Tag: Humor

Grad School, Humor, London, Travel

Everything Must Go. Seriously.

“Sometimes you’ve got to let everything go, purge yourself.”
– Tina Turner

Today we are going to cover the slash-and-burn, take no prisoners, everything must go mentality that comes with going to university in a foreign country.  It’s not unlike dying, kittens, as “you can’t take it with you.”  Which means you’re going to have to pawn, sell, trade, donate, lend, dump, or burn all of that “it” and it’s good to have a plan.

I’ve written before of the Great Purge that preceded each of our family jaunts here, and that’s a good starting point, but the crucial difference for me is that this time there isn’t a poly-government organization, private company, or even a well meaning stranger paying for us to up sticks.  This is all on us, and it’s going to be a meticulous, if bare bones operation.

Pictured: the exact opposite of what you want to achieve.

When prepping for a cross continental hop, the clued up traveler (that’s you, ducklings) sits down with their roommate, travel buddy, or significant other months in advance and has a conversation.  This conversation covers the Big Items about which major decisions will have to be made.  Cars, if they are to be kept, must be stored and insurance must still be paid on them in some cases, therefore arrangements must be made.  Furniture must either be sold, given to friends, or set on fire in the backyard for toasting marshmallows during your farewell bash.  Electronics and appliances are the same (not for burning obviously, you minions are awfully immature).  Decisions about what to do with the majority of the things that make up your household need to be made weeks, if not months in advance, not just before you head to the airport.

Example, we’ve decided to store the car at my parents’ house.  If we end up staying in the UK longer than anticipated, we can always sell it for extra funds and if we come back to the US, we have a car ready and waiting for us.  The furniture on the other hand?  That’s going.  It’s either purchased from Craigslist or Ikea so we’re not particularly attached to it and it’s still in good enough shape to be of use to another pair of starving newlyweds.

What do you mean we're not taking the immersion blender?!

After those are out of the way, you get to the funny items.  My parents bought us a lovely bright red Kitchen Aid as a wedding present that will be sold only over my dead body.  J. says ditto on (of all things) a very nice waffle iron.  We have a truly glorious set of pots and pans that we are prepared to go Gollum over if anyone suggests getting rid of them (the precious…).  We’re keeping the playstation, but not the large TV.  The dual DVD and VCR (because I have one or two treasured tapes from childhood, and I’m not ashamed to admit it) stays but almost all of the kitchen appliances go.

The point?  Be ruthless and be honest.  Know what is worth keeping and what you can sell without pang that will give you a little extra money to work/play with.  Most of our household items are newlywed quality stuff bought on a newlywed budget – ergo they’re decent, but selling or even giving some of it away doesn’t hurt us, personally or financially.  We won’t have to find storage for it, manage it, or worry about it.  Less really is more.

Personal items, now, that’s where it can get traumatizing.  I’ll give you a bit of time to recover, my fragile little darlings, before cracking that particular whip over your head.  Next time…

Friends, Humor

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Bath Products

“Bath twice a day to be really clean, once a day to be passably clean, once a week to avoid being a public menace.”
– Anthony Burgess 

Picture this. Falling on me.

In preparation for our move I’ve started turning out my cupboards and have been rather alarmed to find the amount of scented, moisturizing, exfoliating, glittering, soothing, plumping, firming, sculpting, finishing, polishing, masking, accentuating, and any verbs I may have forgotten products that have been stashed away.  I’m female and even I’m baffled by this hoard.  A billion years from now, if the aliens landed and unearthed the fossilized remains of my cabinet, they would be forced to conclude that the human race must have been the most terrifyingly malodorous, unhygienic species to have ever been set out wandering.

Girls do this, buy each other lotions and bottles of nuclear colored stuff.  Which in and of itself is fine, because the trouble isn’t quality, but quantity.  When you have some sort of major life event to celebrate and a host of friends just as academically poverty stricken as yourself, this gunk is an excellent present choice for the giver…but not necessarily the receiver.  And, despite your best attempts at regifting, it does tend to pile up.  I usually get the best products from my close friends and godmother/sisters and the rest goes straight into a pile to be bestowed to the next friend having a birthday.  Even if I showered three times a day, I could not work through the armfuls of creams, perfumes, etc. that have just been unearthed from my closets.

And lest you think I’m some sort of skinflint, yes I buy real presents too, I’m just not one to pass up the opportunity to get rid of some of this overabundance.  It was a a thrill to ship a ton of this stuff off to Snickers not but a couple months ago…where on earth did this secret cache come from?  And does anyone want some of it?

Friends, Humor, Travel

Travel Wisdom – AbFab
Be an On Purpose Tourist

“Decide beforehand what you want to spend your money on. Do you want to eat like a queen and spend all your money on food? Do you want to see a lot of shows? Do you want to visit all of the tourist spots? Do you want to travel, or stay in one spot? and so forth. If you pick one thing to focus on then it is easier to justify spending in that area and easier to convince yourself that you don’t need the other things.”

– AbFab, who after her travels as a student put her knowledge to good use as a military wife.  For the best time in the UK she recommends Ireland and the Lakes District, get outdoors!

Humor, Office, Secretary, Work

Dear Me, You’re An Unpleasant Person, Aren’t You?

“Whoever one is, and wherever one is, one is always in the wrong if one is rude. ”
~ Maurice Baring

Dear World at Large,

Me again!  You know, if you could just learn one or two of these little lessons I’m trying to get across, we wouldn’t have to speak so often.  You could go along your merry way and I could kick back and return to chuckling benignly at your expense.  But alas, you seem determined to thrust yourself rudely at me, and here we are.

This one will be pretty short:

We salute you, brave barista.

It is an almost laughable fallacy of yours that customer service will get better as you get nastier.  Snarling (literally) at us, calling us foul names, rolling your eyes and making “under your breath” commentary about the person trying to help you (heavy on the word “incompetence”) might be a nice, passive aggressive way for you to make your feelings known, but it will not speed us up.  It will not imbue us with bureaucratic powers we do not currently posses and it will not endear you to us.  Screaming at us will actually make us less inclined to work with you, as we will be primarily concerned with getting you out of our hair.

And, here’s a tip, if you are determined to be a b***** or a b******, being surprised when someone responds to you in kind doesn’t become you.  Because someday, some brave soul not confined to office-job-obligated politeness will let you have it.  And you will find it a harrowing experience.

Just a heads up,
C.

Fashion, Humor, Travel

No Item of Clothing is an Island, Kittens

“Clothes are never a frivolity: they always mean something.”
~James Laver

When I arrived in the US for school, I showed up with two suitcases and going back to London won’t be too different.  I’m half ok with this and half perturbed: ok because I’ve done it many times before and am hardly scared of doing it again, and perturbed because I’ve only just learned how to keep J. fed and will now have to put my entire kitchen into storage and have to learn it all over again without pots, pans, slow cookers, blenders, etc., at least until I hit up Tesco for some cheap gear.  (Ah Tesco, home of £10 crock pots and £5 irons…)

But I digress.  The point?  In those two suitcases must be clothes, accessories, makeup, shoes, winter coats, toiletries, and any very small amounts of personal items – most of which must last year me at least one year.  How is this accomplished, you ask?  The answer, my adventurous lovelies, is excruciating precision in suitcase spacial reasoning, a game plan, and strict adherence to my number one rule in packing for travel/living abroad: everything you put in your suitcase must be a “double duty item.”

Travel light, yes, absolutely. But also, travel smart.

This means that every item you bring must serve at least two (at the very, very least, and preferably several more) sartorial purposes.  For example: skirts that can be worn to work, school functions, church services if you choose, and whenever trousers simply won’t cut it.  Shoes that can be worn at all the above and also around town without more than the usual amount of agony.  If you’re athletic, workout clothes that are nice enough to run errands in or to pick up groceries.  Tops that can be casual as well as dressy with good makeup and simple accessories.

This is easy if you believe, as I do, in quality over quantity.  I’d far rather buy a good quality, solid color knit shirt from J. Crew that will last me at least two years of regular wear, than have to replace a cheaper one from Target every season or so (Target is beloved in our household, minions, never fear, but not for long term living abroad dressing).

I will wear that shirt with work trousers on a weekday, jeans on the weekend, or any skirt in my closet.  It will go with pearl earrings and heels, and with a vibrant pashmina and skinny pants.  It will look good with flats or stilettos.  It will make me seem more put together when someone stops by our flat and I’m still in pajama pants than my old, stained alma mater sweatshirt.  It is a “double duty item,” make it your vaulted example.

There, you’ve aced your Travel Dressing Theory 101 class, ducklings, and Aunt C. is proud.

Grad School, Humor, London, Travel

Home is Where…Actually, I’ve No Idea

“‘Oh Brancepeth,’ said the girl, her voice trembling, ‘why haven’t you any money? If only you had the merest pittance – enough for a flat in Mayfair and a little weekend place in the country somewhere and a couple of good cars and a villa in the South of France and a bit of trout fishing on some decent river, I would risk all for love.'”
– P.G. Wodehouse

Dear University,

Hi!  You may remember us, we’re the couple that applied for housing nearly two months ago.

You’re holding up paperwork by not making any decisions and I’m getting a bit annoyed.  My left eyebrow has risen twice, when you have moved back announcement dates on two separate occasions.  I understand that you don’t realize how dreadful a thing the raised left eyebrow of C. Small Dog is, but let me just say it hasn’t happened twice since a nosy woman in the parish asked when J. and I are going to get around to reproducing.  My response has gone down in parish legend and she slunk off, never to be seen or heard from since.

Where's this? Brixton?! Ah, drat...we'll take it...

I’ve lived in London, dear Housing People, and am actually very good at getting around it.  I honestly don’t have any preference if it’s in Camden or Westminster – I’ve haunted both extensively – I just would like somewhere to live, please.  If the former, I will wander the market every weekend.  If the later, I will practically live at my favorite cheese shop in Covent Garden and drag J. to shows in the West End (thank you, student discounts) at every opportunity.  We will be busy with school and blissfully thrilled to be there.

But at this point, I would be blissfully thrilled to have a cardboard box to sleep in, as long as it has an address I can put on our visa applications.  I’m not from the UK anymore, my family no longer lives in Cambridgeshire and we can’t crash with them while we wait for any flat at all between Battersea and Islington to make itself available.

Please make decisions and offers in the near future.  My metaphoric nails have been gnawed to the wrist.

Yours with – Diminishing – Love,
C.

Fashion, Grad School, Humor, London, Travel

Style Theory and the Modern International

“‘Style’ is an expression of individualism mixed with charisma. Fashion is something that comes after style.”
– John Fairchild

Some will tell you that a move is the perfect time to try on a new persona, change your attitude, adopt a new style, etc.  And they are right, theoretically.  As someone who has meandered across four continents, moving once every couple of years, with ample opportunities to try on very different demeanors and looks, I can vouch you can change your style.  But I can also vouch that it can be expensive, tiring, and a lot of times futile, as lots of us inevitably go back to our old ways.  Here is the true secret to changing/staying true to your style: it has next to nothing to do with how you look.

That’s right, dumplings.  As cliche as it is, your style is all about you, not what you wear.

I sense you nodding along sagely, but wondering at the back of you minds, “Why bring this up, and what does this have to do with moving to Merrie Olde Englande?”  The answer is because I can’t count the number of friends, acquaintances, and fellow travelers I’ve known who think that a big trip or continental move is just one excuse to try on a new persona.  More specifically, that it’s an excuse to buy lots of stuff.  It’s not.

Back, you snarling shopaholics!

Whoa!  Down, minions!  Yes, there will be shopping, I promise, but all in due course, alright?  But the truth is, if you are traveling/moving and you want to do it in a savvy manner, there’s a lot to do before you whip out your credit cards with a maniacal look in your eyes.  Trust me.

So, why discuss style when we’re talking about living out of two suitcases for a year?  Because you will eventually have to shop and the first stop is your own closet.  The best place to start when figuring out what you will need in those suitcases it to sort out what you already have.  Clothes aren’t just a frivolity, they are important and especially so when traveling.  You are going to have to balance cost, care, wear, personal taste, needs, and functionality.  It’s as delicate an act as chemistry equations, and it all starts with your own personal style.

Leave the gun, take the cannoli.

Which is why I reiterate, style is about you and what you’ve already got.  When you are packing for a trip/move, or even if you just want to mix things up in your closet for a change, be honest with and about yourself.  Stock up on and pack what you know you like and will wear, and allow yourself only one or two flirtations with something new and exciting.  If you’re not a femme fatale, all those cocktail dresses might languish in your closet and you will shake your fist at the sky for having failed to pack jeans.  If you long to be a dapper Brit but are hopelessly, helplessly a true blue American lad, that straw boater hat and striped blazer will become a source of shame instead of pride.  It doesn’t matter what you pack, if the looks aren’t to your taste, aren’t comfortable, and don’t make you feel good (which you should on a trip or move to a fabulous new place!), you’re going to have spent a lot of money on a new personality that you will never wear, just like those new duds.

“To thine own self be true,” and all that.  I am a pretty conservative dresser.  Not a lot of sequins (except at New Year), not a lot of skin, and not a lot of bling.  My closet is full of skinny twill pants, solid color knit shirts, stud earrings, and low heeled riding boots.  I have a no bangles, no floppy hats, no bohemian dresses, and very little that is “of the moment,” sartorially speaking.  So, when I’m putting together my two suitcases to get me through a year, I’m going to be taking my tried and true looks that suit me and make me feel comfortable and classy.

Because, and this is key, darlings, style is in your head, not what’s on your carcass.  No one has ever – in spite of my boring and conservative wardrobe – accused me of being a boring or conservative person!

Lest you think this post was needlessly sappy, let me just say that I’m being especially supportive and nice because the next step might be painful.  Excruciating.  Weeping, gnashing of teeth, and sackcloth horrid.  Because once you’ve mastered Style Theory, and the Cardinal Rule of Packing, we’re purging your closet.  And.  I.  Am.  Ruthless.

Humor, Law Enforcement, Work

The Missing Woman Who Wasn’t

“Mystery is at the heart of creativity.  That, and surprise.”
– Julia Cameron

How’s that for a title, piglets?  Doesn’t that just thrill your soul?  Aren’t you just mad afire to solve this Agatha Christie sounding mystery?  Are you already twirling your Poirot-ish mustache and cracking your knuckles, ready to pounce and out the murderer, find the money, unmask the fiend, and kick up your heels after with a glass of port and the knowledge of a mystery tidily wrapped up?

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint because this, my enterprising sleuths, is about the silliest, least exciting, and yet most perplexing case I’ve yet to be a part of.

It all started when a young traveler coming in from China to our campus went missing.  I was called into a meeting where very many men in smart suits were sitting dourly at a table with our police officers.  They represented various university and otherwise organizations and they had misplaced a young woman.  Or rather, after flying into the country she had misplaced herself.

We're on it!

My duty in all of this was the fulfillment of dreams spawned from watching illogical cop dramas – I got to fill out the white board!  I traced timelines, physical descriptions, suspicions, all of it.  There was talk of embassies, visas, the FBI, human trafficking, slavery, kidnapping, scandal!  They shipped investigators all over, avoided the media, and formulated theories like champs.

And it turns out, that after flying all the way here, going through the visa process, paying for her trip, she got here, got cold feet, and turned right around and went back to China.  With narry an scorned heiress, missing fortune, or diabolical butler to be seen.

Friends, Humor, Travel

Travel Wisdom: Scarlett
Go native.

“Assume you’ll need to adapt to local things unless you want to spend way more than necessary!  When I moved to the Caribbean, I found that food and toiletries and clothes (even the fully-non-brand name variety) were all two to three times more expensive than the States.  On the other hand, if you learn to live like the locals, you’ll save quite a lot: for example local fruit (and rum!) was practically free, and local bakeries and goat dairies were cheap.  One of my roommates was suspicious of everything not imported from the States and spent WAY too much money; I risked the local route and not only saved but got a much more interesting experience.”

– Scarlett, who has not only lived and done volunteer work in the Caribbean, she also applying to do more in Rwanda.  Fingers crossed!

Friends, Humor

With Age, Wisdom?

Email chain twixt Scarlett and myself about our then-impending birthdays, but two days apart.  I’m 25 today, a full quarter century.  Many happy returns/Condolences!

Scarlett:
So PLEASE tell me I am not the only one freaking out here about our impending birthdays.  25 is PETRIFYING.  the last hallmark before “Qualifies for Senior Discounts”.  The end of the “18-24” check-box.  The end of pretending you’re sort of maybe still a “young adult” and can justify things like hitchhiking and trespassing and running around on roofs and switching jobs every six months because you’re still kind of college-aged and therefore still kind of post-adolescent and therefore still kind of justifiably enjoying your youth.  25 is “No More Excuses For Not Having Your Merde Together”-Land.  It’s doom and destruction and HOLY LORD I AM HALFWAY TO FIFTY and I Am Actually An Adult And Need To Start Behaving As Such.  It’s like AGH HOW AM I NOT PUBLISHED YET AND WHERE HAS MY LIFE GONE AND I HAVE BEEN FREAKING OUT ABOUT GETTING OLD SINCE I WAS ABOUT TO TURN *FOURTEEN*, SO THIS IS DIRE!  And knowing that for every year after this I’ll be begging the fates to be “only” 25 again.

Oh the problems that come with living in America.  Such a tragic and difficult life I lead, with so many real and legitimate problems!

Enjoy your last days of youth…

C.:
Sorry, beloved, I did this particular freak out when I got married at AGE TWENTY-THREE and WHAT AM I THINKING?!  I have to be a Real Live Grown Up now, what the hell – what do you MEAN a 401k plan?!  However, to be fair, the “AUGH HOW AM I NOT PUBLISHED YET AND WHERE HAS MY LIFE GONE” I can totally relate to.  I think I’ve just decided to (in public) age gracefully and act as childish as possible in private.  So far it has served me well.  I don’t mind going to a new age grouping as I suspect that I shall never have my merde together, no matter what age I am.

Scarlett:
I laugh at myself on this point as well.  It’s odd because part of me relaly doesn’t care, in terms of how society-at-large tends to freak out about aging…it’s just the not-published/waste-of-life thing that freaks me out!  I seriously remember (as I’m sure you recall as well) running around school like a crazed person on my 14th birthday.  Having spent my childhood DESPERATE to be 13 because TEENAGERS WERE SO COOL, I was completely unable to deal with being 14 because it sounded “too old to be a child prodigy” and I hadn’t written a symphony or been published yet.  Oh, 8th-grade Scarlett, if only you knew how LITTLE you would actually accomplish OVER THE NEXT 11 YEARS.

C.:
I remember dying to be a teenage and then realizing it didn’t feel too different from being a pre-teen.  My aging angst died at that moment.  I realized that some people spend their lives racing to be a certain point and they dedicating the rest of their lives to staying at that point, and it frankly seemed more than a little ridiculous.  Ah, pseudo maturity!  How I shall abandon thee when the wrinkles come!

How I see me and my friends fifty years from now. We'll look like the Queen, but wear higher heels and use (probably) less fragrant language.