Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Crap television extravaganza!

Well, I'm outta Bosnia, for sure. No more Slovenian/German MTV for me. No sir.

It's Celebrity Big Brother time.

I don't know what's happening to me as I get older. I'm trading in my Independent Film Channel for prime time reality programming. I'm becoming one of those people. A statistic. A viewer between the age of 30 and 35 who can'ts get enough of potty talk. I nod at the sage advice given by Jermaine Jackson and do a little Jacki happy dance when Jade is given the boot by the British viewing public.

Can I sink any lower?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Can I be any more excited by Strictly Lady Sumo? No, I can't. Just how easy is it to recruit the first ever British female Sumo wrestling team to compete in Japan? I don't know, but I'll find out.

And let you know.

Boo-hoo. Woe is me.

I had the weirdest, surreal experience last night.

I finally decided to take the remaining pictures off my digital camera and organize them in some form and fashion.

I looked at my pictures of the Norfolk coast (see below) and loved the way it was like (and not like) the Jersey Shore. Actually, being in England is like living in (and not living in) the United States. A little like Alice stepping through the looking glass. There is so much that is similar: our language, our television shows, our radio stations, yet...The thatched-roof houses, the flint and brick churches say, "You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. This is East Anglia."

Weirder still were the final pictures I took in Sarajevo. I remember taking Veli for our last walk(s) down our street: the night before we left and in the early morning hours before we drove to the airport. The pictures, alas, are not very good, but they are the final images I have of our city: the graffiti on the wall and the distant lights of Park Princeva, a restaurant with the most extraordinary view of Sarajevo.

At times, Sarajevo seem like a dream. And at other times it seems like we're on one long vacation and that we should be going back any day...Our kitchen is waiting for us just like our dining room and our living room. Then I remember we left the keys on the table, and, more likely then not, some other people--strange people--are cooking on our stove and sitting on our couch.

I'm sure one of these days England will feel real. But living on base is like living in limbo. So, stay tuned. Exciting adventures ahead. Cross fingers.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

The Big 3-0

To all those happy birthday wishers and those who thought I may have fallen off a cliff because I never update my blog or email in a timely manner:

I am alive and feverishly looking for gainful employment in the UK.

While I'm not too worried as there are literally thousands of jobs out there (thank you, you bountiful economy, you), it will take time. And I am, if you don't know, an impatient person by nature. I am glued to the internet from 10:00 am until I drag myself back at 4 to make dinner. During that time, as I write application after application, tweak my resume into a CV, and rework cover letter upon cover letter, my long-suffering blog waits for my return...

So, in a caffeine induced frenzy that carelessly made me CLOSE an application I had been working on for two hours, I thought it was time for a break. A bloggy break.

First. Thank you birthday well-wishers for well-wishing. I am 30 now, which makes me officially an adult. I can't blame reckless behavior on 20-something impulsivity. No. Somehow, without my consent, 30-ness has been thrust upon me: unwelcome and, well, not completely unexpected. I am now...responsible.

Second. I have many pics. to share, which I will post when I'm not crazy and inclined to delete them as have just deleted an application for employment.

Third. I can tell I will not be BFF with the General Social Care Council. We may be at war shortly. Juicy gossip to come.

Four. Huz and I went to the Norfolk coast for a pre-birthday vaca, and, may I just say, how utterly charming it is? And may I also say that I am equally utterly charmed by the British obsession with bird-watching. Your just adorable with your binoculars and Wellies. It's a sport for you, ain't it? When I'm flush with $$$, I plan to get my very own pair of funky Wellington boots.

Five. Maria, you little sneak. I can't believe your selling your treadmill now! You had a cast iron grip on that mother just a month ago. Where's the love?

Friday, January 12, 2007

We're here...!

Meaning we're no longer there. "There" being the Twilight Zone Ramada Inn, Philadelphia International Airport. However. Our luggage is still traveling the cosmos with Mr. Serling. We hope that he will be kind enough to send it through the next black hole as we really need a change of clothes.

So. Military housing is not as bad as I expected. It's not good. But not bad. And my hippie liberal friends will be horrified to learn that I am now the proud owner of a spouse military i.d. Yes. I can shop at the shopette until I drop. Whoo-hoo.

Now I must away. Rumor has it that one of our bags may be arriving at the front gate today, and the guards won't let the courier through without my presence. Something about bombs...or something....

Cheerio from the heartland of East Anglia!

Monday, January 08, 2007

We have now entered...The Twilight Zone

Could it be that the Ramada Inn is, in fact, the greater Delaware Valley's version of the Bermuda Triangle? Have we entered a vortex from which we will never emerge?

Yup. Still in the States. Having finally emerged from visa hell, the good folks at U.S. Airways bumped us from our flight into London. We are now waiting for a British Airways' flight. But the weather? Not so good. I suspect we have entered an alternate reality waiting room. Am I crazy? This will be the tell. If we make the flight, I take back all the Twilight Zone nonsense. If we don't...Find Rod Serling, or the ghost of Rod Serling, and make him stop.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

In Visa Hell...

This will be short.

I have not died, but I am in New Jersey.

We missed our flight into London because of the fuckwits at the British Consulate.

Sorry for the cursing dad, as I now know you read my blog, but, I believe the term "fuckwit" is appropriate in this case.

I promise to spill the beans, give ya'll the 911 when I have access to an actual computer because, did I mention, that I'm in a public library in New Jersey and my time is about to run out...?

So, love, hugs, kisses from the wilds of the Jersey Shore (which is, incidentally, beautiful this time of year.)