Out of Order

This week my brain is not working.  Despite the coffee I’ve been pouring down my throat everything feels like it’s running at half speed.  I’m distracted by next week’s  flight plans and my short layover time at Dulles Airport (is an hour enough time to get to my connecting flight?  I DON’T KNOW) and my recent plan change regarding checking luggage as a result of the short layover time.  The plan change being that I will not be checking luggage, just to be safe.  Also worrying about Jeremy remembering to get someone to watch Oliver if he (Jeremy, not Oliver) has to travel while I’m away, and worrying that if Jeremy does DIY work on the house while I’m away there will be no one to spot him if he uses a ladder and what if he falls and hits his head?  Nobody would know for days!

All this compounded by a fruitless trip to Zone 6 (ZONE 6!!) for work that was a massive waste of time, and a house that still refuses to clean itself and I am just feeling . . .  I don’t know, sort of off kilter and not quite functional.

Perhaps I need more coffee

Don’t mess with me

I had to threaten a man with bodily harm this weekend.  I had no choice in the matter, truly.

It all came about on Saturday morning, I was walking from the greengrocer’s to another grocery shop where I get my dry goods when I ran into a couple friends.  We stopped to talk and I got all giddy and was like, look at my leg I have a new wonderful tattoo!  As you may have guessed, this scenario has been repeated often since Thursday.

So I was showing them the tattoo and explaining where the old one was and how it was horrible and an embarrassment to tattoos everywhere which is why they hadn’t seen it before when a Southwark Council street cleaner came up to take a look.  Which was a little weird, but whatever I accept that I was on a public street flashing my calf with wild and reckless abandon.  BUT THEN dude reached out and tried to touch my still red and somewhat painful new tattoo.  I yanked my leg back and said, with a supposedly good-natured smile, “Do it and I will punch you in the face.”  He pulled his hand back and looked at me in confusion.

“That is brand new and still healing,” I said, “I am serious, I will punch you.”

He considered his options and said, “Well, since I don’t want to take a punch . . .”  and walked off.

But seriously, why would he think it was okay to touch a stranger’s leg anyhow?  I don’t mind that he wanted to take a look, but getting all handsy when we haven’t even been introduced is presuming too much.

All that said, I’m glad I didn’t have to punch him, my upper body strength leaves a lot to be desired and I don’t think it would have felt like much more than a tap.

The After

This photo is not great, I will post a better one soonish, but, isn’t it great?  I love my new tattoo a lot.  A lot, a lot.

The atrocity is hidden under the shorter sprig just above the leaf that crosses over, and you can’t see it at all!

Seriously, it’s really great and even though it hurt a bunch I still love it.

the before

So this is what I’ve got right now.  Tomorrow afternoon it will be as if it never  existed.

Things I won’t do with my new tattoo include, putting plastic wrap over it, using neosporin on it, or letting it get terribly, terribly infected so that it becomes a horrible embarrassment like the image to the left

NERVES!

I am meeting with the tattoo artist today to discuss the design of my new tattoo.  My belly is going blurgal blurg blurg blegurg.

So . . .

What does it say about me that I’ve found the blog of someone I knew once upon a time, someone I did not end on good terms with, and the thing that concerns me the most is not the poor grammar or spelling(we’re talking about his poor grammar and spelling here, not mine.  Run on sentences?  WHAT run on sentences?),  the apparent state of his life (which is fine), or the weird sex jokes (which are  weird), but rather the misuse and basic misunderstanding of an REM song?  And I know, I know, REM songs can be pretty vague, that’s half the fun, but EVERYONE knows that Losing My Religion isn’t actually about religion, it’s about losing your cool / temper.  I have seen and read multiple interviews about this.  Also, wikipedia says so, so it MUST be true. 

Clearly, the time I spent with this character was an exercise in futility.

Not that I care or anything.

Come back, weekend!

I had a very nice weekend.

Jeremy and I did lots of fun stuff because we were both in London all weekend and we didn’t have to rebuild a fence or do lots of chores or anything stupid like that.  Well, we probably should have done more laundry and cleaning, but we didn’t.  Instead we did the following:

1. Went to the visit Jeremy’s Vespa in Bow where it is being repainted and repaired at Project 13
2. The guys at Project 13 suggested that we go to the Mason Arms for foods and we did and it was delicious.
3. Then we headed into town and saw some of the London Open Day buildings.  I particularly enjoyed St Mary Abchurch.
4. Watched skateboarders and St Paul’s doing tricks, Jeremy became wistful, as he often does when watching skaters do tricks.
5. One of the skaters was very tall with floppy hair and a mustache.  It was like he took a time machine back to 1992 and copied my brother’s style.  I was amazed.
6. From there it was on to meet friends at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese (pronounced Yee Oldie Cheshirie Cheesy) for drinks and dinner.  YOCC claims to be the oldest pub in all of London.  A bold and unprovable claim.
7. Then on to Cittie of Yorke which, honestly, could use a ye olde in its name as well.
8. Then home where we fell fast asleep
9. On Sunday we headed off to Shoreditch and at breakfast at The Book Club (I had cheese on toast, bacon, a bloody mary and a coffee.  Thumbs up)
10. And then we realised it was design week in London as well so we stopped at lots of galleries and a cart full of free bits from these guys and took away a couple items to play around with.  More on that later.
11. Braved Brick Lane on a Sunday (Ack!) to get to this market near the Old Truman Brewery (Not the UpMarket though we went there too, the other one) because we were looking for an artist whose work we saw at the Pure Evil Gallery (which despite the name is actually run by a really nice guy)
12. And we found him at said market.  His name is Gustavo Ortiz and this is some of his work.  We bought three pieces and I love them all.
13. Then we went to Hanoi Cafe for Vietnamese food and did not, I repeat, DID not punch the posh ass face at the next table who actually said, ‘Oh yes, I loved Malaysia, but I did get a little bored by the last two days of my trip there.’  Seriously, posho?  That’s how you want to be out in public where people who have never been to Malaysia can overhear you?  Please die, soon.
14. Then home again to prepare for the week ahead.
15. Also of note: tickets back to Detroit were purchased, Oliver’s still on antibiotics, but only for one more day, Ivan the kitten who sadly does not live in our house DID greet us in the dining room when we came home, we saw Scott Pilgrim vs The World, and ate at Frank’s Campari Bar where they make a lovely Tom Collins.

It was a very nice weekend, the kind that makes me fall back in love with London after slew of busy tiring weeks.

Dear Oliver,

Listen up, jerk.  You’re the one who got in a massive fight two days ago and ended up all battered and bruised with a massively swollen cheek.  You’re the one the one who lost a tooth.  You’re the one who chooses to fight all his battles with his claws rather than his words, er, meows.  And THAT, good sir, is why I had to take you to the vet today.  I didn’t take you to the vet because I enjoy torturing you.  I took you because you were hurt.  You little jerk bomb of a cat.

I would also like to point out, my young feline friend, that mine is the actual hand that feeds you.  I am the one who provides you with your nightly wet food, scratching the bejeezus out of my hands is not the way to get on my good side, little man.  I appreciate that you were involved in a very stressful situation, but claws are not the way to solve the problem.  Head butts and purring would have been much more effective and would not have made the very nice Antipodean vet look at you like you were the biggest feline thug in SE London.  Instead he would have been all like, ‘Wow, what a sweet and mildly tempered monkey cat this is, I will give him treats.’

You’re only hurting yourself, Oliver, well you’ve hurt me too, but you know what I mean.

Kindest (if somewhat bloodied) Regards,

Carolyn

Dear people of England

My house has a name, not a street number.  That’s right JUST a name.  So when I call you and ask for a taxi, curry delivery, council tax account, whatever, I will not be able to give you a number for my house.  i am not doing this out of spite.  I am not trying to be difficult, it’s just that my house DOES NOT HAVE A NUMBER.  It never, ever has.  If you will take two seconds to stop proclaiming about the rarity and preposterous nature of this basic simple fact I will tell you exactly where my house is.  It will in fact be super easy to find if you what just shut the hey up and let me talk. 

Please stop giving me guff about the fact that there is no number.  I did not decide to give my house a name (if I had it would be IHOP), this is how it was when I moved in.Please don’t tell me how difficult this makes your life, I don’t care.  I only care about how difficult you are making my life with your repeated statements of disbelief.

And here’s the thing, generally in this sort of situation, you know where I call you to ask to buy something from you and have it delivered to my un-numbered ridiculously named house, I am trying to give you money.  That’s right, I want to pay you and support your business.  But you are making it really, really difficult because you won’t let me talk.  And that will lead me to hang up the phone and call someone else to make the order in the hopes that they will be able to grasp this difficult and brain bending concept.

Also, I would like to point out again, I did not choose for my house to have a name rather than a number, I admit I was excited about it when we moved in, but I didn’t start this vicious cycle.  Some other English person did, so please also stop treating me like a pain in the ass American who doesn’t understand how addresses work.  This naming of houses is an English thing, mine is not the only one. 

So please, stop being such massive douchebags about it on the phone, it’s really annoying.

Also, just as a friendly reminder, my name is still Carolyn, not Caroline.  I know we’ll get this straight one day.  Maybe.

Kindest regards,

Carolyn

It’s almost time

I’m getting a new tattoo next week!  Yay!

I am getting very antsy about this now and just want this week to speed up so I can get it done.  Tuesday the 21st is my consult and if all goes well the tattoo itself will be done on Thursday the 23rd. 

It’s also almost time for me to make an unexpected trip back to Michigan after a flyby at the end of the epic southern road trip in June.  My dad’s having some surgery done and I’d like to be there to help out.  I’m basically going for selfish reasons.  I know I’ll worry and fret here (even though it’s a procedure that they are purposely doing while he is well in order to reduce any chance of issues with recovery) so I’d rather be there where I actually know what’s going on and where I can do concrete things to help, like cleaning, running errands, grocery shopping and cooking food to freeze for later.    And, of course, fetching beers for the old man, a job I have had lots and lots of practice with over the last 33 years.

I’m just waiting now for a confirmation of the dates so I can buy my plane tickets without jinxing the whole thing, but most likely, I will be there at the beginning of October for about 14 days.