From the Archives

Milking It for All It's Worth

I was sent home early from work today for exhibiting "paleness" and "looking awful." Sort of begs the question why I haven't been sent home early from work every day of my career.

I haven't had a sick day in a while, and though it's great to have extra time to sleep and drink tea and stare blankly into the fridge only to decide everything in there would require actual cooking prior to consumption, I find myself cursing the day last week when I stood in John Lewis arguing that WE DON'T NEED A TELEVISION THIS MONTH. Had I known that October would herald my very first English cold I would have gladly shelled out for the lovely, 26", HDMI Ready Sony Bravia. Instead, like a fool, I paid the equivalent in 6 months of Council Tax to the Borough of Tower Hamlets. Ah the foibles of youth...

When it comes to being sick I am neither trooper nor sport. First I tend to blame the offending vector, in this case Pete. Then I rearrange the furniture so that it's sofa-centric. This means duvet, coffee table, pillows all come together to form my lair. I boil string beans only to eat them absent-mindedly out of the hot saucepan while standing at the stove. I fuss about not wanting to take any medicines.

Pete absorbs this with good humor and says things like "3 year-olds can't get married" and "Do you want me to get your tommee tippee cup?" Only if that sippy cup is full of Champagne, bucko, and not that vile Lemsip.

I feel dizzy, need parenting. The worst is yet to come. Damn this proto-misery.

Conkers!

The rules are simple. Two players take turns whacking each other's horse chestnuts. The first one to whack off the other's chestnut wins. We got our conkers from the Lion's Club of Cavisham for a small donation. Pete and I take turns stalemating as neither of us has the patience/endurance to finish the other off.

Apples and Bees

Sunday mornings in London are covered in vomit. The sidewalks are anyway. From the sheer amount of puke I've observed on the sidewalks of Limehouse on Sunday mornings I have concluded that, for most Londoners, Sunday is for absorbing hangovers.

Some weekends it's necessary to get away to a place where Wellies are not only stylish, but also practical. So this Sunday we were destined for Reading to visit friends who live in the charming town of Cavisham, Wellie central, where the apple harvest is well underway. The orchard we visited is known for growing rare breeds. We learned that the rise of the supermarket lead to the decline and fall of the flavorsome apple. But apples are delicious again in rural Oxfordshire. I very nearly tasted myself to extreme bellyache. There were just so many varieties to try. My favorites were the Falstaff (dry, crisp), the Bramley (for cooking), the Egremont Russet (rich and earthy), and the classic Cox's Orange Pippin.


Our friend Mark is an amateur beekeeper, but sshhhhh don't tell the neighbors. He is the youngest beekeeper in his beekeeping club by at least two decades. These are Mark's bees. He and his bees are very popular with us because they make honey. Pete and I returned home with a jar of late-summer honey from Mark's collection.

Happy harvest!

Because We Share a Bathroom

I can't say with any conviction that I have no privacy. True, most of my time is accounted for; it's spent at work. I sleep a great deal. I eat breakfast and dinner and sometimes even lunch with Pete. If I linger at Waitrose just a little longer than expected I'll get a nervous call on my mobile. It's cool though. This is the sacrifice you make to avoid all that anxiety over dying alone. The trade off is that for about 2 years after initial cohabitation begins, your every personal habit is monitored and critiqued if necessary.

For example, I thought the average life of a toothbrush was 2 weeks until Pete explained that my toothbrush looks like an heirloom toilet brush almost immediately after its first use because I chew on it. Hmmmm.

Also, there is one towel in the kitchen for dishes (this is called the dishtowel) and one for hands (hand towel, obviously). If you inadvertently mix the two up God himself will swoop down from the heavens and slap you across your silly face. Because the transfer of microorganisms from hand towel to dishes is unholy and vice versa.

I'm so sorry to have left you alone like that...

I know I've committed the cardinal sin of blogging by not posting for over a month. Please accept my heartfelt apology. And be glad you didn't have to read posts wherein I complain about the following:

1) The Bus to Ikea
2) Wembley on a Saturday Morning
3) Ikea
4) Why oh why didn't I get a better SAT score so I could get a high-powered job so I could afford to buy furniture at stores other than Ikea?

Rush Hour

This is what the Canary Wharf tube station looks like at 6pm on a weekday. Notice the suicide-proof glass protecting the train tracks from commuters who can't take it anymore.

On Wednesday I was almost one of those commuters. Fortunately Pete lured me down from the ledge with offerings of an iPod earphone. All it took was one earful of Steeleye Span to appease my toddler-like suffering.

First Day of School

Today I started work in London. Ask yourself, should any day begin without a hot breakfast -- let alone the first day of something? Absolutely not.

Before skipping off to work, Pete and I met up with Kate (sister of Pete) at EAT, a trendy, swift-service eatery that boasts such breakfast novelties as "porridge" and "tea". You can get a Full English breakfast for 2.7 GBP if you're feeling ambitious.

Credit for best discovery of the day goes to Pete for finding us a flat that has a bedroom that is separated from the living room and kitchen by an entire floor to ceiling wall AND a door, which we can afford, and which is a 5 min train ride from my work. We move in on Monday.

We've been in London since Saturday night. Pete had paid a holding deposit on the flat by lunchtime on Monday. He is most efficient. Fingers crossed luck will continue and he will find excellent job...must buy Survival Furniture etc.

How to be Cheap

Recently a college friend, who is known for being careful with his money, has confessed to me that in 2003 he spent a total of $42. About half went to a bicycle helmet, and he spent some on a box of pancake mix. Eight of these dollars were spent on a train ticket to visit me in the summer when we were home from school.

It is likely the case that never will anyone devote such a high percentage of their annual expenditures on me.

I plan on sleeping in

For the past week I've been living the life of a Stay At Home Daughter. My responsibilities have included visiting family, shopping, and finding my mother's handbag, car keys, or cell phone, one of which she loses every time we attempt to leave the house. I also have to maintain the web of lies my mother has created regarding her purchase of a 10 lb box of blueberries, her second such purchase in 2 weeks. I'm not a very good liar, but Celeen was adamant that Randy not realize the 10 lb box of blueberries in the fridge was in fact purchased by my mother for consumption in their home. This is one of the most sane requests my mother has ever asked of me in my entire life, ever.

My privileges have included sleeping at any time of day or night for any length of time, and eating handful after handful of blueberries.

Family Vacation

My parents were pretty broke up about me not being able to take a family vacation with them this year. See, I have a job and I'm expected to show up nearly every day. Somehow family vacation has fallen low on list of priorities, which is inevitable but a little sad. Especially since this year my younger brother has become almost completely human.

There are certain conventions that appear during every trip my family has taken, and each family member plays his or her part convincingly. We become caricatures of our normal at-home selves and each of our personality quirks becomes embellished in light of all the constant togetherness.

My brother travels under two alternating nicknames: Buttons and Mr. Thirsty. The former because there is no dial, button, lever or switch within his arm's length that is safe from his manual manipulation and the latter because he can drink his weight in water at a single meal.

Randy is known as Pockets. Each time he is called upon to retrieve an element that is crucial to the progress of our trip, be it visa, passport, credit card, reading glasses, map, etc. he panics and fondles every pocket on his person until he remembers he left it at that hotel we stayed in 2 nights ago before we took the overnight train to the city 800 miles south of the city where said crucial document is lying in some hotel room safe my brother programmed but has since forgotten how to open.

Home, despite olympic efforts in procrastination...

It took me all of 30 minutes to pack up my car for the drive north. I left my door in North Carolina at 8 am, stopped for vittles and to drop off books at the Chapel Hill public library, and was well on my way by 9am.

Cruising was pretty smooth through North Carolina and Virginia, but when I hit Maryland the interstate was under construction and had to go 20 mph most of the way. Good thing my iPod was fully charged and no one could hear me sing. Oh but could they ever see me convulsing behind the wheel. Who cares? I'm leaving the country!

Maryland doesn't take long to drive through. When I think of Maryland I think of softshell crabs, the Chesapeake Bay, and women's lacrosse. It's that kind of place.

After Maryland came Delaware, a state I know reasonably well since I went to college there. The state has made a name for itself as a corporate tax haven, breeding ground for chickens, and playground for chemical engineers. What the state lacks in charm it makes up for with its better living through chemistry-type developments. GORE-TEX, Teflon, Tyvek, Purdue Chicken. The university also produces its fair share of Rhodes Scholars.

True excitement came as I crossed the border into Pennsylvania around 3pm.

Must make the most of my time with family this week. We are all going to the mountains for some time away from it all. Blogging will resume on Monday.

Congratulations!

My officemates organized a going away cake for me. It was big and pink and had wedding rings on it. It also had the words "Congratulations Melissa and Robert!" written on it.

Robert is a coworker whose last day is Friday of this week. As far as I know he's not planning to marry me.

Officemates wanted to combine the joys of new jobs and marriage plans in a single cake. Efficient and hilarious.

Photo Entry

1 Day Left

Historically, my approach to major life changes has been to pretend like nothing is happening and then to do the laundry at the last possible minute. Leaving North Carolina will be no exception. In a little over 24 hours I'll be cruising up I-95 to scenic Bucks County, Pennsylvania with everything I own (and some stuff my parents own) in the trunk of my 1999 Volkswagen Passat. Nothing is ready. Nothing is clean.

These halcyon days are coming to a close. Imagine: at some point in the next year I will probably buy furniture.

I will not weep for these days until they are gone. That would be foolish. But I can't help but feel that, with every conversation I have with my tax consultant at PricewaterhouseCoopers, a smidgen of my youthful exuberance is wasted away.

2 Days Left

With 2 days remaining before I begin my protracted move to London, perhaps there is something I should be doing with my precious time besides watching Pride and Prejudice and updating this ridiculous blog?

Nah.

I've recently been quoted on Blogher.org in an article on cohabitation, which came as a response to a Pew survey on marriage and parenthood. What doesn't come across in the article is my not so ambivalent intention to get married. More on that when I begin ProjectCivilWedding'08.blogspot.com. And no, we haven't set a date.

Pete and I will be traveling a collective total of approximately 16,000 miles in order to cohabitate. I'm so looking forward to the break from internet telephony and long-haul flights. Deciding who goes out for milk should be relatively easy.

Forest, Trees, etc.

Feeling work permit jitters today. I had to fax off copies of my degree certificate and proof of affiliation with a professional organization. Made me think, hmmm Border and Immigration Agency didn't stamp my application with a great big yes on first glance, and my charms will be useless against them if they decline me. Processing has slowed due to floods. Spent the afternoon trying to figure out how Border and Immigration Agency was feeling about my application and trying to drum up alternatives. Almost a total waste of energy. It was very difficult getting inside their heads, but after reading the agency website 5,594 times I decided this is probably pretty standard proof-seeking esp. in light of recent failed terrorist attacks. Not sure how much longer this will take, but 88% of cases are decided within 2 weeks.

So you can see I've been busy worrying, panicking, and worrying some more re: my lack of control in this situation. Fortunately I have developed a method which helps me to deal rationally with circumstances I find unpleasant: enter the Rite of Passage. By labeling these difficult phases 'Rite of Passage,' suddenly I have a tribe with members who have seen it all before and know it will get easier. Have some perspective, they say. You are not so special. Your stress is the same as everyone else's and no more important. Ahhh what a relief it is to be insignificant.

Project Cohabitation 2007

Dear Peter,

With Project Cohabitation 2007 well on its way to full execution there are some things you should know about my domestic habits. It's been a while since we've shared a daily routine, so let's consider this a reminder of just how... special I am. My housemates have helped me compile a list of my most salient traits. You should be prepared to be accept the following:

1) Repetition

I will forget that I've told you things, and I will repeat them. I picked up milk today at the store. Oh yeah, and by the way I picked up some milk. At the store.

I will listen to the same song/album/playlist until I know every lyric by heart. Subsequently I will burst into song at any given time. I'll try not to sing at you, because I know that can get really annoying. But no matter how public or unsuitable the setting may seem, I will sing there. It's unavoidable.

2) Hyper-focus Mode

Sometimes when I'm really concentrating on something it's as if the rest of the universe, with the exception of that One Thing, has frozen and will wait to continue its activity until I'm through focusing on that One Thing. Hyper-focus Mode is related to Ignoring the Needs of Others Mode. In fact, you might wish always to refer to Hyper-focus Mode under this alternate name, and if I'm not too caught up focusing on that One Thing I might get your point. That One Thing could be anything from a Sudoku puzzle to a work email to a riveting "Nutrition Facts" label.

3) Lengthy Telephone Conversations

At some point in our relationship you will witness me having a phone conversation with my mother. If you have the stamina, that is. Let me just walk you through a more than probable scenario. The phone rings on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Awww. It's my mother. Hi Mom, so good to hear from you..............I'm fine..............Uh-huh..................Uh-huh................Yep........................He's good..................................Work's goo.......Good, work's good ........................................Uhhhh-hmmmmmm..............................................................................................
The sun will rise and set several times during this conversation without my noticing. Eventually I will emerge from the bedroom parched and starved, muscles atrophed, incapable of completing a sentence. You may have to help me reinstall my vocabulary, little by little.

4) I'll be ready in one minute...

I won't be ready. It just won't happen. Don't be fooled.

5) Early to Bed, Early to Rise

It's Friday night, we're playing a cutthroat game of Scrabble. You're about to use all your letters in a single word when I fall asleep in the dictionary. You may succeed in reviving me, a useless jumble of Qs and Xs plastered to my cheek, but I will not seem human because I will have worked myself to exhaustion. Odds are I woke up before 5am that morning. Odds are I'll do the same the next day. And so the vicious cycle of utter geekdom continues.

To ProCo'07!

Smooches,
M

Moving Days

Things have gotten a little cinematic here in the States. My company has offered to transfer me to London as soon as my work visa clears. This means in 6-8 weeks I will be setting myself up in London with Peter.

When I received the offer on Friday I had to excuse myself from the office so I could sob uncontrollably. Which I did. In the parking lot. For a good 30 minutes. The Mexicans killing the weeds that grow in the cracks of pavement must have thought my dog died. From their expressions I could tell that the scene was not pretty.

I went back inside, made myself presentable, and went to thank my boss and Managing Director. I could have kissed my Managing Director's perfectly shiny patent leather Ferragamos. She saw how happy I was and her eyes started to well up with tears. She told me to keep in touch and gave me a little talk about how to make it as a woman at the firm.

My boss, while obviously very happy at this triumph of internal mobility, was visibly uncomfortable with all the womanish sobbing. But I still hugged him and I think he was touched.

I hope I can make it through this week without getting any more exciting news. It's too exhausting!

If you're in London see you in 6-8 weeks, or as soon as my visa clears.

Smooches,
M