it's a bayyyyyyy-beeeeeeeeeeee!

look! a baby! she's even my pseudo mini-me, and the most difficult and uncomfortable thing i had to do was shell out for a transatlantic plane ticket.

i got to spend a week 'job shadowing' my sister-in-law and 8 week old niece-- minus the breastfeeding and nappy changing. kind of like my brother, i'm still; "building up to it".

and so we all surfaced from our beds (at different times, mind you) to a groundhog day of; feeding, burping, cuddling, jiggling, changing, napping; feeding, burping, cuddling, jiggling, changing, napping;...drinking wine.

in addition to learning the ins and outs of the labour, hearing a great story about projectile poo flying out of her bottom (baby, not s-i-l) across the changing table, i got loads of practice doing the infant macarena; sway, sway, lunge, lunge, grand plie in second, repeat until lactic fatigue. yep. it's a lot of work, and there really is no per diem option.

"you'd be a great mummy/you're a natural/look how at ease you are with her". sure, you can take one look at a kenyan and know he's going to set records, win medals and suddenly obtain U.S. citizenship. i'm just not convinced that this means you can cherrypick a winning breeder.

i suppose one of the handy things about having a sibling is that can they can act as the proverbial canary in a mine shaft-- fortunately after seven days, i hadn't keeled over in my bird cage.

forgive me, but it's been three years since my last yucky doctor appointment

"i know you have a different priority to focus on for the next 5 minutes, but i just took my shoes off, and i'm so sorry, but my feet really smell".

it's hard to break the ice with the professional who will be poking around in your tropic of capricorn, and the 10-15 minutes spent sitting and waiting on a piece of medical baking parchment provides a wonderful opportunity to notice all of the other things that will now be scrutinized from a different angle. or just a time to reflect on my own standards of personal hygiene and the fact that i probably should have at least removed the last few chippings of toenail polish/pumiced off the calluses/not (repeatedly) picked at the bug bite on my ankle, which now looks purple and somewhat necrotic/shaved my legs in even lawn stripes (versus the hacked up weedwacker stubble).

i considered (for about 3 seconds), whipping out a cellphone to tell her i just wanted to tweet from the twat doctor's, but i also really wanted to ask if many people had farted in her face. instead, i just haemorrhaged from the mouth.

"those scabs that look like rug burn- i fell down on a trail run yesterday. and err, those bruises on my calves are from bike pedals. and uhm, you're going to see some really odd looking chafing, but that's from a 17 mile run i did last weekend".

and after running the baby belly gauntlet in the waiting room to the exit, she gave me absolution for another year.

a "jackass" baby story

midgets jumping into ceiling fans, colonic irrigation with blenders and a geriatric's supermarket trolley derby around parking garages are just a few of my favourite things.

so when an unmarried, childless, slowly re-forming comittment averse (i have managed to keep a labrador alive for over a year) female is responsible for co-facilitating a gathering dedicated solely to the recently knocked up, the experience quickly becomes an exercise in anxiety regulation.

in order to fully establish an atmosphere conducive to celebrating 'soon-to-be-screaming-and-incontinent-100%-dependent-upon-you' life, one must first set the mood. so, rather than resorting to the ever popular pink/blue/"we don't want to know yellow" colour palette, a simple black and orange provides a natural backdrop for decorating with both dremel and craftsman products (and can be re-used later at halloween).

now traditionally, showers require organized group "fun" for both 'soon-to-be...' and guests to enjoy-- which means playing with safety pins, toilet paper, and other random paraphernalia from the storage closet and kitchen junk drawer. however, in keeping with the current theme, friends and family are able to mark the occasion with a few rounds of spin the breast milk bottle, pin the cracked nipple on the engorged boob, and a rollicking game of old fashioned fetus pinata. energy levels are thus sustained by an ongoing buffet; placenta pie, mucous plug milkshakes, and the crowd pleaser, afterbirth bruschetta.

finally; presents. it should be noted that this registry is sponsored by johnny knoxville and beatrix potter.

an in-flight manicure

forget the dry, recycled cabin air wreaking havoc on your skin; turbulence is the silent killer-- of cuticles. it creeps up suddenly, like jaws, taking you down a helpless hundred feet.



clearly i need medicating, or mittens.

an unfortunate series of events

the transition to "really desperate expat housewife" is virtually complete; i filled a prescription for valium.

pre-boarding the first leg of a flight to san diego, i took my inaugural vitamin V. unfortunately, due to "weather" and associated connecting airport shut downs, a 5 hour delay saw a rather chill demeanour wasting away on runway two. by the time we took off, i was fully present, and therefore able to enjoy the stormy remnants at my usual arm rest gripping baseline. as a result, the guy in 34 C also got to enjoy some serious 'public displays of getting into his close personal space'.

because i had been able to bond with the russian airline representative over our respective 'unpronouncable to americans' last names, she had bumped me ahead of "standby guy" on the next west coast flight. unfortunately, the east coast flight landed as the other one was scheduled to board. fortunately, the gates were right next to each other (good odds for transfer of suitcase). unfortunately, the jet bridge for the arriving flight was broken and i was sitting in the last row. unfortunately, the departing gate now said 'pittsburgh'. fortunately, it was due to a gate change, and only three numbers down. unfortunately, there appeared to be no gate agents, passengers, or plane. fortunately, the incoming flight had also been delayed due to "weather". unfortunately, once i was safely ensconced in my 'last seat before the toilet', there was quite a bit of turbulence and all my next dosage did was to make me drowsy. i need a pill that stops turbulence. or perhaps get something a little further down the alphabet.

6 hours later than initially scheduled, we touched down in california. unfortunately, the suitcase had not accompanied me, as evidenced by the continental representative attempting to pronounce my last name over the P.A. unfortunately, i had packed my toothpaste, contact lenses, knickers and all those other essentials in the suitcase. fortunately, the front desk woman at the hotel gave me a 'welcome' bag. unfortunately, it did not have toothpaste or a brush, but it did contain samples of alleve, pepcid, and sachet of ky personal lubricant.

fact: the dilemma when faced with a row of airport toilets make goldilocks' inability to choose chair/porridge/bed utterly facile.

"get a grip!"

was the terse instruction issued from 'my brother the pilot' in response to his sister's perseverative thoughts on airbus versus boeing disasters, shattering pelvises upon impacting the atlantic ocean, and how to break into a cockpit in order to administer CPR to an arresting crew member.

and so i did.



however, i don't know if the richter scale turbulence while transitioning from US to canadian airspace was quite as traumatic as the 45 minute connector's aisle side view of an ambulatory and verbal child, in possession of at least his incisors, latched to his mother's mammary. not a surprise then, to overhear that they were ultimately, seattle bound.

to keep the laws of crappy airline travel in perfect alignment, the return journey, while relatively turbulence (and therefore bruise) free, was equally trying. kennedy airport has obviously been laid out with the same design aplomb that you would expect from a 5 year old with a bucket of lego. and may also be the only employer that is currently over staffed, albeit with 28 year old soporific "teenagers" whose pace, and overall demeanour are clearly not congruent with even a low level customer service experience.

dealing with my baggage

that whole fear of plummeting out of the sky aside- and really, what are the odds of another NTSB disaster, based on the last 2 months of cardiac arresting pilots, faulty sensors, crappy weather conditions, and a lackadaisical approach to aircraft maintenance- the ritual of "what the hell should i pack for a bipolar british summer?" serves as my pre-boarding turbulence.

matching colours, that complement assorted temperatures, by coupling layers and sleeve length to appropriate footwear, requires the kind of thinking necessary to pencil in 3 crosswords that bridge each other. this may explain why i usually wind up rotating the same two t-shirts and a token pair of jeans that were worn (but not since washed) on the '6 hours of recycled air, flight and sitting in manky departure terminal chairs', and also why 2 down and 9 across- "5 letter word; the name of a mouse 'tom' used to chase in the hanna barbera cartoon"- are the only squares with letters in them.

should tradition prevail, then any effort expended on selecting and folding will be for naught, because the delsey will undoubtedly become waylaid on a luggage carousel at jfk, long after my arrival at heathrow's very own version, several time zones away.

distance running during the winter does not toughen up one's crotch

due to the last 9 months of: home improvement/puppy is pac man on crack/winter weather makes me want to sit in my recliner and smoke crack, lockdown, there has been very little fat tyre action since last autumn.

what a relief to finally hear the sounds of; bloodsucking electric toothbrushes in my ears, indicating the impending red bubble wrap braille welts around the ankles, kamikaze tree branches leaping into the bike spokes, and to recognize that i have yet to fully master "the wooden bridge"-- or any wooden bridge, for that matter.



my ptfb (post traumatic fear of bridges) is more paralyzing than the one where i balloon to 180lbs and become relegated to shopping in the 'black-stretch-pants-with-stirrups-and-a-"comfort"-waist-band' section at wal-mart. fortunately, this particular state park has many opportunities to systematically desensitize myself with crossings ranging in width from toilet roll to tampon.



only 4 and a half months to go until the 50 miler.

dirty little scrubber

a visit from the woman who gave me life, and subsequent years of advice- dutifully ignored- on how best to wear my "you have such a narrow face" hair, kicks off some serious extra credit housework. *

forget polishing the silver and dusting off the 'just for show' china; cleaning the calcified layers of green gunk from the electric toothbrush and wiping pico de gallo fingerprints off the tv remote become the topmost priority. and so i found myself vacuuming the dust colonies that had settled pueblo style, amongst the fireplace brickwork- dog hair is harder to get rid of than a palm full of ringworm.

swiffer brand needs to hurry the hell up and manufacture a collapsible, disposable 'get-down-on-your-knees-and-scrape-the-black-gunge-out-of-the-skirting-board-to-the-sounds-of-kc-and-the-sunshine-band' appliance.




* the occupant who logs the most hours sitting on the loo, should automatically win the task of chipping all the caked bits of bodily excreta from the porcelain. **


** this never happens.

attached white female seeking same or different, for various activities

finding an eternal partner to argue over which way the loo roll should be placed is easy. weeding out the potential girlfriends who will bring you colouring books and soup when you're home sick, versus the ones who bring you grief, drama and just make you sick, is not yet available as a feature on eharmony.

once you have secured that "first date", it's a fine balance between personifying the single white psycho and coming on too eager for BFF-dom, versus feigning nonchalance and losing the interest of your future "three-hours-at-the-coffee-shop-talking-about-anal-bleaching" buddy. however, trying to discourage further contacts with a boring and/or attention seeking female who thinks that puns are the epitome of wit, proves to be more challenging than not punching her antithesis; "super-bubbly-girl-who-claps-her-hands-in-delight-(repeatedly)-and-somehow-manages-to-verbalize-the-exclamation-point-at-the-end-of-each-exuberant-statement".

and so the interview process begins; will this person reject me when they find out how overly neurotic and sensitive i really am (will i want to throttle her for being that way too?), does she exhibit the comittment to drive to another state just to go to the outlets- of which only 5 of the 325 shops will be hit? will she make a good running buddy and share the bodyglide? can i convince her to strap on a bike helmet and start building up a collection of 'trail bruises'? can she match my stories about peeing in the car/hedge/on myself?

our "date" ended with an emergency stop at mcdonalds for an evacuation of the chicken saag consumed at lunch. as far as i'm concerned, bodily functions on a "first date" suggests the beginning of a long and entertaining friendship.

if you're not careful, you'll go blind

i don't have to see my final result to know that i failed the exam. on the brighter side, at least it was neither a "first response" nor a "congratulations, you're not pregnant, but here's the real reason why you're feeling a bit off down there" type of test. the overwhelming sense of failure at not being able to read the "easy" letter is worse than letting the bank teller see you are unable to identify which cluster of digits on your cheque is your bank account number. fortunately, much like a chlamydia-free diagnosis, the silver lining is that i am not yet destined for old lady bi-focals.

as far as my traumatic childhood experiences can be stretched to excuse the chronic avoidance, visits to the optician are staggered on much the same schedule as pelvic exams and equally pointier and scrapier dental probes.

after a series of puffs of air, flashes of traffic lights, and photos taken of the back of my ocular cavity that looked like red water balloons, the final diagnosis was that i had almost reached the glass ceiling of visual deterioration. the prescription had gone up to: "you are like a bat in the daylight that has had vaseline smeared across it's corneas". followed by an equally miserable treatment plan: "please walk this way to consult with our frame expert who will then set you up with a super cute, and super over priced pair of glasses (with anti-reflective, UV protectants that the people at NASA use), and for an additional $149.99 we can shrink the thick as watermelon skin lenses into svelte little onion peels".

he did mention that due to my level of myopia, annual visits would be reccomended as i was at a higher risk for something with far too many syllables for me to remember later and obsessivley google.

at least i already have the yellow dog, which will be great if i'm ever trying to hunt down a tampon under the ottoman.

snow baptism

while saudi arabia is the home of Mecca, it is not the one replete with pilgrims sporting north face and other overpriced, but super trendy, outdoor paraphernalia. and so the GPS was pointed north; to sunday river ski resort- what better way to celebrate VD than bruises and plenty of the white, flakey stuff.

i quickly learned that i display an aptitude for clipping into and out of skis- must be the transfer of skills from the bike cleats and pedals- unfortunately, that was the only positive transfer; falling over and crappy co-ordination are obviously areas in which i excel in all sports.

a group of 20 and 30 somethings can look fairly nimble and athletic in the ski boot fitting room, but on a segregated patch of nursery slope- neonatal flat may be a more accurate descriptor- looked more like the local nursing home's day out for the arthritic alcoholic.

prior to hitting the powder, the prospect of riding the chair lift was exciting (disembarking it, not so much), fortunately, our patient instructor determined that we would be better off riding the "magic carpet" to the apex of our molehill. an airport conveyor belt buried into the snow transported our posse of neophytes up the gradient, while we obediantly assumed the "squat and crap in the middle of the woods" position.

learning to ski also means being quite comfortable with touching/grabbing/anchoring on random stranger's body parts, and having other beginner's grope at your own for leverage, or to brake with. by the end of 3 hours of intensive "no. stop! turn both skis towards the hill", my self-esteem was elevated- until a 3 year old in their "i'm so tiny and cute" l.l. bean puffy outfit, ripped by, without poles.

the apres ski is where i am focusing my energies, unfortunately, this also leads to repeated tripping and falling.

things learned on my international middle east christmas vacation

~ the similarities between mother and daughter are disturbing, not a good thing when one is the driver and the other is a passenger. and while both father/daughter exhibit a very british selective mutism when in mixed (but still mother tongue) company, oral dilation is swift when the more senior member finds a gulf national to banter with.



~ i am a conservative puritan, where hummus is my evangelical platform; roasted red pepper, sun dried tomatoes, spicy chipotle, chunky kalamata olives, and caramelized onions belong on a pizza. if you want 365 overpriced flavours, rocky-road-oreo-mint-supreme is available at a strip mall near you.



~ architects responsible for designing airports across the globe grew up watching a little too much dr who. as evidenced by "abu dhabi international for the sensory deprived".



(going to the airport also seems to trigger the kind of anxious personality swings usually displayed on those "heavy flow/super absorbency" days-- in all members of the family).

the ruby slippers

i don't have a fear of flying, it's a more elementary fear of plummeting to the earth, while part of my severed torso is melted to a scorching hot rolls royce jet engine, to become further dismembered upon impacting the atlantic "water is just as hard as concrete at velocity" ocean.

helpless lady driver seeks competent chauffeur for winter commute

i would rather pay $90 for a colonic irrigation that cleanses my rectum with tabasco sauce, than to go out and drive in the snow again.

already traumatized from subjecting the dog to her: "she needs to have all vaccinations updated before we will board her while you do your abandoning and bugger off to the other side of the planet for a couple of weeks", the journey back from the animal hospital did little to ameliorate my heightened state of anxiety; i lost traction; just outside the car park; halfway back up the hill. i incorrectly assumed that i would be impervious to mother nature as i had chosen to take the "winter friendly" VW, as opposed to my own "purchased in southern california" automobile- which lacks the relevant vehicular features appropriate for frozen tundra. ironically, as i am less familiar with this car, i was unable to locate the rear wiper, temperature control, or even passenger air blower button. however, both mine and the dog's bums were nice and toasty despite our lack of visibility or forward mobility.

unlike previous experience in sandy terrain, we were not sinking and stuck; gravitational movement was very much evident in a downhill direction. to distract myself from the imminent probability of damsel tears, i panic dialed a friend in; "somewhere-it-snows-a-lot-michigan", to be coached through my distress and shock that this all wheel weather beast was giving a sub par performance (other cars were pulling around me).

"did you press the AWD button?"

"button?" [like knight rider? what if i press the wrong button and reilly is launched into the cold, white abyss?].

"it's no different than starting to ride your mountain bike up the middle of a hill". [you mean, aside from the deductible on my car insurance tripling after i skid off into a ditch or a volvo station wagon?].

fortunately a pick up truck with one of those ginormous shovel thingies attached to the front bumper (and red cape hanging off the back) stopped and offered assistance.

"i'm using first gear"..."just moved here"..."all wheel drive"............................
..."i grew up in saudi arabia".

"luke" commandeered the wheel and wanted to know which button would stop the arctic wind blasting through the vent [did he not see the blonde hair when he pulled over?]. mute, i shook it at him again; saudi arabia explained my inability to operate in snow, hair pigment (and plummy accent) should be sufficient enough reason for anything else he might need to know. he turned us around and plotted a flatter, non-GPS calculated course, back to my destination. unfortunately this wasn't an "A to B, stop signs not included" route (i haven't got to the chapter on 'how to brake in snow' yet). fortunately this car has a little graphic of a skid marks that illuminates (no shit), to let me know when i am, in fact, preparing to become more mechanically intimate with the school bus in front. might i suggest an "oh shit" light for the '09 model?

thankfully, motorist, dog, and vehicle made it back to the driveway physically unscathed.

(not after being overtaken by a freshly permed grandma, manning a subaru).

don't judge a book

if a hot pink sign on top of a vinyl sided warehouse reads: "thorobred lounge XV", it could easily indicate the local meeting spot for stable owning kentucky blue bloods sporting gold pinkie rings the size of pencil sharpeners.

probably not.

resistance is futile when it is time for "i-used-to-be-so-blonde-my-hair-turned-green-at-the-swimming-pool" to get the skunk stripe touched up with a few highlights. finding that "just right" salon/stylist/coffee shop sans poncey italian units of measurement/vietnamese restaurant with a kick-ass pho soup, is more challenging than locating a decent spot to sleep amongst a family of bears. and uber pricey/monochromatic/malnourished salon vidal sasoon; london is just as skeptically viewed from across monmouth street, as any converted victorian building-to-business "parlour" with frilly curtains and shrink wrapped pensioners asleep under the dryers.



this salon had a disco ball hanging in the centre (and very knowledgeable, skilled stylists with a mutual appreciation for all things low brow).

now if i can just find a gynecologist with something non-mirrored to stare at, on their office ceiling.

coffee, tea or a tranquilizer?

15 hours at 37,000 feet, divided by 115lbs of shaking, quivering nerves, equals how many valium? flying time for the annual christmas pilgrimage to the middle east is in excess of 7 hours overtime for the average 8 hour work day (pilots get tired too, even after several hours of watching computers do all the work). while i realize the wonderful learning opportunity available to overcome my fear of crashing, i tend to see it as more time to perfect a seamless finish, stripping the skin from my cuticles up to the armpit.

i have never flown the abu dhabi based airline, etihad, so i referred to: my-brother-the-pilot for safety record information, seat configuration, and the inevitable 'never matured from how to most agitate my sibling'. he was able to confirm through narrative and the above image of airbus engineers running the engines, and breaking the plane from it's chocks; "but this was before airbus sold the A340 to etihad, don't worry".

due to the large number of christmas presents i will be hauling with me, i did check etihad's luggage allowance, and was a little disappointed that traveling economy- or "coral" class, means that my parents will not get their matching his 'n hers gift set this year.
• 1 falcon per guest (per seat) is permitted. Charge for one falcon (which is considered 3 kilos) is 3 times the normal excess baggage rate of the journey.
• 1 additional falcon can be carried when an extra seat is purchased within same class. No excess baggage charges for the additional falcon will apply.

as a final act of younger brotherly reassurance, he also sent me an image of the carcass of an air france A340, noting; "all crew and passengers survived".

beauty and the deceased

it was so cold this morning that there were icicles forming on the fountain. which is very pretty when viewed from behind a window, while wearing flannel pyjamas, wool socks, and clutching a mug of coffee. not so full of pulchritude when standing outside in pyjamas, trying to shoo the dog out of the way and take a quick picture.



and for those of you who will be responsible for positively identifying my frozen corpse (sans dog):

habituation

i am as apprehensive waiting for the first big dump of snow, as i was anticipating the arrival of pubic hair. and like the sudden onset of facial toothpaste pustules, there are 'reality prompts' all over this arctic state.

the transition will require a new way of organizing myself in (sub zero) space, because skiing appears to be the proverbial 'poo after morning coffee' in the northeast; routine and expected. and as i have no transferable skills, i intend to compensate for this significant deficit, by at minimum, limiting the michelin man silhouette.

to date, i have accumulated wool socks, wicking baselayers, and even a rather cute knitted north face hat. however, this equates to trying to bake a dessert with just eggs and butter, in terms of 'slope readiness', and there is a qualitative difference between strawberry belgian chocolate souffle and 'scrambled-on-toast', during acute stage PMS.

things i learned in the tj maxx dressing room:

- ski pants should not be miami vice tight.
- trousers actually come with a "skirt".
- ski socks are supposed to be thin.
- a bum can look good under layers of jet-puf.
- i was onto something when i opted for the ginormous glasses at age 14 (rogue sandstorms in the middle east are just as damaging to the cornea as snow dust at velocity).

the arrival of frozen precipitation will finally kick denial in the 'fruit of my loins' spot. dressing for skiing is obvious- they teach you how to do that in the catalogues, my concern is what to wear when i nip out for a gallon of milk.

it's so cold, you could cut reinforced steel with your nipples

severe weather is the only thing that could usurp the current orgiastic underage/premarital/republican/pregnant media ruckus occupying people magazine and the aqua netted TV "journalists" on fox news. the hysteria over precipitation in the northeast (or midwest, or san diego for that matter) is commensurate with the release of a new harry potter book, or the naan bread being refilled at the $4.99 indian lunch buffet.

i am beginning to question the reality of the "new england winter". salesmen at lowes, ex's mothers, friends who would not be able to identify the state of maine on a map, have provided the reassuring posture of an epileptic bobble head that it gets cold-- very cold-- "up there". winter is now the scary monster in the basement, or nessie, or the abominable snowman...maybe nancy reagan, without her make-up, wearing saran-wrap.

the opinions of others (except when it comes to liking me) are generally disregarded. this was reinforced after several repeated cautions that a 45 minute hike through mammoth cave, kentucky was going to be more physically grueling than pulling a london bus, with my teeth, while having a case of delhi belly.

perhaps it is denial, but as a 10 year resident of the ohio valley, i have seen meteorological meltdowns supersized to texas hair proportions. all the naysayers are invited up for crustasceans and butter- capilene, monogrammed fleece underwear will be waiting for each of you.