I'm the doctor!

I was roused from my internet stupor Saturday afternoon by the following text message* from our neighbors K and the OGD (Other Good Doctor): 

"Hey, our friends we were supposed to see tonight were at a mansion party last night and aren't up for anything, so now we've got all this food and wine and only you, me and [the OGD] to eat/drink it."

I can't say that I found anything to complain about in her misfortune.  I have never turned down a challenge involving excessive food and drink, and in this case, the fewer the merrier (er, drunker); plus, plans for Saturday night!  Awesome.

I realized it was already 2:30 and hopped on the DART down to Dun Laoghaire (pronouned Dun Leary, silly Irish language) to catch a puppet show I had been reading about at what seems to be the only puppet theatre in the area.  I was pretty excited about it, imagining Bread and Puppet-/In the Heart of the Beast-style antics.  I had read about the founder and lead artist of the Lambert Puppet Theatre and he seemed like an interesting guy.  They had staged puppet adaptations of Oscar Wilde!

The place was flooded with kids.  I was the only one there without a small brood in tow; in fact, I was the only one there solo.  I tried to exude Artist! as an explanation of my presence to the surrounding families, but I think Weirdo! was the more probable read.  When Lambert himself came out and started an Abbott and Costello-style routine with a stuffed dog, I knew I was at the wrong show.  The kid behind me (two, too young) was kicking, and the kid next to me (ditto, ditto) was covering what kid one couldn't hit from the side.  I stuck it out for the Billy Goats Gruff (just ask me to sing the Trip, Trop song!), but skipped out at intermission, missing out on the Three (Tree! - Irish) Little Pigs.  So, I kind of accidentally found myself at a show for preschoolers, but I did pick up a pamphlet on the International Puppet Festival - Ireland 2009.  The brochure looks sweet--acts from Russia, Spain, the Czech Republic, France and Italy--and the festival is much more in line with what I was looking for.  One of them in a Spanish puppet adaptation of The Miser, only "it is no longer money that everyone covets, but water."  The puppets are made out of faucets and stuff!  I'll definitely be there for that one.

Free of the tots, I hopped back on the DART and headed home, then across the courtyard towards the promise of wine and company.  What I got was champagne (fancy), cheese (French), wine (check), dinner (penne bolognese), more wine (check, check), drunk (duh), a TV (more later) and a rousing game of Operation.  Yeah, this one.

Doctors love money!

Predictably and (hopefully) due to my level of inebriation, I completely failed.  The OGD was ridiculously good.  Apparently there's something about being a real doctor (dexterity, nimble fingers, concentration under pressure) that carries over to extracting ice cream cones, pencils and butterflies from a red-nosed, buzzing man.  K also kicked my butt.  I can only presume this is because she owns the game and (therefore) practices constantly.  I got the wrench-- $100, a poor showing.

A second game was vetoed (that final butterfly really took it out of all of us), and we all piled onto the fold-out couch to watch Spinal Tap, which I barely managed to stay awake for.  It was 11pm.  I thought about pulling a similar stunt as earlier in the day and skipping out half-way through, but a combination of pure laziness and pride (bruised by my recent defeat) kept me glued to the couch and my eyes (mostly) open.  Plus I wanted the OGD to carry over the promised extra TV (again, pure laziness), and I thought there would be a higher chance of that happening if I stuck it out.  The movie ended and the OGD's proposal of an outing was mutually shot down by the women; just the same, he did bring over the TV (which is sitting on a chair, untouched and unplugged), for which I was grateful.  

Sunday was a bit quieter (a little more hung-over-er) with the GD arriving home from work in the a.m.  Apparently my drunk dial(s) had not been too disruptive, but I did effectively get the Operation jingle stuck in his head all night (I did not sing it, he just made the association).  At least it was thematically appropriate.

In other news, I continue to be under-worked and under-paid.  I have some rehearsals starting up next week (I'm and extra!), at which point I'll just be regular-worked and under- not paid.  In the meantime,  I'm thinking I should buy Don't Break The Ice, practice at least an hour a day and then invite K and the OGD over for dinner.  Best to have some wine on hand, as well.

*I accidentally deleted the original message; this is a close approximation.

Ew, gross

Some things are delicious, but should not be made available in canned form. Like this*:

Mushrooms. Blech.

This reminds me of when I used to go to Kindercare† and they made us eat all our peas before we were allowed to go play, only they were peas from a can and I seriously had to suppress my gag reflex every day forever that I ate lunch there. Canned peas are not the right color and I'm pretty sure stored in some kind of preservative syrup to make them not only last longer but be swallowed more easily by babies and the elderly. Gross. Mush. Gross.


*From my roommate's shelf in the food cupboard. Silly Germans.

†We switched to Kindercare after the assholes at La Petite did mean things like not let my sister give me a hug when I got there after school. And then yelled at her when she cried. This event seriously influenced me when I worked with kindergarteners last year. I always let them hug their siblings in the hall or the cafeteria, and tellingly, this was not an uncommon request. This has been a long side note.

The one that almost got away

... or, you know, almost got out of meeting me.

So, the running joke on Saturday night with Billy was that John (his brother) did not exist. I met up with Billy, and he was all like, 'Oh, John says he's really sorry he can't come out, but he hurt his back and he hasn't been off the couch in four days.' Uh huh, likely story. Anyhow, in order to perpetuate this myth, I totally forgot to take any pictures of John or his awesome wife, Mei, when I met them on Monday night. Whoops!

To make up for it, I'm going to say some really nice things about them both, and then plug John's record label. I met John at the record shop where he works in the Islington area of London, a cool neighborhood. It was pouring rain, and I got off the bus (unknowingly) way earlier than I needed to, so I was pretty much drenched when I got there. John was, in fact, walking with a limp (due to a pinched nerve in his back), so I had to admit that a. he existed, and b. he was injured.

We walked to a nearby pub where we met up with his wife. Again, great conversation, again, mostly about music. We had several rounds of beer, some pizzas, and increasingly enthusiastic (slash inebriated) discussions. Mei took off, and I was thinking I should probably go, too, so I bought us one last round. But then John offered one last, last round, and I couldn't say no. I was having too much fun. I had a very pleasant(ly tipsy) bus ride home.

So here's the deal, John is so cool that he has his own record label, Here And Now Recordings, and you should definitely check it out. So, download his newest release for FREE (the best price), listen to other songs released on the label, and if you like it, buy some shit and tell other people about it. This is good stuff, people. Have a listen.

I did get to meet John and Billy's parents on Tuesday, as well (their dad is my mom's cousin, so I think that makes him my first cousin, once removed). We had a lovely lunch in a pub, where I ate my first delicious meat pie! Colin, my mom's cousin, expressed severe regret when I said that I liked Indian food, as apparently that would have been his first choice. I had pretty much eaten Indian food for every other meal in London, though (that is so the opposite of a complaint), so I was fine with a more English meal. Plus why would I not want a pastry full of meat and gravy on top of mashed potatoes? Billy came, too. He had just woken up.

Oh fer cute.

My mom's other cousin, Judy, and her husband, Andy, graciously put me up in Leamington Spa for three nights, which was awesome. A full size mattress on the floor was quite a luxury after several nights of hostels. I also got to see my Great Aunt Pat (Judy's mom) again, as she was staying with them (in the real spare room) while I was there.

Anyhow, my eyes are going to fall out of my head if I spent any more minutes (or hours) in front of the computer screen, so I need to go find something else to stare at for a while. Like a book. Or Jemaine on my Flight of the Conchords poster. Or Bret when I get tired of looking at Jemaine. Thanks for the poster, Dad.

We are family!

I got all my sisters second cousins with me!

Doesn't quite have the same ring to it... but it's true, I met all two of my second cousins while I was in London, and it was ridiculously fun. Like, probably against many odds, I think I would be friends with these people in real life. By that I mean, I've been to family reunion(s) before where I've been forcibly subjected to hugs from people I've never met before, and I'm like, 'Why do I have to hug you? I don't even know you.' But I did it, because they are my family and I'm supposed to hug them. This was not like that.

Billy and I met for drinks on the Saturday that I got into London. We both brought reinforcements in case one (or both) of us turned out to be awkward slash creepy. So, with assistant friends A and M in tow, I set out from the hostel to meet the boys near Oxford Circus. We were staying quite a ways out of central London, on the District Line which (we later learned) is pretty much one of the shittiest, more unreliable tubes lines ever. We waited for a train. And we waited. About 17 trains went by on the other side of the track towards Cockfosters. We cursed Cockfosters.

Cockfosters! Why! (Implied fist shaking)

Finally, finally, a train came, but it wasn't even going all the way to our stop. So we had to get off and wait again. Ridiculous. We did (about an hour and a half later) make it, at which I called Billy for directions to the pub from the station. This was our conversation (summarized):

Billy: Where are you?

Anne: Just leaving the station, okay, I can see TopShop.

B: TopShop? Okay, walk away from TopShop, and away from the Station.*

A: Okay, wait, away from the TopShop. I see an H&M, too. Should I walk away from the Station between TopShop and H&M?

B: Um, walk away from both TopShop and H&M.

Needless to say, we were not going the right way, and this conversation was, in fact, spread over two or three conversations. We decided to just meet in front of TopShop, which was good, because we were very much walking away from the pub where we were supposed to meet. Luckily, just getting there turned out to be the most painful part of the evening.†

It was great. We talked about music, the arts, nerdy stuff. Billy is a drummer/drum teacher (I guess there must be some kind of artistic gene in the family), and I think there were only one or two awkward pauses in conversation, initially. We had to leave the first pub around 11... because they were closing! Wtf, London? Gruff (Billy's friend) got us into this 'member's only' club thing. We got into the upstairs, which was a pretty small, crowded room, and all of the seats were taken, but they were playing some pretty awesome music. At this point, A and M were fading fast, so we just had one drink, and headed out.

Then we faced the catastrophe of getting home, which I described in a previous post. But look how happy Billy, Gruff and I are while we're waiting!

L to R: Gruff (real name Gareth), me, Billy

It was a ridiculous wait, ending in a bus ride and taxi home, and I was forced to exhibit my limited break dancing skills as entertainment. I thought I was being all clever when I said, 'I can't do anything on the sidewalk without cardboard.' But then some shopowner had put out a big box of cardboard right behind us. So I had to.

This entry has gotten really long. I'm going to start another one to talk about second cousin numero dos, technically brother numero uno.


*He did give some specific street names at this point, but I don't remember what they were, and it proved useless in any case. Why? Because you can walk in, like, 8 different directions "away from the station."

†Save, trying to get home after midnight on a Saturday night in London.

I had plans last night!

Last week, I had my work coordinator leave my phone number with the high school so that the language assistants there could (if they wished) call me and be my friends. You see, I'm the only primary school language assistant in my town, and although my host family is great, I'm a bit isolated from the world of 20-somethings. Mostly because I don't think it exists in Flers. Anyhow, I had heard tell of these mysterious "other native language assistants" who worked at the "middle schools" and "high schools," so I decided to investigate. And by investigate, I mean ask my coordinator if they truly existed, and if so, how I might contact them. And thus we arrive at yesterday afternoon, when I was trying to leave the house again to (once again) set off in search of the elusive hip hop class and its potential promise of registration.

The phone rang. My host mother answered and you cannot imaging my surprise when she said it was for me. It was Nela (though I didn't know it then), the Spanish language assistant at the high school, and she invited me to dinner at her apartment, with all of the other assistants. It sounded too good to be true! Would I really meet four new people, all in one night, all vaguely my age and doing the same kind of work I was? Oh, life was too sweet. I hurried off to find my dance class, which I did (eventually) and communicated (after a long wait) with the teacher, who told me to come the following Wednesday. I could totally do that.

That evening, Nela and Andrea (German) came and picked me up in a car! And to think, all this time I've been walking everywhere! We got to their apartment, right by the high school, just as Samantha (British) and Hannah (German) were arriving on foot. We said our hellos and went inside. It was kind of ridiculous how easily we all fell into conversation with each other, and in French, which of course is none of our native language. We ate dinner and drank cider and griped about our problems with the program and laughed about the errors that students made in each of our respective languages. It was absurdly fun. Just look at us! We're already taking pictures of all of us together with one person whose in the photo holding the camera!* We're so adorable and diverse! BFFs, obvs.

Around 11:30, we decided to go out and see if anyone was still awake in Flers, though we highly doubted it. The streets were, as we had imagined, pretty empty, although we did get verbally accosted by some gentlemen outside a bar that we decided not to got into (but whyever not?), and Andrea suggested that we all insult them in a different language. Unfortuanately, I was the only one who followed through.

We came to one bar that seemed pretty happenin', but decided that the animal-print bench seating was not so much our style. The bar was called the Why Not? Like, literally, no translation. We could think of a few good reasons. So we carried on, undiscouraged, and found La Taverne, a much better scene (in my opinion), with normal tables and plenty of room in back. And thus commenced my first night out in Flers. It didn't last long, as we had already been eating and talking and drinking for several hours, but it was important. It meant something. Plus, the girls who ordered cocktails totally got glow-in-the-dark sticks in their drinks. We only stayed for one round, and then made our way home. As I was being accompanied to my house by my four new friends, we came across this little treasure:

Translation: PRIVATE CLUB, The clientele who come to this club must

be accompanied by a person of the opposite sex.

This sign was outside of (what seems to be) the only discoteque in Flers. I'm assuming they made this rule because they were getting too many desperate male clientele, but come on! Really? Andrea made the point that it would have been no problem for us to go back to the bar find some people of the opposite sex to accompany us, but why would we want to? Needless to say, the adventure of the Discoteque lies ahead, but I went to sleep last night with visions of friendship bracelets and toenail painting dancing through my head.

*We actually took five of these pictures. One for each of our cameras.