Tuesday, February 24, 2009

getting laughed at

when i lived in america, i had a beefcake of a mutt. although generally harmless, our dog Sahera looked like she could kick the ass of anyone that crossed her path. she trained with me for my marathon and half-marathon, so her little poochie muscles rippled like A-Rod's-steroid-enhanced biceps.

when we went for our walks, people thought she looked pretty tough, but with her ridiculous ears, she still had a certain "Can i pet her?" appeal. she was totally cat-like in her indifference to being petted by strangers. she had a nonchalance about outings to the point that she would sprawl out in the middle of the sidewalk apparently dying of boredom. but with all the smiles and awe (see also: fear?) exuded from strangers at her physique, we never (ever) got laughed at.

this brings me to today as i am petsitting Maddie. i would say dogsitting, but this little polly-pocket-pooch is half dog, half hummingbird, and about the size of the latter.

she's quite pleasant as far as dogs go. she likes to cuddle, chew on rawhide, and go for walks. i am definitely appreciating her company and her cuddly-ness, but she's seriously hurting my street cred. everyone laughs at us as we walk around the streets of bury. people have asked me if she was a joke, a puppy, or a toy. i want to blurt out, "she's not mine!" at every smirk, giggle, and eye roll, but i can't hurt her feelings. she thinks she's a big dog as she lifts her leg around the 'hood.

i have never considered myself a vain person, but Maddie has made me realize that i'm probably more suited to a dog that could take on the mailman, not serve as his afternoon snack.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

the crooked path to bath

for a few months now, some girlfriends and i were planning a short break to Bath for Valentine's Day. the plan was to indulge in a bit of spa, wine, chocolates, and relaxation courtesy of our Valentines en absentia. by all accounts, the weekend was absolutely flawless. we had a five-star experience complete with a eucalyptus-scented steam room, authentic Italian lunch, toppled Roman columns, riverside cafes, hours of chatting, sunny winter afternoons, and many bottles of wine. what's more to want?

but possibly the best part of the trip was what flawed it. how can you tell a story about something that is perfect or predictable? i find that the irregularity makes something interesting and unique.

so, nothing notable in Bath, but on the way there, amidst hours of very engaging conversation, carrie mentioned that it was Friday the 13th. oooooo......scary. not ten minutes later we discovered we had a flat tire. sweet. we exited to a petrol station and, of course, their air machine was out of order. the village was so small they didn't seem to have another petrol station anywhere near. but as our "bad" luck would have it, the only two shops in the town (that we later discovered was called "Frogmore") were a tyre center and Casa de Jed, serving hot tea and bacon rolls, and they were adjacent to each other!

i was relieved that young Rory could replace the tire whilst we enjoyed a cup of tea, and we were back on the road in 20 minutes. it was so absurd that we were cracking up -- we didn't know where we were, we were shocked that the fix was so simple, we all wanted some caffeine, and Rory asked for my facebook contact info. oh, and Casa de Jed did not serve nachos and "cannot guarantee that there are ingredients that may cause an allergic reaction in the food," but we can always hope.

and on the way back, we suddenly had to pee so badly that our eyes were turning yellow. so we hopped of the M25 into a town that had a one-lane road and found a cute pub with a chatty english woman that was so friendly that i almost fell over. i wish my locals were so happy to have a chat. and they even had good food!

it wasn't that the cake of Bath wasn't perfectly sweet, it was the detours that provided the icing.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

the curious case of who-gives-a-shit

for some reason a person can be watching a reasonable dramatic television show here, and it will followed by something so stupid that one considers gouging out the eyes to ensure that she may never watch TV again. if it is possible that the telly can make a person dumber, then i am officially dumber for having watched (accidentally and with morbid fascination) a reality show about a B-actress who is "alive with large breasts." if you haven't guessed, the show is Denise Richards' show, and the plot line of the episode that i watched featured a recap of her promotional tour in New York where she was promoting the show i was currently watching. it was sort of like watching an episode of "How It's Made" about how "How It's Made" is made.

Poor Denise was being asked by various journalists about the plot of the show, which is apparently her life as a large-breasted, B-actress, self-promoting, divorcee, single parent, but subsequently being upset because they were asking her about her life as a large-breasted, B-actress, self-promoting, divorcee single parent. It sorta went like:

Journalist: "So, what's the show about."
Denise: "My life as a single mom. I am just like everybody else."
J: "So your kids are on the show?"
D: "Yes, they are a huge part of my life."
J: "Sorta controversial, little girls being exploited for E! Entertainment Television?"
D: "I don't want to talk about my kids."
J: "But aren't they on the show?"
D: "Yes, they are a huge part of my life. But I'm not here to talk about my kids, I'm here to talk about the show."
J: "Which is about....?"
D: "My life as a single mom. I am just like everybody else."
J: "And your kids are a part of your life, so they are then, de facto a part of the show?"
D: "Well, yes, but....I don't want to talk about my kids, I want to talk about the show."
J: "But your kids are on the show. So we are talking about the show."
D: "Why are you being so mean to me? I just want to talk about the show, not my kids."
J: "So the show. Who is on it?"
D: "Me. My kids."
J: *Shoots self in face*

and it's not just Denise. apparently there is another show entirely dedicated to following a group breast-implanted blondes and surfer boys who work in an L.A. tanning salon.

Salon Worker 1: "Hi, welcome to this tanning salon. Would you like a tan?"
Customer: "Yes, I am sickeningly wealthy and somewhat out of touch with reality, but I must look orange today."
Salon Worker 2: "OK. That will be $358."
Customer: "Wow, at that rate, I'd like one for my pet, too."
SW2 to SW1: "Let's have sex with each other now."

why is this happening? isn't there a game show where people must fit through holes to win money?

and it's not just television, either. i saw the movie Seven Pounds. once you figure out in the first 20 minutes what the hell Will Smith is trying to accomplish with his oppressive guilt and many, many painful camera close-ups, you just want him to make a decision. yes or no. it could have been an episode of scrubs and i would probably have enjoyed it much more.

and that brings me to benjamin button. i actually aged a year during that film. and brad pitt is only extremely hot for 20 minutes of the two-hour extravaganza. he is also slightly retarded. and there is no character development. it is like he's old, then he's aging backward, then he's still aging backward, then, yes, he's a little younger yet, and then he is really young, and wow! everyone else is aging normal, what a juxtaposition. and then he is more young. and let's make some obvious comment about how old folks are childlike, and still more young. he is in love. they are not aging in the same direction, an obvious problem. and then more reverse and regular aging. and then it is over with the even more obvious "when we get really old we die" ending. holy crap. phenomenal. can i please have a refund?

i am going to go back to my standards: comedy, 'splosions, and "The Girls Next Door."

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

MVP

as part of my independent personality, i've been seeking contact with the natives as of late. i have some volunteering obligations, i say "hi-ya" to strangers, i am regularly inviting myself to dinner with bill and jill next door, and i've been "signed" to the local b-ball squad, the Ipswich Bobcats.

i'm awaiting endorsements to come pouring in after this recent release on the team's Web site, which i'm sure will be picked up by BBC World Sport any day now. what they failed to mention is that our opponent was one 50-year-old lady and a bunch of high school kids. oh, and the 40-something ladies from the british ARMY that we played against in January smoked us.

before the last match, laurie the canadian, and i were having a chat about our age relative to the rest of our team.

"we're old, laurie," i said.
"we're not that old," she said.
"riiiiight, the rest of our team is made of all 17 year olds."
"they're not all 17!"
"no, they're not all 17," i turn to look at the girl standing next to me. "how old are you?" i ask.
"fourteen"

damn.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

snowed in

in the UK, much like in Florida, when snow shows up, the entire nation shuts down. it began snowing on Sunday, and by Monday midday, we had 6-9 inches on the ground. that's the heaviest snowfall in 13 years in Suffolk. schools were closed, more than 30 crashes were reported, and i kept the radiators turned up all day.

also like Florida, the majority of the snow melted within 24 hours.


but unlike Florida, the weather never gets better here.