I am once again pondering imponderables. Like “where should I live next” and similar trivial matters.
Though this time, realistic change will ensue. I’m just not gonna tell you what that means.
Remember my favorite, splendid, very dead boots? I stupidly tried to wear them one last time, and Xtina had to find scissors to cut me out of the ensuing drama.
RIP, boots, I did love you. Even though I tossed you in a Finsbury Park dustbin.
The train back to Cambridge was so crowded my hair kept attacking people.
I survived the Ikea shuttle, and Ikea itself, and was excited about the sofa bed I bought for the office (no more crashing on the floor! How civilized!) until I realized I’m the one who has to assemble it.
I am officially crazy happy to be back in swinging London!
Off to the Imperial War Museum. Cause I roll like that. Oh, and did you see this?
This afternoon I was reminiscing about life in Olympia. While some might recall the fragility of youth, I’m…. still wondering who broke the coffee pot.
If I kept track of the anniversaries of random hookups I would now be contemplating mid-90’s misadventures at the ladies rugby house on 4th Ave. But I don’t, so I won’t.
Seventeen years of ferocity, friendship, and fun have accumulated – how astonishing.
Nineteen years ago today an adorable raconteur arrived in the world fist first and facing the wrong direction. She has lived up to that promise in every possible way…. happy birthday to my amazing daughter!
I was informed I can never be a trophy wife because all of my shoes have holes and I wear my laddered tights backwards.
I could think of better reasons.
I write about stuff I actually like, and then only rarely.
This means I will never promote music, products, publications, services, etc., at the suggestion of a PR rep.
So, to be succinct, if you are one? Leave. Me. Alone!
I was thwarted in plans to dash to London.
Leaving me in a university town on graduation day – ugh! The debauchery has not started yet and I am already annoyed.
Freshly minted doctorates, dark matter, stolen journals, and textorcisms – just another day in Cambridge!
Today on the towpath some yobs were thinking of messing with me, but one said to the other in an emphatic and awed voice: SHE HAS A TATTOO.
The trouble vanished instantly.
After five years here, today provided my virgin experience of lurking in M&S foyer waiting for a storm to pass.
I never hid from rain in the NW – I’ve lost my Puget Sound pluck!
The only thing worse than rampaging groups of Italian teenagers? Hordes of the peppy American variety.
It is always difficult to accomplish anything in the crowded city centre, more so during tourist season, and I am intrinsically unable to countenance any additional barriers while trying to purchase milk.
When the charity bullies jump in front of me and say “can I ask you a question?” my anger reaches incandescent range. But I just say “no” (they are flummoxed) and walk on.
This morning I walked around for thirty minutes before I noticed the live bumblebee in my slipper.
Before I had even been awake an hour, I’d already bashed two (necessary) body parts and doled out advice to three (unnecessary) tourists. Life on the river is sometimes difficult.
Last night I watched Bill & Ted for the first time since meandering around downtown Port Orchard in the late 80’s and accidentally acquiring a husband. Both the marriage and the movie still strike me as stupid but hilarious. Though perhaps more of the former than the latter.
I was nearly killed by an errant Royal Mail van, but survived to laugh with the driver over his error.
Or his need to ogle me. Or whatever.
Oh, summer bike rides- when my cleavage is like the grill of a semi in the ambitious collection of dead bugs.
I am a true and fervent fan of the NHS but sometimes accompany friends and family as they procure other sorts of services.
One cool thing about private hospitals: they wash hands before blood tests!
The free drinks are also a bonus.
I just watched a man in a full chef uniform, including hat, restock a vending machine.
Sara and Lola ventured to Cambridge where we went to the Harry Potter premiere, toured the Wren Library, checked out the Eagle, went punting, and took a boat trip down to Fen Ditton.
When the guests departed I handed Sara a copy of Lessons in Taxidermy with the comment “now remember, this is FUNNY.”
Friends are good:
Did you know I always travel with a flashlight? Or three. Quite useful, if I say so myself.
The morning was whiled away at the Museum of Childhood, where I learned Roald Dahl kept 100 budgies and taught his mynah bird to swear.
Later we met Portland friends for a picnic on Primrose Hill, then followed Allan over to his concert. I was expecting to be turned away because of the kids (licensing laws do not much care if your dad is in the band) and was amazed to find that my youngest offspring, not yet a teenager, looks old enough to bluff his way into a rock show.
Though I still made him stay in the green room.
Noted: I am surrounded by high maintenance, self-centered, overly dramatic contrarians. Good thing I am the very definition of sanity and stability, eh?
And on that note, I remain an American so… Happy Independence Day!
Today I inadvertently snubbed someone.
The remarkable aspect of the experience? I noticed!
Oh, and I remain as always surprised to find myself allergic to scotch broom. Though I’m not sure that is what they call it here, or even if that is the proper name stateside.
I didn’t manage to have coffee before noon and subsequently feel half dead. How long did it take for that addiction to take hold – eight weeks? I’m not drinking any more or less caffeine than before; it is just somehow…. different.
Though I have not discovered the good coffee in this town (if it exists) and subsequently spend way too much time in chains.
I must say I find it uniquely horrifying to hear the Velvet Underground playing over the speakers at the Starbucks in Cambridge Market Square.