I've decided that this is a handy catch-all phrase for when I'm really pissed at someone. I suppose it's not really fair to Lou Reed - I mean, other than sitting across from him on the plane one memorable night, I don't have anything to do with him (frankly, I can't even name a Lou Reed sing off the top of my head). But, the phrase has stuck with me, and so it comes into use again today. The target this time is a vet in Larchmont NY (who shall remain nameless, but whose name is the same as cheap wine). This moron completely f***ed up Cali and Brooke's paperwork, and now they are stuck in doggy prison at Heathrow Airport. When I got there, the DEFRA agent told me they couldn't leave with me, and even said Brooke might have to go to quarantine because the paperwork said her microchip was put in after rabies vaccine. To be clear, this asshole in Larchmont wrote that both dogs had been microchipped in October 2009. She completely made a date up - Cali was chipped in 2005 and Brooke in 2008. Now this woman may cause Brooke to have to go into quarantine.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Running Away from Home
You always hear about people picking up and disappearing in the midst of trying times. I definitely have to be the only person I know who runs away from home with a carefully planned out grant application, and 20 boxes of stuff. Well, 9 boxes so far. Here’s hoping the Royal Mail turns up with the other 11.
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed!
So, I ran through a lot of titles for this post before settling on this one. The frontrunner was “World’s Worst Blogger” because, let’s face it, I suck at this. In my defense, I defy anyone who has had as much on my plate these last 6 months to find the time to write too! Maybe that’s a bit of a cop out, but after spending hours cleaning out the house in 90 degree weather, and no air conditioning, the last thing I need or want to do is sit and try to find witty things to say on a blog. Of course, if you don’t actually write anything, the blog doesn’t really work, does it? So, I am making the vow today to get my ass in gear and write more regularly.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
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