Not been on here for a while since there's not much news to report, only depressing stats of jobs applied for and jobs got interviews for. It is times like this when I realise why it is cool to be from Yorkshire, we are the master of thrift. Even though we don't know it at the time our parents and Grandparents taught us how to save the pennies and scrimp as and when needed. Since I have been married I too have tried to teach my LA born Hubby to be a cheapskate, I mean an Eco friendly warrior!
San Francisco is full of old hippies, new hippies, Lefties, 5,000 homeless and a lot of rich kids living off their trust funds. So, after living here for 4 years now, I have authority on my observations of the spend thriftiness of its inhabitants and I am just going to jot a few down, so when I am rich and can afford to leave a massive footprint, I can look back on this and remember the good old days. (cough).
Plastic bags have been banned for the city, not that the Asian fish market proprietors would know; did you know the plastic bags one gets there doesn't disappear, ever? They have not been banned in the Peninsula though, and that is why one gets funny looks from the Safeway cashier when one shouts - "NO bag, I have my own". This concept is sure to spread and I have my designs on making some great Eco friendly shopper bags that actually match one's outfit, as opposed to bright green corporate logo'd ones you get free at special events. So watch this space. I am actually getting a friend to help out, putting my theory of 'rope someone else in to one's project then one has to complete it' to the test. Being coupled with a similar minded lass will encourage me to get this idea up and running.
No excuses really since I have been out of work for, well, let's just say a long time. I am down to my last ounce of patience now. Even though I am qualified for a lot and have a college degree it is not exactly the best time to be me right now! Landscaping, which is my passion is dead due to the lack of elaborate houses being built in the Bay Area (and I thought outdoor kitchens were going to be all the rage this year!). Event Planning, my second passion, by default is producing many small gigs but not 'the one'. This is a wee bit trying as Matt owns the business and is also looking each day for something to sink his teeth in to. Cooking and baking is still my ultimate joy, however baking is making me pile on some never to be lost pounds so I am knocking that on the head. However my 3 'heavenly pies' made it to Mum's restaurant, a baby shower and my fridge with nothing but gasps of joy and requests for the recipe over the weekend. I wonder if the deli next door needs new cake suppliers? Maybe soy chocolate pies are all the rage this season?
Anyway back to the post, and the point of the post...........Once wishes sometimes one excelled in sciences, as this seems to be the only industry where people still have jobs. Let's just hope my dream job application which I emailed today for (with a bloody typo) passes through to the interview stage, and let's hope the lovely catering/cooking goddess requiring a PA Googles me and reads this plea for help! Come on you know you need me!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Summer is Here
In San Francisco - San Francisco not L.A. You may be mistaken and think that Pamela Anderson types in red swimsuits are basking in the Californian sun all the time. Well, you are very wrong. However for some reason the Mission in the Southern end of the city the sun is out, but I doubt anyone has ever seen a leggy blond parading up and down Valencia Street in a lifeguard outfit, unless it is Bay to Breakers of course, then anything could happen. What I am getting at is it is really hot right now - It has been in the high 70's in my neighborhood all weekend, and the fog managed to take a lay in yesterday and did not blanket the beautiful Golden Gate Park. Which made for a grand fortieth birthday party for Meg (did you find a camera near our table by the way?). Matt and I went to play kickball, or slosh ball as it is aptly named. Basically it is a game of baseball with a huge beach ball (but much, much harder - especially when booted at one full on in the face). You have to have a beer in hand at all times, and also have to down a pint on 2nd base before you even think of moving a muscle. You are probably getting apprehensive about this blog post now - thinking a million and one things which could have gone wrong. Thinking that it is probably best that two of my close friends here are nurses, pondering what awful stories of drunken debauchery can one write about. Well, sadly there was no game.
My mate Mike, from London and his crazy hyperactive mentalist excuse for a dog arrived at 3 ish, and met Matt who was already there as he plays football every Sunday at the polo fields in the park. There were already 3 picnic tables filled with nibbles and a full bar and many party goers half intoxicated after drinking keg beer and whizzing about on roller skates for the best part of the morning (one aspect of the celebrations I decided to pass on) and the field was as green as Gleneagles all set for a kickball extravaganza. Well, it did not happen, maybe because the host was wandering about the place with a long blond wig, a Mexican cell phone holder, cut off denim shorts and several different multicolored sun glasses throughout the course of the day. Maybe it was because there were two kegs and did I mention the full bar? Perhaps the copious amount of small people with organic names such as Ocean and Leaf put us drunken fools off; kicking kids in the head while trying to avoid a drinking fine while sliding into 1st base usually ends in tears. Or perhaps it was the fact that the sun beating down on our happy smiling love living in San Francisco face's were just revelling in the fact that Spring is here. And I don't need to don a red one piece to prove it!
My mate Mike, from London and his crazy hyperactive mentalist excuse for a dog arrived at 3 ish, and met Matt who was already there as he plays football every Sunday at the polo fields in the park. There were already 3 picnic tables filled with nibbles and a full bar and many party goers half intoxicated after drinking keg beer and whizzing about on roller skates for the best part of the morning (one aspect of the celebrations I decided to pass on) and the field was as green as Gleneagles all set for a kickball extravaganza. Well, it did not happen, maybe because the host was wandering about the place with a long blond wig, a Mexican cell phone holder, cut off denim shorts and several different multicolored sun glasses throughout the course of the day. Maybe it was because there were two kegs and did I mention the full bar? Perhaps the copious amount of small people with organic names such as Ocean and Leaf put us drunken fools off; kicking kids in the head while trying to avoid a drinking fine while sliding into 1st base usually ends in tears. Or perhaps it was the fact that the sun beating down on our happy smiling love living in San Francisco face's were just revelling in the fact that Spring is here. And I don't need to don a red one piece to prove it!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Here I am again on my own
So, I have been fannying around the house since 9.30 am with it in my head that I will sit and waffle on this for an hour at least - Just so, you know my fingers don't stop working, which would actually leave more time for the tongue to keep on wagging, thatwould make someone happy I am sure. Yeah, so the time is now 4.20 (hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm) and I am just about to embark on a writing exercise from a book called 'The Writer's Block' by Jason Rekulak. It is one of my Mother's garage sale finds and has been collecting dust in front of my web cam for about 2 years now. You know, just sitting there taunting me, making me feel even more miserable than I already highlighting the fact I do absolutely nothing anymore except laundry (which includes some canny double folding of boxer shorts), dish washing, cat sitting (feeding, brushing, getting rid of eye boogies and running round the flat playing silly games of "Where's Wally" for most of the day) and don't forget the paying of parking tickets, which is actually a full time job for someone with two cars living in a 2 hour limit parking area with no resident tags.
Wow. I have just realised that wearing my glasses while typing actually makes a big difference when it comes to, well, seeing. Wow, wish I would have wore them slightly more often then the four times I have since purchasing them in 1998. Actually I have probably wore these twice, since the first pair I purchased were accidentally left on a flight from Heathrow to San Francisco about three millisecond after I paid about 300 quid for them.
Why don't we have resident tags on our cars? They cost $70 and I have had an application on my desk since Hubby put it there, it is now after some rummage action under 3 months of Macy's statements. Why? Why do I let small things irritate me to the point of mini breakdown, and do absolutely nothing about it? It must be all that boxer short folding I partake in.
So, back to the book. It is a little 4x3"cardboard book. It can be opened at any page, and will give you a topic from which to work with - So, I will open a page randomly and 'Write about your worse habit' jumps out at me. I only gave my self an hour...How am I possibly gonna write about my worse habit in such a short space of time? OK, answer: Laziness. For example, not getting up to the parking office and paying my resident parking permit which would result in possibly only one ticket for each vehicle per week, which would be on street cleaning day.
Next page; 'Write about a childhood experience that made you cry', have you got a spare couple of months?
Final attempt; 'Describe your first encounter with a celebrity'. Ha ha - I have a quick tipple about such a meeting, so since I have twenty mins left; which is the time I am allocating to utilize my talents, not just something to do so it looks like I am not wasting mt talents, I will divulge.
This was probably the first time I had ever met anyone famous, apart from standing in front of the Laughing Clown, encased in his glass dome at the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I was 19 years old, and it was my gap year and I spent it here in the United States. I was actually spending lots of time on the coast, as you do, hanging with the locals, moon bathing and the likes. This is the year I learned to smoke. This year I dated some hot surfers, and smoking obviously made one more attractive, not that the accent did not get me into many a party. This was the year I met Joe DiMaggio. You know Marilyn Monroe's Husband (well, one of them) and he even gets a mention in a Simon and Garfunkel song. He is however most famous here for playing baseball for the New York Yankees in the fifties. Know him yet? Well I do!
We met across a crowded room full of other bored pensioners playing bingo at the Half Moon Bay Golf Club, before it was taken over by the Ritz chain thus rendering it utterly out of any one's price range. The bingo is probably $40 a game in there now. I recognised his chiseled looks immediately and wanted to know what it was like to dance with Grace Kelly - That was until my mate informed me it was not Clark Gable! It was then I discovered this wrinkled old eighty something was once married to my childhood crush Marilyn Monroe. I had no idea about anything baseball related, so ran up to him, with a Mars Bar, of all things in my hand ready to ask him to describe the luscious blond in one word. "They used to cost 7 cents when I was your age" were his exact words.
I still kick myself for not getting his picture or autograph, God Bless. May he rest in peace, hope he got to make a final hook up with Maz.
Oh and by the way, I was not playing bingo.
Wow. I have just realised that wearing my glasses while typing actually makes a big difference when it comes to, well, seeing. Wow, wish I would have wore them slightly more often then the four times I have since purchasing them in 1998. Actually I have probably wore these twice, since the first pair I purchased were accidentally left on a flight from Heathrow to San Francisco about three millisecond after I paid about 300 quid for them.
Why don't we have resident tags on our cars? They cost $70 and I have had an application on my desk since Hubby put it there, it is now after some rummage action under 3 months of Macy's statements. Why? Why do I let small things irritate me to the point of mini breakdown, and do absolutely nothing about it? It must be all that boxer short folding I partake in.
So, back to the book. It is a little 4x3"cardboard book. It can be opened at any page, and will give you a topic from which to work with - So, I will open a page randomly and 'Write about your worse habit' jumps out at me. I only gave my self an hour...How am I possibly gonna write about my worse habit in such a short space of time? OK, answer: Laziness. For example, not getting up to the parking office and paying my resident parking permit which would result in possibly only one ticket for each vehicle per week, which would be on street cleaning day.
Next page; 'Write about a childhood experience that made you cry', have you got a spare couple of months?
Final attempt; 'Describe your first encounter with a celebrity'. Ha ha - I have a quick tipple about such a meeting, so since I have twenty mins left; which is the time I am allocating to utilize my talents, not just something to do so it looks like I am not wasting mt talents, I will divulge.
This was probably the first time I had ever met anyone famous, apart from standing in front of the Laughing Clown, encased in his glass dome at the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I was 19 years old, and it was my gap year and I spent it here in the United States. I was actually spending lots of time on the coast, as you do, hanging with the locals, moon bathing and the likes. This is the year I learned to smoke. This year I dated some hot surfers, and smoking obviously made one more attractive, not that the accent did not get me into many a party. This was the year I met Joe DiMaggio. You know Marilyn Monroe's Husband (well, one of them) and he even gets a mention in a Simon and Garfunkel song. He is however most famous here for playing baseball for the New York Yankees in the fifties. Know him yet? Well I do!
We met across a crowded room full of other bored pensioners playing bingo at the Half Moon Bay Golf Club, before it was taken over by the Ritz chain thus rendering it utterly out of any one's price range. The bingo is probably $40 a game in there now. I recognised his chiseled looks immediately and wanted to know what it was like to dance with Grace Kelly - That was until my mate informed me it was not Clark Gable! It was then I discovered this wrinkled old eighty something was once married to my childhood crush Marilyn Monroe. I had no idea about anything baseball related, so ran up to him, with a Mars Bar, of all things in my hand ready to ask him to describe the luscious blond in one word. "They used to cost 7 cents when I was your age" were his exact words.
I still kick myself for not getting his picture or autograph, God Bless. May he rest in peace, hope he got to make a final hook up with Maz.
Oh and by the way, I was not playing bingo.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Blockatronathon
OK- I am finally blogging again. I want to be a writer but don't write jack shit. I want to be published but do absolutely nothing to promote myself or increase my chances, ie I am very lazy. I have not been blogging since last June, and I can not blame anyone except myself for my sheer inability to put pen to paper and get my ass away from housewife duties long enough to get something down. Even if it is rants about how crap I am at not ranting.
Last night my Husband said that I have not written a damn word since I got wed. I can not argue with that one really, except I have written to my mate Vicky in Kent on occasion, and also to my dear Granddad who is in a home with Parkinson's Disease. Oh, I write a lot of checks too, but I guess they don't count for much.
The only thing that I have been doing to actively improve my chances of ever getting paid for any of this gibberish is reading. I have found my reading mojo again and now an rushing through the three bookshelves full of my garage sale finds and a few stragglers that I liberated from the Community Thrift shop. I have even got used to reading the news on line, only took me 15 years to get my head round it. Nothing beats reading a real news paper, and sadly my kids will probably never get the chance since a lot of dailies are getting slashed in this economy. Nothing will beat the British papers which I miss so much, especially the Guardian. I miss the smell even - Better not get me started or I will be craving fish and chips next.
I have been a housewife since I got wed back in Feb 2008, waiting patiently for a visa so I can stop spending the savings and contribute a little more than the Martha Stewart effort I have been putting in, and basically help utilize this brain, which cannot withstand too much more partying, therefore should be taken advantage of more, especially since baby talk is being banded about a lot, and I resign myself to the fact I am gonna be goo-gooing and ga-gaing for the next few years at least.
Rereading this I cannot even convince myself that my bone idleness has been weaving its web of mass degeneration for the past, gosh nearly year. I am finally admitting to myself that I have a talent and I should get it out in the world. It's just this block I get, I have a fear of something, perhaps rejection, which stumps my talents and renders me a Hoovering, cooking baking freak. I have even got a sewing machine! Mind you, it's not like that thing will make curtains on its own. It is nearly as stubborn as me, and has only accumulated an inch or so of dirt since I bought it for $30 from a man who's Mam died. The bargains one can pick up at garage sales in America is unbelievable. It is just waiting for me to create, like this blankish space I am tapping away at now.
Come to think of it another reason for my disappearance of the blogiverse is that I am not addicted to Facebook. It is ridiculous, even Matt (who is in his 40's) is on it first thing each day. I am fascinated at the photos people put on there, the old style, scanned in pictures are the best. There is definitely entertainment in looking back and random people's embarrassing hair styles and clothing choices. Plus meeting back up with random people from random times talking a load of random rubbish is to me appealing. I love Facebook, but alas my friends time spent on this site is decreasing as of today. Sunshine and promise of being a published writer, oh and the fact I have the time to do all of this will now dictate my old but new habit of writing.
I cannot believe people have missed my blog.. It is amazing people can actually be arsed to read my waffling, mind you they do in real life so I may have something after all.
Last night my Husband said that I have not written a damn word since I got wed. I can not argue with that one really, except I have written to my mate Vicky in Kent on occasion, and also to my dear Granddad who is in a home with Parkinson's Disease. Oh, I write a lot of checks too, but I guess they don't count for much.
The only thing that I have been doing to actively improve my chances of ever getting paid for any of this gibberish is reading. I have found my reading mojo again and now an rushing through the three bookshelves full of my garage sale finds and a few stragglers that I liberated from the Community Thrift shop. I have even got used to reading the news on line, only took me 15 years to get my head round it. Nothing beats reading a real news paper, and sadly my kids will probably never get the chance since a lot of dailies are getting slashed in this economy. Nothing will beat the British papers which I miss so much, especially the Guardian. I miss the smell even - Better not get me started or I will be craving fish and chips next.
I have been a housewife since I got wed back in Feb 2008, waiting patiently for a visa so I can stop spending the savings and contribute a little more than the Martha Stewart effort I have been putting in, and basically help utilize this brain, which cannot withstand too much more partying, therefore should be taken advantage of more, especially since baby talk is being banded about a lot, and I resign myself to the fact I am gonna be goo-gooing and ga-gaing for the next few years at least.
Rereading this I cannot even convince myself that my bone idleness has been weaving its web of mass degeneration for the past, gosh nearly year. I am finally admitting to myself that I have a talent and I should get it out in the world. It's just this block I get, I have a fear of something, perhaps rejection, which stumps my talents and renders me a Hoovering, cooking baking freak. I have even got a sewing machine! Mind you, it's not like that thing will make curtains on its own. It is nearly as stubborn as me, and has only accumulated an inch or so of dirt since I bought it for $30 from a man who's Mam died. The bargains one can pick up at garage sales in America is unbelievable. It is just waiting for me to create, like this blankish space I am tapping away at now.
Come to think of it another reason for my disappearance of the blogiverse is that I am not addicted to Facebook. It is ridiculous, even Matt (who is in his 40's) is on it first thing each day. I am fascinated at the photos people put on there, the old style, scanned in pictures are the best. There is definitely entertainment in looking back and random people's embarrassing hair styles and clothing choices. Plus meeting back up with random people from random times talking a load of random rubbish is to me appealing. I love Facebook, but alas my friends time spent on this site is decreasing as of today. Sunshine and promise of being a published writer, oh and the fact I have the time to do all of this will now dictate my old but new habit of writing.
I cannot believe people have missed my blog.. It is amazing people can actually be arsed to read my waffling, mind you they do in real life so I may have something after all.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
My First Attempt at a Magazine Story
So, I am an out of work Assistant to a Landscape Architect. Newly married, living in the adult play ground of the world, San Francisco. Doing what my husband has given me a chance to do, which is write. My ideal day would be 4 hours searching Craig’s List for a juicy overpaid part time job, then another 4 hours on the old keyboard typing away a load of old shite. Writing is what it has been referred to me as; “something I could do if I just sat my boney ass down and did”, an easy way to make ends meet. Well, believe me – I have contemplated this for a few years now. I even started to tell people that I was writing a book. I am so fucking sick of them asking me where it is that I have finally sat down, and am on with it*. A slight distraction from looking for a job, but at least I am not eating!
I spend my days wishing I could come up with just one idea that could make me a millisecond millionaire. There seems to be a lot of opportunity for entrepreneurs in this country, but in San Francisco it feels like one must be a really great muralist or be a pioneer in saving the planet, by recycling something as miniscule as the plastic film covering the pecan and cilantro dip at Trader Joe’s. There are a lot of artists here showing their wares, so I guess writing is an art form, so I go fourth. I will be parading up and down Market Street soon wearing nothing but a typewriter ribbon and a feather boa.
Being a British lass in the U.S of A is not too much different as being a Yorkshire lass battling it out* in London for twelve years. I lived in London after completing my college up North in Old York and no one understood me there either. However I was not a novelty item back home as I am here. Since there is not class distinction in this country I am not merely ‘Northern Scum’* from a coal mining background, I am European. Traveled, educated, have an accent and make people laugh - granted it is usually at me and not with me! I must admit I do like all the attention I receive due to my accent, I cannot complain really. Now that I have my husband to translate for me, life is getting a little easier in the States.
Thinking about writing all your life is annoying, especially when every 3rd person you meet advises you to “write a book”. So, you know that you have it in you, and you have support and faith from your family (and other complete strangers), but you feel always that it is wasting time, not constructive and not something a British girl paying $2k rent a month in the Mission should be doing! Can anyone offer me a few shifts in a bar please?
It is not knowing where to start that gets me. I always remember from my impressionable years at an all girl’s private school, that a story must have a beginning, middle and an end. Being that most people who do write for a living almost always include some biographical content one thinks about the end part of the story. I am in my thirties; do I have an end yet? At some point yeah, but how do you get that into a story when you don’t even know what is going to happen yourself? It is then when it clicked. A writer can write his own ending. Artistic license. I can predict my own future – Yeah that is it. My column’s going to be an instant success, I am going make a bucket load of cash and retire in Bali. The end!
If only it was. You know, ever since an ex boyfriend said to me. “You would love to live in Bali” That has been my get out plan, my escape from an ordinary life. Somewhere to go to escape the mundane and completely irrational behavior of my less than ordinary family. Half of whom live State-side. Sometimes I wonder why I actually moved here. I thought it was to be closer to my family, how wrong can one be? A can of worms will probably be opened over the course of these writings, but at the end of the day maybe this is the therapy I have been waiting for!
Just a few things that will help you decipher my ramblings, I have an accent, a thick one, so thick in fact it could cure bacon*. So un-American it seems like a foreign language to most people I meet. So for the purpose of maybe getting published, I am using American spellings and also italicizing words and phrases I deem to be unique to my folk. I have added a glossary for your convenience too.
So, if you do ever get a passport and travel further than than Yosemite, please visit the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. You should pocket a few of these phrases and the local ‘folk’ may even grant you a pint of Ale (no we do not say Ale, my Granddad may though; we say beer, like you guys. However our beer actually has a head on it is a full pint and is not warm, contrary to popular belief). So there you go, some free Brownie points for you. So, don’t say I never give you owt.
Glossary:
On with it: going forth
Battling it out: fighting
Northern Scum: London resident’s usual way of addressing people who do not live within a 30 mile radius of Buckingham Palace.
Buckingham Palace: the Queen’s official residence.
Bacon: a thick strip of pork with one fat end. Not a skinny multi calorie slither of fat soaked crunchy cack. (Similar to Canadian bacon)
Cack: slang for a ‘number two’.
Number two: Cockney Rhyming slang for crap.
Cockney rhyming slang: (now it gets confusing), colloquial utterings from a Cockney’s gob
Cockney: someone born in London within the sound of the bow bells, a church in the East end.
Gob: mouth
Folk: People- Always used when referring to Yorkshire ‘Folk’
Brownie Points: Brownies is the institution little girls are encouraged to before they venture onto Girl Scouts. They wear brown dresses. Well they did when I was one. They now wear themed sweatshirts in a yellow color only maybe a tenth of the Brownie population can actually carry off. This is not explaining the phrase however- I am going to have to ask my husband to try and give me an accurate translation this
Owt: Classic Yorkshire phrase meaning ‘anything’
I spend my days wishing I could come up with just one idea that could make me a millisecond millionaire. There seems to be a lot of opportunity for entrepreneurs in this country, but in San Francisco it feels like one must be a really great muralist or be a pioneer in saving the planet, by recycling something as miniscule as the plastic film covering the pecan and cilantro dip at Trader Joe’s. There are a lot of artists here showing their wares, so I guess writing is an art form, so I go fourth. I will be parading up and down Market Street soon wearing nothing but a typewriter ribbon and a feather boa.
Being a British lass in the U.S of A is not too much different as being a Yorkshire lass battling it out* in London for twelve years. I lived in London after completing my college up North in Old York and no one understood me there either. However I was not a novelty item back home as I am here. Since there is not class distinction in this country I am not merely ‘Northern Scum’* from a coal mining background, I am European. Traveled, educated, have an accent and make people laugh - granted it is usually at me and not with me! I must admit I do like all the attention I receive due to my accent, I cannot complain really. Now that I have my husband to translate for me, life is getting a little easier in the States.
Thinking about writing all your life is annoying, especially when every 3rd person you meet advises you to “write a book”. So, you know that you have it in you, and you have support and faith from your family (and other complete strangers), but you feel always that it is wasting time, not constructive and not something a British girl paying $2k rent a month in the Mission should be doing! Can anyone offer me a few shifts in a bar please?
It is not knowing where to start that gets me. I always remember from my impressionable years at an all girl’s private school, that a story must have a beginning, middle and an end. Being that most people who do write for a living almost always include some biographical content one thinks about the end part of the story. I am in my thirties; do I have an end yet? At some point yeah, but how do you get that into a story when you don’t even know what is going to happen yourself? It is then when it clicked. A writer can write his own ending. Artistic license. I can predict my own future – Yeah that is it. My column’s going to be an instant success, I am going make a bucket load of cash and retire in Bali. The end!
If only it was. You know, ever since an ex boyfriend said to me. “You would love to live in Bali” That has been my get out plan, my escape from an ordinary life. Somewhere to go to escape the mundane and completely irrational behavior of my less than ordinary family. Half of whom live State-side. Sometimes I wonder why I actually moved here. I thought it was to be closer to my family, how wrong can one be? A can of worms will probably be opened over the course of these writings, but at the end of the day maybe this is the therapy I have been waiting for!
Just a few things that will help you decipher my ramblings, I have an accent, a thick one, so thick in fact it could cure bacon*. So un-American it seems like a foreign language to most people I meet. So for the purpose of maybe getting published, I am using American spellings and also italicizing words and phrases I deem to be unique to my folk. I have added a glossary for your convenience too.
So, if you do ever get a passport and travel further than than Yosemite, please visit the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. You should pocket a few of these phrases and the local ‘folk’ may even grant you a pint of Ale (no we do not say Ale, my Granddad may though; we say beer, like you guys. However our beer actually has a head on it is a full pint and is not warm, contrary to popular belief). So there you go, some free Brownie points for you. So, don’t say I never give you owt.
Glossary:
On with it: going forth
Battling it out: fighting
Northern Scum: London resident’s usual way of addressing people who do not live within a 30 mile radius of Buckingham Palace.
Buckingham Palace: the Queen’s official residence.
Bacon: a thick strip of pork with one fat end. Not a skinny multi calorie slither of fat soaked crunchy cack. (Similar to Canadian bacon)
Cack: slang for a ‘number two’.
Number two: Cockney Rhyming slang for crap.
Cockney rhyming slang: (now it gets confusing), colloquial utterings from a Cockney’s gob
Cockney: someone born in London within the sound of the bow bells, a church in the East end.
Gob: mouth
Folk: People- Always used when referring to Yorkshire ‘Folk’
Brownie Points: Brownies is the institution little girls are encouraged to before they venture onto Girl Scouts. They wear brown dresses. Well they did when I was one. They now wear themed sweatshirts in a yellow color only maybe a tenth of the Brownie population can actually carry off. This is not explaining the phrase however- I am going to have to ask my husband to try and give me an accurate translation this
Owt: Classic Yorkshire phrase meaning ‘anything’
Monday, May 12, 2008
$400.63 for a New Wheel!
I can not believe that the wheel which I had welded last August for over $200 has broken, and caused a flat, which I noticed after I had driven 5 blocks to Safeway's this morning. I did wonder what the noise and steering problems were as I had just paid $330 plus for two new tires and a fucking alignment - Excuse my language, but the whole wheels, which I know are integral to one's car's performance, thing just makes me so angry. All I want to do it make my car move from A to B. With the help of course of my trusted Tom Tom. So, you see it pains me so, that I have been compelled to blog about it.
The dreaded red check engine light came on the other day too. Don't even get me started on that one. That light has caused too many trips to the cash machine and not even the love for my car Joy can allow me to spend any more cash on her. She is getting sold. Along with Matt's Toyota truck, Tracey - they are both being swapped for a hybrid number, dunno which one yet - research is getting done as, well, it isn't actually so any tips form anyone.? Do any of my mates own one, or know anyone that does?
So, it is May. The middle of, Monday at 5.44pm in my new 'hood, the Mission in San Francisco. Matt and I moved in together, and we have been living here just over a week, well, two weeks on Wednesday, that went quick. The sun is shining still, the window to the office, where I am faces East, but the sky is still blue - with the rays hitting the back deck. I love this flat.
There are some obviously hit you straight in the face, which were of some concern from the initial viewing, no no's about the 'hood, like the fact some one had been shot and two people stabbed a week or so before we moved in. We actually discovered later, from the owner of the building, when he came to fix the dodgy lighting, that in fact a kid had been shot on the bench directly under this office window, which is bang your leg on it close to the door step. Well, the lease had been signed.
The whole house hunting thing was a night mare from the start, as Matt was undertaking a huge gig he had planned, which spread across 5 venues over the city, it was the build up and he was glued to his cell and laptop. So, it left me looking at about 15 properties in one weekend and then a scattered few for a nights over two weeks. I am so glad that I did not opt for the 1st one I saw in Noe Valley. Lovely 'hood, but the flat was a cellar basically, the living room floor was tiled (me thinks good for flooding- mind you after earthquake, it would take more than a Swiffer to clean up the mess).
This flat, is a flat, not a 1/4 -ered Victorian botch job, with the bedroom off the kitchen, it is a lovely - above a laundrette kind-of -flat! You go in the front door, up the wooden, painted (mole) steps. There is an original painting of a purple cat, with yellow high-tops running round the corner, classic. Then a landing. I like this as it means all the rooms go off in different directions and are separate. The floors throughout are wooden 3" oak, with a matt varnish - The 1st room to the left is the bedroom, which has an original painting of a blue bear. These paintings are directly painted on the wall, and are the only remnants (well, except a few tiki mugs, a purple glass bowl and nice water jug/vase) from the previous tenant who is an artist. It is cartoon/graffiti-fied, really cool simple lines and colours. Anyway, I move on - The kitchen is big, with a pantry, but all the action is in a long line, starting with a single sink, granite worktops, and an oven. There are plenty of cupboards, but they are high up. I need to stand on an chair to get to the mixer and juicer - I need to get a ladder (where from?). The main problem is that there is no draining board. I did notice this when looked at the place originally, but it's other features were a slight distraction, like massive wardrobe in the bedroom - which turned out to be all mine, because my love has his stuff in the office, which is supposed to be a second bedroom, so that is where the closet is. Plus his '30's dressers look ace in here. Then there is the wonderful original fireplace, complete with mirror, two shelves and columns, but sadly only producing a redundant gas pipe which was an update of the wood burning instead of a real fire. Come on doesn't that sound cosy? Anyway, it turns out that heat is not a problem, because as long as we are living above this laundrette those tumble dryers are gonna keep us warm, and probably send us deaf too!
The bathroom is new, it is small, but has storage for towels and my plastic boxes of utter crap. You know I have lived here for nearly three years and when I moved last week from the suburbnes of San Mateo to the Missionnes of the Mission I found a Boots brand bottle of hair mouse. Now since when exactly has mouse been extinct? I mean come on - when did you last use it? I had a moment of nostalgia, I must admit, but only for the Boot's logo. Boots did some great sandwiches. Hope M&S's did not bag all that business and Boot's is still going strong. Oh, I love the one at Heathrow Airport. Er, bathroom - yeah, nice dark granite floor tiles, and white for the shower. The shower is above the bath, not my favourite, but it it the norm here.
Then through the kitchen is the back storage room, which leads onto the deck. I am gonna get 5 galvanised dustbins, slimmish though, and plant bamboo - this will stop wind and block out the ugly flats to the left. The view straight is OK - There is a cafe and it's patio is there, with little picnic tables, tucked under a canopy of fruit trees. Not seen much action out there yet. I am just waiting for rats - I know a bit of a drastic switch- 'cause it brings me on to something else that I must remember to do - Get a cat. I know, ironic isn't it? I found one a few blog posts ago, Milo - Only had two emails from him, and he forgot about me, see how fickle can one be? I found two catnip stuffed mice in the move too - he was so spoiled, the ungrateful sod! So, yeah - I have been looking on Craig's List for a cat, I want a tom, indoor or out - he can do what he pleases. So, I have signed up with an adoption agency and have also been looking at spoiled little kittys form people who are going to abandon them! There are some lovely ones about - but none I have bonded with in Cat Cyber space with yet.
I am looking for a job as well as moving. Why is my life chill for ages then BANG, gets all hectic for a while? So, I am still working for JP - The Landscape Architect, but it is only part time, because I left my other job to start a restaurant, which I am no longer part of, long story, nearly at the end of this!, So yeah, I am here in San Francisco, in a really lovely part of town, bordering Protrero Hill, I really like it - looking for a job in the landscaping industry, doing anything but heavy lifting- Prefer site surveying and 'rendering', only partial bending and slight wrist movement! Go figure. (in a So.Cal. accent of course).
So yeah it is all good, except for tomorrow when I see that dreaded red check engine light gawping at me at 8am when I am off to work!
See ya x
The dreaded red check engine light came on the other day too. Don't even get me started on that one. That light has caused too many trips to the cash machine and not even the love for my car Joy can allow me to spend any more cash on her. She is getting sold. Along with Matt's Toyota truck, Tracey - they are both being swapped for a hybrid number, dunno which one yet - research is getting done as, well, it isn't actually so any tips form anyone.? Do any of my mates own one, or know anyone that does?
So, it is May. The middle of, Monday at 5.44pm in my new 'hood, the Mission in San Francisco. Matt and I moved in together, and we have been living here just over a week, well, two weeks on Wednesday, that went quick. The sun is shining still, the window to the office, where I am faces East, but the sky is still blue - with the rays hitting the back deck. I love this flat.
There are some obviously hit you straight in the face, which were of some concern from the initial viewing, no no's about the 'hood, like the fact some one had been shot and two people stabbed a week or so before we moved in. We actually discovered later, from the owner of the building, when he came to fix the dodgy lighting, that in fact a kid had been shot on the bench directly under this office window, which is bang your leg on it close to the door step. Well, the lease had been signed.
The whole house hunting thing was a night mare from the start, as Matt was undertaking a huge gig he had planned, which spread across 5 venues over the city, it was the build up and he was glued to his cell and laptop. So, it left me looking at about 15 properties in one weekend and then a scattered few for a nights over two weeks. I am so glad that I did not opt for the 1st one I saw in Noe Valley. Lovely 'hood, but the flat was a cellar basically, the living room floor was tiled (me thinks good for flooding- mind you after earthquake, it would take more than a Swiffer to clean up the mess).
This flat, is a flat, not a 1/4 -ered Victorian botch job, with the bedroom off the kitchen, it is a lovely - above a laundrette kind-of -flat! You go in the front door, up the wooden, painted (mole) steps. There is an original painting of a purple cat, with yellow high-tops running round the corner, classic. Then a landing. I like this as it means all the rooms go off in different directions and are separate. The floors throughout are wooden 3" oak, with a matt varnish - The 1st room to the left is the bedroom, which has an original painting of a blue bear. These paintings are directly painted on the wall, and are the only remnants (well, except a few tiki mugs, a purple glass bowl and nice water jug/vase) from the previous tenant who is an artist. It is cartoon/graffiti-fied, really cool simple lines and colours. Anyway, I move on - The kitchen is big, with a pantry, but all the action is in a long line, starting with a single sink, granite worktops, and an oven. There are plenty of cupboards, but they are high up. I need to stand on an chair to get to the mixer and juicer - I need to get a ladder (where from?). The main problem is that there is no draining board. I did notice this when looked at the place originally, but it's other features were a slight distraction, like massive wardrobe in the bedroom - which turned out to be all mine, because my love has his stuff in the office, which is supposed to be a second bedroom, so that is where the closet is. Plus his '30's dressers look ace in here. Then there is the wonderful original fireplace, complete with mirror, two shelves and columns, but sadly only producing a redundant gas pipe which was an update of the wood burning instead of a real fire. Come on doesn't that sound cosy? Anyway, it turns out that heat is not a problem, because as long as we are living above this laundrette those tumble dryers are gonna keep us warm, and probably send us deaf too!
The bathroom is new, it is small, but has storage for towels and my plastic boxes of utter crap. You know I have lived here for nearly three years and when I moved last week from the suburbnes of San Mateo to the Missionnes of the Mission I found a Boots brand bottle of hair mouse. Now since when exactly has mouse been extinct? I mean come on - when did you last use it? I had a moment of nostalgia, I must admit, but only for the Boot's logo. Boots did some great sandwiches. Hope M&S's did not bag all that business and Boot's is still going strong. Oh, I love the one at Heathrow Airport. Er, bathroom - yeah, nice dark granite floor tiles, and white for the shower. The shower is above the bath, not my favourite, but it it the norm here.
Then through the kitchen is the back storage room, which leads onto the deck. I am gonna get 5 galvanised dustbins, slimmish though, and plant bamboo - this will stop wind and block out the ugly flats to the left. The view straight is OK - There is a cafe and it's patio is there, with little picnic tables, tucked under a canopy of fruit trees. Not seen much action out there yet. I am just waiting for rats - I know a bit of a drastic switch- 'cause it brings me on to something else that I must remember to do - Get a cat. I know, ironic isn't it? I found one a few blog posts ago, Milo - Only had two emails from him, and he forgot about me, see how fickle can one be? I found two catnip stuffed mice in the move too - he was so spoiled, the ungrateful sod! So, yeah - I have been looking on Craig's List for a cat, I want a tom, indoor or out - he can do what he pleases. So, I have signed up with an adoption agency and have also been looking at spoiled little kittys form people who are going to abandon them! There are some lovely ones about - but none I have bonded with in Cat Cyber space with yet.
I am looking for a job as well as moving. Why is my life chill for ages then BANG, gets all hectic for a while? So, I am still working for JP - The Landscape Architect, but it is only part time, because I left my other job to start a restaurant, which I am no longer part of, long story, nearly at the end of this!, So yeah, I am here in San Francisco, in a really lovely part of town, bordering Protrero Hill, I really like it - looking for a job in the landscaping industry, doing anything but heavy lifting- Prefer site surveying and 'rendering', only partial bending and slight wrist movement! Go figure. (in a So.Cal. accent of course).
So yeah it is all good, except for tomorrow when I see that dreaded red check engine light gawping at me at 8am when I am off to work!
See ya x
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Trip to Tahoe
Hello dearest blog-readers,
How the devil are you?
I have just come back, well, on Monday, from a fantastic weekend of skiing fun up in the mountains at Lake Tahoe. I went back to Heavenly, which brought back many happy of memories of this time last year. It is such a beautiful resort. Sarah and Jose came for a week last January and we skied in a snow storm. I remember exactly where we were when we stopped for a hot cocoa, the pictures of the gang on this post are taken in the same spot. On my previous visit I could not see my hand in front of my face.
We drove up, well, Matt did the driving, (my brother James sat in the front and I was fetal positioned up in the tiny seats in the back of Matt's truck) last Friday. I had booked a cabin at Zephyr Cove in Nevada, which slept 12. With a lot of emailing, calling and stressing I managed to get 8 people. It was a decent size place, but the bedrooms weren't to private or roomy enough. Matt and I got the master room, however it was the home of the World's loudest heating system. It went off every 30 minutes, just giving one time to nod back off before blasting you in the ear drums with some serious gusto.
Hope you like the snaps x
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