My klutz-itude is infinite. I broke 2 glasses and a wine bottle today at work. Luckily both glasses were empty and the wine bottle was almost empty, definitely less than a glassful remaining.
We were busy busy busy at work today. Was nice.
Women are the worst customers in England. They get 15 year-old boy syndrome and try too hard to impress the dudes that they're with by treating the barmaid (me) crappily.
For example:
Lady A comes in with Fellas B and C. Fella B orders an orange juice and lemonade (translation: the contents of a little bottle of orange juice and then enough Sprite to fill a pint glass) Tom has ominously told us that when make said drink, one puts in the lemonade from the soda gun and then adds the orange juice. The problem is then estimating how much space to leave for the orange juice. Apparently, this way it doesn't fizz over so much and waste lemonade. So K. my co-worker does the correct order and either doesn't leave enough space for all the orange juice or it fizzes over a lot and gets the counter wet (the counter is always wet, so whatever). Lady A finds this disproportionately funny. She then orders the same drink but, laughing nastily and glancing at her companions for admiration, says to make sure that I put the orange juice in first this time.
I say "we're not supposed to, it's wasteful"
Lady A insolently (not to mention unnecessarily) ask: "what does it waste?" (translation: what the fuck do you know about anything?)
Emily: "lemonade"
I pour out the lemonade and add the orange juice.
"STOOOOOOOP!" she screams "you didn't leave enough room for all the orange juice!"
I cock an eyebrow, look her in the eye and pour the last drop of orange juice from the bottle into the glass, which has NOT fizzed over, and push forward a perfectly poured and formed orange juice and lemonade.
Friday 27 June 2008
Thursday 19 June 2008
Callouses
I have been observing (read: picking at) some callouses on my right palm just below my middle and ring finger. I assumed they were from biking and they were only on my right hand where my hand would scrape the handlebar when I pulled the breaks.
Today I realized that my callouses are from pulling pints (it's harder than you think).
Yes, I have beer callouses.
Today I realized that my callouses are from pulling pints (it's harder than you think).
Yes, I have beer callouses.
Tuesday 17 June 2008
Novelty
I haven't been writing much (or rather, writing much of interest) in this blog any more. I suppose the novelty of my time abroad has worn off. Upon reflection though, there are still little things that trip me up. A customer and I had an exchange the other day when he came up to the bar and asked for a "biro" (pronounced "buy-roh"), as in "can I borrow a biro?" "a what?" "a biro" "a WHAT?" "a BIRO! you know, to write with?" "oh. A pen." England also isn't that new to me. Not that I assume to understand every nuance of the culture. And I am not saying that in a world-weary jet-setter type of "oh, England is soooo passe" manner. It's just not exotic. At all. Possibly because of the exchange of television shows and movies and books that goes on between the countries. Because we all speak the same language, therefor it's easy to sell such things to the other country (no need to translate much, just turn "snogging" into "making out" and "pen" into "biro"). Though here we get into the murky world of whether tv is a reflection of what a culture is or if it makes culture or if it presents a picture of said society's morals and mores (I can tell you stories of incredibly isolated Alaskans being into hard-core rap, when you initially think to yourself "where the hell would they have heard that? much less had the chance to buy the cd" and then remember MTV and Borders. Even Alaska has MTV and a Borders, even thought it may be a 7 hour drive to get there. And guess what? So does Cambridge). While we were in Madrid, Nick asked me why it felt like he hadn't really gone anywhere. He disagreed with me when I said that I thought it was because he was seeing something only slightly different through his same eyes. For me that may be why my experiences aren't new anymore. Though England is an overwhelmingly new place to be, I am still myself. I am still mentally Emily with Emily's problems and frustrations and eccentricities, even if I am physically in England. Now that I can anticipate people's reactions and can count out money without fumbling over the coins I see everything through the same lens, and I still have the same reactions to things. Maybe I have set down some tiny roots into Cambridge, at least as far as routine is concerned. I know where to buy good coffee, and where I am going tomorrow to buy new bathing suit bottoms, where to take Hannah so that she can walk around (and I can can get a good cup of coffee). England has gotten just a little bit comfy.
But don't get me wrong, I would never want to live here for more than a few months.
But don't get me wrong, I would never want to live here for more than a few months.
Sunday 15 June 2008
Madrid Cont'd
The tapas in Madrid was great, the first night we went to some neighborhood on the cusp of becoming hip (in that universal cycle of ethnic/cheap which draws the artists and the young, broke, and hip which draws the boutiques and before you know it there's a gap and an urban outfitters then a Whole Foods and it's too expensive for most people, this neighborhood is in the young/hip/broke stage) and had fishy (as in we ate fish) tapas at a place hazy with smoke with worn decor and cracked stone flooring and looked like it hadn't been redecorated since 1940. It was great, lots of different people there and cheap beer and a relaxed atmosphere. Then we wandered down the street and ate round 2 at a new place that felt like less of an institution, more of a business to tempt the young and hip (if not completely broke). The food was good there, but I was still suffering from bummer-tummy and couldn't eat or drink much (which sucked. Nick had to cajole me to eat some more of the steak that we ordered, "one more bite Emily, just eat one more bite" "No!" "Pleeeeease!").
We went to the Prado the next day and were there for EIGHT hours. We even ate there and went back for more. There was a fantastic Goya exhibit on his work during some war (I have no concept of history) that we saw. It was so good that it took 2.5 hours to go through but felt like 30 minutes. I really like Goya. The exhibit was especially welcome because the rest of the museum is dedicated to Glorious Things. Every goddamned painting there is of Apollo/Saturn/Venus/Helen/God/Virgin/Jesus and their Glory. Every Single One. Four hours or whatever it was of the glorification of godly things made my eyes go cross-eyed. So I would wander from room to room and sit on a bench and wait for Nick to catch up. The Goya exhibit was more about the barbaric things that people do in the name of Glory, and how terrible it is. Prints of bodies hanging from trees after a war, or bulls and people fighting each other, and that famous one of the guy begging for mercy in front of a firing line (he's reaching out to them, there are other people around him, it's night... you'd recognize it if you saw it) and poor people dying in horrible insane asylums etc. There are splendid rooms in the Prado completely dedicated to Goya in the permanent collection, too.
Tapas that night was the place across the street from the hostel and was really good, things like deep-fried green tomatoes with cheese and fig jam, and a sizzling platter of meat (this was more Spanish-like) which were really really good, if a little expensive. We tried to go out to gay bars that night but ended up getting a drink at one place that offered mojitos for cheap(-er) and then going to a gay bar called "Ricks" which referenced Rick's Cafe Americain in "Casablanca" and the bar was covered in pictures of Humphrey Bogart and the pillars holding up the roof had fake "Moroccan" coverings. The joint was just beginning to jump and other women were showing up (I was the only one there initially) when we left at 3. On a week night.
I wouldn't have left that early but my tummy was being a jerk again (there's a theme of bummer-tum throughout this whole visit). Nick and I talked to these 3 dudes who had all moved there from Colombia that we were sitting next to for the time that we were there. One of them couldn't speak much English, so he would stand up and lean over the table saying "WAIT WAIT WAIT!"
and we'd look at him expectantly and he'd say:
"Always Coca-Cola!" or "Happy New Year!"
The last day of the trip we went to the El Retiro park and had a picnic lunch there and ate bread and manchego and chorizo. We tried to go to some book fair, but it was closed. We also went to the National Archaeology Museum which will be great when they finish building it, in 10 years. It was really well presented and they had some interesting stuff.
That night we went to a tapas place called "El Tigre" and ate cheap and greasy tapas with our solar-plexuses pressed uncomfortably into the bar and fighting the crush of 20-somethings scrambling for beers and food. If I ever go back to Madrid I will go there again. Nick saw some kid that he recognized from PHS there and we laughed about how the party-tour through Europe was such a middle-class/Piedmont thing to do during your summer vacations in college. You're supposed to come back and say things like "dude, I was so wasted during that whole trip that all I remember is having a good time!" and then their audience in response has to intone something along the lines of "yeah!" or "YEah boyeeeeee!"
We went to the Prado the next day and were there for EIGHT hours. We even ate there and went back for more. There was a fantastic Goya exhibit on his work during some war (I have no concept of history) that we saw. It was so good that it took 2.5 hours to go through but felt like 30 minutes. I really like Goya. The exhibit was especially welcome because the rest of the museum is dedicated to Glorious Things. Every goddamned painting there is of Apollo/Saturn/Venus/Helen/God/Virgin/Jesus and their Glory. Every Single One. Four hours or whatever it was of the glorification of godly things made my eyes go cross-eyed. So I would wander from room to room and sit on a bench and wait for Nick to catch up. The Goya exhibit was more about the barbaric things that people do in the name of Glory, and how terrible it is. Prints of bodies hanging from trees after a war, or bulls and people fighting each other, and that famous one of the guy begging for mercy in front of a firing line (he's reaching out to them, there are other people around him, it's night... you'd recognize it if you saw it) and poor people dying in horrible insane asylums etc. There are splendid rooms in the Prado completely dedicated to Goya in the permanent collection, too.
Tapas that night was the place across the street from the hostel and was really good, things like deep-fried green tomatoes with cheese and fig jam, and a sizzling platter of meat (this was more Spanish-like) which were really really good, if a little expensive. We tried to go out to gay bars that night but ended up getting a drink at one place that offered mojitos for cheap(-er) and then going to a gay bar called "Ricks" which referenced Rick's Cafe Americain in "Casablanca" and the bar was covered in pictures of Humphrey Bogart and the pillars holding up the roof had fake "Moroccan" coverings. The joint was just beginning to jump and other women were showing up (I was the only one there initially) when we left at 3. On a week night.
I wouldn't have left that early but my tummy was being a jerk again (there's a theme of bummer-tum throughout this whole visit). Nick and I talked to these 3 dudes who had all moved there from Colombia that we were sitting next to for the time that we were there. One of them couldn't speak much English, so he would stand up and lean over the table saying "WAIT WAIT WAIT!"
and we'd look at him expectantly and he'd say:
"Always Coca-Cola!" or "Happy New Year!"
The last day of the trip we went to the El Retiro park and had a picnic lunch there and ate bread and manchego and chorizo. We tried to go to some book fair, but it was closed. We also went to the National Archaeology Museum which will be great when they finish building it, in 10 years. It was really well presented and they had some interesting stuff.
That night we went to a tapas place called "El Tigre" and ate cheap and greasy tapas with our solar-plexuses pressed uncomfortably into the bar and fighting the crush of 20-somethings scrambling for beers and food. If I ever go back to Madrid I will go there again. Nick saw some kid that he recognized from PHS there and we laughed about how the party-tour through Europe was such a middle-class/Piedmont thing to do during your summer vacations in college. You're supposed to come back and say things like "dude, I was so wasted during that whole trip that all I remember is having a good time!" and then their audience in response has to intone something along the lines of "yeah!" or "YEah boyeeeeee!"
Monday 9 June 2008
The Vomit Post
I had some sort of vomit problem early yesterday morning. I say problem because I am not quite sure why I puked quite so much. Caitlin had a queasy spell for a few days, which I may have picked up from her, or my employers' habit of buying milk-on-the-brink (it's cheap!) finally got me.
Normally sickness problems like this suck but are not much of an issue. You clear your schedule and spend the day within chunks blow of the commode, feeling sorry for yourself and wishing that you were dead, but dressed in pjs and weakly sipping herbal tea.
I had to to go Madrid.
So I hauled myself home from work at midnight and caught the 3:30 am bus for Luton airport and took my flight to Madrid. At least every hour from 2:15 to 9:15 I had to stop what I was doing (usually holding my head in my hands and wishing that my flight/bus/Madrid would get canceled and I could go home and get into my pjs and drink tea etc.) and book it to the loo. I arrived in Madrid and sat myself down with a lemon fanta (fanta fanta, doncha wanna?) in the only place to sit down in the airport and tried to pull myself together (and keep the soda down) the soda stayed put and I sacrificed mucho dinero to a taxi because I had been puking for the last 7 hours and there was no way that I was going to be able to eat anything for at least another 24 hours.
My taxi driver was uninteresting except that he called me lady. I checked into the hostel at 12 and they told me that I could shower etc, but that my room wouldn't be ready for a few hours. I sat ona sofa in the common room and "read" (or, passed out) and the guy caught me and let me get into my room early. I staggered into the first bed I saw and slept for 5 hours. I stayed in that bed until 8 the next morning and woke up feeling infinitely better. I even ate breakfast and an enormous lunch. I now have something akin to cute motion sickness rather than all the time crap-i-tude.
That was today. Nick came in late last night and we tried to see the Prado but it was closed so instead we walked around a lot and saw the Palacio Real. It was impressive and had rooms that were entirely walled and ceilinged in porcelain.
Now we are going out for tapas.
Screw you weird tummy issue!
Normally sickness problems like this suck but are not much of an issue. You clear your schedule and spend the day within chunks blow of the commode, feeling sorry for yourself and wishing that you were dead, but dressed in pjs and weakly sipping herbal tea.
I had to to go Madrid.
So I hauled myself home from work at midnight and caught the 3:30 am bus for Luton airport and took my flight to Madrid. At least every hour from 2:15 to 9:15 I had to stop what I was doing (usually holding my head in my hands and wishing that my flight/bus/Madrid would get canceled and I could go home and get into my pjs and drink tea etc.) and book it to the loo. I arrived in Madrid and sat myself down with a lemon fanta (fanta fanta, doncha wanna?) in the only place to sit down in the airport and tried to pull myself together (and keep the soda down) the soda stayed put and I sacrificed mucho dinero to a taxi because I had been puking for the last 7 hours and there was no way that I was going to be able to eat anything for at least another 24 hours.
My taxi driver was uninteresting except that he called me lady. I checked into the hostel at 12 and they told me that I could shower etc, but that my room wouldn't be ready for a few hours. I sat ona sofa in the common room and "read" (or, passed out) and the guy caught me and let me get into my room early. I staggered into the first bed I saw and slept for 5 hours. I stayed in that bed until 8 the next morning and woke up feeling infinitely better. I even ate breakfast and an enormous lunch. I now have something akin to cute motion sickness rather than all the time crap-i-tude.
That was today. Nick came in late last night and we tried to see the Prado but it was closed so instead we walked around a lot and saw the Palacio Real. It was impressive and had rooms that were entirely walled and ceilinged in porcelain.
Now we are going out for tapas.
Screw you weird tummy issue!
Tuesday 3 June 2008
PS
Earlier this evening Caitlin walked in on me trying to fit Hannah into a big purse. I was gently folding her so that she could sit in it with her head sticking out the top and I could carry her around (much like a tiny dog in one of those tiny dog handbags, I'm beginning to think that I treat my niece like a puppy, I even called her puppy the other day) when I heard Caitlin say "HEY!" She accused me of being a bad person, until she remembered that she and Will had previously placed their baby into a large, canvas bag for humor purposes. We squabbled over that little piece of information until we realized that the baby was whining and fussing while we were deciding who was a worse person for treating the baby like a toy and pulled her out.
"At least I put her in a tote bag."
"At least I put her in a tote bag."
Fire Alarm!
It pissed rain all day today. The property management association came by and checked the fire alarms and I had to leave for a few minutes because technically I am not supposed to be living there and I wanted to avoid awkward conversations. Caitlin was home for most of today, and we got the grocery order and put it away (no car, so Caitlin and Will get their groceries delivered) and hung out.
This afternoon Hannah and I took one look outside and said "yech" so we stayed inside and shared a grilled cheese sandwich (she and I both have weaknesses for them. whenever I make one she stands with one hand on my knee, looking up into my face and makes frantic "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"s until Caitlin says "C'mon Emily, just give her some" and I do) and watched music videos on youtube. Then I forgot that I had another sandwich on the stove and the fire alarm went off for the whole building, and I met the neighbors as they turned it off for me, and I covered my face with my hands and apologized profusely.
After the fire alarm panic I taught Hannah to raise both hands above her head every time I say "Hurrrraaaayyyyyy!" During dinner she buzzed around in circles saying "vvvvvvvvvv" to herself like a bumblebee, stopping periodically when Caitlin, Will, and I raised our arms and said "hurrrraayyyyy!" to (sometimes) mimic us and giggle (ok, 3 out of 5 times ain't bad, she's not even a year old).
This afternoon Hannah and I took one look outside and said "yech" so we stayed inside and shared a grilled cheese sandwich (she and I both have weaknesses for them. whenever I make one she stands with one hand on my knee, looking up into my face and makes frantic "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"s until Caitlin says "C'mon Emily, just give her some" and I do) and watched music videos on youtube. Then I forgot that I had another sandwich on the stove and the fire alarm went off for the whole building, and I met the neighbors as they turned it off for me, and I covered my face with my hands and apologized profusely.
After the fire alarm panic I taught Hannah to raise both hands above her head every time I say "Hurrrraaaayyyyyy!" During dinner she buzzed around in circles saying "vvvvvvvvvv" to herself like a bumblebee, stopping periodically when Caitlin, Will, and I raised our arms and said "hurrrraayyyyy!" to (sometimes) mimic us and giggle (ok, 3 out of 5 times ain't bad, she's not even a year old).
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