Excuses and parking achievements

Yesterday I parallel parked in one shot. I’ve still got it! You can take the girl out of Chicago…

I haven’t blogged in ages, yet somehow decided to lead with parallel parking. As usual, my time in America has flown by. I had so much quality time with friends and family, though, so I guess it’s OK if my blog had to suffer as a result.

Something weird has been happening on this visit though. I’m not buying things. OK, I’m buying things, but I’m not BUYING ALL THE THINGS. A visit to the homeland has always involved 3 things: seeing friends and family, eating all the things, and buying all the things. I’ve certainly been eating my share of American delicacies (my recent cholesterol test results can attest to that), but I haven’t been going crazy buying all the things just because they are a £ or 2 cheaper than in the UK. Does this mean I’ve finally learned my lesson and packing won’t be a dear-god-please-be-under-50 lbs struggle? I sure hope so. For my sanity, but also because leaving the US doesn’t mean I’m going back to the UK — I’m meeting Stephen in China for a little vacation from my vacation. Which means all the crap I pack will be essentially traveling all around the world with me (you hear that, buttload of protein bars?) (OK, I guess I did buy some things. I may have a slight Quest bar addiction)

In short, this is me checking in just to say “ni hao.” Hopefully my upcoming travels will be more blog-worthy (but not too blog-worthy, because the most blog-worthy stuff is never good).

Eurovision and more in no particular order…

-I don’t think “wasted” is the right word, so I’ll just say I “spent” 4 hours of my life immersed in Eurovision viewing on Saturday. First I told myself I was just going to watch my favorites, then I was just going to watch all the acts and skip the voting, then I found myself halfway through the jury results and decided I’d turn it off after that since it seemed Australia was a sure thing. I did manage to turn it off and go to bed, only to find myself reading a live blog of the results on The Guardian, so I ran back into the living room and caught the end. Oh, the suspense! Australia won the jury vote, Russia won the popular vote, and yet somehow Ukraine won Eurovision 2016. Russia definitely had the best performance, brilliantly incorporating video and movement, but as someone wrote on the official Eurovision Facebook page, “It’s the Eurovision SONG Contest, not Video Contest.” Touche. I’m still not sure what we’re supposed to be judging them on — song catchiness, vocal talent, cool use of lights and pyrotechnics? All of the above? Based mostly on how good their songs are to run to, my favorites were Austria, Cyprus, Spain, Lithuania and Poland. Although I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid Donny Montell from Lithuania’s hair looked and it kind of ruined it for me a bit.

A random Youtube commenter said it best: “Well, apart from looking a Lithuanic Bieber I must admit that the song is good as hell.” To which another random dude replied, “A few years ago he looked like a proper lad on the stage. Been dressing like a teen ever since.” Now I’m gonna imagine that stupid haircut every time I jam to his song.

UK and France also had really good songs, considering they usually have rubbish entries. But enough about Eurovision, my American readers probably have no idea what I’m on about. They’re probably also upset I used the British expression “on about.”

-I ran 8.65 miles today! A new record by .05. Part of me wanted to go further, but my Band-aid on my ankle was starting to fall off and I didn’t want another incident like last week. It seems to be healing though, so hopefully that was just a freak thing and I just won’t wear those thin socks again.

-If the stars align, and it seems like they might, I’m thinking about attempting The Great Walk of London soon. I just checked and apparently I posted about it over a year ago. And yet it never happened last year because the stars never aligned (the stars mainly being my work schedule and the weather). London forecasts are never accurate though, so I might have to wait until the day of before I commit to it.

-I am going to see Jon Snow (Kit Harington) in Dr. Faustus next week! The reviews say it’s rubbish, but I still couldn’t resist. And because the reviews say it’s rubbish, I scored £99 primo tickets for £29.50!

Ode to Churchill the Corgi

As you may have noticed with posts like this, I really, really love corgis. But unfortunately my current living situation does not allow me to have a dog. While I enjoy scouting for them on runs through the park, the next best thing to having a dog is having a family member get a dog. Though it’s been over a year since we lost Squirt, my parents are still not ready for another dog. Late last year Stephen’s family’s chihuahua Xiao Bei crossed over the rainbow bridge, which gave Stephen and me a new mission: get his family a corgi.

We started by slyly sending them photos of my favorite Instagram corgis, like Super Corgi JOJO. Then we upped the cute factor with puppy photos. They were sold. His cousin began researching breeders and sent us photos of prospects. We vetoed a few before Stephen sent me this photo followed by “Yes?”

He was perfect. I couldn’t wait to meet him, even if he was halfway across the world. The day they brought him home I begged Stephen to ask them for more pictures.

His cuteness was addicting — I couldn’t get enough. I watched him play fetch over Facetime. I saved every photo of him Stephen’s family sent.

“What’s his name?” I asked Stephen.

“He doesn’t have one yet,” he replied. Then he said we could help name him. After he vetoed my Chinese translations of “little butthead” and “short legs,” he said we should pick an English name. We wanted a human name that was stately and English and easy to pronounce.

“Churchill,” I suggested, conjuring the great British statesman and first person to be made an honorary citizen of the United States… and also the adorable bulldog from the insurance commercials. (Source of this photo: an article stating that more British children can identify the Churchill Insurance dog than the wartime prime minister)

And just like that the little corgi had a name. Churchill. I watched Churchill eat his dinner over Facetime and promptly pass out in his bed. I treasured every sweet photo.

Stephen said even his uncle, who is not a dog person, was falling for Churchill. How could anyone not? I wanted so badly to go to China to visit Churchill in person. I knew the chances of me being able to cuddle him as a puppy were slim, but I looked forward to meeting him someday.

And then Stephen got off the phone with his cousin and dropped this bomb:

“Churchill’s dead.”

I thought it was an April Fools joke. Apparently so did his cousin, not realizing that April Fools’ Day has been banned in China.

Stephen’s family was so in love with Churchill that they took him on an adventure in the mountains. He likely ate something that was poisonous and died the next day.

I was heartbroken. We were all just getting to know Churchill. I never even got a chance to properly meet him, and now I never will. The little guy was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him. I always knew someday he’d cross the rainbow bridge and frolic with Squirt and Xiao Bei, I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Goodnight, sweet prince.

Breaking baking news

We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post for this special report.

I successfully made meringue.

If you remember, a year ago I tried to make French macarons, which are basically meringue, and everything that could go wrong, did. I could not beat egg whites for the life of me. Now I realized it is much easier when you actually have a mixer. I made some peppermint meringue cookies and they turned out wonderfully, no runny half-burnt, half-undercooked messiness.

Behold!:

(They may not look as professional as I had hoped, but they taste amazing!)

If you’re curious, this is the recipe I used.

Squishy Boots

I guess I almost deserved what happened to me today. (Yes, this post is about weather again.) Just thinking about all the ridiculous decisions I made gives me squishy boots. I woke up to sunlight (glorious sunlight!) and expected it to last. I really should know better by now. I was so confident that this sunlight would last that I shunned my Chicago snow boots that I had planned to wear and put on my what can only be described as “fashion boots” because they are attractive but offer absolutely no protection against water, which I learned the hard way when I wore them in Rome and wandered around the Vatican museums in soaked socks. Wearing those boots was almost begging the sky to open up and shower upon me, so I’m sure you can guess what happens in this story.

I set off to Notting Hill this morning to meet a friend for lunch and a movie. I took the bus, because I like to save the extra £1 over the Tube, despite the fact that the Tube station is right next to the restaurant I was going to and the bus would require me to walk a mile to get there. *Stupid mistake No. 2*

“It’s sunny! I’ll enjoy the leisurely stroll!” I told myself. I was already starting to regret my bus decision when the driver announced we would only be going to Baker Street, not all the way to Lancaster Gate where I intended to get out. The last time this happened to me I just walked, but this time it was too far. A woman who reminded me of Pam, Gavin’s mum from “Gavin and Stacey,” was having none of this, and began giving the driver an earful about how this “always happens to her on Friday” and that she is going to be late to work. She acknowledges that this is not the driver’s fault, but still continues to yell at her. She asks for a ticket from the driver who tells her the printout will allow all of us to get on a new bus at Baker Street without paying again. I was really kicking myself for not hopping on the Tube, especially when I saw people getting out umbrellas as I waited at the stop with Pam. “No… sunlight! Not rain!” I wanted to shout. I’m sure Pam did too. We waited a good 10 minutes for the next bus. The whole time I was debating whether I should just eat my bus fare and get on the Tube at Baker Street, right in front of where I was standing. But I couldn’t bear the thought of paying Tube fare too and was determined to stick to my bus plan. I convinced myself that it would probably stop raining once I got off the bus at Lancaster Gate. I followed Pam onto the bus as she presented the print out. I kept waiting for the rain to let up, but it didn’t. Eventually we arrived at the end of the route and I had to get off and begin my mile walk to Notting Hill.

“One step at a time,” I told myself. “Maybe your feet only got wet in Rome because you stepped in a puddle. Just don’t step in a puddle.” I walked slowly with my head bent down, attempting to avoid every puddle. It was no use. I slowly felt the squishy feeling in my boots. In the novel-turned-movie “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close,” Oskar Schell’s favorite expression for feeling depressed is “heavy boots.” I think mine is “squishy boots.”

“Just keep walking,” I told myself. “It can’t be much further.” And then it started to hail. Hail. For real. I believe I let out an audible, “Seriously?!” I don’t think I’ve ever been outside during a hail storm before. It’s not pleasant, especially when you have squishy boots. I decided it was time to get over my overly frugal public transportation issues and I hopped on the next bus I saw that was headed towards Notting Hill. And just because the weather gods were mocking me for wearing my fashion boots, it stopped hailing the minute I got on the bus. So I ended up spending two bus fares, which is equal to more than one Tube fare, in an effort to avoid taking the Tube, which would have let me off right in front of my destination and I would not have had to go the whole afternoon with squishy boots.

“I’m having a love affair with this operating system”

Lately I’ve been hearing way too much about tablets because Stephen has decided that’s what I’m getting him for Christmas. The one he wants was supposed to be launched tomorrow, but is being delayed until December because of Ice Cream Sandwich. Yes, “ASUS Transformer Prime reportedly pushed to Dec for Ice Cream Sandwich” is a legit headline. Anyone who doesn’t know about Android’s naming system would have so many questions. I have so many questions… namely, what kind of name is Ice Cream Sandwich for an operating system?!

According to Wikipedia, “each version is developed under a code name based on a dessert item. The code names were released in alphabetic order: Cupcake, Donut, Eclair, Froyo, Gingerbread, Honeycomb, Ice Cream Sandwich.”

Cupcake I can understand because cupcakes are huge right now and everyone loves cupcakes. “Donut” is pushing it, but “Eclair” and “Froyo” have nice rings to them and don’t immediately make you think of food. Honeycomb makes sense because of the layout on the screen. But Ice Cream Sandwich? I can’t go for that (no can do). For one, the name is entirely way too long. Why not just ice cream? Or a cooler-sounding dessert name, like tiramisu or creme brulee? Creme brulee is good enough that “ASUS Transformer Prime reportedly pushed to Dec for Creme Brulee” sounds believable because creme brulee is difficult to cook exactly right, so there’s often a delay before it’s ready. But you can get a pack of ice cream sandwiches for $1 or so, right? It seems the cool tech kids call it ICS, which sounds like it could be an operating system, like OS X. Just don’t ask anyone what ICS stands for.

On a final note, whenever I think of ice cream sandwiches, I think of this:

 

It’s OK, Concerned Pug

I know I haven’t posted in awhile, but I have not fallen off the face of the earth. Enjoy this picture of a pug until I can come up with something good to write about.

“Bonjourno!”

I was trying to be clever with my blog name. I was blessed with a French name, but I don’t speak a lick of French. (I’m not in a rush to learn either, the crazy pronunciation turns me off.)  I was trying to make a play off rendezvous and hopefully didn’t come up with something offensive. You never know what might happen when an American dabbles in a foreign language.

First posts are always kind of awkward. I never know whether to jump right in or give a lame “Welcome to my blog.” Consider this both.