Hair Bandit

During my very busy week off from school (not) I did what I typically do, which is watch Lauren Conrad's beauty tutorial website. For anyone as self-involved as myself, it is quite a great website which teaches you how to do new hairstyles, makeup, nails, etc. This has left me trying new hairstyles every day to test out around the house. Unfortunately I live with Hair Bandit Bond, who doesn't seem to realize the importance of not touching hair once "done." "Done" hair can look like "undone" or "not done" hair, however "done" hair has taken a considerable amount of time to perfect. May it be a Waterfall Braid or Just-Up-From-Bed-Curls, within minutes of encountering said Bandit, my hair is fluffed, scratched, and left unkempt.

Sometimes I wonder what the point is. Then I just rebrush and retry. Life is hard.

Shitmunchers

Bond and I conveniently live right across from a Sainsbury's (our Zehrs) so we tend to shop quite regularly for groceries (daily). Which is quite pathetic because instead of ever planning ahead, we pop in every night to buy our evening meal. I am still getting used to the ins and outs of the country and all the social norms that no one has ever set out for me. My most recent life lesson has been about the types of brands you should or should not be purchasing from the grocery store.

I did a shop by myself and purchased some grapefruit in a can (I always have fresh ones, so don't judge, but that day I thought it might be nice to switch it up and pour them over some porridge or something). Well I opened it up and it seemed a bit skunky. Bond told me to never buy Sainsbury's Basics because it is never the best quality.

The next day I went back to Sainsbury's (of course) for some brown sugar. When I got to the sugar aisle, the only brand I could find was Sainsbury's. So I returned with my head hung and tail between my legs to report back to Bond that I had to buy the crap stuff. He looked at it and said that Sainbury's brand was ok to buy, it's just "never buy Sainbury's Basics. Sainbury's Basics is so the shitmunchers can afford to do their weekly shop. There are different levels of Sainbury's brands."

Hilarious. Only in England would a class system be so ingrained that even the names of the food brands denote where you stand in life. Further, for the lowest class to be defined as shitmunchers is even better. Britains version of the Untouchables. Oh brother.

Hibernation

Well it has been a long time since I've written anything for my loyal readers. I would like to say I have been so busy that I literally haven't had time, but let's be serious; I am living in another country away from the major things that would take up my time in Canada, and we all know I have just smashed another season of True Blood. SO I am not really all that busy. Truthfully, the writing bug just hasn't really bit me until now. I am much happier when I am writing, so I will try to keep it up to date more. Some people already know that I have taken the major leap and moved in with someone, a boy...wooooo *snicker snicker. So I guess I have been relatively busy in my time away from writing. Many ridiculous moments have also occurred, so let me summarize:

1. Every day I am usually running slightly behind to work. This leaves me almost in a near jog when I get off the tube and have to trek the remaining distance by foot. Well lately, there has been a woman with a baby carriage whom I will refer to as bitch  nemesis, who also walks the same path as me. This fine lady takes up the entire sidewalk, leaving me the grooves in the sidewalk for proper rain drainage to tramps through. I have become more bold with this walk and sometimes even give a small pfft as I pass her. Well it all came to a head last week as I was particularly late and my jog was nearly a sprint. I was approaching her quite fast from the rear, when she caught me out of the corner of her eye and sped up. I wasn't going to take that. Ever. What can only be described as a drag-race on foot began, where we were both neck in neck going down the hill toward my school. It was particularly ridiculous, as neither of us could run because that would clearly admit to a race, instead of a gentlemanly jaunt. Both of us were powerwalking in such a manner that my elbows were perfectly perpendicular to the pavement and my arse muscles were taut. She did manage to pick up her pace, slightly faster than my short hobbit legs and broke ahead. I reached my school gate feeling defeated, however the greatest sense of pride gripped my chest when she stopped dead a few paces ahead of me. She had to turn her buggy AROUND as she had missed her turn! What larks! She had got so caught up that she stupidly had to backtrack our battleground to hang her head in shame. Katie - 1, Carriage Clown - 0.

2. I seem to have many nemesis...nemesises...nemesi...enemies in life, and none from my own doing, however luckily my next one is an inanimate object. Everyday I work through my recess and lunch break (woop woop teacher of the year award) leaving me only 30 seconds to run down the corridor, into the bathroom, unleash, and return to the playground before my class gets called in for lessons. Well this means I constantly forget that the toiletpaper dispenser isn't properly attached to the wall of the stall. This causes a series of curses to spring forth from my mouth every time I try to rip off a strip of tp, as the casing rips off the wall and the toilet roll flies onto the floor of the bathroom...yuck. Similar to the Arrested Development scene with the cornballer, it gets me everytime.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJe6jg5gHtk

Anyway, I will be returning to Canada very soon with my new roommate, James Bond, to celebrate Christmas with fam and friends. More updates to come.

Lesson learned

Perspective gained today.

On the train, Swiss Family Sighs-A Lot sat next to me and every two seconds the pair of them let out a sigh like it was the end of the world. Mrs. Sigh took out a mirror and started fixing her hair, and each time she readjusted her split-bang-syndrome, she gave a mini wail.

After the 15th whimper, I just wanted to shout "LIFE'S NOT THAT F****** HARD!" but thought it would be awkward. I just screamed it in my head for the remainder of the journey instead.

I put on my big girl pants and got over whatever self-pity I had from last night's post. It helped that I re-alphabetized my books after work today to keep my mind busy. Oh the life of a big city girl...

Perspective

I seem to have lost all perspective in my life recently. Some might find it stressful and disheartening, but I am rather amused by it. I find myself fixating for hours over who to date, what to wear, what to say to certain people like it's even important. I was talking to a friend over skype about the latest scenario I am playing out in my head, and his only response was "wow, your life's hard." His sarcasm and complete disregard for my latest issue really made me realize how ridiculous I have been living. No, I am not thinking about how to solve world peace or how to make the world a better place, I am obsessively worrying about the most trivial day-to-day problems. I might as well be awake at 2 am thinking about if teddy bears really do come alive at night, and if they do, what would Pinkball say to me? Does it bother him that I occasionally sleep with my back to him? Does he care that he only gets washed about once every two months? Should I be leaving out snacks or at least a step ladder for him to help himself out of my room? Do they really have a picnic? Maybe this will become my new latest fixation...might as well be if you only knew the other garbage that has been winding me up for all hours of the day/night.

I am also realizing that the trivial issues can no longer be kept just in my head, and I HAVE to talk them out with people. I can see their eyes glaze over and souls leave their bodies when it's happening, but it's hard to stop the word vomit. So now, I have extended my circle of friends and have these meaningless discussions on rotation, so no one friend hears the same issue more than once a week-ish.

So I have decided things need to change. Here is a list of things that might help me put perspective back in my life (please feel free to add any others in the comments)

- drink less. Much less.
- do volunteer work at a homeless shelter/drop in centre to really make me see other people are WAY worse off
- watch World Vision ads once a week for 30 minutes
- go out with friends more but not to pubs
- plan less time alone in my room to basically sit and rock...
- take up a hobby that involves a lot of concentration, like tight rope walking or taming wild animals
- stop eating nutella before bed...it gives me really muffed up dreams

Anyway, hopefully some perspective will also help me stay on top of this blog. Sorry folks, after this update, I can't even really make any excuses. You know I have been doing nothing better with my life, but it is what it is.

We love to boogie

Although I am back in England, there is one story I keep forgetting to share from Italy. Before setting off on our long touristy trip, I decided I needed a nice, comfy pair of walking shoes. So obviously I went to Primark and bought £2.50 strappy sandals in both gold AND black. I regret nothing. They were fab, both classy and comfortable. My family and I have always said that if it were socially acceptable for me to walk around barefoot, I would be one with the earth and navigate through the toughest terrains with such ease, it would put a sherpa to shame. These shoes were as close as I was going to get to my potential.

What I particularly enjoyed however, was the lovely sound they made when walking on tile floors in museums. It was a flat, clapping sound that would make one want to hop up and down, or foot-to-foot to make a clap-clap-clap. AND I did this often.

At one particular museum in Rome, I noticed that no one was in the room except my Moth and Sean. I took the lead and began my slappity-slap dance, which soon caught on to Moth. Before I knew it, we were jamming hard to the outrageous beats that only we could hear in our heads. Sean completely ignored the entire process and continued to read the small inscriptions on old jars behind the glass. Mom did some unre Michael Jackson (RIP) moves while I stuck more to the foot shuffling of James Brown.

Then it happens. I hear a muffled giggle. My neck snaps left, only to see for the first time, a female security guard who was sitting IN THE ROOM but some feet away. I didn't make her when we came in because really, who sits in a chair on duty? She should probably be fired. Anyway, my face goes bright red, I burst into nervous giggles, and flee the room shouting at Mom to run. I think we probably made her day but I never returned to ask her, the shame was too great.

Tales from the Crypt

So the three of us were in a crypt filled with religious relics. Sean decided this was a perfect place to void his body of a little indigestion. So he discretely goes to a corner and releases a small gust of wind. I can see what he is doing from across the room but obviously (and thankfully) can't hear anything. Mom thinks, oh ya, Sean has found an area with the perfect acoustics for this, and proceeds to the same corner. Well, it didn't quite work out that way. Not only did it bounce of the walls and reverberate through the tombs, it lasted for about five minutes. As to not embarrass my mother too much, I won't say much more, but do watch this clip to understand what I heard. Start at the 20 second mark.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AMgagxCvZQ

The day nothing was accomplished

Wednesday was THE most outrageous day I have had in a long time.

All morning we debated whether we should go on this bus tour of the Amalfi Coast which is described by many trip reviewers as, "a white-knuckle ride where you take your lives in the hands of the driver." Why were we debating this? Well because it was raining of course. However, once we had breakfast and got ready for the day (9 am), the sun was shining and the weather had turned around. I had on my Ugg boots and asked Sean if I should wear them. Direct quote for response, "I wouldn't if I were you, ugh, your feet won't get cold, wear something else." I wore flip flops.

As we get to the bus, it is packed. We have to stand and the next stop is 45 minutes away. It is hot, stuffy, and the woman sitting beside me says, "oh no I am not feeling well, it's too hot," and starts disrobing...even untying her shoelaces to slip her heels out of her hiking boots. Small side note, last week I was on a packed train with Em back to Putney and was fully vomited on by a small child. All down my legs and shoes, I was covered in purple chunks. I was not looking forward to repeating the experience.
At this moment it begins to pour rain. Everyone closes their windows and the bus becomes a muggy brew of sweat and condensation. This is also the point of the trip where we begin to enter the death gamble, which means the bus has to honk around every corner so we don't hit oncoming traffic, and we scrape against the guard rails keeping us from tumbling down the cliff. I will upload a video when I get back home, of the side door, which literally swung open everytime the bus took a curved left turn. A man switched spots with a young lady so she didn't fly out of the bus when this happened. It was terrifying, and I am standing.

After the first few stops, I was able to sit with Mom, while Sean stood the whole trip. The whole journey was an hour and a half. Once my feet hit solid ground again, it began to pour even harder, drenching my bare, flip-flop covered feet in ice-cold water, and soaking through my Spring jacket. We had to catch another bus to go further up the coast to Ravello. We just missed the second bus, so we had to kill time before the next one. We zipped through a church, then mom HAD to use the bathroom. I was not filled in on the plans, so all I see is Mom and Sean dart into a slum and Mom rushes to the bathroom. Sean proceeds to order a latte from THE most ridiculous cafe ever. My comment was that we are in a beautiful town, filled with elegant coffee shops, yet my parents pick what can only be compared to the Transfers Restaurant in the downtown Kitchener bus station. Naked pictures of women above the bar, plastic tables you have to stand around (no chairs), and locals who look like they lost the lottery of life.

Finally we board another bus, while I continue to shiver to myself in my cold-soaked clothes. We arrive in Ravello minutes too late, as everything closes at 3pm. It is still pouring rain and no restaurants are open again until 7. Again we hit another Transfers-like cafe but now we are surrounded by German tourists who are none too friendly or polite. We are there long enough to stuff something into our mouths before wandering the streets, looking for anything to do. The church we wanted to see was also just closed for the afternoon, so we had to venture into a crypt. By this point my toes were like icicles and I had lost all feeling from the ankles down. Don't know if you know this but crypts tend to be chilly. Who knew? Also, crypts tend to be small. So after about five minutes of exploring, we were done for the day. Yes a two and a half hour journey ends after thirty minutes.

We head back to the bus shelter to check bus times and one is to arrive in two minutes. It never shows...
At this point an aggressive taxi driver keeps approaching us asking to take us and three other French hikers down the hill for five euros each. At this point, we weren't having it, especially mom and I. Sean continues to be polite and all vacant smiles, but I am beyond rage. Five euros isn't a bad price, but we had an unlimited bus pass for the day, I am so cold I just want to get on the bus which is a sure thing, and just looking at the other tourists I begin to feel ill. They are decked out in full hiking attire with a ski pole in each hand, yet they are old enough to have been featured in the crypt we just visited. Their bodies are showing sure signs of decay and all of their noses are visibly running. We vehemently refuse the taxi man and he follows us along the railings of the cliffs. I can hear the French calling us cheap Americans in their mother tongue, and mom and I are snapping at the man. Eventually he backs off and one of the hikers pulls out an old pair of socks and puts them on his hands because he is so cold. Disgust.

The bus came an hour later. First, a bus arrived at the 45 minute mark and we all ran to it like zombies in for the kill. The hikers (who were really hard to fit into a category; on one hand they looked like they would be travel savvy with their poles, ponchos, and other gear, but on the other, they wore socks for gloves) ran behind the bus, even as it was backing up to turn around, nearly killing the lot of them. The driver opened the door and said "no cinque cinque." By now about 15 of us were waiting for this mystery bus and you could audibly hear our hearts all breaking as it drove off. The taxi man continued to  badger us about the drive and how silly we were being for waiting for the bus.

Finally, our bus arrived and we pushed our way on. The hikers who were the most pushy somehow managed to be the last ones on and almost didn't get seats. I am not sure how that was possible, as they were pushing near the front of the line but maybe the collective hate the group felt for them, united us and we managed to stay strong enough to keep them aside.

We set off for the long journey back and by the time we pulled back into Sorrento, my toes were beginning to defrost. I wore Uggs the rest of the night.

What did we accomplish during this day? Here is a hypothetical conversation I will be having with someone who has visited the Amalfi Coast and Ravello:
Person: "So you went on the trip to the Amalfi Coast, did you see how scary the cliffs were?"
Me: "Well no, I had to stand and couldn't really see the windows then it rained so all the glass fogged up."
P: "Oh, that's too bad. So when you got to Amalfi did you eat at _________ the most famous dining place in the area?"
M: "Yaaaaaa... no, my mom really had to use the bathroom, so we stopped and had lattes in Transfers."
P: "Hmmm, well in Ravello did you see Duomo?"
M: "Well the funny thing is, we arrived after THREE when everything was closed! Ha!"
P: "...how about eating at the Vittoria Pizzeria? It's the best -"
M: "NO! We didn't eat there, we explored a crypt and after 30 minutes we went back to the bus stop to wait for an hour!"
P: "Hmmm that's a shame, you should really go back some day to see all that stuff"

Amalfi Coast/Ravello - 1, Thomas family - 0

Slip through the cracks

We arrived in Italy without any problems on Monday, which also happened to be my birthday. I upgraded my phone package so I am able to receive calls, messages, go on the internet, etc. so I was able to see all of the people who wished me a happy birthday on FB. Unfortunately, my blackberry is basically one of the original models and has almost the same capabilities as Zack Morris' phone and won't allow me to check facebook messages. This caused me to be in a hump for most of the day as my so-called best "friends" hadn't said happy birthday. As I am about the write a nasty, childish email, I get wi-fi on my laptop and low and behold, they have all private messaged me. Woops.

Anyway, on to the travels. We arrived in Sorrento and played it low key for the first night. On Tuesday, we thought we'd venture to Pompeii to see the city that was dominated by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Things to note about Pompeii:
1. It is in fact a city. Although it is an archaeological cite, it is nearly as large as Stratford and walking around it is like walking through an entire city of 20 000. This was NOT an hour journey.
2. Between "important" areas, there are just rows and rows of old houses that are basic squares. Once you've seen one, you've seen them all.
3. Italy is hot.
4. Italy is a country known for great thinkers, cartographers, and historically wise individuals. Apparently the current map designer for Pompeii was not one of those individuals and definitely had slipped through the cracks. The map given to us to follow was as if they took a chimp from a zoo through Pompei once, returned him to his cage, and asked him to paint where he thought places were on the walls of his confinement in shit. I pride myself in having a great sense of direction, yet we could not manage to find anything. Not only that, but we had an audio-guide to punch in numbers when we arrived in specific places, yet there were no numbers labelled in the areas. Therefore you had to assume you were where you were supposed to be, punch in the numbers and listen to what the place was all about. More than once I heard "you are now looking at the great columns made of limestone..." only for me to actually be looking at a barren field and some trees.
5. When something was actually labelled and noted as important, it was locked up so you couldn't go into that specific house or area. Unsure as to why, but possibly something to do with it being free on the day we went because it was Rome heritage day or something like that.

After nearly four hours of wandering and randomly stumbling across most of the important cites, we called it quits. We checked the map one last time and were quite pleased that we saw 95% of what was scribbled down.
On the way home, Sean told me he was kind of disappointed with the cite as it was not what he expected. Mom agreed, they thought we would be seeing the preserved bodies of some of the victims and it's too bad they weren't there. (NOTE: my parents didn't make this up, it wasn't a pipe dream that they wished to have seen dead bodies, apparently when they researched the place, this was one of the highlights of the areas.) Sean thought maybe they had moved all of the bodies to Naples Museum, as they did with many of the other artifacts listed around the area.

When we got back to the hotel, Sean reread the map/information he had, and realized that the ONE room we didn't go to, was the area where all the bodies were. Brilliant. Here is the map where we hit almost 67 / 72 areas:

To the right, you can see a big square area (number 61) beside the giant circle (60). We missed the small rectangle two to the left (number 56).


I looked the bodies up online and it is almost as if I saw them in person. If you would like to pretend you saw something important in Italy too, please click on the link below:


http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=pompeii+bodies&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=univ&sa=X&ei=HrOmTfLxK82WhQeMncjFCQ&ved=0CCAQsAQ&biw=1259&bih=686

Manic Monday

I woke gradually out of my sleep feeling very rested. This sent me into a panic, because I never wake up for work feeling this way. I grab my alarm clock and see it says 6:44 am. I normally wake up at 5:45 to catch the 6:45 train into London. I rocket out of bed, throw my hair in a pony tail and start stabbing my eyes with mascara. I am throwing things into my bag and rushing as fast as I can. Then I remember the time has jumped forward an hour on everything but my alarm clock, so it is really 7:44 am, and I should be at school in 16 minutes. I completely lose it wondering how I could have slept through two alarms (clock and cell phone) and finish packing my bag. It's then that I see the map of the museum I was going to go to on Sunday. Hmmm...why didn't I go to the museum? What did I do instead? Oh riiiighhtttt, it IS Sunday, not Monday and I WILL still go to that museum today.

 If it wasn't still Lent, I would have felt shame. I get back into bed and read for two hours to calm my pounding heart. I have already set my alarm clock for tomorrow, especially early.

Trifecta

Friday night was unreal. A few of the staff went out for drinks after work and being is we normally can't control our laughter during a work day, a pub night was a gong show. One particular incident was a moment in my life that can never be recreated and its hilarity was brought about by fate - a perfect combination of timing and stupidity.

Rahela, Crystal, and I were at the bar having a conversation. We were physically close (Rahela was actually leaning on me for support) so there is no excuse for this level of miscommunication i.e. we can't say we couldn't hear each other, we just straight up weren't paying attention to what each other were saying. This is how the conversation went:

I initiated the talk - "Crystal what was that dance you had to learn in Australian schools? Hash nut brown? Brown hash nut? Nut brown? Brown hash? Hash nut? Hash... Jesus Crystal just give me a f****** hint here!"

*Background on this discussion, along with the Macarena, Kangaroo children had to learn a dance properly referred to as the Nut Bush by Tina Turner. This is the word combo I was looking for. At this moment, Rahela is staring into my eyes listening what appeared to be carefully and Crystal is shaking her head like "no" to all my attempts to get the name right, hence my explosion as I believed she knew where I was going with my line of questioning but just not helping me out.

Rahela then pipes up somewhere around my third attempt at the name, so talking over me and furthering my exasperation. All I hear her say is "VIBE!" And she does a "V" with her fingers.


*Background - Rahela thought the whole time I was asking Crystal's date of birth. She didn't know what it was so when she thought I changed the question to "What's your agency?" She responded correctly with Crystals agency name, "Vibe" and was excited she could participate in the conversation.

Crystal, who looks fully engaged with what both of us are saying, really wasn't listening to anything at all. She never heard the questioning or Rahela's VIBE explosion, only when we both looked at her expectantly did she realize we were waiting for her to say something and the last thing that entered her ears from a distant memory was "dance". She happened to say quite cooly, "Nut bush" and point her fingers at us.


Here is the perfect trifecta of ridiculousness. All occurring within a five minute time frame, three completely separate understandings of the dialogue falling from our mouths. At this realization, the three of us lose it and start laughing, Rahela and I more than Crystal. I can't actually contain myself and release my grip on the bar. This in turn causes Rahela, who is fully leaning on me to remain standing, rockets backward into the woman behind us, crushing her feet in sandals. I continue to laugh until two drops come out, and Rahela staggers back to the bar, still laughing. Crystal is the only one who notices the dagger eyes the woman is giving us. What I was surprised with is normally when I see a group of people laughing THAT hard, I can't contain my smile and kind of go along with them. This woman wasn't having it. She was a real stick in the mud, even with squashed toes.
The rest of the night was us bringing up how unreal the conversation was and how surprising it was that the dialogue managed to carry on for so long when all three of us were basically talking to ourselves. Nursery really has rubbed off on our communication skills.

Lent

The problem with giving up shame for Lent is that Lent ends. Soon. Sooner than I had anticipated.

I thought this was a good move for me but now I am filled with the dread of the shame that awaits once Lent is over.

So for a late Humas resolution, I am giving up the dread of shame for when Lent ends, which ends me giving up shame for Lent. Wrap that around your mind J.J. Abrams.

Cheers to clean slates.

From Tourist to Lazy

I have been so caught up with the good life that I haven’t been writing as frequently, sorry for people who check on a regular basis. I will try to step my game up and give you an overall update.

One thing I have noticed is my level of commitment to exploring and touring around has plummeted and I have begun to develop the I-live-here-now-and-don’t-need-to-see-THAT-place/thing/area-yet-as-I-can-go-any-other-time mentality. In previous months, every weekend I would explore another place/area of England, but recently I have begun to work over the weekends or binge drink (another part of becoming a local). I have made a mental note to not be such a lazy-ass anymore and get out of this rut. Operation Museum will begin this Saturday as I plan to continue to work my way through the labyrinth that is the Victoria and Albert Museum.

NOTE ON VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM:

1. I love museums
2. I love museums that provide you with free maps
3. I love ticking off rooms I have been in, especially when said museum map is over four pages long
4. The V & A will take approximately two more days for me to cover it all

Simple things that make British life exciting, especially when commuting, also known as Game 1 and 2:

1.     Often train times are posted on these huge electronic boards but the platforms aren’t posted until the last minute so they have time to “prepare” the train. Not sure what this entails as it is not the Polar Express and no golden tickets need to be handed out or collecting of poor kids from the wrong side of the tracks. Anyway, they never post the platform until minutes before the train is set to leave. I take this as a personal challenge, which means I have perfected the act of waiting down to an art. It involves me reading all other platforms as to rule out which platforms will not be suddenly tacked onto my board.  Then edging my body through the masses of people/luggage toward the most likely platform, while still being able to read the electronic sign. This is also a very delicate process, as I have managed to stand as far back as possible that if I squint just right, I can make out the platform when it flashes up. Also, when I say  “masses of people” I am not lying; as the departure time nears, swarms of people gather around this tiny sign to all wait for the platform. When it does finally pop up, people flood the gates like War of the Worlds, so I ensure I am carrying my bags in such a way that I can use my elbows in the most effective manner. As lame as this all sounds, it is the best game and anyone who has ever played a game with me knows I always win. If I don’t win, there is hell to pay. Monday was such a day, when I badly miscalculated which platform I thought my train would depart from, so I had aligned myself next to platform seven. Poor choice. I was so far away from the signs that I had to really squint to see when the bright orange glow flashed up. To my horror, platform 1 came up and I set off tearing through the crowds. I knocked over several small children and one man with a cane before I was brought down with a wheelie bag. Pain and fury coursed through me. I stood on the train that day. Few people are alive to retell the tale.

NOTE TO ALL WHEELIE BAG OWNERS: Your bag is not another person, and any normal human who walks with their head up aka not the Hunchback of Notre Dame or my mother (not likening her to the hunchback but she does walk watching her feet and has yet to ever step in dog/goose poop, so win for mom.) will not see your tiny bag if you let it drag miles behind you. Often I see the person but they have let their bag droop so low that it is two people-lengths behind them and has formed what I like to call a “train-trap” as this most happens when people carry their luggage to the train. It is more deadly than animal traps as it not only hurts when you stumble over said trap/bag, but it brings about a form of social humiliation as your body not only impacts with the unexpected bag, but you can’t catch your balance so you teeter over the bag while the carrier gets spaghetti arms trying to right the bag, and you end up having to place your arms down on the luggage to regain your footing. Both parties involved are mortified because it is five minute social connection you share with a stranger and both are in the wrong (I insist the carrier is more in the wrong though and therefore should be punched).

2.     Predicting where the doors of the train will stop on the platform. Unlike at Paddington (the above scenario), Reading lets you know the platforms well in advance, which means groups of people are waiting on the platform for the train to pull up and collect us in the wee hours of the morn. This game is better than Russian Roulette and almost as deadly/loaded. If you guess wrong and stand in between two sets of doors, you will end up standing for the whole journey. If you guess right, you not only get to sit down, but you get the personal glory of knowing you won and watch all the losers stand in the aisle beside you. Again, I almost never lose and only when my Canadian side comes do I end up standing. You must be even firmer than the previous game and stakes are certainly higher. If you did happen to guess wrong, you can only hope to jump in front of other people who guessed correctly and pretend you didn’t see them in line whilst you fiddle with your ipod/blackberry. I used to think this was awkward, but after standing for 35 minutes on a train, then standing another 30 minutes on the tube, then walking to work, then spending an entire day in a nursery class, then doing it all over again to travel home, I will kill a man for a seat on the train…and I have.

Other than that, nursery is a laugh, especially with the weather warming up. Dance parties fill my days and we are learning all about bugs in the springtime. Yesterday, my TAs and I went to the pet store and got two crickets for the children to observe over the next few weeks and I read the Very Quiet Cricket by Eric Carle. I am pumped to have live bugs in the class (we also have lady bugs in those pet aquariums) but I am not excited for the children to inevitably find a way to open the containers and set free the minibeasts in the class. We should take bets on how soon that will happen.

Anyway, vair tired Sousa out.

Café con aroma de mujer

Today on the train home from London, the people surrounding me were worse than a Spanish soap opera. It was THE most entertaining ride home I have ever had.
First, I sit down next to this girl who is about 20 and she starts breathing deeply and seems to be on the verge of a panic attack or vomiting, I am not sure which. She kept looking frantically out the window and then at her hands. It wasn't quite an I-am-high-out-of-my-mind inspection of her hands, more like a personal technique she employs to calm herself down. She kept pushing herself far back into her chair and against the cushioning of the seat and then letting out huge sighs. I sat back, taking it all in, waiting for her to explode like a volcano. Then it happened. She got up like a rocket and asked me to move so she could get out. She tumbled over my bags (I was sitting in the aisle seat) and burst down the row of chairs. When she got to the doors, some children were blocking her so she shouted, "LET ME OUT OF HERE" and they clung to their mother as she ran them over. After she was gone, the little boy's face screwed up and said "she was scary." She never came back to her seat. I am sure she was fine...
Then there was a man across the aisle from me, who had tattoos all over his hands (no judgement but he looked like a tough mother) got in a fight with the lady who checks train tickets. He apparently had the wrong ticket for that train and she needed him to pay the difference. After much hoopla and curses, he stopped, looked directly into her soul and said, "we will meet again, in this life or the next." I was scared for her and completely understood when she didn't check anyone else's tickets but bustled out of the carriage.
Finally, when the train pulled up to the lovely Reading, the young couple behind me were arguing how to get to some location and she said, "let's just take a cab." He said, "oh this will be good, why do we need to take a cab?" and she mumbled about her feet hurting from her shoes. He said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Oh so not a big medical reason, just because you wanted to get tarted up tonight and wore stupid shoes that make you look ridiculous anyway." That was the end of their conversation, and possibly their relationship.

Can't wait for the next episode of my spanish soap opera, where I can just sit back and watch other people's lives go to shambles.

Friend or Foe?

Spiders, friend or foe? I like to think friend as they eliminate many of my foes and the enemy of my enemy is my friend, however why do they have to move so creepily? I went to the bathroom last night and saw in the mirror THE biggest spider I have ever seen in my life, other than a Tarantula. It could have been a Tarantula for all I know, either that or it was the mutant arachnid that bit Peter Parker. If the decaying moth on my stairs was still alive, the battle between the two minibeasts would be unreal. I would pay to see that in 3D, as it wouldn't be far from an Alien VS Predator movie.
This bad boy wasn't just huge, but when I took in a sharp breath from being so caught off guard, it moved at an incredible pace down the wall to the floor. I fled from the bathroom immediately and now pay homage to it every time I enter for fear of it weaving me into a web while I shower. I won't be surprised if I soon start leaving out bits of spiced meats to keep it occupied while I use its home formerly known as my bathroom.

Liver

I didn't think it was possible but I am pretty sure my liver hurts. It's more of a general throbbing in my upper right quadrant. This is a result from the two week bender I have been on since the lovely Kaitlin Thiel arrived in the country. Something about Kaitlin really kicks me into full gear and I begin to run on pure adrenaline while she's around. Normally I go to sleep around 9pm so I am well rested to lead some aggressive phonics circles and dramatic storytime sessions but when she was here we managed to go out to the pub almost every night, come in around two, and then I would teach the next day or be up touring the country. This resulted in both of us running a course of illnesses, recovering, then relapsing repeatedly over our time spent together. It also resulted in us becoming more ridiculous as the weeks progressed and subsequently humiliating ourselves on numerous occasions.
Kaitlin arrived two weeks ago, and stayed with me while I had one more week of teaching before half-term. After that week was up, we journeyed to Scotland as I was off from school that week also.
As much fun as this all sounds, the time we did manage to sleep, Kaitlin forgot to remind me that she has night terrors. Oh ha ha, you say? Nay nay. These aren't mumbling-in-your-sleep-I'm-uncomfortable type night terrors, these are full out Freddy Krueger mixed with a dash of late-night marathons of Criminal Minds and a side of the Exorcist. Nearly every night, I was awoken by the sound of not soothing breathing noises, but full-out screams of terror, hair pulling, and flailing sheets/curtains. If I was really lucky, I could get Kaitlin just drunk enough that her REM sleep was altered and therefore fewer screams could be heard in a night, but that was also rare. Last night I had to convince a half-lucid Kaitlin that she wasn't actually fighting off a mutant child, trying to steal her luggage from the airport...I was unsuccessful.

Here are some of the most unreal moments of our travels:
- Me convincing Kaitlin that our talks before falling asleep weren't actually referred to as "pillow talk" (this was an actual verbal battle ending in Kaitlin saying a classic "interestinnnnnnggggg..."
- Kaitlin being unable to remember the name of the traditional Scottish dish Haggis, and each time saying something more ridiculous like "Are we going to try Hamsy today?" Some of the more interesting ones being Habbish, Homish, and Haggish...close but no win.
- On several occasions Kaitlin and I would implement extremely poor planning. One such example which set the tone for the entire trip was when we hurried for McDonalds breakfast and when we arrived, decided to "quickly" check our route to London before we ordered. When we stepped up to the counter, they said breakfast had just ended at 10:30, my eyes panned across to the wall clock to see it flashing 10:33. If only we hadn't looked into our route for 10 minutes before ordering, we would have been chowing down some serious hash browns, instead of Snack Wraps...ugh. This was the story of us missing seeing Edinburgh Castle. We stumbled across a street performer on our last evening in Edinburgh and decided to stay to watch a bit of his show. He fascinated us with his charm and dazzle, but kept us there by publicly humiliating/scrutinizing anyone who tried to leave his show. After he was done and we gave him all our spare change to prevent ridicule, we ambled up to the castle and when we reached the gates, were stopped by security as they had closed five minutes before we got there. Don't worry my pictures of the outside are probably just as great...not.
- When Kaitlin arrived, she had to purchase a travel card and one of the requirements is a "passport style" photo for her rail card. We found a booth for her to get the picture done, and I convinced her that she couldn't smile or have any bangs in her face so she would have to clip them back. Funny enough, the only clip I had on me was a mammoth one so the resulting photo was somewhat frightening. Once the pictures popped out of the machine, Kaitlin found out she didn't actually have to make a DUI picture worse than Nick Nolte's. See below:

 Her response was that of outrage and actually said, "If I die today, this will be the last photo taken of me and then won't YOU feel bad." To which I laughed more hysterically and said I would blow her photo up for the wake and have it what everyone would have to say good bye to. We started speaking again hours minutes later.

Overall it was an unreal trip and I miss having my bed buddy to jar me out of peaceful sleeps. Now I am back to the daily grind of wiping tears and building puzzles, but I think I will live on.

Mr. Plumber

Today I heard a banshee shrieking across the classroom, "Mr. Plumber! Mr. Plumber!" I thought this was merely child's play and some sort of pretend game of Bob-the-Builder. Unfortunately I saw that the little banshee was looking directly at me for guidance, as another child had stolen their firemen truck from them. I said," Are you talking to me?" and he replied, "Yes! MR. PLUMBER!" He actually thought my name was Mr. Plumber. Sort of sounds like Miss Thomas, no?
Humiliating for several reasons:
1. I am not a male (not that they can even tell at that age how to distinguish)
2. My name has been Miss Thomas to them for weeks
3. I found out Mr. Plumber is the 60 year old, white-haired, looming beast of a music teacher the children used to have before Christmas. If this is what the child is drawing upon for inspiration, I need a new look.

Oh brother.

Planet Earth: Seat Hunting

When Lil Bow Wow said he loved ghetto girls, I somehow don’t think he was talking about me and my current living situation, however I have had a dead moth on my stairs since November and it has not been removed. I have justified this because they are not technically my stairs, as they lead to the boys’ rooms above me and I never use those stairs. Secondly, this is not a little white fellow that is more dust and shadows than insect, nay nay, this moth could have fought Godzilla…and won. As a hater but respecter of all things creepy-crawly, I can’t bring myself to be handsy with it. So instead I am considering taking up time-elapsed photography and chronicling its death and decay. 

     Now, I am not one to complain when things change (not) but today was the exact opposite of my Friday experience on the streets of Reading. Today, at approximately 6:30am, the streets were a blurring mass of humans darting this way and that. I was so shocked by how many people were walking about, that I kept checking my watch thinking I was an hour late or there was a daylight savings time I missed. The people of Reading need to get their lives together and decide what time they will be on my streets because I don’t think my poor over-imaginative self can take all these extremes.

     Now to end my day, I caught the 5:45 train home and just managed to squeeze onto the train before the doors were sealed for takeoff. Everyday this is my life; hunting for a seat as if I am a starving lion taking down a frail gazelle on the African plains. Trains are always packed with people, and there is no “capacity” so when all the seats are filled, people just stand for hours until they reach their stop. I refuse to stand. I stood once, and I swore I would never do it again. Standing on a train is much like standing on a rollercoaster…and not being belted in. Plus, you have to continually shift your weight so you don’t fall over, making you unusually tired after your journey. There is nothing to hold on to, unless you want your hand rubbing against the head of a person sitting down. The funny thing is, is that when you become a “sitter” you immediately take on a snobbish attitude and contempt for those standing. When I stood, I looked everywhere for a place to put my hands and was always bumping into “sitters.” They would look up at me disgusted and roll their eyes as if I was an untouchable, grabbing onto their upper-classness. Even with this experience, I find it hard not to become a “sitter” myself, and shrink back when a stander grazes my ear/neck/air space with their filthy mitts. I try to think of how fortunate I am for sitting and how sad and lost they are to stand, so as to allow for the occasional graze, but it still doesn’t stop my immediate reaction upon contact. Today was a particularly hard day for hunting looking for seats, as I was one of the last to board and some people give up looking and just crowd the door entrances. I shove past these weaklings, looking for the kill. I spotted it. About 20 feet away, a rich-looking older lady sitting in the aisle seat, hoarding her unoccupied window seat. I bolted, as I can already see another competitor racing from the opposite direction toward the seat. I got there just in time to turn my back fully to his approach, blocking him from asking the lady to move. She glanced up over her glasses at me and sneers, “this seat is reserved, can’t you see the ticket?” Now let me explain this aspect of seat-hunting. Some bubsies call ahead to reserve seats, however they can do this months, if not decades before their travel and inevitably something comes up and their seat remains empty. All that is left is their ghost of a reservation, known as the “Reservation ticket” which sits in a slot on the back of the seat which they were saving. People know this about the trains and always say, “why yes darling you can sit here but it is reserved,” to which I reply, “well yes, if the person should happen upon their seat, I will move immediately.” So for her to reply in such a manner, I was immediately filled with rage which probably would have allowed me to take down a medium-sized gazelle if I were really a lion. I reached across her seat, grabbed the ticket, and as I am scrunching it up, say, “I will take my chances.” I have never seen an older lady with that many leather bags on her lap, stand up and allow someone by them as fast as what I saw today. 

I promise you, I will never stand on a train again, no matter what it takes.

Mob Mentality, Head-banging Babies, and HHPB

My greatest fear in life is zombies. No joke and don't laugh, this is serious.

I hate the way they move, I hate the idea of isolation when hiding from them, I hate their super strength, and I hate their mob mentality. Now herein lies the paradox, as I am obsessed with watching zombie movies, especially those post-2000s ones which add the zombie element of speed and intelligence. What is the most intense part of zombie movies is that, if you have an overactive imagination like I do, the idea seems plausible that zombies/form of dead humans could rise up after being plagued by a virus.

I don't know if anyone has ever experienced what happened to me this morning, however, it happens about once every two years where I actually start to worry something has happened to the world and I have slept through it. Today, I woke up to complete silence from the rest of the house, which is very unusual as I am living with an ex-con and someone who works nights and gets in when I wake up. I thought nothing of it, until I hit the streets and walked to the train station (10 minute walk at 6:40 am) without seeing another human the entire length of my journey. Around the two minute mark I started to get really panicky as many people walk the main road to Reading Station and my fear was also compounded by the fact that I could hear my own footsteps the world was so quiet. At about the six minute mark, I began to do a slight jog, not wanting to be caught out in the open if suddenly mobbed by a team of angry, superstrong, speedy zombies. It wasn't until I was physically in the train station that I started to feel a bit comforted when I saw other riffraff standing on the platform. But HERE is the crazy part, even then my brain started to logic-away their presence too, maybe they slept through what I did. This group all looks a bit low-class, maybe they live in the same neighbourhood and the virus hasn't spread to them yet. She looks a bit sweaty, maybe she has been bitten but not enough time has passed... Anyway, my fear was wiped away when I saw my sweet tiny humans trot through the door but the eerie sensation still hasn't left me. To somehow justify my fear and satisfy my intrigue, I have wisely watched clips of Walking Dead on youtube all evening.

The next tale of my day was one of the best moments of my life. I await these kind of moments, as they happen only once in a lifetime and I have accepted it is very unlikely I will see it happen again. Let me lay down the facts so you can all read with jealousy. The morning session of school had ended and all the children had been picked up except one sweet little boy, who I absolutely adore. Anyway, the mother was about ten minutes late and ran up to the class door with an approximately seven month infant in her arms. She apologized and held the hand of her son to walk both children out of the classroom. While the baby was still in her arms, she looked down at her son, asking how his day was. I began to see the event unfold; slow enough for me to see what was going to happen, but fast enough that I could do nothing to prevent it. Outside of my class is a metal beam, supporting the overhang from roof to ground. With her head down, mom walked face-first into the pole, but the placement was just right that she also managed to smoke the baby's head too. Things that were awesome: the sound, her reaction, the baby's reaction, my TA's comment. First, the sound was a hollow vibration that drew everyone's attention to what had happened, then the mother rubbed the pole as if she hurt it, rather than rubbing her own skull or the child's. The baby was quiet for a bit and looked so shocked, then started wailing. As we approached to ask if she was ok, she sprinted off down the path so we could not do anything. Lastly, my TA turned to me and said, "that's not her child, that is a baby she child-minds for, she runs a daycare." Oh brother. At least if it were her child, she would have to suffer how little Timmy can't quite seem to do long-division when he gets older, but instead she will only have to listen to her friends complain that their angel has a mysterious dent on his forehead preventing him from ever becoming the next Gerber baby.  Two strikes: being late to pick up your own four year old and rocking a strangers' baby into a pole. Now, before you think I am heartless, we must also take into consideration that no one was actually seriously hurt, hence making it ok to laugh about in the privacy of my own home and with all of you on the internet. If she had broken something or dropped the baby, I would never have laughed or written it in a blog. I would have had the decency of giggling into my pillow and sharing it only in face-to-face conversation.

Lastly, today I finished the novel Wicked by Gregory Maguire and might I add, ho hum pigs bum. Sorry, no, that doesn't even begin to describe my dissatisfaction and boredom with this piece of future toilet paper. Normally it takes me two-to-three days to finish a book in England (don't forget the commute everyone) yet this novel took me nearly three weeks. I bet that really put it to scale for you. Some things to consider though, are that I was super pumped up to read it as everyone I have talked to about it, loved the book so much they could marry it. Also, advertisements for the musical are everywhere in Britain-land, so I thought the book would be decent enough to make into a play and whimsical enough to make into a musical. Continuing on, my teacher advisor last year told me she loved it so much because it was so funny...funny? Funny. Not funny in the slightest. As is, it would be considered more of a science fiction/dramatic piece than FUNNY. Finally, I probably shouldn't have read something about the Wizard of Oz being is I hated that movie and haven't watched it again since I was twelve. Maybe I would have more respect for the book if I liked the movie or had watched it recently. Anyway, if you have any book recommendations (and you are not one of the chumps who told me to read Wicked...just kidding, it couldn't be you as I have severed all ties with "those" people, blocking them from this site, and deleting them off facebook) send them along for me to read.

Author's Note: For those family members recently joining this blog/reading it, I hope you realize I am only kidding about how harsh I really am i.e. with head-banging babies and cutting ties with people with bad taste in books. In real life, I am much less harsh to people's faces.


(Again with the jokes)

Lids, Kids, and Embarrassment

Yesterday I found about a dozen juice lids floating in our classroom goldfish tank. I couldn't quite see them because the tank has a bright pink lid on it, so an adult has a somewhat obscured view of the surface of the water. What drew my attention was Orangey and Spot cowering in the corner of the tank, and I can't be sure, but I think they were quivering in fear. When I lifted the tank lid I discovered the juice lids and also gobs of glitter we had used for craft that day. The water was a shimmering sludge of silver and blue. I am not sure how long these goldfish will last but every day I am reminded of how wise it was to not have purchased a more costly class pet.


We also experienced our first bit of child sass yesterday, something I didn't know to exist among the very tiny humans. One little girl, who is an absolute darling, wanted to go outside without her coat. My TA stood her ground and made the child go back in to retrieve it. When she came outside, she was carrying on and moaning about how hot she was in a coat now (impossible as there was frost coating the ground and other children were bundled up like Randy from A Christmas Story), so my TA and I gave a laugh and said "oh come on now, you are alright." The girl looked at my TA with an intensely serious expression and said "Look at my face, I'm not laughing." Best line from a four year old. Something she surely picked up from an adult, if not myself, as I tend to say it when someone is giggling about a disastrous mess they have made. 


Lastly, I was asked to relay this story on here, sorry for anyone who read my fb message as I have copied and pasted it.
SO a few days ago I was in line to go through the ticket gates for the underground (enquire within if you don't know what I am talking about) when a mass of people crowd up behind me. I am pressed right against the backpack of the man in front of me. No big deal. EXCEPT when he pushes his ticket into the machine and walks through the open gates. I suddenly feel this pulling at my chest and I am being dragged forward toward the gate. Now, a few things happened very quickly. 1. I notice the elastic that holds his waterbottle to his backpack is hooked on a button on my jacket. 2. The button is directly on my chest adding to humiliation. 3. I know the gates close super fast, to prevent more than one person sneaking through at a time. 

So I lunge forward to stay attached to him because I haven't time to free myself before the gates close. As I do, the gates close anyway, half shutting on my legs, which was a severe shooting pain but I manage to force myself through. So of course, the gate keepers blow their whistle like I am a criminal trying to rip them off of 5 pounds and they start to move toward me. I try to rip my body free of the man just in time for him to see what is happening, as I am now pulling him backward. He sees the backpack-to-chest connection and starts swinging around in hopes of helping me free myself. Finally I am dislodged and EVERYONE on the platform has seen my altercation. Luckily the gate keeper who comes to me sees what happens and that I have a ticket in my hand so he laughingly lets me go. For a moment though, I did feel like Jason Bourne as police were approaching me from all angles like they just discovered my true identity. 
How do these things continue to happen to me?

0 for 2

Two new children attended nursery today. Two new children were both sent home within 30 minutes of their arrival. One child started the classic poo walk, also know as the I've-got-a-huge-load-in-my-pants-which-is-preventing-me-from-walking-without-a-major-swagger walk. Not being toilet trained ain't gonna fly in my class so she was ousted. The other child was so disruptive that we literally had to sit him on a chair in the centre of the room so he could not reach anything within 10 paces of himself. This way if he took off running toward something so he could smash it, I would intercept and tackle.

Unfortunately, a major disruption such as adding new children then having them removed only throws off the rest of the group so things were a bit zany today. At one point, the TA and I both collapsed in the pillow corner to just mellow out. I think this was right after I found several dead worms in a purse in the dress up corner. I knew they were dead because of a) their torn edges b) smell c) colour

Let's hope tomorrow is a better day.

Tortoise or the Hare? Actually...I'll take the goldfish

Forgot to mention that yesterday, my TA and I went to the pet shop to buy the class pet. I really wanted the tiny turtles that swim/live on rocks. I was planning on buying two little ones that stay little and put them in the class fish tank. The lady at the shop said they make good class pets, that or a rabbit. I nixed the rabbit, as I would be the one doing most of the work to care for it and then I would have to take it on the airplane home back to Canada for fear of its ears being cut off by the ravenous hair cutters in my class. So these little creatures are about to be scooped up for me to purchase, when the TA mentions IN PASSING, to make conversation, "so how big do they get?" The woman lets it roll off her tongue that they will get as big as a puppy and need a glass aquarium tank. Now, hold on a second. Did you say the size of a puppy? Did you say glass aquarium? Minutes before, I asked what I had to feed them and if it was under 10 pounds or I was feeding them table scraps and bits of paper. Does that sound like I want two puppy-sized reptiles chewing up my dolla dolla bills? No.
Next I think, well maybe they will die before they get that big, so I throw in, "how long do they live for?" Again, as casually as if I just asked for the time, she says, "oh they can live anywhere from thirty to sixty years."Thirty to sixty years...I won't even care for my own flesh and blood that long.

So I kindly said, dump those suckers back in the tank, and I strolled over to the goldfish. Two fish for five pounds, and three pound fish food. Ka-ching. So now we have Spot and Orangey (I tried to sway them to Goldie, but they cleverly pointed out to me that our fish were Orange). Easy on the wallet and easily replaceable when they die in two weeks.

New haircut? Oh no.

SO today was the brilliant idea of mine to have a focus activity for the tiny humans to learn how to use scissors. MOST of them already knew, so I just was monitoring how well they could manipulate to cut out objects. Well, as I bent over a three year old to instruct her in proper holding techniques, I hear a snip and feel a massive tug on my head. She snipped off a HUGE portion of my hair. I look like I have a Victoria Beckham in the front and Katie in the back. Devastating. It took me years to grow my hair this length, I almost cried. What was worse is then the little girl said, "Sorry Miss" and burst into tears from the look on my face. I felt terrible, so I had to console the culprit. Another bummer. Then, with the next group, I leaned over one child to talk to another and feel a searing pain in my forearm. Blood actually spurted onto the white papers they were cutting. She had cut through my flesh when cutting out her Itsy Bitsy spider. It doesn't look like much but that sucker bled.

All in all a great day, minus the scissors.

Numbers of My New job

Oh joy unbounded I was hired! Purely as a fluke too. I was not working on Tuesday when I got the call that another supply teacher had called in sick for her job interview at a school but they still needed someone to cover the Reception class (Kindergarden). I was excited for the work and after spending a day in the class, I was told that another staff member wanted to see me. It was a particularly exhausting and trying day, as the children were just settling in from coming back from Christmas holiday and were a bit wild. I assumed that their animal qualities reflected poorly on me, and therefore I was getting some sort of lecture.
The staff member was a Deputy Head (like our vice principal) and she began asking me questions about my experiences and my educational philosophy. I prattled on, thinking it was small talk to see how my day was and if she wanted to have me back as a supply in the future. Well after I finished, she told me over the break, the primary section of the school technically closed and was absorbed by the junior school next to it. This caused a lot of teachers to be moved around, leaving them without a staff member for the Nursery class (our junior kindergarden). She asked if I wanted the job and could I start tomorrow. I still can't believe it and after meeting my nursery nurse (our version of a TA) and the class, I am even more over the moon.

I am so blessed because:
- The children are absolutely hilarious and uber cute
- My TA is such an amazing and supportive woman, who constantly laughs with me and views teaching from exactly the same perspective. I could not have found someone to click with better in a classroom than her
- I get to use funny voices, sing, dance, dress up, splash in puddles, build castles, read on pillows, and practice writing my name all day. Hurrah!

I have faced some challenges being thrown into full time and I am learning so many things so quickly. Some things to ponder:

- I currently have 16 children in the morning and 15 in the afternoon (two separate sets of students)
- In England, children are phased into Nursery and Reception, so a whole new group of students don't start at the same time. Also, in Nursery/Reception, we do a September intake (like Canada) and then again in January. Any child who turns five between September-December, moves to Reception from Nursery in January, and any child who is advanced enough aka toilet trained and ready for school between September - December, goes into Nursery. After that long-winded and confusing explanation, I will be receiving one or two new students every Tuesday and Thursday, for both morning and afternoon, leaving me eventually with 24 children in the morning and 24 in the afternoon. A grand total of 48 reports I have to do.
- I work full time only until the end of February, when they reopen my position and interview other people, including myself to see who will continue to work in the nursery
- Of my 48 children, two have only two students who have English as a first language
- In my class a total of eleven different languages are spoken as first languages which are: Albanian, Arabic, Kurdish, Bangla, Filipino, Urdu, Tigrinya, Somali, Japanese, Pashto, Indonesian (I had to wikipedia some of the languages and felt very sheltered/small)

You can imagine my class looks and sounds a bit like the U.N. and how special that is to me. I am learning things about different cultures and worldviews that I have never come across. The children all get along very well and hand gestures forms the universal language in my room. Sometimes there are sad moments when I can see a child REALLY wants to communicate with another but can't find the English words to express themselves, so they either stomp, scream, or push each other in tears. I can't imagine being in a room where it feels like no one can hear you.

Anyway, I love my children already and have connected with them immediately. Today, two boys did my hair for half an hour while I read on cushions to a group of girls dressed as assorted animals. I then had to untangle the pencils from my hair for the next half an hour. I regret nothing.

Another boy, who is four, has found a special place in my heart also. He has a hard time saying good bye to his father in the morning, but he always tries to put on a brave face. His dad is very sweet and says a nice good bye, leaving the boy with me. As his dad walks away, you can see his poor little heart breaking and his face starts to mirror his feelings. I can slowly see it contort and start to wrinkle when the tears well up, but he always shakes his head to make the tears go away and if I ask him to do an activity he always responds with ok, while a little hiccup of sad comes out. He is such a good sport, that he will do anything with me, while quietly crying and trying to stop crying. He gets distracted and plays for a bit, then stops and the tears quietly come and he might ask me when his Abba is coming while hiccuping back sadness. Normally I am actually revolted by the sight of tears and children crying, as I find it quite irritating, but the brave face he tries to put on makes me want to scoop him up.......and I usually do. Today was a particularly hard time for him, and the tears suddenly came while he was eating his snack, and unfortunately his tiny hiccup came right as he was swallowing a couple of tangerine slices. This resulted in the immediate upheaval of his food and the emptying of his entire stomach contents on my shoes/carpet. Now at this point, I hadn't quite realized how much the children pick up on the phrases we use around them, but being here in Britain, it draws even more attention when the children pick up a purely Canadian phrase. Some phrases/words you wouldn't think are Canadian that are would be "that's sweet" or just "sweet" "alrighty" "right on" "rad" basically all my vocabulary I picked up from the 80's that hasn't left me. Well now I am looking at this sweet boy and the first thing he says after projectile vomiting is, "that sucks." Imagine a four year old who is really small and sweet, with a British/Bangladesh accent saying "that sucks." I just about died and I had to hide how funny it was to me because he was already so distraught from missing his dad, that vomiting did not make him feel better. I told my TA and she lost it too because she noticed he had totally picked it up from me as no one in England usually says that sucks, and I say it whenever a child tries to make a big deal out of something small i.e. "Kipper took a doll that I once held in my life!" I would respond with an "awww that sucks."

Anyway, we cleaned him up and gave him a cuddle until he was on his way again to do a puzzle. I wonder what adventures I will have tomorrow.

Lost, Locked Out, and Leaving

Many of you know that my life has oft paralleled that of George Costanza, in the sense that anything that could go ridiculously wrong in my life, will. My former supervisor once said something to me like, Katie if I heard any of these things from other people, I would think they were made up or completely exaggerated but with you, I know it happened exactly like that. Luckily I have met someone who is equally as unfortunate as I am and we fell in wuv…aawwww.

Anyway, many moments stand out in this past reunion with Rich as true Costanza moments so here are a few.

LOST:

Rich and I went to the London Science Museum and because we slept in, we managed to only arrive a few hours before it closed on New Years Eve. Around 3:30, only an hour after we arrived, we somehow got separated. There were car models everywhere and flashes of light, I got distracted and wandered off. It is exactly like the movies, I spun around noticing Rich was not at my side and couldn’t spot him. People walking by me were like blurs and whirring motions like taking a picture of something moving. I, of course, immediately panicked and ran from the room, looking desperately for him. I remember when I was young, I went to African Lion Safari with my class and somehow got split away from the group. I was lost for what seemed like an hour and I can’t describe to anyone that terrible sinking feeling (much like accidentally clicking reply all…) but some years later, that exact feeling came back to me.

Let me illustrate why I was in such a tizzy:

1.     Rich left his Canadian cell phone in my apartment in Reading

2.     We had not arranged meeting spot for emergencies like this

3.     I did not think he could get home, back to Reading, alone

4.     There was no way of contacting him or meeting up with him again, other than sheer luck of bumping into each other

Well it was a schmozzle. I waited for an hour and a half by the entrance of the museum when I decided to take higher ground to locate my friendly giant. I was approaching the psychoanalysis booth covered in penis sculptures when I spotted him the floor below on a bench. I walked back to collect him when I passed behind a statue and again like a movie, when I reached the other side of the statue, he had vanished. I was back to square one. Well another 30 minutes pass and I start to unabashedly cry at the entrance and ask the security guards to make an announcement. I was humiliated asking for a grown man to be paged, so I was tempted on saying he was my son, but if Rich did respond to the page then they would know they were swindled. So I settled for my exchange student. Roaring over the speakers came “Richard Thompson please come to the front entrance, Richard Thompson.” No show. 30 more minutes and the kind guard patted me and said if Rich was in the museum he would have heard it for sure. So the museum closed and I continued to linger on the streets before deciding to return to Reading. The entire time I am bbm’ing Sean, so he can talk me out of thinking Rich is dead or kidnapped.

After over three hours of being separated in a foreign country, I dragged my feet to my home, and Rich came walking toward me on my street. I ran to him and wept for almost as long as we were separated on the street lol.

Locked out:

Rich and I got home after THE longest day of trundling along the streets of England and we both had to use the facilities. Upon arriving home, he went to the kitchen and I remembered he forgot something and I ran to give it to him. I NEVER leave my room without my keys. Ever. Why, you might ask, because my door locks when it is closed. For the past two months it has never completely shut when I leave the room, so I have never needed to use my keys, but I take them as a precaution. With Rich visiting, I must have thrown caution to the wind because I forgot them in my room. Immediately locking us out. Luckily Rich doubles as a superhero and he managed to break into my room by slamming his shoulder into the wood, causing the latch to break and us to reenter the room. Good thing, I have more than one lock on my door!

Critters:

Halfway through our visit, I heard an intense scratching sound outside my window one night and grabbed Rich’s oblivious self. I had to draw his attention to what sounded like an invasion of badgers into my room. The sound soon dissipated and we went back to watching our beloved ER. The next night, the sound had travelled into what sounded like my closet. Rich is one of the bravest people I know when it comes to real threats and human dangers i.e. if I think someone has broken into the house, he immediately goes John McClane ready to kill or at least frighten away. BUT when it comes to insects or small critters, Rich is less like John McClane and more like Ron Weasley. I am not one who should be commenting, as I dislike dealing with real or imagined dangers but this was too funny. Neither of us wanted to open the closet so we were pushing each other forward until I woman’d up and threw open the door. Nothing was there, so we emptied the whole closet and blocked off any “suspicious” areas i.e. gaps in the carpeting. Later that night the sound had travelled again, and this time it was even closer and more real than ever. It had moved to a small cupboard in my room that blocks off the breaker switches. Again we laboured over who would confront the army of badgers, only to rip open an empty nook. I began talking aloud about what the sound must be, “Rich what if it’s a litter of kittens that a cat just had under my porch?” or “Rich, it could be a mouse that I could feed cheese.” Rich absently responded with, “or it could be a rat and ugh you don’t want those, they can be huge and –“ only cutting off when he realized the terror in my eyes as I began to freak out about having to battle the Black Plague on my own after he left in four days. Luckily, we have yet to hear the sound again…cue X-Files music.

Leaving:

Well Rich left. In true fashion, we woke up early, caught an earlier train, arrived at the airport early, and said goodbye too quickly. Rich crossed over the River Styx which I could not follow and I pathetically waved to him on the other side of the metal detector. My train wasn’t coming for another hour, so I read alone waiting for it to arrive. Finally, after settling into my train seat, I get an email to my blackberry from Rich saying his flight was delayed five hours. I had already pulled away from the station and could not return. I debated getting on another train back to the airport, but thought by the time I got back, it would be time for him to cross through security again. So, imagine my surprise when his flight was delayed again, for another three hours. Boo hoo.

Anyway, it was a wonderful visit and I only have to wait another eight months to see him again. Should be no problem…

Eff Reply All

Have you ever have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and you just know something bad has happened. Well if not, accidentally hit reply all on facebook messages and send something personal to everyone. The sinking feeling doesn’t happen when you send the message, but when a person you don’t remember sending the message to, replies to your embarrassing post.

This happened to me.

What’s worse, now my friends know my true nature, which is:

-       broke

-       cheap

-       rude

-       below average IQ

I probably should mention that these are my best friends, not just some “facebook friends” and that I have done an ok job at hiding some of these things for 10 years.

Well, love you girls? Friendship, dignity, composure, intelligence, technology FAIL.