Do you have gravy on your boobs? I am glad I live in the UK instead of the US

I know that I sometimes have a hard time adjusting to life in my new country, but it is a really super place to live. This week I have been hearing stories about how my fellow parents in the USA are getting ready for school by buying tones of specific supplies and trying to get new clothes for the fall. I do not have any of that to deal with. Here is my back-to-school shopping list:

1) pencils (optional)

2) school uniform

That is it.

Read it and weep Americans!

I must get to the gravy bit. This is only for women of a certain size. Size of boob or of body.

I need to know: Can You Eat And Not Get The Food On Your Boobs Or In Your Bra?

I mentioned in one of my earlier laundry posts that My shirts are considered clean if they do not have gravy on them. I mean this. I am unable to eat food and only hit my mouth with it. Almost every meal that I have, some of it will end up on my shirt, on one or the other boob, or IN MY ACTUAL BRA.

I found a baked bean in my bra last week. This was a refreshing treat from the crumbs. A family of ducks could feed from my bra-crumbs some days. WHY? What is wrong with me?

So hot.

Tell me that I am not alone!

In America, all I would get to do is argue. No matter what side I was on. I find this tiresome. Also, Boris Johnson is hot.

In America I would be dying of heat, but buying snow boots for the 3 feet of snow A DAY that was coming. Here? It is almost always Just Fine. 65 degrees damn-near-year-round Baby! Suck it Michigan!

In America I would be worried about my daughter who needs medicine. I do not care what you think. I get great care here in socialized-nazi-care-land.

Please tell me what you are thankful for in your country. And for the love-of-all-that-is holy…

Tell me if you  have gravy on your boobs!


Mice! Half-dead mice again! (New Zealand)

I should really title this something expat related, except Sharp Kitty is throwing a mouse around my living room and it is gross.

I can not understand the new zeeland accent. at all.  I am not even sure if that is how you spell new zeeland. I am pretty sure that it is off of Australia somehow.

Do not judge me. I used to think that Hawaii was next to California. Then I moved to the UK with the handy BBC and maps. I live on a small island off of Europe now and I can find FINLAND on the map. (no that isn’t where the cheese comes from. sigh. that is Wisconsin) I can find fucking Poland and Austria and even Turkey.

But the New Zealanders? (OK  I looked  it up) I cannot understand them at all. I know three things about New Zealand.

  • They have something to do with LOTR
  • Stephen Fry likes it there
  • Their rugby team is AWESOME (no, go look here if you don’t know.)

I cannot understand the talk that they do. nope. They use vowels in such a novel way.

Masterchef New Zealand, i wish that i could love you.

I have to get manboy to translate everything that they say. I am not sure who is more annoyed by this. Probably everyone in New Zealand, but from what I hear, they do not have the internet, so it should not matter.

Something new every day

When I was planning my move to England, I had a completely unrealistic set of expectations. Actually I only had one assumption about living here. I thought it would be just like America, only with a British accent.


How wrong I was.

Anyone reading this blog might assume that I don’t like it here much, due to the amount of ranting I do about it. But I LOVE LOVE it here. I would never consider moving back to the States. I am here to stay, and my children will grow up thoroughly British. Yes, they wont know the words to the star-spangled banner, and that makes me feel all weird and knotty inside, but they will have an excellent education in a beautiful, safe, accepting and inclusive country.

But I will do a lot of bitching, ranting and sometimes despairing about adjusting to living here. It is so massively different. My first two weeks here I was completely helpless. Completely. I couldn’t drive, couldn’t work the key to my front door, or the kettle, or the boiler, or the busses, or the money, my oven, the light switches. the power outlets, the washing machine…you get the idea. It was really shocking and I was so overwhelmed by being confused  about everything all around me.

For the next few months I gradually learned the basics, but I often felt that I would never truly get the hang of live here. I felt like I would be an incompetent outsider forever.

It is a common stereotype that British food is awful. It isn’t. It is lovely. Really homey and tasty. But my kids? They wouldn’t eat anything here. There was not one thing on any of the shelves at the shops that looked even remotely like food, never mind familiar food.

We lived on string cheese and chips. (crisps? I cant even work the WORDS)

I enrolled them in the local school. I had been homeschooling them in Detroit. It just wasnt safe to send them to school and the quality of the schools was appalling. They brought home a school lunch menu. I ..just…stared. Some of the words on the menu we completely incomprehensible. Bubble and squeak? Sponge with custard? Crunchy flapjacks? Spotted dick? Steak and kidney pie? WTF? Is this stuff even food?

Needless to say, that took a lot of adjusting on their part.