was followed shortly after by a persistent 'you are a heartless b*t**' aimed at me . I don't know what kicked that off - I genuinely thought it was a very funny thing for him to say. AND I was trying to be helpful when I suggested he just replace it with another one before she gets back from her hols! It's a llaaaammaaaa! How distictive can it be? She only keeps it because it's easier than using a lawnmower.

Memorial day weekend

The weekend started well with me soooo tired I couldnt believe it. Had 2 glasses of wine with dinner, settled down to watch a movie, woke at 3am on the sofa. Husband asleep at the other end of the sofa. All the lights on. Tivo holding page still on. Doors unlocked. The whole caboodle. Being a nice spouse I lock up and stumble off to bed leaving him to freeze on his todd.

Saturday afternoon, Gus and I tootle around half moon bay while Ali was at softball practise. I had a flash of interior decor brilliance and bought a gumball machine filled with cacti. (!) No idea what to do with it once I got it home. It's currently sitting opposite the orange tree in the dinner nook looking slightly unsure of its position.

We just got in from movie night at the Princeton Harbour Yacht club. Big screen on the dock. All the kids in the back of vans and cars a la drive-in. Adults on camp chairs wi pints o beer and a blankies. Fun. Errol Flynn in Robin Hood, so funny - I'd totally forgotten how hammy it was, - and I'd no idea metalic fabrics were so big with Maid Marian and her peers she spent most of the movie looking like a cross between the Virgin Mary and Suzan from Human League. I was also oblivious to the fact thay they had chilli peppers in growing in the forest in medieval England - amazing! As usual the American audience managed to make the whole thing so upbeat you couldnt help but cheer at the end. Gus wants to know if we can get it on DVD!!!!!

Its been a long time

Cant believe almost 3 weeks have passed since I last posted. Time flies!.
So on the back of a conversation and in an effort to get down with the kids (yeah right) I start youtubin ghost riders. Two things strike me - 1. Looking cool no longer looks cool to me - it looks stupid. Is that because Im old or do these dudes really look like dumb shi*s? There is one video where they use a school bus to ghostride, hubby quips, now there's one school bus you wouldnt mind seeing wiped out.? He' s soooooo pc. NOT.

The youtube took me of course to other stuff, so i had a entire evening of Catherine Tate, the Royal Command Performance is an absolute classic, I loved that. )But is one bothered? then I stumbled on some Glasgow comedienne Jaynee something. Very VERY funny. For anyone who's had children, the 'pain of childbirth part is pricelee.

So I'm in a wave of homesick right now. We spent the last few days eating $2 cadburys flakes Laughing in hysterics, tearns n all at Lauren (Tate). and for me missing the speed of conversation and discussion.Long weekend coming up though, so an opportunity to soak up the Americaness of it all and hopefully shake of the stupor I feel righ now. The 'caffeine' pills arent doin anything, still fat.

Nightmare

At the weekend we were invited to a kids party/ cinquo de mayo party. Twinkle was already there. Hubby goes off in advance to drop soemthing off. Me and wee boy are all set to leave. I nip back into grab a bag and lock up etc. Wee boy is waiting in garden ( LIVES on the swing practically). Anyway I come out he's nowhere to be seen. I running up to the road - no sign. Out to the back gate - no sign. Back into the house - no sign. Starting to panic big time - I'm YELLING his name. And I see him in the distance on the cliffs, running back towards me. he only turned when he heard me yelling - how he heard me I don't know, cause I couldnt even see him. He then RIPS into me for giving HIM a fright, cos he thought I was behind him!!!!!!

Next day at a party in the park, he disappears off to the toilet on his own, to wash the tree sap from his hands. All while I am watching him like a hawk. He's there, I put something in the trash can and he's gone. I swear he's trying to give me a heart attack. I haven't slept for two nights with the terrors of it all.

Needless to say his father got the blame for allowing him too much freedom. Can't be my fault I'm constantly neurotic. (apparently).

Today's desk-side sayings

I don't think we want to take that out of our quiver just yet.

Nice hubs.

Straight to my head

Had a haircut on Saturday. I SWEAR it sapped my strength. I've been ditsy useless bird for 2 days now.
This morning I took out my wallet to check I had cash for the carpark (see previous saga on that one).
Then promptly left my wallet on the counter. So I get in to the carpark, have to plead with the nice carpark guy to let me park temporarily for free, traipse over to the office, cadge $10 and walk all the way back. The carpark guy had to pay for me once before, then another time I forgot to get back before 7 and he'd gone home, so I was stranded with no car keys (valet dontcha know), so he's used to me. But maan they're ribbing me at work.

They've also taken to making me say 'potato'. Results in peels of laughter (no pun intended). Don't know why, I suspect it may be my accent (ya think??) but since I'm useless for anything else right now I can only comply.

The stories people tell.

When we have little side chats in the office (as you do) I'm often struck by how different our lives are - especially our childhood memories. So I make notes in my stripey book under a 'must blog this' heading.
Unfortunately I then forget the stories. This I find frustrating and fascinating all at the same time. So I'm leaving them as they are - it feels appropriate somehow. So my 'must blog' page currently reads:

7 story tree house.
Won horse in raffle / rodeo.
Wagon trip.
Parents Naturist friends in the kitchen
Kayak convention
Horse choked - died.
Tree house fell down.
Bacon candles / Bear bait.
Avril Lavigne *MF.

I'm kinda scared to work with these people now.

Talent show

I have been horribly busy and stressed by my IRS returns which would make Jesus sell his soul for a good tax adviser! Hence no blog entries. Also, Twinkle, had her school talent show on Saturday. So the added pressure of being a non- PTA but guilt ridden Mom meant, I had to conjured up 40 T-shirts in 2 hours. However I did it, and sold them for a whacking fundraising profit.( I am SO great.) So am now released back onto my own self obsessed vanity site.

Anyway, talent show was phenomenal. Professional mc, lights, smoke machine, wireless headset mics, etc etc etc. None of your Mrs Johnston on piano in the lunch hall here. Its California don't you know.

Highlights of the night:
Twinkle and her mates in their Wizard of Oz dance routine - of course. Followed by:
Shirley Temple tap dance opener ( I positively filled up)
Elvis and his teddy bear (some parents are borderline cruel)
Very beautiful Russian singing wee girl in a peasant skirt (you just know she loves Tatoo though)
5 year old harmonica player (so sweet my teeth hurt - and his dad was kinda tasty too)
3 x pianists (unfortunately all played individually) but one hi-5-d her big brother when she was done, so we let her off for being cute
Mission Impossible gymnastics team - complete with woolly hats and laser lights and back flips. (way too cool for school)
The pirate jokes (what give a pirate a heart attack? blocked ahrrrrrrrteries)Classic
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star played on the recorder via a fourth graders nose. (now that's talent).
6 year old, who when the rapturous applause for her van morrison song died down, piped up 'emm actually I wasn't quite done yet!'

Some misses:
Sisters song by mini blonde brats in big frocks.
Unfortunately large child with lisp, singing Hilary Duff teen angst song.
Shy and awkward child singing Avril Lavine angry song.
Very pretty blonde 11 year old, in very mature red lipstick, doing somewhat inappropriate Gwen Steffanie routine.
(with obligatory mother lipsynching in the wings of course).
Bongo drums. (nuff said).

Eaaaarugh

I offended a Californian recently. I've met him twice max at work. He waltzes into the office, walks straight up behind me and tries to give me a neck massage. Needless to say in true Scottish lilting tones I went. 'Aarrgh wituryedaen? Personal space man personal space'. He looked like I'd vomited on him (probably sounds the same to be fair). Hysterically everyone in the room looked stunned, turned to him and went - 'don't you know she's British?' So I felt less weird somehow. Being Californian he just shrugged and walked off. I feel a tad bad. (But only a tad).

He's since called me both uptight and old. I've called him a half arsehole half hippy.

I think I've made a new friend.

activist - moi?

I got enlisted to help organise a protest/rally/gathering thing here for 'step it up'. Basically a movement to try to get America to agree to reduce carbon emissions. All part of the new Al Gore inspired global warming action. Most people here hadn't even heard of Kyoto till recently.( And I think Al Gore may be the anti-christ -I saw the omen III - but thats another entry) Anyhoo, one glass of wine too many at a party (some things in life ARE predictable). And I set myself up as campaign manager. Well how hard can it be? I reckon 20 of us with kids. My family is bigger than that! Of course, being a smartass I go into full on PR mode. So now our figurehead has been on front page of both local papers and their websites, interviewed by a radio station and raised as a champion by every green group in the district. (not me I have visa renewals to worry about you know - no matter how worthy and respectable the cause and event I'm laying low). So we're totally kacking it now that we're gonna have 300 people joining us for a picnic on the beach. We've even managed to rope in a photographer and a pilot to fly overhead and take arial shots (not very green of us but we'll smudge over that one!!!) So today we rented a megaphone, (what joy that is with 2 kids at bedtime. I'm keeping it! ) and when I'm done here I'll be writing a 'thanks for coming speech, printing 40 tshirts and praying it doesnt rain. Obviously the only day in the next 3 week window with rain forecast is this Saturday. Just like Scotland really. But never mind, if its only 20 of us we can still have a picnic and we'll have 2 tshirts each to keep us warm. Might even spot some whales. www.stepitup2007.org for those of you interested. Photos should be on the site by Sunday.

the art of communication

It's spring here, nearly time to get my legs out again, so I ventured out in a skirt this week. Still in my suede boots though (got my moneys worth out of those!). So I'm wearing my kinda shiny skirt (too fat for a really shiny skirt). I leave work and HAVE to quickly phone my mate in response to a message she left. I'm in the car by now and can't find my handsfree kit. No problemo, no law of safe driving here in California so I dial away. I am somewhat safety conscious though, so while she's in full flow of a tale, I put the phone on speaker and sit it on my lap so I can have both hands on the wheel. She gets really into her story, we're laughing away, I turn left onto the freeway - and the phone shoots off my shiny skirt and lands on the floor in the back of the car. By now I'm doing 70 and there's no way I can reach it. However, the speaker is on the back of the phone so I can hear her clear as a bell. So I just let her go on. Eventually, after about 10 minutes (no exageration) she realises she cant hear me, so the typical 'helloooho?' 'are you still there?' I can't hear you! will I hang up? sequence begins to come from the speaker. Unfortunately the microphone is on the front of the phone and face down on the floor of the car. So I'm shouting, top of my voice at the phone and laughing like an idiot, with no audience. Eventually she hangs up. 15 minutes later, when I get to my first red light I get to retrieve the phone. I look up and the entire family in the SUV next to me are staring like I'm some kinda unexploded bomb. Guess I did have an audience for my shrieking and laughing and grabing at the at the (empty) backseat of the car then! oops.

yeeehaaa

Went to Santa Fe last week for spring break (Easter hols). We had a fab time; art and sculpture everywhere - some good some bad; scenery from a John Wayne movie around every corner; and people watching to DIE for.

If you had told me two weeks ago that Americans really do wear cowboy boots, stetsons and cherokee blanket coats I'd have laughed in your face. First day in Santa Fe, there they were, we thought 'oh how fun, the people in the shops all wear cowboy boots and stetsons (thats mainly what the shops sell in Santa Fe - hats, boots, turquoise jewellery, chillis and very expensive art). Day two we're going - ' oh the tourists are all wearing them too'. Day three - ' did we arrive during a line-dancing festival?' Nope-EVERYBODY wears them. For real. It's very bizarre, sitting in nice restaurants, surrounded by men in big cowboy hats - all poker faced and serious. The women are all doing the Dolly P thang too. If they're not in coyote ugly outfits they're doing the Texas Rose thang. It really is hysterical. Of course children LAPPED it up.

Twinkle got me to purchase a hand knitted, multi color skirt from an Indian crafts store for her. This she paired with her new white stetson, her cowboy boots she'd brought for riding in and a sparkly T-shirt. Thought she was the bees knees for days. (I later discovered a made in Taiwain label in the skirt but I cut it out before she saw it).

Son is SO extatic with his new non-pc gun and holster/sherrifs hat combo. This coupled with his Scottish complexion and first missing tooth is lining him up as a strong candidate for the new milky bar kid.

Was hot and sunny all week then snowed the day we left. I was glad it was the day we were leavingas we had only one fleece between us. My new silver Jesus sandals didnt offer up much protection under those conditions.

Stuff we did- visit to Indian Pueblos. Fun (especially when a local lady complimented Twinkle's new skirt!). Visit to cave dwellings with lots of very high ladder action for kids to freak out husband with. (Some very unattractive shots of my rear end taken on that day). Madrid, an old mining town full of hippies, tumbleweed and bikers and the sound of banjos carried in the wind. Its where they filmed Wild Hogs (apparently) haven't seen that one yet, I suspect I should. Dinner at the 'Cowgirl Hall of Fame'. Baked potato pudding a big hit. Basically a very realistic looking ice-cream, cream, pistacio, chocolate powder concotion. Who thinks of that then? Was someone sitting around one night going 'hmmm, now how can I make this ice cream appear more potato-like in appearance?' yummy though. (hence the big arse shots on the ladder visits I suppose). Horse riding in the canyon. Trip to the Rio Grande gorge (you've got to really). Pretended to be rich enough to buy some art in Taos (close escape there I had my wallet out at one point). At husbands insistence a visit to Los Alamos where the nuclear bomb was invented. A very very very wierd place is Los Alamos. Very Twin Peaks atmosphere. A visit to the nuclear bomb museum was forced upon us. Not a cheery family outing choice. And dull enough to have dad officially banned from all future destination decisions. I've got to humor him sometimes though, you know how it is.

Husband insisted on eating every endagered species he could, just to annoy Twinkle. So buffalo, ostrich and elk all got devoured with great gusto. This combined with a side of chillis with everything just made his week.

Casinos everywhere in the middle of nowhere - if that makes sense. Theres some weird Indian reservation exemption from gambling/us laws so literally 20 miles from anything a huge building appears. Very Jimmy Nail.

Skint

Went to ANOTHER school fundraiser, auction thing at the weekend. Bought another week in Hawaii (aloha), a month of karate lessons (hi-yaaa) and a telescope bigger than me (nano-nano). Beach party theme. Margherita slushies. Nuff said.

At the same party I heard, a discussion on the PTA. 'That's such and such - she's the tall one.' In the noisy background (margherita slushies) I misheard this as '...she's the lead blonde.' My ears pricked up thinking I'd stumbled into the truth of the PTA political scene - I thought I'd heard the California version of 'she's the Alpha-female' Oh how they all laughed when I checked if I'd heard correctly - they didn't find it at all offensive despite all 3 of my companions being card carrying PTA California blondes. (thank god for margherita slushies).

On one of my lunchtime wanders last week I heard the following conversation from two women behind me. Word for word. ' I saw Jake Gillenhall. I was like, oh my god you're Jake Gillenhall - you're really short. I didn't say that though I just thought it' (earwigging faded out at this point till they caught up with me again at the lights) 'yeah I read this survey, and apparently the size of your head on a scale of the height of your body is an indication of how famous you'll be. Apparently its pretty acurate..." The lights changed. I didn't hear how famous Jake Gillenhall is going to be. Sorry.

I've also noticed that I keep hearing all these little expressions and sayings, which need to be translated, but then I forget them (age). So I've started a list on this page. I'm hoping to gather enough for a British - American dictionary. I must remember a section on how to shop for a duvet - what a confusing experience that is without a translator. But it's a boring story, so I'll spare you that for now.

weeii thing

I had a go on a Nintendo Weii thingy at work yesterday. (Shows how old I am that I dont even know what its called.) But it's MAD.You hold a wireless remote control, make all the arm movements of a real sport ( I use the term sport loosely) and the the person on the telly does what you do. In 20 minutes I had a game of bowls (2 strikes, 1 spare, no beer though). A round or tennis (less said on that the better) and a home-run baseball session. (it's a stupid game anyway). I'm told some guy lost 20lbs in 2 months playing it - I take it he was pretty inactive before. But I did manage a little glow during the baseball despite hitting only one ball - although that was perhaps my blood pressure. God, I sound like an old git. 'oooh the things they can do these days - look its a wireless remote control thingy and it keeps my bones moving;.

But anyway it's so much fun I unintentionally revealed my addictive personality, so now they know all my weak points. So I'll have to find ANOTHER new job. Aw maan.

I've just realised that I've posted twice in one day. Both mention weight loss and addiction. Note to self. Stop watching Desperate Housewives.

are you trying to sell me THAT?

Here's the thing. 'People' magazine is running an ad which shows an old front page from the UK tabloid newspaper - the Daily Mail. Its a typically brain-strain Daily Mail story showing Brittany Spears spilling her handbag contents at Heathrow and picking up what looks like a well-known brand of slimming pills. I've no idea of how old the article is, but Brittany is capable of picking up her own handbag contents- so it's not recent. ANYHOO the ad has been placed by the slimming pills people. Basically they show the front page. Then underneath have an 8 line disclaimer along the lines of ' we by no way suggest Ms Spears endorses or uses or product, etc etc blah blah blah'. But they are using the revelation-scandal-piece (who doubtless get paid for its use) to let us know that supposedly Britanny uses it. This presumably sets the aspiration for a bod like Brits by her association with the drug.

Bizzarely I'm partially impressed at their resourcefulnes in cashing in on the situation. (its my job, I have an evil marketing node in my brain).

BUT here's the reality of the situation.
Britanny uses that slimming pill. We keep being warned there are side effects to these pills - mood swings, depression, who knows.
Britanny uses that slimming pill. Look at Britanny now, wi her eejit husband, velour trackies, shaved head and social workers hovering around her kids, warrants at the ready.
Britanny uses that slimming pill - Hmmm.... and the aspirational appeal is? - anyone??

Whiter than white.

I feel my California experience may be almost complete. I need only an uber-bod and a non-bottle suntan and I'll be able to return to dear old Blighty fulfilled. (It may take some time for that bod to appear though). Following on from the earthquake non-incident, the following unfolded this week.

Background: February I was ruthlessly bullied into parting with a substantial bunch of cash for dad 'n' daughter matching wetsuits. They wore me down in the surf shop when we went to hire suits yet again, for another Sunday of boogie-boarding. Truth is I like going to the surf shop. I like the charming young surf chaps who work there. (uhuhu). But I relented. Needless to say, I now throw them out to the beach every chance I get to make them justify the cost. Not that I hear many complaints - its not like sending them for a wander up Kelvingrove Park in the rain after all.

Anyway, this Sunday, off they scampered as a reward for getting through 19 pages of math homework. I got to stay home and fill out some tax forms. Fun. When I opened the door to them a couple of hours later, I was faced with two whiter than white slightly shifty looking articles. Oh ho thinks I - what happened? Now obviously I'm suspecting that Dad was so busy having fun in the surf he forgot to mind small girl properly. But no, turns out he was being super responsible (as he should). While surfing they meet a little sea-lion bobbing up and down watching them. Quite a common occurence here for the curious young uns to come close for a nosy. So dad is watching the sea-lion and as he does is thinking about the dead 4-foot leopard shark we'd found on a neighbouring beach a couple of days before. The thought occurs to him - it must have been a bigger shark that got it. Link. I wonder should I be concerned about the proximity of that baby seal attracting predators? Bang on cue two black fins rise on either side behind the seal criss-crossing as they close in. So you can imagine the survival instinct kicks in. Shriek, swim, shriek, run back for your child (!), run, look again, realise it's dolphins, keep running, stop, admire the dolphins, realise the whole beach is looking at you, gather child and slope off feeling like a stupid big prat in a rubber suit.

Two things concern me.
1 child with no fear cant wait to go back to same beach !
2 husband is fretting that his survival instinct may be weak because he went back for said child!!!

Thank God for my pale and sulky computer geek son. At least I wont be left all alone in my middle-age.
Lord help me.

sick,paperface,spelling,lump,horses (aka a rambling post)

I've been sick. A kind of cold, flu, bug type thing. Just very tedious and very tiring. I stayed home for three days and worked from the desk in the back room. Very kind of me I believe, as I quarantined the darn thing - if only everyone were so considerate I wouldnt have caught it in the first place. (you know who you are!)

I've no desire to get into a sick-off (see the very funny steven-short-stories.blogspot.com for more on this topic). But others in the house were also sick - only the grown man had to take himself off to bed and have silence and isolation. Woman and kids continued to drag on regardless. I draw no conclusion but felt this worth a mention.

Daylight saving came into force this weekend (spring forward) which means its dark in the mornings when I try to get up. I'm amazed at how this sets me back. How I survived in Scotland ever, I dont know. Last week I was bouncing out of bed at 6am without a thought. This week I'm like a corpse rising when the alarm goes off. I only lost an hour - I presume its mostly psychological but it feels very real.

Also, this week, I ran out of my favourite $6 per gallon moisturiser. Because I was sick I couldnt go buy more, so I resorted instead to the $90 stuff lurking on my shelf (yes I am so sad and frivolous that I buy this stuff and then only use it once a month). After 4 days my face looks like its made of newspaper. How can this be? Am I being ripped off by the $90 people? (shah yuh-uh!) Have I over the years killed my skins ability to moisturise itself? Can it no longer produce oil? Whats happening? Should I micro dermabrase to remove the dry flaky bits or let it heal? I need botox and a lift so badly now, its unbelievable. Is this how old I really am? Why did no-one tell me this is what lurks under all that oil i plaster on twice a day? I should SO advertise Nivea cheapo cream, its a miracle potion I tell you.

Just noticed a strange thing as I typed that last bit. Moisturise looks wrong. Moisturize looks right. I'm starting to believe that there is a place for the letter Z in the middle of words. Dear God, things are bad! (and I just pronounced this in my head as zee and not zed - I'm obviously feeble minded and weak)

Spoke to the ENT guy at last. My lump is/was officially a cyst which nature has taken care of it by itself. That was worth the $2,000 medical bills then. Glad I saw so many professionals to get to that conclusion.

Went to a school fundraiser thing a couple of weeks back and bought 6 days in Hawaii. So thats the summer hol taken care of.
Booked a trip to Santa Fe for spring break (Easter week) looking forward to venturing out of the California/NYC circle which has ensnared me for the past year. Must remember to take my cowboy boots - but I'm telling you now, I am NOT catching my own horse again. Last time it took me 20 minutes to edge close enough to the darn thing to get a harness on - and then it bolted anyway. Nope, I want it to pull up all groomed, saddled and held on a short reign for me. None of this horsemanship and hoof cleaning stuff. Get on, ride, get off. That's my kind of riding lesson.

Life is good

On those nice sunny days, and there are many here. I HAVE to go out and enjoy the sun on my face, even for five minutes. It makes me feel human. And as one who was deprived of the great ball of fire in the sky for the first 20 years of life, I really do appreciate having it on tap. So out I go for a wander of a lunchtime.

I also love people watching. The tribal habits of the human species never ceases to amaze me and I love to shake my head in a superior manner as I pigeon-hole innocent passers-by based on nothing more than their wardrobe and my prejudices.

So right now, I am in lunchtime heaven. I've discovered the Starbucks 2 blocks away, opposite the big conference centre. So I can idle along, gawp at the tribe-de-jour in line, play guess the convention as I stroll in the sun, tall, no-fat, vanilla, latte in hand. Then be perfectly smug when I spot an entrance tag to confirm my assumptions were right.

Todays wardrobe of choice:
women with Doc Marten shoes and extended bellies.
young(ish) blokes in no-style in particular jeans and Tenacious D T-shirts
middle aged men with longish ponytails straggling down from a bald heed
and that Silicon Valley uniform of choice - grey with black graphic pattern, short sleeved shirt and 1998 no-name training shoes.

That'd be a game developers convention then?

Oh how smug and perfect am I? Despite my new vanilla latte addiction I can still spot a geek at 50 paces. I am GOOD!
Normally at this point I'd self obsess about what people think of me when they see me wandering the streets, sipping coffee and eating a muffin from a bag. But today I wont. Because today was Game Developers day - and since I'm not plugged into a 16-inch monitor with multiple 3D viewing options and an weapons arsenal to rival the Queens Highlanders, I know no one thought anything of me - or even saw me. I like that fact!.

La Lump

I've had many requests for an update on the lump. It throws me into such a soapbox-esque rant that I've been avoiding it. Summary is, its gone away! If I really poke and squash my face I can feel it. And it's defo there on the x-rays, but so not bugging me anymore. So I'm in the quandry of leave it or persue it in case it should flare up again and leave me in an covered medical insurance state. Hmmmmm. ENT guy doesnt believe its on the bone or anything. Although he doesnt know what it is. Hubby blames a humungous trapped bogie (nice thought). Sister suspects an internal big zit. Colleague thinks an ingrowing nasal hair (even nicer thought). Not sure what is worse, internet self diagnosis (see earlier posting) or soliciting opinion of common sense acquantances. Hmmm what to do?

No sh**!

Big San Francisco experience today.

Sitting at my desk working on a proposal, type type type, half listening to the meeting on the other side of the suspended glass partition screen, type type type, it's Friday, wonder if we'll go boogyboarding again tomorrow, type type type, is that two graphic recorders or one, type type type - WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??? I turn towards the meeting to see the partition screen visibly shake - WAS THAT WHAT I THINK IT WAS?

Yup, an earthquake!!! No shit!

Now at this point it gets a little surreal. Everyone else in true California techno hippy freak style goes 'wow' lets check - and sit down at their computers! They all log onto the earthquake monitoring site (they all know the url by heart apparently) and sure enough, a 3.5 scale earthquake reported in Berkley. 'Oh a 3.5' they say. 'nothing worth talking about' they all say. - Freaks!

Eventually someone noticed me cowering under my desk, trying to call home to get the children out of the front garden and away from the impending tsunami. They enticed me out after some time, with a bar of chocolate and a miniature bottle of gin (which I keep in my handbag for such emergencies). Much hilarity ensued. It won't be that when the roof falls in and I'm the only one with spare batteries, toilet paper and a wind up radio. Oh no, they'll all want to be my friend then!

valentines day USA style

As we live in the birthplace of the Hallmark card, 'important' days, like Valentines day take on a whole new perspective.
As well as being the day when adults give something they dont want to give to someone who doesnt really want to receive it. This is also the day when every child is encouraged to give meaningless, thoughtless card/note/candy items to everyone in their class. They must give to everyone or no-one, as Charlie Brown days are officially banned in America it seems.

This results in 8 year old stressing for weeks because she cant work out how to avoid giving anything to any boys but still manage to keep her friends happy. (One giant 'to my class' card did the trick). This makes me incredibly happy, for I know one day she may be working out how to give her mates nothing and keep the boys happy!

Now, when you get to 8pm on the 13th of Feb and your 5 year old realises he's failed to make 20 classmate cards plus one each for teachers, office staff, principal and janitor the opportunity for a major meltdown occurs. As luck would have it supermom managed to conjure up 25 heart shaped cookies by 9pm. And so saved the day. (Its amazing what you can do with 2 eggs, a box of nesquick, a bag of sugar and a piece of furniture from a Lil Bratz roller skating loungin' area. - creativity is my middle name).

I was rewarded when said 5 year old stuffed a pink and red lovehearts napkin-wrapped parcel into my handbag, as I left for work. 'Dont open it until you get to work mom, it;s a valentines surprise'. Aww bless, so I dont open it. Get to 11 oclock, pour my coffee, unwrap my anticipated heart shaped chocolate truffle type treat, only to find a bashed and soggy box of raisins left over from yesterdays lunchbox. Just like hid dad on the present choosing front then. Boys, ya gotta luv em.


My parking problems are resolved. I park one block down and pay $10 a day, no negotiations. It makes life a little easier, although sadly a little duller too. And I have shifted to wearing my patent leather platforms on wet days. Just to be safe.

I believe I am at war.

Car park boy chanced for $15 again today.
I refused and gave him a disparaging look.

In the morning it rained.
I was wearing cream suede boots.
I live in California so I had no spray protector on my cream suede boots.
I skipped lunch to protect my cream suede boots from the wet.

When I went to the parking lot, my car was parked in a big big puddle.
The valet guy didn't offer to drive it out for me.
The keys were in the visor already.

It would seem revenge is a dish best served wet.

location location

So right now I work in San Francisco proper having left Silicon-Valley-Of-The-Geek behind for the timebeing.
Not that I didn't enjoy my time there - I did. But those short sleeved shirts and 1985 trainers (mid decade is never a good year for fashion in my opinion) were becoming a tad overwhelming. So now I commute to SOMA which has it's own colourful residents, still in odd shirts and 1980's trainers - but the SOMA residents don't just live there, they live right there - on the street (and in the doorways and the dumpsters) . These locals make those trainers seem so much more funky though - funny that. I don't really mind navigating the local residents of SOMA, it takes me back to my London days when I'd dodge trucks drivers and butchers on my way through Smithfield market of a morning. Flashback to the morning I cut my ankle tripping over a pigs foot in a pair of impractically high mary-jane's. (I was wearing the mj's, not the pigs foot). Oh the colourful life I've led!

So now I drive North instead of East, keeping the ocean on my left and being intimidated by the SUV's at the on ramps.
I've already found my own little favourite parking lot, right opposite the office and haven't got lost once yet. Although today I did accept that I was a little rusty on city driving when, having been momentarily distracted by a phone conversation, I found myself driving the wrong way up a one way street. Oops. In my defence, it was a pretty wide street. No harm done in the end, although I did have to end my call abruptly when the penny dropped.!! (Don't tell the husband, he'll confiscate my phone).

I was getting on quite well with the car lot guy as well, he's always nice and cheery and it makes a lass feel fairly safe on the mean streets when it's dark and your crossing a parking lot, to see a familiar face watching your back. It all went a little less rosy today unfortunately when he tried to pull a fast one on pricing. (Now those of you (Short) who are terribly British and nervous of talking about money, may want to stop reading at this point.) I arrived later than usual and commented on how full the lot was. That's when he informed me he'd already put his rate up to $20 as there was a big conference on up the street. I noticed at this stage that the sandwich board prices were indeed lick and stick vinyl and had been bumped up. Apparently this is the norm - all supply and demand and the American dream and all that. Having just renegotiated the block after my wrong-way-one-way incident, I'd no intentions of getting back in the car. I also had no intentions of stumping up 20 bucks because some fat-arse business man convention was on up the road, so resorted to some hard negotiations of my own. I politely pointed out that I'd been paying $12 all week (which is already $4 more than the lot 2 blocks down), and if car lot guy was going to pee me and his other regular customers off on fat-arse-convention days, he'd be poor and shivering and lonely when there was nowt going on but the usual drone of day to day life. He crumbled way too easily - a sure sign of weakness /chancer-ism. So I managed to haggle further and get a nice reduction on the monthly rate. (which I haven't actually commited to yet). I flounced off, feeling quietly superior about my fine-tuned bartering skills. Don't try to rip off this stoopid immigrant buster!

I did get a little anxious at home time though, wondering if my car would still be there, or if it had been keyed, or rented out to a vintage Air Jordan clad local resident as a daybed, or maybe if I'd be smelling wee all the way home if I dared turn on the heaters. Luckily none of these nasty surprises awaited. Although who knows - it's like being horrid to a waiter I suppose, you must never eat there again - EVER. (I'll still be parking in my usual lot though - it is Valet after all!)

Dental x-rays.

Yep you definately got a lump there.
Yep its behind your nose.
No I don't know what it is either.
That'll be $245 please.
CHAH-CHING
Maybe you should see an orthodontic surgeon - just for a second opinion.
CHAH -CHING-CHAH-CHING-CHAH-CHING

Professional Opinions

The saga of the nose lump continues and it's made me even more sceptical about the medical profession.

You may recall. I've grown a lump behind my nose. So I went to the Doctor (eventually).
Doctor poked around and said 'oh yes, you definately have a lump behind your nose. That'll be $40 please.CHAH-CHING! And I'll refer you for a CT scan.

I went for the CT scan, they did bone scans, injected me with an-instant-hot-flush-and-oh-my-god-did-I-just-pee? substance, did tissue scans. And said oh yes, you definately have some tissue lump behind your nose. That'll be so much money please that we'll just claim your insurance co direct. CHAH-CHING! CHAH-CHING!You have to see an ENTspecialist.

So today I see the ENT specialist. Who poked around a bit, and said nothing until I told him what to say. 'I had a CT scan you know" Really? I'll go get it. 'I think its a cyst because it swells up and recedes at random intervals", 'Really? That suggests it's a cyst'. Then (looking at the scan results) oh yes, you definately have a lump there. 'I wondered if it's actually root canal or something because I have no other symptons' Hmm, we'll send you for dental x-rays before we do anything just in case its a root canal. That'll be $120 please.CHAH-CHING! CHAH-CHING!CHAH-CHING!

Now God bless America and all that, but 3 specialists and 2 months to be told I definately have a lump behind my nose? Pahleeeeese! I knew that already.

But I did get novacaine aerosole sprayed up my nose, which was kinda cool in a futuristic, druggy sort of way.

I made two very quotable statements this week.
1) 'working so damn hard you'd think I'd be either skinny or rich by now' (I'm neither, in case your wondering).
2) can you design me something which isn't actually anything but seems like it is something (I've already commisioned the t-shirt for that one)


I've discovered this week that I only actually need 3 hours sleep a night. That I can work a 16 hour shift, sleep for 3 hours and still function perfectly well. I dont recall what happened to the other five hours though... Should I be worried? Have I left them somewhere? Nope, I definately only need 3 hours sleep. Of course I look like I'm 84 years old and dress out of a dustbin somewhere. But still 3 hours thats fairly impressive. Margaret Thatcher needed 4 hours apparently and look at all the great stuff she achieved (!) Come to think of it I'm I'm starting to look a little like her. Also I'm starting to ramble. Think I need to get some sleep.

customer service ??

I'm struggling to come to terms with the fact that banks can take MY money in a blink if they think they deserve it - but I can't get them to release my own money to me.

I just ripped into a nippy staff person in my 'local' Scottish bank branch.

Not just for telling me she could pay a cheque from my account to someone else's account in another country but not from my account to my own in London because it isn't linked! - Can't verify the signature without linking them apparently.

My landlords name is Mr Djabbari - my money - lots of it, goes into his account in San Jose, no problem. Can they pay to an account called M Murray - with a signed cheque from M Murray in their hands? Apparently No. Can't do anything without a signed letter by post. No fax, no email, nowt.

She failed to understand my frustration, telling me, I 'need to understand our security procedures' - alas it was her downfall!

And dont tell me she's just doin her job, If she was doing her job I wouldnt need to phone, 4 times at 2 am in the bleedin morning.!

I lost the plot slightly and became almost tearful when after 10 minutes on the phone she said (and I quote) 'a us dollar account? is that American dollars then?'

I thought you needed O'levels to work in a bank.

Nose update

Still got a huge lump.
Antibiotics not working.
Getting very sore now.
Constantly compelled to say 'I am not an animal - I am a human being!!!'

Time zones

How can one country have 3 time-zones?
What's that all about? It's all about everyone working 14 hours a day, that's what it's all about.
Classic American finish to every phone call - 'is that End of Day my time, or your time?'
Sheesh.

Bummer

So this morning I tootle out to my wee bug, only to find the window smashed in and my new satelite radio gone.
Right in front of the garage. Cheeky gits.

Now obviously being 'in front of' the garage is not technically the same as 'in the garage'. So mini domestic ensued.
The clever cookies missed not only the lead, antenna and jack for said radio, but also the GPS and an iPod in the glove box.
So needless to say I'm counting myself lucky.

So we call the cops to report it, and 15 mins later Deputy Sherrif Richardson appears (not much crime in Moss Beach obviously). It's only when he's gone and I read 'Deputy Sherrif' on his business card ( the uniformed cops give out business cards - is that the norm in Britain as well?) that I find any humour in the situation.

However, nice autoglass type man was out within 4 hours to fix it at the front door. Gus perched on his camp chair in the garage to supervise the entire process - I think the man was ever so slightly intimidated in a wierd way.

And when we called to have the radio subscription cancelled and disconnected (or whatever it is they do to satelite radios) they informed us they'd send a new one free because we'd had it less than 30 days. So I'll be able to continue to listen to Radio One every day like the sad expat I've become.

I loooove the American service culture.

It was totally scorching here today. That's the jackets hung up for another 11 months again then.

Nose lump is fluctuating nicely. Visited a Doctor at last today, so doing antibiotics - of course. Ali asked her opinion on whether it may be an insect nesting up there. Dr kindly said unlikely. I felt it was a viable suggestion all considered.

My nose

Now, second only to my buddah belly, this part of my anatomy has been my main area of body anxiety over the years. (Now that I'm pseudo American my backside is vying for 2nd position, but that's another story.) I've now developed a lump behind my nose which by anyone's standards is odd. What is it about getting older that you started getting random lumps everywhere? Is it a build up of chocolate chips or what?? Is it just me maybe?

Anyway this lump then became annoying and now is distinctly worrying. I have to confess though, that it's worrying only because I made the mistake of trying to self-diagnose on the internet. BIG mistake. I started out with the potential of a blocked or infected sinus and the niggling doubt of maybe a cyst or an abscess. Oh Lordy Lordy how wrong was I. After scanning the list of symptoms which ranged from 'nose lump with partial blindness' to the gem 'nose lump and sore ankle', I discovered that I have a) acne on the inside of my nose b) a parasite sack up my nostril or c) nose cancer. Since I have not plukes anywhere else I'm ruling out a). I downright refuse to entertain for one moment the HammerHouse-esque scenario of b). So that just leaves the cancer. I may well be worried enough to actually visit a doctor now, I am at least appropriately concerned.

The man-of-steel of the house, has just kindly pointed out that cancer probably doesn't go away overnight and gradually swell up again across the day, giving me enough peace of mind to at least sleep tonight. But then he did spend 15 minutes at dinner time today explaining to the kids that he never gets sick because he eats lots of onions. Why I'm believing him I don't know!

Let's try again..

So I've been a bad little blogger. Truth is, I forgot my login, then when I worked it all out I couldn't work out how to create a new post. So in typical patient person stylee, I just gave up and started from scratch. Apologies to those of you who obviously religiously track my activity. But at least this way I get to leave behind your rude size-ist comments and start afresh. You know who you are.

So what have we been up to?
Christmas was fun, weirdly calm and sunny. But good.

New years was also good, went to some friends, stashed the gazillion kids in a room full of toys and videos and gathered around the 900" plasma to ring in New Years, 3 times. (East Coast, Central and PST) very American. Unusually I wasn't the drunky, drink spilling member of the family. I drove home and got to be all smug and chipper on New Years Day, when other usually smug folk were lying in bed feeling very ill. Best quote of 2007 so far, "Whaaaat? They're only martini's. Martinis are p**s weak.
Speaking as one who has fallen foul of the home mixed martini,on more than one occassion, I silently acknowledged that sage words of wisdom are wasted on Martini swilling drunks. Wisdom is best served cold with an aspirin and a glass of OJ in these circumstances.