kaitlyn's musings

I guess that title is rather misleading, as I technically have more incomplete summer goals than complete ones.

For example, I have not managed to grow my hair three extra inches, or become supremely well-versed in search marketing (though I am working on that one and have dedicated a solid hour this evening to my new book entitled Get To The Top on Google. Seriously). I certainly don't have my bikini body or my summer suntan (fake, of course) or anything that magazines say are essential for a good time the moment the mercury goes to the mid-twenties. I have not bought a flute or mastered Guitar Hero World Tour (though I am trying - I've gotten to 'medium' from 'beginner'), brushed up on my seriously-lacking French skills or written weekly snail-mail letters to my friends and family like I keep promising them I will.

But in terms of summer holiday goals, I'm halfway there.

I've been missing my family a little bit as of late. It's nothing serious and certainly not as bad as those bouts of homesickness that hit really randomly in the last year I was away at university. And that's bizarre really, because I'm much farther away now. But I guess my apartment here in Manchester and my lovely network of friends are starting to feel like home - which is the big difference! Still, I miss my mom and dad and brother, so today once my holiday request had been approved, I booked a flight to Cowtown.

Yes Calgary, you read that right. I am COMING SOON TO A STAMPEDE NEAR YOU. I'm going to work flexibly for five days from my parent's place, then take a week off to spend some time with my family, as it's been nearly four months since I left. And while that's nowhere near the longest that I've been away (8 months, last year), I find my life goes a little smoother with a regular reality check from 'back home'.

It really is the people I've been missing, not the city, as I don't even really know the place anymore. Burbs everywhere - and where did all these rotten teenagers come from? I guess the last time I really truly LIVED in Calgary, I WAS one of the rotten teenagers. We didn't seem so bad back then! Here is what I want to do while I am at home:

- snuggle Samson. A lot.
- spend some time with my brother and see his new apartment
- go camping, even just for one night, in the Rockies
- cross the Montana border and find an outlet mall
- eat so many mexifries at Taco Time
- chill with my parents
- hang out with any friends who happen to be in the vicinity

You heard me, Calgary. This is an all-call. You have one month. Please see me?

I have still sneakily stored up just enough holiday days to take a seperate hot-weather escape later in the summer (if the dolla billz and my and Ric's schedules allow). One holiday for family and one for lounging. This is how life should be.

Of course, as soon as I booked this flight, I got asked to catsit, some friends may not be in the city at the same time as me and my return date may overlap with a wedding. But it will all work. It has to. I'm really looking forward to it. I've not had time off (save for one day where I was horrifically sick last month) since February. Bring on July!

I need to update more often - remind me to tell you the story of how I went to London next time...

Belated hellos to all!

I have been doing a really rotten job of keeping up with this lately - immigration and an international move have meant that blogging has been the last thing on my mind. But all that has changed, as I have just celebrated another birthday (yes, ANOTHER one) and am dedicating the following 12 months to awesomeness.

In short, this means relaxing more, taking time to appreciate the people in my life who mean a lot to me, doing incredibly fun things and celebrating the fact that the V word (visa) no longer needs to rear its ugly head for the forseeable future. After the September - March fiasco of sitting and waiting and wishing, I am ready to grab life by the horns and go!

In keeping with this theme, I have done the following - nabbed a last-minute spot to see Jodi Picoult speak about writing on Tuesday evening, booked tickets to see Counting Crows at the MEN with Ric next Monday and set up a trip to London for later in the month to catch a performance of Sister Act the musical and catch up with Michelle, a lovely friend from university who I haven't seen in ages. Next on the list? Book a holiday or two - preferably one warm getaway and one or two weeks at home with the folks this summer. More plans to follow as I continue to Let Go Of The Stress, so watch this space.

I am also embracing my inner gamer (who knew I liked video games before this past couple of years?) with some new birthday acquisitions - a Nintendo DS AND Guitar Hero World Tour for my Wii. Awesome awesome awesome. I picked up the New Super Mario Bros for the DS yesterday and have already worn out the battery once - this update is being typed as it charges so I can keep playing! It's a cool blue one that sort of updates the glory days of the big old grey Game Boy that took four AA batteries that saw me through all of the major road trips of my childhood. I spent some time with Ric this afternoon playing the GameCube version of Puyo Pop Fever - which is IDENTICAL to the Xbox one and apparently to the DS one as well. I need to hunt it down, because it's more addictive than Tetris - maybe because I understand it less. So yeah, I am hooked on video games. Which makes me...a 15-year-old boy? I don't mind though, because I don't think 15-year-old me would have found these as fun as present-day me does.

When I've not been gaming this weekend (it's a long weekend here in the UK, for all you Canadians), I've been doing my expatriate duties as I try to gain a more comprehensive understanding of British television. Some British TV is really good (Ric's got me on The Bill, which is pleasantly watchable, and I've also been enjoying a bit of the trashy reality stuff, which is pretty on par with the American shows I'm used to) and some is just...mystifying.

For example, Deal Or No Deal is a bunch of suits with briefcases in the UK, whereas the US (remake) version is hosted by Howie Mandel and 25 models. Despite it's short run in America, The Weakest Link still appears to be going strong, STILL hosted by Ann Robinson and apparently popular enough that it's on every day. And I may even go out on a limb and say that the UK version of The Apprentice beats the US version hands down for sheer amusement. But it's Countdown, which I saw for the first time today, that has caused me quite a lot of confusion.

Apparently this show has been on for eleventy thousand years in the UK, although it's got new hosts. Basically, from how I understand it, there are two contestants. Today it was a man (called Hamish) and a woman (called Mary, I believe). These people are given some jumbles of letters that a blonde woman in a sundress chooses at random and then they have to make the longest word they can out of the letters - JUST LIKE WE USED TO DO IN SCHOOL. I am sure Mrs Sewell had us doing this as a Language Arts exercise. So Hamish and Mary do this for awhile, then their answers are verified by A Lady With The Dictionary and A Man (whose function is not really ever explained). And THEN they do some math where they have to add and multiply and subtract and divide numbers. Seriously. The woman in the sundress then helps to solve the math problems on a big whiteboard with a marker. At the end of the whole thing, which lasted for the better part of an hour, Hamish emerged victorious, Mary was sent home with a "prize pack" (which included a very exciting mug), some guy called Martin from Money Saving Expert offered help to people who did not understand about different ways orange juice could go on sale and I was very confused.

According to Ric, my first port of call when I am confused about something in the UK, this show is very popular and has been on the air since 1982. My reaction? IT IS A BUNCH OF BORDERLINE-OLD PEOPLE (Hamish was pushing 65 at least) DOING SCHOOLWORK. There is a LADY WITH A DICTIONARY ON TV. Seriously. In 2009.

You might take this to be a very negative comment on this show - but really it's not. It was one of the nicest things I have ever seen. It's just that...well...in the US, this show would be full of flashing lights, nobody would be doing math by hand on a white board (opting for some swishy graphics instead) and the sundress lady would likely be in something sequinned. Instead of orange juice prices, we would compare the cost of Blu-ray players and instead of the Lady With A Dictionary, there would be some sort of electronic device (or a Star Trek-esque 'computer') that would know which words were real and which weren't. I was confused by it, as I am confused by so many things in this fascinating country, but I enjoyed it thoroughly.

Bringing me right back into the 21st century - after much protesting and overexcited public statements (mainly made in the workplace) that I will not join Twitter, I...um...have.

Oops. We'll see if my Twitter addiction will soon outmatch my Facebook one. I'm told it will ... but I won't believe it till I see it.

 

Today, I took the car out for the first time since I came home on Wednesday. I was going to exchange Christmas gifts with Carly and I needed to get a haircut. This sounds normal, right?

 

Not if you bear in mind these points:

- I drive a 1995 Toyota Tercel with no airbags, no four-wheel drive and a borderline-sketchy rear window defroster

- It is minus 22 degrees outside

- The roads are best described as a giant skating rink

- I don't have a heavy winter coat or boots here

 

All of a sudden, this became less of a routine trip and more of a Grand Adventure. Thanks to my mad proactive driving skills, I managed to (barely) avoid sliding into the ditch on a number of occasions. Had a lovely visit with Carly and then braved the last-minute Christmas shoppers at Wal-Mart to pick up a pair of snow boots and some thermals.

Thermals were pretty picked over (I have eaten a ton of Christmas snacks, but am not sure I have ballooned to size XL just yet), but I found success with the snow boots (hurrah) and my feet feel pretty toasty now. It needs to warm up about ten degrees and then I can go tobogganing with them.

So then, wearing my new snow boots, I drove up to the hairdresser in Evergreen at breakneck speeds of up to 30 km/hr. Other cars were passing me all over the place, but I don't care. They are SUVs. I am a Toyota Tercel. Pass away.

I'm not sure what the point of this story was. I got an ace haircut, my face almost froze off walking from the car to a 7-11 across the street and almost lost control of my vehicle on a number of occasions.

I guess the point is that Canada is really, really cold. BUT my hair does not have split ends anymore. And I do not want to drive around in the snow and ice any more. Am staying inside until Christmas.

Hello, fancy meeting you here.

Since I last posted, I have:

a) purchased a new laptop (and am now venturing into the fine world of Windows Live Writer for the first time - pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework)

b) enjoyed, with great frequency, this video of a guy dancing to Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It) in front of a green screen of the Beyonce video.

c) viewed, with almost as much frequency, the episode of The Amazing Race in which Dandrew collectively cannot march.

d) concluded the final series of The Shield (the final two episodes of which were so awesome they might deserve its own post)

But most importantly, I have just returned from a two-week jaunt across the Atlantic to see Ric and a number of other fine folks. It was during this most recent adventure that I learned something new: British Christmas is NOT THE SAME as Canadian Christmas.

For starters, British Christmas is...a lot more drunk. Canadian Christmas Eve, at least the way I grew up, was full of nativity pageants and driving around to look at the lights and Monopoly and hanging your stockings by the chimney with care. British Christmas Eve, from what people tell me, is spent in the pub.

 Then you have the whole stockings issue. Please see the careful wording above - "by the chimney with care". From what my friend John tells me, all these British kids hang up their stockings at the end of their beds and Santa Claus (excuse me, Father Christmas) comes into their rooms. How creepy is that? For starters, stockings by the bed shows a flagrant disregard for the Clement C Moore poem The Night Before Christmas, but more importantly, it is freaking creepy to have a strange old dude come into a kid's room to sort out a Christmas stocking.

Plus, in the morning, then you're all by yourself with this stocking and nobody gets to see you open it. You are not anywhere near a table where you could conveniently eat your little orange. You are not with your siblings so you can compare loot. British stockings sound lonely. I have a really nice stocking holder shaped like a little cat that lives on the mantle (which is more efficient for Santa, who comes down the chimney anyway) and I do not understand how it would fit in my room, even if I wanted it to.

 Does Santa wrap the presents in your house? He sure doesn't in mine - that's how you know the presents are from Santa, not from people you are related to. Apparently British Santa is less eco-forward than our guy here in Canada.

Then you have the whole "when do you open the presents?" debate, which I think is more about people than countries. For example, if someone gives you a present, and you know you are not going to see that someone on Christmas Day, do you take the gift home with you, save it and then open it on Christmas when they're not there? Or do you joyfully tear into the wrapping paper and delight in the fact that you get an early gift?

My preference is the latter (who can say no to a free present), but Ric's preference is the former, which is sort of causing me trouble. Right now in my suitcase (I only got home last night) is a fairly large-ish wrapped gift that I am under strict orders not to open. It clearly says KAITLYN right on it. What do I want to do? I WANT TO OPEN IT. But I haven't. And I won't. Even though it is driving me nuts. Christmas is only six days away, but this is making me crazy.

Anyway. Enough of my jetlagged holiday musings (really, I am so tired, I just want to listen to my Girls Aloud CD, take a bath and go to bed). I promise I won't let a good 4-5 months go by before I post something again - I just need some good ideas!

PS - Calgary is really, really cold. I want to go snowboarding but I can't because it's minus freaking 25 outside. Rant over.

I was sick and tired of everythiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing when I called you last night from Glaaaasgooooooow...

Oh, hello.

Can you tell that I've seen Mamma Mia twice in the past eight days? I had Voulez-Vouz stuck in my head all day. Now it's switched to Super Trouper and I can't get THAT out of my head.

Although I've never been before, I think I need a solid dose of karaoke to sort me out.

Long time, no post! It's not that things haven't been happening, because lots have. I've still not properly talked about the lovely sunny trip I took to Spain or the three weekends I spent in Liverpool or the wonderful visit I had from my friend Amanda from Ryerson. I've not yet revealed the fact that I have hayfever for the first time ever and am existing largely on eye drops and allergy tablets. I've not spoken of my new and awesome Pacman belt, or of my purchase of what must surely be the tallest shoes in the world.

I've certainly not posted about my shock about how much the little kid in Gone Baby Gone looks like like Madeleine McCann or how impressed I was with Ben Affleck's film. Or how much I love the hot chocolate they make in the Cornerhouse. Or how I've made friends with the ellipitcal cross-trainer machine at the gym. Or that I've rediscovered my love of cheese popcorn and have found the best place in the world for homesick North American expatriates (it is called the Selfridges food hall, where I can get a tiny jar of peanut butter for the Canadian eqivalent of about $5.50. Not cheap, but SO worth it).

I will, however say this.  What the HELL is Paul McCartney doing performing on the Plains of Abraham? [as a side note, I thought my Grade Eight social studies teacher was kidding when he said the field was named after "some guy named Abraham", but according to Wikipedia - for what that's worth - they really were]. As far as I know, this nice bumbling man from Liverpool has about as much to do with French Canadian history as I do, which is to say...not much.

Other news, fellow Canadians, watch out. I may be back on your fair shores for a couple of weeks in September, but unfortunately those are all the details I have for now, as nothing's been booked yet. I probably won't have time to see any of you anyway, as I'll be too busy looking forward to going back to my hometown for this event.

But for now, this honorary Mancunian is going to go back to singing along with Sweden's finest. Is it wrong that I wish I was as awesome as Meryl Streep sometimes?

Erm, what?

Sexual predator seal is news to me.

I like seals less now.

This is so awesome.

It also makes me feel so much better for not having gone anywhere near the gym since I got back from snowboarding. Ten days ago.

However, I have a hankering to go to Spain. Which means it's back on the treadmill tomorrow night.

I'm also thinking about getting some contacts so I don't have to carry my glasses with me everywhere I go. Thoughts?

I have mixed feelings about train travel in the UK.

Actually, I have mixed feelings about train travel in general, but you would too if this previously happened to you.

At any rate, Ric and I set off on what turned out to be a really fun snowboarding holiday in Les Arcs, France a couple of weekends ago. We opted to travel by rail, which means leaving from London Euston...which means we had to take a Virgin train from Wigan to London.

There are several reasons why rail travel sometimes gets tedious.  These include:

- stinky bathrooms on the Pendolinos
- unforseen delays
- conductors who have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed
- shop cashiers who made fun of me when my debit card didn't swipe
- drunk football fans
- Millie and Tally

Who are Millie and Tally, you might ask? Well, Millie and Tally are the WORLD'S WEIRDEST CHILDREN.

When we got on the train, we sat at a table opposite a rather harmless looking family...although perhaps harmless is the wrong word, come to think of it. The dad - sporting pink and purple socks inside a pair of Crocs - was balding but had the remaining long bits of his hair tied in a really gross ponytail. The mom was a dead ringer for one of those Freegans I saw on Wife Swap. And then there were two grubby, unkempt-looking children.

You guessed it. Millie and Tally.

Within five minutes of us sitting down, a little boy (Tally) came over to me and held up a book and pointed at a word (which was, inexplicably, "Sprite"). I have no idea what that was all about, but it seemed to be a fitting introduction to this very strange family.

The father appeared to be one of those mid-40s men who address their impending midlife crisis by purchasing a number of products from Apple. Young Tally was plugged into the iPod, while Millie was blissfully watching Ratatouille (not the knockoff Ratatoing, the existence of which was revealed to me by a coworker last week). The film seemed to be occupying a small corner of the Macbook screen, while the rest of it was taken up by the father, who appeared to be writing a very flowery book about Christianity in a Word document.

When the family was not all blissed out on their Apple products, Tally was annoying people (his father, me, Ric) by asking questions such as "Do American Indians live in the forest with the insects and amphibians?", to which the answer always seemed to be "NO TALLY".

The father said "NO TALLY" so much that it sort of became a catchphrase for the rest of the trip.

Once it became immediately apparent that Ric and my 4,000 tonnes of luggage were not going to go anywhere, I think Millie and Tally's mom started eyeing us up to make sure we looked trustworthy. Apparently Exhausted Couple With Extraneous Winter Clothing passed her bill, because in unison, Ma and Pa Millie and Tally stood up (kids still blissed out with all of the technology supplied by Apple) and the following conversation ensued:

Mom: Would you please mind keeping an eye on the children for us?
Kaitlyn: Erm.
Dad: We are just going to get a coffee.
Ric and Kaitlyn: Erm.
Dad: We won't be a minute, but if you see them start to wander off, do tell them we prefer them to stay where they are.
Kaitlyn: uuuuuhhhh....
Dad: We don't ask a lot from our children, just that they do not wander away.
Kaitlyn: Oh.
Dad: TALLY, WE ARE GOING TO GET A CUP OF COFFEE, DO NOT MOVE.
Tally: *stares blankly
*parents leave
*one minute passes
Tally: *still staring blankly* WHERE DID MY DADDY GO?
Kaitlyn: Erm...coffee? He just told you? They'll be back in a minute? *silently thinking please come back soon please come back right now RIGHT NOW MR AND MRS MILLIE AND TALLY. I used to charge a lot of money for childcare and do not want to participate in it for free on this train with a bunch of possible Freegans who have children named Millie and Tally*

And so it came to pass that Ric and I became train babysitters for people who actually had the cruelness to name their children Millie and Tally and supply them with copious Apple products. And who may or may not have been the Freegans from Wife Swap.

When the mom and dad finally returned (which, in fairness was pretty quickly, but considering they had just asked randoms to babysit their children on a train, quickly wasn't quite soon enough), Tally got even weirder by requesting loudly: "DADDY MAY I PLEASE HAVE A CUDDLE?"

I so wish I was making this up, but I am not that good.

The train journey from Wigan to London Euston on a Friday night is about two and a half hours. With Millie and Tally along for the ride, two and a half hours was two and a half hours too many.

Seriously, what the bleep is up with my lower back? I must have slept on it in a funny way or something, because it's really sore today and I can't figure out why.

I'm not one of those back pain people. I swear. I am one of those people who has just discovered they need glasses and who can't get away with using self-tanner because they turn orange and who can't get their hair to do anything marginally co-operative, but I swear I am not one of those back pain people. I may not have coolness, but I do have my youth, which is supposed to mean springy, operational, comfortable joints and muscles.

Ah well, I'll pop an ibuprofen and life will move on, I am sure.

Also, I'd better get used to pain, as I'm heading off to the French Alps with Ric this weekend for ANOTHER WEEK OF SNOWBOARDING! Yes, we had so much fun participating in winter sports that we have decided to head back for more - which may re-fulfill of my new year's resolutions to try lots of new things and make an effort to be more brave and daring. We're staying closer to the ice skating rink this time, which I am happy about and closer to the posh food store, which Ric is happy about as he has a tremendous amount of fun evaluating which French cereal might be the most delicious.

Pretty sure Le Special K won last time.

Anyway, I'm pretty stoked to get away for a week, as it will do my head a world of good to have a few days of sleeping in, lots of fresh air, a little bit of exercise and a bit of practice with my rusty, rusty French language skills.

Come to think of it, I was quite sore the last time we went too...I may have to pack this ibuprofen...

Ric got John and I into Hollyoaks and it was awesome.

Here we are on TV.

Oh man, I am so famous now.