Viva Blackpool (or, possibly, Death to Blackpool)

So, I took a visit to the north of England last weekend, to Backpool. For the Americans among us, it's sort of like a cross between Atantic City and Seaside Heights,with a dash of Coney Island thrown in. I first found out about it a few months ago from the BBC mini-series "Blackpool," which was a really entertaining musical drama. Surprisingly good, in fact (sequel sucked, but they often do). It actually inspired the crap US show, "Viva Laughlin, with Hugh Jackman -didn't last. Not really the thing for mainstream US audiences ("Cop Rock" anyone?).

But I digress. I went to Blackpool to get a little time away and see the "world-famous" illuminations. Well, what I could see of them through the monsoon that blew through all weekend was nice. But, what a weekend - I've never been so wet in my life (walked for 5-6 hours a day in the torrential rain). It took days for my clothes and shoes to dry out. I went to the top of the Blackpool Tower (modeled on the Eiffel Tower) and felt like I was going to be blown off. I did buy the cheesy picture and a keychain, though. They actually stopped letting people up to the top as the weather got worse, so at least I got to go. Nice moment at the Tower Ballroom, where loads of people were dancing, and I sat with some hot chocolate and a scone (couldn't do tea) and watched as the Wurlitzer spun out the tunes. It was funny, though, it wa all very staid. Then they announced a salsa. OK, well, Rican girl that I am, I thought, "Great, now we'll see some exciting dancing." And then, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" started echoing around the room, and the dancers quite staidly performed their "salsa." I kept trying not to laugh, and then thought to myself, "What next, a merengue to 'When You Wish Upon a Star?'" I kid you not, less than a minute later, "When You Wish Upon a Star" started playing. There was nothing to do then but laugh out loud, which got a couple of looks. But, I mean, c'mon! How is that salsa?!?

Despite the loose interpretation of some of the dances (never saw a more perfectly executed and more boring tango), I actually did enjoy spending time at the ballroom - and, hey, it was dry. As was the cheesy arcade where I won 10 pounds (used it to by a stuffed meerkat as a belated birthday gift for Cali). My tiny room ha a view of the sea (and the whipping winds and surf!), nad I enjoyed especially the quiet North Pier - at least I did until I slipped on some wet seagull guano and went down in a heap. I heard a thud that was not a body part and immediately thought I had broken my video camera (it seems to be OK). I picked myself up - I was already soaked through, so it didn't matter that I fell into about an inch of water - and I kept going. Got my sand, changed back at the hotel, and began the train journey home (I hate not having a car). By the end, the bruises had shown up, my back hurt like hell, and I just wanted to cry. So - a memorable weekend from which I'm still feeling the effects (and not the way most people feel the effects of a weekend in Blackpool!).

Truthfully, I did enjoy most of it, and didn't even mind the rain so much (although it would definitely have been better without it). I have to admit, I actually really enjoyed seeing the sites from the mini-series, which was weird, because I'm not usually like that. I mean, I wouldn't take the Harry Potter tour in London, or the Sex and the City or Seinfeld tours in New York (not that I really liked either of those shows). But, for some reason, I actually liked doing my personal little magical mystery tour of film locations. Weird, but then, I am weird! Always have been.

I am also not coping so well here. The stress levels are very high, and probably mostly self-imposed. I'm just so worried about screwing up, looking like a bad teacher, failing the kids. Objectively, I know I'm a good teacher, but being the insecure girl I am, I don't always feel it. It's funny, all the stuff I've been through, and all the ways I think I've changed, and I'm still the insecure kid who went into every situation thinking no one would like her and she'd be a failure. What does that say about me? Does it say anything? Or is it just a truth universally acknowledged that people don't really change (sorry for the plagiarism, Miss Austen). I don't know. Today was a weird day. I woke up feeling very down and felt that way all day. I'm usually good at faking it, but not today. Everyone at work knew something was up. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the day (no frees, no lunch period, meeting after school), but it was more.

I've been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot lately, and I've been feeling quite lonely. I feel like everyone back home is thinking I'm living this amazing life here, but the truth is, I get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark, go to school, feel more lost than I believe I should, come home exhausted, walk the dogs, which ratchets up the blood pressure (thanks, Cali!) and feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch watching TV. Not exactly living the high life! When I do go out, it's on my own. Elizabeth's friends have been very nice getting in touch, and I've had a good time meeting them, but I'm really not good at meeting people on my own. I've always been good at keeping friends once I made them, but really bad at making them. Always have been - again, don't know why I thought I'd suddenly be different. People always think that, don't they? New place - new you. But, that's not really true. You take the old you with you. And all anyone needs to do is look at the last paragraph to know the old me. I did join the National Theatre, and the first show I'm going to is next week, so maybe I can find a bit of confidence to meet and greet at the pre-show cocktails. And there is the Embassy Cocktail Party this Friday - I'm actually OK at cocktail parties. I'm good at inconsequential chatter. Bah, making friends is like dating, and I don't think I need to get into how bad I am at that!

Well, there's still ironing to do and a shower to take, and I have to be up in just over 7 hours, so I'd better get on with the glamorous life! The dogs have had their bedtime walk already - which the entire neighborhood is aware of thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a chihuahua that was simply minding her own business until my two lunatics saw her. I don't honestly know why they can e so good at home, and such a disaster on walks (especially Cali, who is the menace of the neighborhood). At any rate, I'm off. I'll check back in afer the Embassy party.

First Weeks, Hellhounds and Bad Meatballs

OK, a few points of clarification. First, the hellhounds referenced are not my students (although . . . ) and I'm not sure it was really the meatballs that knocked me for a loop this morning. Either way, I started off the second week of school with an absence today because I was unbelievably sick this morning.  I actually think it was the pasta sauce, which had been sitting in the fridge for over a week. I had my suspicions about it, but I wasn't sure when it had originally been opened, so I decided to take a chance - clearly a big mistake. I've never liked being absent because I always feel so guilty. Which, of course, means I don't really get the rest I need. Then, I feel so conspicuous going back to work. Double the awkwardness in a new job. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. If I had tried to go to work, I probably would have ended up passed out in a train station bathroom.

Ploy, the dog walker, took them out, but Cali didn't want to leave without me. It was funny. Ploy said they kept pulling to com back to the flat - probably because they knew I was there. My little hellhounds have had trouble adjusting. I've had to leave the radio on, and put anti-bark collars on both of them. I feel bad about it, but I can't have them barking all day. They'll get us evicted. Walks are a bitch (no pun intended) - Cali barks at everything and Brooke is in her own world. It's my own fault, really, because I never got them used to taking walks. I keep reminding myselgf that they've only been here a couple of weeks, so they'll get used to it. But Cali is looking like the menace of the neighborhood because she has that damned loud bark. No one knows that she's just a big wuss. They really loved the park the other day, so there's a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, by the time we leave London, they'll be ready for life in the other big city.

School is good but stressful. I think most of the stress is self-imposed because I'm so worried about beign sure I fulfill the requirements of the National Curriculum. I kind of miss the familiar laid back world of Ursuline. That's only because it's all new - getting nostalgic about Ursuline is just yearning for the safety of he familiar. And, I wouldn't have done this if I wanted to play it safe - so I just have to suck it up. I did do three assemblies on 9/11 during the first week (I must be crazy). They seemed to go well, and people responded favorably to them. It was hard, though, because I had to condense my usual 40-minute class to a 10 minute highlight reel. It's done, though, and successfully, so that's a relief.

The kids are good - they're not really so different ftom the kids back home. Kids are kids after all. They all asked me to do a British accent, so I did (I figured I'd get it out of the way). They're full of questions about America and American schools - wanting to know if it's like they've seen in movies. A few asked me what American teens thought of British schools, and I had to admit, sheepishly, that I didn't think they thought much about it. If anything, Americans probably think British schools are like Harry Potter (or as someone said to me recently, Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl). Truth is, there's so much more American media here than there is British media in America, so we don't have as much frame of reference. Speaking of British media, the installation of my satellite dish has not diminished my obsession with panel shows, I'm afraid. Currently watching "Mock the Week."

Time to walk the demons (I mean, the darlings) and toddle off to bed, so I can be functional in the morning! 

Jailbreak from Her Majesty's Doggy Prison

So, the babies are sprung. They made it over the wall! Actually, they only had to spend one night in doggy prison. The vet that came decided he had enough documentation to issue Brooke's passport. So, now both of my world travelers have their very own EU passports - now, if only I could get my Irish Citizemship, andwe'd be all set. As it is right now, if I actually wanted to stay at the end of a year, I couldn't, but they could! Of course, we'd have to see how the feel at the end of  a year. They may never want to leave, or they may be longing for the good old US of A. Sadly, they're not likely to ever see their favorite window seat again, assuming the house has sold by the time they go back to NY. I'm not going to dwell on that right now, though, it'll just make me sad. Right now I'm happy to have them here, and we are all slowly adjusting to havng to take walks, instead of having a nice backyard (as much of a hardship for me as them!). We're also dealing with the distractions on those walks - Brooke has developed a fascination with pigeons, and Cali will bark at anything with wheels (bikes, suitcases, scooters), along with joggers and small children. Ah, such a joy to take walks with them! Well, we'll all adjust. Now, I just have to adjust to the new job! Stay tuned . . .