Tuesday, August 11th, 2009
Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009
Ahem…*taps mic* is this thing on?
I have an announcement to make: I’m moving back to England.
This Brit is fleeing to the homeland y’all.
There was a time when I never thought I’d say that. But I’ve come to realise, as it turns out, homesickness is a pretty darn hard thing to fight.
My gypsy blood has had me galavanting around for almost 6 years. I started on this journey when I left university and got on a plane bound for New York City with no idea what the hell I was doing. I spent a year and a half there flying by the seat of my pants, living hand to mouth, marveling at the disproportionate amount of crazy people and overall, having the time of my life. Talk about a learning curve.
From there, Japan came a-calling. And I went, neglecting to learn a lick of Japanese beforehand. It’s a whole other kind of learning curve when you can’t even speak the language. And it makes for some ridiculously comical moments.
At the end of my year there, I decided to move to Canada and Toronto has been my home for almost three years now. I have loved it (nothing beats the summer here) and I have hated it (nothing beats the winter here. Seriously, if anyone finds my nipples that froze off in the harsh winter of ’08, please return them to me).
I went home this past Christmas, having not been home during Yuletide for three years and it was like being wrapped in a big bundle of love. My family is officially the coolest family on the planet and my old time friends came out and reminded me of things, places and jokes that I’ve missed.
When I landed back in Toronto, my reasons for being here just made less and less sense. I’m in a job that doesn’t have anything to do with my career goals, just to keep a roof over my head (and it doesn’t even do that very well. Luckily, I have a delightfully understanding transsexual landlady/man). I have no family here and due to the harsh winters, you end up basically hibernating for four months of the year. I’ve been trying to fight this feeling of something not quite clicking for a long time, convincing myself that I have to stick it out and I can’t keep moving. But then I realised, who said I can’t? It’s my life and I write the rules up in here!
So, a few weeks ago, I called my parents and I wasn’t even sure I was going to say it, but before I knew it, I said ‘I think I want to come home.’ And once I said the words, it was like a giant weight just lifted off me.
I handed my notice in at work yesterday and in mid-September, I’ll be on a plane back home. Home. *sigh*
And for once, it feels like the right decision.
I started this journey at 22. I’m now 28. Older, definitely wiser and with some incredible memories and irreplaceable people who’ve come into my life and will hopefully stay in it. Who knows if England will be my last stop on this train. I go where the wind takes me. And right now, it’s blowing me back home.
But my real reason for leaving….I just can’t stand the way North Americans say ‘aluminium.’ I mean Jesus, get it right!
Oh and don’t worry, I may be on a different continent, but this blog will continue to be in your face every day no matter where you are in the world.
Thursday, March 5th, 2009
That is a question I struggle with every now and then. Having moved around so much, my compass is all the way off these days. I don’t know where home is and I have an urge to just keep moving and trying out other cities, countries, places. Yet I also crave stability and focus and furniture and you know, other shit that grown up people have.
So, when my dad recently threw out the suggestion, during a casual Skype conversation, that I move home, it sent me into a state of turmoil for a good half a day or so. It’s a tempting offer: move home, back in with the parents, work part time in the family business, spend the rest of my time writing, making tea and generally being fabulous.
I know, I know. What’s not to love about that? Rent free living and a guaranteed job? I should be jumping for joy, right? But I just don’t think I can muster another move across an ocean. Nevertheless, I thought it was only right that I give the offer fair and balanced consideration.
Living at home, enjoying mama’s cooking, no rent and getting to watch The Wire with my parents every day.
Being in your late twenties and still living with your parents. Don’t get me wrong, I have a wonderful relationship with my ‘rents and love them to death, but I don’t want to be the female George Costanza.
The guaranteed job and being able to work part time – holla!
I would feel an enormous amount of pressure working for my parents. I know how much they put into that business and I don’t want to be the one to mess up the whole operation.
Being around my friends again.
As tough as it is not having your good girlfriends around you, sometimes when you don’t have that, you force yourself to meet new people more. Maybe if I was home, I’d take that circle of friends for granted.
Having quick and easy access to Topshop.
The subsequent debt that will ensue as a result of quick and easy access to Topshop.
People not thinking I’m Australian.
People telling me I have now developed a ‘north American twang’. You can’t win with this accent thing, I tell you.
Being able to wallow in all the inside jokes me and my brother have.
Sometimes the jokes seem even funnier to me via email/Facebook instant chat.
But essentially, when things aren’t going your way, you can’t always just pack up your shit and run home to your parents, however tempting that may be. My situation here may not be perfect, might actually be close to infuriating at times, but I have to tough it out and make it better. It’s on me to fix it. But does that mean that I can’t quit my job and go home for a few weeks for some TLC? Ahh, probably. Damn it, I just can’t catch a break!
Wednesday, February 4th, 2009
So that’s quite the temper Christian Bale has, eh? I have been known to completely lose my shit when someone walks into my field of vision too. I mean, really, it’s so rude for people to be in my presence and be doing their job with complete disregard for my over-inflated sense of ego.
Sunday, January 18th, 2009
I try to stay away from talking about the royals, mainly because they are a bunch of wankers. As Brits, our taxes are paying for those mother bitches to live the life. As if that weren’t annoying enough, the runt of the litter, Prince Harry seems to be getting the most airtime these days and this is beyond troubling.
Tuesday, January 6th, 2009
Well, it’s come to an end. My vacation, that is, not my life (though you may be forgiven for thinking so, due to my lack of posts the past few weeks). As you read this, I am on a plane headed back to Toronto (probably desperately trying to resist the urge to put some screaming infant in a choke hold).
- For those that are wondering, no, I did not go see this guy.
- Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year, ain’t it?
- Packing is a mother bitch. Seriously, I hate it. I’m having to leave two of my coats in England because I just can’t fit them in. No doubt my mother will adopt them and make sure they are cared for by wearing them at every available opportunity – I see you Mama!
- My British boys know how to dress. It’s so refreshing to see guys who give a crap about their appearance. Turn it out fellas. I ain’t mad at ya!
- To all my friends and of course, my fabulous family, thank you for showing me such a wonderful time. I miss you all desperately and I won’t leave it three years the next time, I promise. Love you long time.
Monday, April 28th, 2008
The race hasn’t even really started yet because the Democrats are still bickering about who the nominee should be. I think at this point, it would be perfectly acceptable to get Hillary and Obama in a room and do a bit of ‘eenie, meenie, miny, moe’. Or how about ‘rock, paper, scissors’? It’s quick, it’s effective and, as school children everywhere can attest, it’s fair. How many conflicts could be resolved with the words ‘I’m sorry, paper covers rock. You’re out’? There’s no arguing with that shit.
But instead, we’re treated to painful months of drawn out debate after debate and vote after vote. I live in Canada for Christ’s sake! The upcoming election has shit all to do with me or my country, yet I can’t escape it on the nightly news. I feel that since America likes to involve itself in the business of other countries so much, the residents of those countries should be allowed to have a say in which jack ass gets the right to bomb the crap out of them. Had that been allowed, the monumental fuck up that is Dubya, could have been avoided for the past eight years. But I digress.
Now, both candidates seem like shadows of their former selves, when you compare them to their rhetoric at the beginning of the race. I specifically remember Hillary talking about how important it was to be humble. Now she might as well walk around wearing a T Shirt that says ‘I am the shit’. And Barack had sworn not to fight dirty and focus on the issues, but it seems whenever Hillary throws one of her bitch fits, Obama can’t help slinging mud pies back at her. But hey, they’re politicians and part of the job requirement is to be full of shit.
So, America, just as I offered to settle the inquest into Diana’s death a while back, I hereby offer my services to you. For a tidy sum, I will get Hillary and Barack in a room and bang their heads together until one of them admits defeat.
Though, if I happen to be otherwise engaged when you need me to do this, may I suggest a worthy alternative: Mr Jeremy Paxman.
If you are unfamiliar with the work of Paxman, you’ll thank me for bringing his wonder into your life. Better late than never, my friends.
As the US election spirals out of control, Paxman is the only person that can clear this whole mess up. One thing I’ve noticed about American political commentators, is that they’ll slug it out with each other, but when it comes to asking the politicians questions, they basically pussy out and don’t take them to task. Well, not the very British Paxman! Oh hell no! He will get all up and in your face till he gets an answer and don’t even bother trying to avoid it, because homeboy ain’t gonna let it drop.
I present to you, Exhibit A:
So Americans, ask yourselves this: do you really need those other states to vote, or do you just need Paxman to get in there and end this thing swiftly? Don’t spend too long thinking about it – clearly The Paxman doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
Hey, TTC workers…
Go fuck yourselves. Seriously. You are a bunch of whiny bitches, and from my days of throwing hissy fits, I can tell you, no one likes a whiny bitch.
Walking off the job on Friday night, without warning, leaving thousands of people stranded, is not cool.
This is all about you not receiving full pay, if you have to be off work as a result of being assaulted on the job. I actually agree with you, you should get full pay for that. But here’s a little news flash; ask anyone who works in the public domain, from servers, to retails clerks and I’m sure they’ll all be able to tell you a personal tale of abuse on the job. The only difference is, they don’t get almost $30 an hour like you, they’re not protected by a union and they don’t have the nice cushy benefits either. So, stop frikkin’ whining!
Did it ever occur to you that walking off the job on a friday night, probably only serves to increase your risk of being assaulted at work? I don’t mind telling you, I would relish the chance to be first in line this morning to give every last one of you a good bitch slapping.
So, in fairness, when you take your lazy, overpaid, whining asses back to work today, I think it’s only fair that we don’t pay fares for a while. I mean, you did pretty much fuck up everyone’s weekend. And anyone who had to take a cab as a result of your impromptu tantrum, should present their receipts to one of you friendly overpaid TTC drivers and be reimbursed.
Just grow up fellas. The city is sick of your antics already.
Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008
It’s so childishly ridiculous. At what point in life does striking become the appropriate response to a problem? When you’re a kid and you ask your parents for more pocket money, they tell you to shut the fuck up and go to your room. That’s what should happen to people who threaten to strike (unless of course, you’re those divas in the picture above, in which case, I say, rock on sisters, rock on).
Last week the public transportation workers in Toronto (the TTC), were threatening to strike. Those buggers are ridiculously overpaid as it is. I don’t know how much they think they deserve for twiddling a few knobs to drive the train (I’m pretty sure ‘twiddling knobs’ is the technical term), but apparently the $30 an hour (or something ridiculous like that) isn’t enough. So, like really mature professional people do, they threw their teddies out of their prams and stomped around having tantrums. Because they’re not getting what they want, the million plus people who use the system every day should have to suffer. Luckily, someone bitch slapped some sense into them last minute and they didn’t go through with it. Bloody good thing too – I would not have enjoyed that multi-mile hike to work (in heels bitches!).
Then there’s news from Blighty this week that teachers are threatening to strike. For Christ’s sake – one look at that bit of hate mail I got last week and it’s clear to see that the British educational system can’t afford any time off. Plus, these discussions about whether or not to strike are taking place during a holuday, so it may turn out that the first day back at school, everyone gets sent home. I’m sure parents are thrilled about that. They’ve been waiting for two weeks to pry those buggers off their Playstations and get them back to class, now having to actually put up with them at home some more is probably sending them over the edge.
So for the sake of parents’ sanity and public transit users feet – people who work in those kind of jobs should really find a more reasonable way to deal with their issues, learn the dance of give and take, come together as one and unite or, you know, just shut the fuck up and go to their rooms.
Monday, April 14th, 2008
Strange things are afoot in Blighty my friends. And it comes in the form of one of the weirdest family sagas that side of the pond has probably ever seen.
It all started in February when nine year old school girl, Shannon Matthews went missing and an intense 3 week search began for the young ‘un.
This search was of a scale not seen since the hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper. Over a 24-day period, the search involved, among other things; hundreds of police officers, hundreds of members of the local community handing out flyers or looking for the girl, sniffer dogs, the search of over 2000 houses in the local area and intense daily media coverage.
Then, on March 14th, the girl was found, alive. Less than a mile from her home. In her step-dad’s uncle’s house. In a storage cupboard under the bed.
Slowly, it emerged that the whole thing was a big sham, set up by the family. One by one, they were arrested. The step-father seems to have been the ring leader in the whole thing and he got his uncle, sister and mother in on the act.
The child’s mother is 32 years old with seven children by five different men. Clearly, she’s a classy broad with strong sexual morals. The step-father is 22 years old and when the police came to arrest him, they found kiddy porn on his computer. I think we’ve found a pretty strong contender for Family of the Year.
The step-father’s uncle was arrested and charged with kidnapping and false imprisonment (he then slit his wrists while in custody, but survived and got pretty much no sympathy).
The step-father was charged with multiple counts of possessing kiddy porn and his mother and sister were charged with assisting an offender and perverting the course of justice.
Then, the icing on the cake, the mother was charged with perverting the course of justice. It is believed she knew the whereabouts of her daughter the entire time. Apparently she and her fellow messed up family members managed to raise a fair amount of money for the ‘search efforts’, not to mention her entire community was out searching for her daughter while she was sitting back, probably laughing it up as the money and attention rolled in.
And yes, lets not forget about the child. It seems that all the adults in her life are absolute wankers and this poor kid will now end up in care, and probably in therapy, for the rest of her life.
Everyone involved in this should get very hefty sentences, but the mother should bear the brunt. What kind of mother does that to their kid? And this woman has 7 kids people! How are people like her allowed to procreate? (Aside from anything else, nature was not very kind to her, if you know what I’m saying (and I think you do), so I literally cannot figure out how this woman ever got laid once, never mind enough times to produce SEVEN offspring.) They should tie her tubes while she’s in prison. That woman’s womb has unleashed some craziness upon the world.
With the amount of media attention this has been getting, this is sure to be the trial of the century. Get your popcorn at the ready – it’s gonna be a good one!
Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our first hater
I got my first bit of hateration on here the other day and frankly, I feel like I have arrived. I wrote a piece about Chavs a while back and it gets a crazy amount of hits on this here blog. Well, I seem to have upset someone with my stereotypical view of the Chav. This person decided to leave their two cents, in the form of a comment, on that post recently. It read:
not bein funny but not all chavs get drunk and dont finish skl.
im a chav and proud of it but i do well at skl in fct i get mainly a’s and b’s and i dont get drunk.chavs get attacked 4 being sterotypical and having a mouth but ur being sterotypical now its lyk not all chavs r lyk dat its a handful who give da rest a bad name lyk in anythink blud
Oh my poor little Chav lamb. It boggles my mind how being a Chav has become something one boasts about or is proud of, but I admire your whole hearted acceptance of who you are. I have a couple of gripes with your comment though.
Firstly, I have to call you out on your stellar academic record. As and Bs? Really? Not with that grammar, sweetheart. I had to re-read your comment a few times just to fathom what the hell you were talking about (and I’m still not all the way sure I do, so I’m kinda winging it here).
Secondly, the term ‘Chav’ really only applies to the people I described in my post, who engage in highly offensive behaviour and have no social graces whatsoever. So, you, judging by your description, are not actually a Chav. You are just working class. I understand you probably have a bunch of Chavvy friends and you feel the peer pressure to be like them (hence your hasty claim that you are one), but being a straight up working class individual, with an interest in school (albeit, questionable grammar skills) and no early onset of alcoholism, is much cooler than being a Chav.
And lastly, do they have classes in how to have a sense of humour at your school? If so, you should sign up, pronto.
Monday, April 7th, 2008
Yesterday, the city of London did its best to extinguish the olympic torch on the UK leg of of the quest to get that bitch to China. With all the protests about human rights violations in China, seeing if the torch actually makes it to the destination has become an olympic event in itself.
As west London is my former manor, I take pride in the fact that Ladbroke Grove initiated the crazy. Because it’s the most gangsta of the boroughs, some dude somehow managed to weasel his way through a 50-deep crowd of people and police to attempt to wrestle the torch out of the hands of Blue Peter presenter Konnie Huq. I understand the cause and all, but did he have to tackle the kiddies TV presenter? Not to worry – if things had gone sour, she could have fixed the torch with some sticky back plastic, two bits of cardboard and an egg carton.
Further along the route, two people broke through the barricades, busted out a fire extinguisher (I don’t know about you, but I always keep one stashed in my handbag) and tried to put out the torch that way, but instead, they only seemed to fan the flames of police rage as the boys in blue threw them to the ground and brought out the handcuffs.
It was getting so rowdy they had to switch to a bus for a while, so no one could even see the torch at that point (which I’m sure the throngs of people waiting in the rain to see it were thrilled about). Someone then jumped in front of the bus wielding a ‘Free Tibet’ banner, disrupting the journey yet again. All the interruptions seemed to throw everyone off as the tour went the wrong way down a one way street at one point – what a complete clusterfuck.
More police had to be called in, some protesters were peaceful, others didn’t stop making running jumps to douse the flame. They never did manage to extinguish it, but it was some great entertainment watching them try. Keep it gangsta, London.