John is disorganised.

7:45am. I don't have to be up til 9ish. John is rummaging through our room in semi-darkness.
"Mmmffphwhat are you looking for? An umbrella?"
"No, I want a jumper"
"Hanging up." I roll over and back into the far side of semi consciousness.
John keeps rummaging.
"Dani...Dani! I can't find it! Where did you say you hung up my jumper?"
"In the wardrobe. Where we put clothes. It's on a hanger."
"Oh....."
John leaves me in peace.

A few observations

1. When I am very, very tired and having difficulty understanding someone's accent, I tune them out so that it all sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher. "Den I was loike, sumfing wah wah waaaaah wah wah wah...."
2. I live in lilliput. I know i've been over this, but damn, it still shocks me!
3. Even if you are very, very, very careful to look in what you think is every potential direction before crossing a road, you'll probably miss a hazard. I have, for the record, been honked at by several (as in I stopped counting) cars, one tram, and two busses. Not bad for two and a half weeks.
4. Brits are all alcoholics. Binge drinking aside, when I pass a drink off at the 'bux, 90% of people pick it up, bob their heads, and say 'Cheers'. Then I noticed bus passengers doing it too...and at the supermarket (what I was missing?!), and on the street when I gave way to an old lady with a walker. Wtf?! Cheers is used interchangably with 'Thanks' here, but never in sarcasm and only when there has been a service of some kind rendered. I think.
5. The legend about Europeans being apologetic if they accuse you of being American and you are, in fact, Canadian? Totally, embarassingly, true. I'm working at the espresso bar, chatting and calling drinks, and I hear a mother and teenage daughter arrive at the register. "I TOLD you it was an American accent!" (other barista) "Oh, actually, she's from Canada." (woman now shouting across half the store) "I'm so SORRY dear, I guess it's just loud and difficult to hear properly, and I am VERY SORRY" (me, being uncomfortable) "Oh, it's ok, I can't tell as Welsh accent from an Irish one, so how can I expect you to tell mine from an American accent, eh?" (woman smirks).
6. Brits are adult enough to decide when and where to cross the road. Jaywalking doesn't exist here, because it is legal to cross the road at pretty much any time. However, pedestrians don't automatically have right-of-way. See #3.
7. There are more things that I want to put up here, but i can't remember them at the moment. Some day, some day.

The Hometown Goodbyes, Part Deux

What better way to remember all of my nearest and dearest than a slightly awkward party involving family, friends from waaaay back, friends from Uni, and everyone's significant others? The party was (in my humble opinion, and I was after the guest of honour, so that's the ONLY opinion!) a success. Beer and cocktails and pop were drank, the barbecue got a workout and a half, people brought delicious foodstuffs (including tomatoes form Josh's garden - holy wow they were good), the silly present-stealing game was played, we beat the crap out of each other with foam pirate swords, and I got my ass kicked at bocce by my 85 year old grandmother. Who is blind in one eye.


The party continued after the grownups and youngun's left and it was only the twenty-somethings, and for a better description of that, you need to see the Peach, for a hilarious and only slightly embellished version. That part of the night looked something like this:

The hometown goodbyes part I

Goodbye to the home stomping grounds started with a fantastic (sweaty) night in TO marked by excellent food (sushi and sashimi and tiny individual cakes oh my!) and a power outage which made Brie's fabulous (third floor) digs seem like a turkish bath. It's a good thing red wine is meant to be served unrefrigerated! The night looked like this:


(faces smeared to protect dignity)

On the Friday of the long weekend, my dad and I celebrated the third long weekend of the summer by digging out my massive pile of crap and donating an entire carload to Goodwill, pitching three bags, and storing the rest in the attic. That sure was a lovely way to spend another 'heat wave' day, but at least I got my things stored and out of my parents' way.

And England so far...

I find myself walking around Sheffield feeling like I've landed in Lilliput. Nothing here comes in extra large anything - cars that would be considered mid-sized sedans in Canada are gas hogging monsters, while SUVs are regularly graffitied (and their owners made broke by the cost of fuel!). Streets are narrower, packaging is smaller (imagine having to look really, really hard to find a 500mL bottle of shampoo...that's considered an 'extra value' size instead of the standard!), housing and storage are smaller...even the refrigerators are smaller. Like, seriously way smaller. Like, we go to the grocery store every two to three days because right now we share a fridge with four other people and we only have that much space because two of them seem to eat only take-away and canned things. I'm starting to find some attitudes shifting already - like, it's nice not to be stuck with shitty shampoo for an entire half liter, and tiny economical cars mean that it's going to be much more feasible for us to drive one eventually. But I will certainly miss being able to buy 48 rolls of toilet paper in one package at the supermarket. There's nothing like having enough ass-wipe in stock to build a dam, or t-p an entire street at once.

Bon VoyBirthday!

Bon VoyBirthday
...was a smashing success. Everyone that Shavaun and I hoped for showed up (plus some!), wine and beer and tequila (and pomegranate liqueur) flowed, two delicious cakes were eaten (Lemon sponge with lemon glaze, and Dark Chocolate Black Forest Gateau), Shavaun didn't make it out the bar (something about her legs not cooperating with her brain?), and I went into the kitchen the next morning to find muddyPublish Post footprints all over the linoleum (water fight), an empty tequila bottle, and a large knife sticking straight out of the one piece of cake that was left.

I met with up friends from undergrad (oh how nice it is to think about undergrad in the past tense!) the next day, and we got tipsy on the most delicious cider before 5 pm, then went to a Tattoo at Fort Henry, then went to the Grizzly Grill for some overpriced drinks and dancing. To finish the weekend off right, I worked for 9hrs on Sunday. That wasn't the most fun thing I have ever done, but it was nothing compared to the anticlimactic week of packing and trying to tie up loose ends that I had after that. Moving out of my sublet was surprisingly easy, all things considered - probably because I've been so successful at parting with a lot of my junk. It was the parting with friends that sucked the big one.

Homeless no more!

Going away parties were terrific, leaving Kingston sucked, home has been stressful, my job transfer is still up in the air (but progressing, finally!), but John just found us a place to live (only drawbacks: white carpet and 'no' pets), and now I can finally be excited and stop wanting to throw up. England isn't going to know what hit it!