Slightly Cracked

Public Transport

2009-09-29T11:47:00.003+02:00

Recently (um, yesterday) the young ones and I started taking public transport to school.

At the beginning of the school year, I (read: my husband) switched them to a different school. A school that is about 3 times the amount of driving time as the old school. Of course, Thrifty doesn't have to drive them. It's quite difficult to fit two small children on the back of a motorcycle.

So, after a bout of road rage where I attempted to run down a woman in a mini van who cut me off and then turned left from the right lane (where the children learned more words for their Chris Rock routine the next time they are around English speakers), I decided that for the sake of my sanity and our lives, I should quit driving.

It also ~~makes drinking in the morning much more acceptable~~ alleviates my hippie guilt.

However, there is only one bus line that leaves from where I live. And unfortunately, the route that it should take is under construction, so it's a long, jerky, bumpy ride that way.

So I do what anyone would do. I drive to a nice large ~~grocery store~~ parking lot that's in a better position than I am, park, and walk across the lot with my shopping bag to a better transport line.

And feel only slightly guilty about it.

I'm not sure if the lack of hippie guilt makes up for the "parking lot" guilt.

But it's working at keeping me somewhat sane. I have not yet tried to run over anyone who cut me off on the tram.

Although, it would be awesome to be a tram driver. Maybe I should look into that. Then I could run people down at will.

On second thought, they probably require good Polish skills. And they probably frown upon morning drinking.

Wild Pigs in Clothes

2009-09-23T12:20:00.004+02:00

In the past two weeks, I've had an odd experience.

Turns out people don't know I have a daughter.

Yesterday, at my kids' school, I was chatting with a woman I've known for all of two weeks. I complimented her daughter's outfit.

She said, "Oh, you know how you go into a store and go a little crazy and buy everything that matches?"

I said, "Yes, I used to do that with my daughter. That doesn't happen anymore. Now it's 'Mom, buy me skinny jeans.' and 'Isn't this shirt CUTE?' while she throws it over my arm and goes looking for more."

"I'm sorry, did you say 'daughter'?" She says this as though I have just mentioned that I have a wild pig that I used to dress in matching clothes, but now insists that I buy it skinny jeans.

"Yes."

"Daugh - ter?"

"Yes."

"How did I not know you have a daughter?"

"Well, um. She's not usually with me. She's usually in school when I see you." Except for that time when we met at the Hard Rock and I had Tigger and her friend as well as all my boys. But I'm sure you didn't notice her then. She didn't look at all like a wild pig.

"How did I not know you have a daughter?"

"Um, I don't know." But it's not as though we've been married for two years. I met you TWO WEEKS ago.

"Does she go to school here?"

"Yes. Down that hall right there."

"How did I not know you had a daughter?"

I shrugged.

(This was WAY funnier in my head.)

I'm back! (Sort of)

2009-09-12T12:03:00.003+02:00

I promised some of my lovely Facebook blogging friends that I would have a post up this week. "Write, Monkey! Write!"

I'm still at a loss for words - not because anything bad has happened, but mostly because I think I just ran out of funny. Of course, practice actually helps to keep the words rolling and I'm well out of practice now.

So, for now, I leave you with this:

Tigger saw this on the shelf at our local grocery store (which remains ~~anonymous~~ - HAHA!)

She said, "What in the heck is this? Carrots and corn in a jar? Who thought this was a good idea?"

Then she turned it around.

"OOh! It's a little surprise! When you turn it around it's not JUST carrots and corn. It's PEAS, carrots and corn! How exciting!"

See, I told you I was all out of funny.

Hmmm

2009-07-11T08:50:00.002+02:00

I only realized this week that it had been 2 weeks since I last posted. Time kind of spun out of control for me.

Pooh was in the hospital last week. It's nothing serious and he's fine now, but that ate my week and I didn't even realize that the week had passed.

So I owe some new posts. Or something. But I'm just not feeling up to it right now. So I may be back. Or I may not. But I just wanted to let you all know that I am still alive.

Passive-Aggressive Much?

2009-06-24T19:40:00.007+02:00

In honor of wordless Wednesday (and because I have little to say but I want my last post to fall off...) here are some fabulous PANs (and their translations) from Warsaw.

This one hangs on the wall of our favorite pizza place:

It reads "True Italian pizza is eaten without added sauce." Meaning, "Hell no! We will not give you ketchup for your pizza!"

This one takes a little more backstory. This car:

has been sitting at the end of my street for several years now. We use it as a landmark to tell people where to turn. Several complaints have been lodged with the homeowner's association, yet they always claim that the person who has parked this car here has a legal right to park it here and refuses to move it.

Someone (not us, I swear!) left this note taped to the window:

It reads

"THIS IS NOT A LANDFILL!
PLEASE MOVE THIS PIECE OF TRASH!
-THE PEOPLE THAT LIVE HERE"

The sign was removed the next day. And then someone busted out the window.

The Road (Rage) Goes on Forever

2009-06-22T07:32:00.002+02:00

Many expats who live in or have visited Poland will tell you that Poles are some of the most obnoxious drivers ever. I hesitate to say 'bad' because in reality they are some of the best drivers I have seen. They are always expecting someone to do something stupid.

Yesterday, I was leaving my neighborhood to go collect my children from school. At the intersection of the exit from my neighborhood and the main road, there is a traffic light and 3 traffic lanes. One is for the people coming into the neighborhood, one is for turning right, and the one in the middle is for turning left. All clearly marked.

I was turning right, so I pulled way up and waited for the traffic to clear enough for me to go when, just at the point where I was clear, another car came up behind me, whipped around me in the left lane and turned right. I almost hit him.

I honked my horn, sped up, pulled up beside him, honked again, and flipped him off.

He swung in behind me and tailed me all the way to the next "town".

In hindsight, I may have overreacted.

I should have hit him.

Yeah. They Did.

2009-06-17T17:38:00.000+02:00

Like many schools, my kids' school publishes a yearbook.

And, like many schools, my kids' school has the word 'school' in its name.

Unfortunately, the publisher never went to school.

If Hell Has Chinese Food

2009-06-15T07:16:00.000+02:00

Hubby and I usually go out for date night on Friday night. This Friday night our babysitter (Tigger) was out for her own date night and we were unable to go. She was home on Saturday, so we went out to this new Chinese restaurant that opened just down the road from our house.

My husband's alter ego is a reviewer of all things expa t (at least all things expat related to Warsaw). Last week's review was in regard to the rudeness we experienced at this restaurant. We gave them another chance, and this time the staff was much more pleasant. The management most likely told them not to be rude to the customers.

Instead we should poison them.

We started by ordering a large beer (for him) and a glass of red wine (for me). Our waitress said, "We don't have red wine."

I stared at her. "I understand all of those words individually, but together they do not make sense."

Then, Dylan impaled himself with a chopstick.

After we pulled the splinters out and stopped the bleeding, the first dish arrived. Spring rolls. They were quite small. Dylan and I tried to be very professional (we're reviewing the food after all). "It's a little too salty. There's more than a hint of garlic."

The next dish was Kung Pao chicken. This one was pretty oily and just not incredibly tasty. Again, far too much salt was used.

The third dish was not the one we ordered, so we sent it back. In order to punish us, they returned with a dish that after two bites made my tongue go completely numb.

The waitress returned and asked if we would like dessert. I said, "The food you have brought us has gotten progressively worse. What will you bring next, a steaming pile of dog shit?"

To which my husband replied, "Is that an option? I'd like to trade this dish in for that!"

We tipped the waitress well (she'll need it for when the health department shuts them down) and left the building like it was a nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

The Meaning of Life, It Could Very Well Be Monty Python's

2009-06-12T16:17:00.002+02:00

I've been having a difficult time coming up with material lately. Not only have I been busy with the end of the school year and all that encompasses, but I've not been feeling the funny. Instead, unlike me, I've been feeling really contemplative.

The end of the school year often strikes me this way. In our lifestyle, the end of the school year signals an influx of new people trickling in throughout the summer as well as the loss of old friends who go on to ~~better~~ other places. It's the loss of the old friends that causes more contemplation than the discovery of new friends, but they are all on the same continuum.

What makes people want to leave their home country and live in a foreign place? What makes them begin to treat friends as though they are family and to rely on strangers in ways sometimes more than they would relatives? What makes a familiar accent the most beautiful in the world?

In addition to all of these gains and losses, I'm also completing my bachelor's degree after 16 years. This has left me more than a little contemplative in and of itself. Because of the above lifestyle, a bachelor's degree does me very little good. Here, in my very last class (which fittingly is called "Cyberpsychology: An Introduction to Human-Computer Interaction"), I don't know why it was such a big deal to me to get this degree. It does me absolutely no good. And finally, I completely understand all of those "trailing spouses" (the term used by the U.S. Department of State) who left their careers to follow their spouses to new and exotic locations that many of them absolutely hate. Now, I know that I earned the degree for me. For my peace of mind and for my own personal satisfaction. But as far as being able to gain employment with it...nada. The jobs that are available to me are of the administrative assistant type and ones that I could hold whether or not I had spent half my life and much of my money getting a useless degree in psychology.

Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of myself. It took me a very long time to get that degree and I had a lot of setbacks during that time (I'll have to reserve the complete story of college education for another post. I can shorten it to this: I was one of the ones in high school who was put into the "she's a very smart cookie, but unfortunately her parents can't or won't pay for her education, so she'll be flipping burgers for the rest of her life. No need to invest any time in helping this one." category).

I'm just questioning. Contemplating. Wondering what it's all about.

And where to go from here.

No Stinkin' Badges

2009-06-09T09:36:00.000+02:00

I've spent the last few days wallowing in self pity. I finally got the call about that job that I applied (and interviewed for) OH SO LONG AGO, and *huge surprise this*, I didn't get it.

Instead, they let me know that they hoped they could keep me on the list for temporary help.

I said, "F*ck you." Well, at least I did in my head. I do actually have to see these people on a daily basis, even though I didn't get the job.

Really I said, "No. I have children. I can't drop everything at a moment's notice for temporary employment. But thanks."

But all this wallowing has got me thinking. Why do I really want a paying job? What is the point really?

It's all about badges. Because despite the Mexican bandits of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre insistence that they don't need "no badges", most people in my life have them.

Don't get me wrong; I have badges. Mine are just the color coded lowest of the low - meaning that I am of no importance whatsoever. Which might be worse than having no badges at all.

Perhaps I should become a Mexican bandit.

I am so far behind in so many things. I owe my two children, whose birthday fall within two days of one another, their birthday posts. So, birthday posts forthcoming.

The Saddest Thing

2009-06-03T11:11:00.002+02:00

I am currently taking a class called Writing for Publication. I'm taking it as an elective part of my degree completion because I love to write.

I know, you never had any idea.

Last week, we were assigned to teams. Aside from the fact that my teammate never actually posted the paper I was supposed to edit, everything went well.

Then yesterday, our instructor sent me his paper. Something ridiculous about how she couldn't really give me a grade if I didn't actually do any work.

Here's an excerpt from his paper (I would have posted the whole thing, but I think you would have wanted to shoot yourself in the head after reading it. At least that's what I wanted to do.):

30,000 children needlessly died today! Annually speaking 11,000,000 children needlessly and pointlessly die each year from the most minor of symptoms. The worst part about this fact is that these “children” are aged 5 and under, so the number is much, much higher. Children in “developing nation”, as if they are just becoming civilized, are getting the short straw from the medical companies. It’s amazing how medicine that is used to help and even save lives, are being greatly misused to created so much misery. It’s incredibly ironic. Children in third world nations are dying from not the diseases but of the world apathetic feelings towards them. Ask the average western or westernized citizen how many people die a year from a common cold. A common cold! And they’d probably look at you with a perplexed look as if they were thinking, “who in the world dies from a common cold.” What a person in a “first world nation” or “advanced nation” considers a minor cold is a disease to children in a “developing nations”. But why is this?

You want to know the saddest part about all of this? He's a student in the degree program for professional writing.

And I am not.

Allergies, Allergies

2009-06-02T09:58:00.002+02:00

I'll apologize for my lack of posts, but many of you are subscribers and probably don't notice too much when I'm missing. I just haven't popped up in a few days.

Anyway, this is day 8 of the worst cold ever. I woke up and told Dylan that my neck is stiff and I'm pretty sure I have meningitis. Because I'm a little bit of a hypochondriac.

It's also been raining for, oh, about 8 days.

Today, on my way home from dropping off the boys at school, I thought "You know, I feel an awful lot like I always did in Houston when I was a kid."

And then, in one big "DUH!" moment, I realized I have allergies.

Yeah. My 8 day long cold, is just allergies. From the rain, of all things.

So, amusingly, my two children who suffer from horrible hay fever feel fabulous right now.

And I feel like there's a cloud inside my brain.

Which explains this post entirely.

I'm not as entertaining as these guys. Which is kind of sad.

Too Much Information

2009-05-26T11:37:00.005+02:00

Pooh goes to a Montessori preschool. The director, who is also his teacher, is a very interesting character.

I've never really talked about her here, but she's hilariously funny without trying to be. I'm always pretty paranoid that people I know are going to find my blog, so I often try not to talk about people I know in real life. Of course, sometimes I get a little sideways and tell such people that I write this blog.

Anyway, because I'm usually not drunk at the preschool, I've never told the director about my blog.

So now she's fair game.

Last week, she told me that Pooh's favorite book was this one:

And Pooh's favorite part of the book is this one:

So Pooh showed me the book and I said, "Yes, that's the way you were born, but sometimes the doctor has to cut the mom's belly and take the baby out that way."

And the director said "Now, that's too much information."

THAT'S too much information? When exactly does it become too much information? I suppose it's when we start talking about surgery.

Update: This is the page about how babies get there in the first place:

My particular favorite is the man and woman lying in bed apparently thinking love thoughts.

Rhymes With Duck Race

2009-05-21T20:57:00.003+02:00

I had totally intended to have this post up on Wednesday, but my internet went out on Tuesday. Two days without internet - I nearly died. Today, when I reached rock bottom, I could be found at my children's school trying desperately to hack into their WiFi network; which, despite my mad skillz, I was unable to achieve.

I often read stories, or in the case of my sister in law, HEAR stories about children who say inappropriate things in inappropriate situations. They do this because they are children. It's what they do. They haven't yet learned tact. They will learn, although some unfortunate souls never do (is it unfortunate for them or for those of us who have to deal with them? Like the lady at a party the other day who turned to me and loudly announced that another woman at the party had "no tits").

Me? I am blessed by living in a country where 99% of the people speak a language different than the one my family speaks. Therefore, I am usually spared most of those mortifingly embarrassing moments. However, my Polish is horrifically embarrassing, so there's no need to feel like I'm missing out on embarrassment.

Anyway, a few days ago, I was walking through one of the largest malls in Warsaw, while Piglet and Pooh Bear were entertaining each other with the rhyming game. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the rhyming game it's a maddening game where a word or phrase is repeated incessantly and then, because their mother/father/nanny/sister has not been driven to the brink of insanity yet, they think of words or phrases that rhyme with it.

That particular day's phrase was "duck race". I think they came up with it because they are 4 and 6.

So, there are many, many interesting things that rhyme with duck race, but I think you know which one caught my attention.

So I stepped in.

"Please don't say that word. It's not a nice word in English." And yes, I really do specifiy which language when speaking to my children.

Pooh: "What's not a nice word? F*ck face?"

Me: "Yes. That word is not nice."

Pooh: "So I shouldn't say f*ck face?"

Me: "No."

Pooh: "Why is f*ck face not a nice word?"

At that point I was fairly convinced that he was just screwing with me. And he's 4!

Me: "I don't know exactly. Someone a long time ago decided it was a bad word. It's culturally accepted to be a bad word and therefore we shouldn't say it."

Pooh: "Okay. I'll stop saying f*ck face."

Yes. I am truly, truly grateful that most people did not understand a gosh darned word that kid said.

Some Days

2009-05-19T12:30:00.003+02:00

You know how some days start out like normal?

You're running late, like normal.

Your four year old erupts into a hysterical crying fit because you "let his snail go live outside" - when in reality it was dead and you tossed it into the backyard. You wonder why you bothered to spare him the truth.

You get the kids in the car, give the remaining kids the list of things they have to do before and after school and go off to the preschool drop off.

You get to preschool and the director says, "Here's our information. Build us a website. By tomorrow. Go!"

And then you're like, "How in the name of all things that are good and pure, did I manage to get myself into this mess? Today was so normal!"

Then you turn up 4 hours later with a pretty awesome looking website and she says, "Well, that's good."

And you're like, "Seriously? That's it? Do you know how amazing I am? Especially since I haven't worked in this field in 10 years! And everything I've learned has been through hobbies!"

So here it is:

I expect more praise from y'all.

And it's not online yet because we're having server issues.

A Bad, Bad Thing

2009-05-17T07:39:00.002+02:00

I've been a bad blogger. Trying to make the rounds, but back when I took my break I told myself that I would only read blogs from my iPhone. That way, it was when I was waiting to get my hair cut, or waiting in the doctor's office, or waiting at the car service center (where I like to hang out every Tuesday) and would not be taking up my whole day.

Then my iPhone decided that it hates me. Which is so sad, because I really loved it.

I read your blogs, click the link to original post, TYPE MY COMMENT USING ONLY MY THUMBS, and then the darn phone freezes up on me and LOSES my comment AND Google Reader then resets so I lose the original post too!

It's a conspiracy!

But yesterday, I typed up a whole post using only my thumbs. And guess what.

RESET!

Lost the post.

iPhone hates me.

Pimp My Ride - Polish Style

2009-05-12T07:44:00.000+02:00

"Why Yes, city bus WAS the look I was going for."

What Happens When You Give a 4 Year Old Rum Cake

2009-05-10T21:50:00.002+02:00

Yes, he's licking the plate.

And I didn't find out it was rum cake until after he asked for his third slice.

He slept REALLY well that night.

Whatever You Like

2009-05-07T07:32:00.001+02:00

Today is hubby's and my 15th wedding anniversary. We were married on his birthday. Today, he says that if he were to do it again, he would absolutely NOT get married on his birthday.

But we did, so he can suck it.

Anyway, our first several years of marriage were exactly like this:

I laugh every time I hear this song. Yep, totally my life. Except that my husband was assistant manager at Blockbuster, and manager of Radio Shack.

And now we're diplomats.

And we order sushi.

But we'll always have that time. When it was "all about the Washingtons".

And I think that's what sticks us together.

Well, that and we love each other passionately.

Yeah, that could be it too.

And Another Thing...

2009-05-06T09:44:00.000+02:00

Anyone who lives in Poland has had the experience of getting to the cash register in a store and having the item not ring up. At that point the cashier becomes Obi Won Kenobi. "This is not the item you're looking for". And she puts it into the pile on the side of her register, where all good items go to die.

Usually I take it as a sign that I wasn't supposed to get whatever it was anyway. I've been known to buy things without any idea what they were used for. For instance, I've bought cream that makes me look...um...WAY darker than my natural skin tone (here in Poland of all places) thinking it was a type of moisturizer (I don't actually intend to write about moisturizer obsessively. If you're as interested in moisturizer as I apparently am, you can read more here and here).

This time though, the store had caught on that the item wasn't ringing up and had written the price on the side of the box. The item didn't scan. The cashier looked at me and waved her fingers. I pointed to the price "Tam. (There)." She sighed heavily and tried scanning it again.

"Sześć dziesiąt dziewięć dziewięćdziesiąt dziewięć (69.99)" and I again pointed at where the price was written. She sighed again and called for assistance.

Assistance never showed up. She rang my whole order and nothing. She waved her fingers at me and I went on my way.

It was not the item I was looking for.

A Typical Long Weekend

2009-05-04T13:22:00.003+02:00

This weekend was a long weekend. See, 1 May is Labor day in much of Europe. And then the Poles celebrate Constitution Day on 3 May (I'm still pretty sure that Constitution Day was an elaborate plot. Independence Day is 11 November, which is a really sucky time to have BBQs and sit outside drinking beer, so they waited to sign their Constitution until Spring/Summer so that they could have a nice day to have those BBQs and beer drinking. Brilliant plan if you ask me.)

So we tried to go to a Renaissance festival, had a birthday party to attend, went to the pool and abducted some children*.

Perfectly normal weekend.

*I can't tell the abduction story as it involved my husband and this week is his birthday. This is my birthday present to him.

But next week, it's on. ;)

Probably Shouldn't Confuse This With Your Moisturizer

2009-05-01T21:13:00.001+02:00

Especially not just before a job interview.

Gym? This Is a Gym?

2009-04-29T15:40:00.001+02:00

About 4 months ago I posted about my gym, and how I loved it so.

And as with many love affairs, things have started to grow...annoying.

I'm happy. Mostly. There are getting to be far too many people there. They have only 4 ellipticals and apparently every mom out there loves the things. Which means I spend a lot of time waiting.

But I can deal with waiting.

Today, one of the "trainers" came up to me, while I was on the treadmill, and asked me if I would like to try the new Garmin takes-your-pulse-rate-tells-you-how-long-you've-been-running-lets-you-know-if-you're ovulating-makes-your-appointments-for-you watch. I told her, "No, thanks, I've got an iPhone. It's what I was listening to when you interrupted me. And, um, last I looked this was a gym, not a sports store."

When I went to the weight room, the president of the PTO from my kids' school was there. She used to be a world famous violinist, speaks fluent Italian, was an English teacher, got her PhD and was a lawyer. She can do everything. Except (deleted because my ~~husband~~ editor thought it was too harsh - but it was good, SO good)...change her own ink cartridges.

Anyway, I sat down at the lat pulldown machine and she came over and said, "As a former bodybuilding teacher, I just wanted to let you know that you're doing this wrong. You need to just almost touch your chest. And use more weight. You want to be able to do a pull up, right?"

Yeah, whatever.

Just after she interrupted me a "trainer" came to me and motioned for me to take off my headphones. As I was in the middle of the reps, I was reluctant, but did so because I'm a slave to authority. She said, "Can I help you?"

I stared at her and said, "No." I mean, did I ask for your help? Did I in anyway indicate that I wanted your help?

She then said, "I just wanted to let you know that you're doing this wrong. This exercise is designed for men who want to build their muscle in their back. You, as a woman, should be pulling the bar behind your head. You don't want to build muscle because you're a woman."

WTF? Um, isn't this a gym? Don't people come here to build muscle? If I didn't want to build muscle would I be in the weight room? And on top of that your advice, AS A TRAINER, is that people should strain their necks?

I've always been a bigger muscled girl. I work hard at it. I've probably been "building muscle" since my "trainer" was in diapers. But never, ever even on my absolute best day would anyone have mistaken me for a man because of my "big" muscles.

Yeah, the love affair may be coming to an end.

Right and Wrong

2009-04-27T10:48:00.006+02:00

I took the photos with my iPhone, so they are not the best. And for some reason when I upload them to blogger, they will not turn the correct way. No matter what I do. Just to let you know that I'm not just trying to mess your vision. My iPhone is.

I often tell my Confirmation class that there are few right and wrong answers when it comes to religion. You pretty much have to work things out between yourself and God.

Yesterday, their assignment was to create a poster that displayed what they believed the Reign of God to look like. These are what they came up with:

Dana and Chris*, Good.

Laurie and Nathan, Good.

Daniel and Rebecca, "Okay, you remember how I told you there were no right and wrong answers. Yeah. I was wrong. There are some wrong answers. This is a great example."

Click to enlarge

Can you see the people swearing at each other? The knife fight? The bombs? But note how the houses and streets are perfect.

Apparently, Daniel's view of the Reign of God is an episode of Weeds.

*As always, all names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

Job Hunting

2009-04-24T07:00:00.001+02:00

So I had been seriously considering giving up blogging altogether. I felt as though I was spending way too much time attached to the web and not enough time doing "normal" things.

And then my husband bought me this:

For my birthday. And yeah, hell yeah, It's AWESOME!

And then Catsmilk falls into my lap. And I have this. And I can just send it to y'all while I'm standing in the store. And what kind of person would I be if I didn't entertain y'all with it?

So, I took it as a sign. And I'm back.

And...I've applied for a job.

*gasp*

And because I've applied for the job of webmaster, a job I haven't done since 2000 (of course, I haven't had many jobs since then anyway), I've listed my blog as evidence that I actually do know something about the internet and design.

So I prettied up around here. 'Cause new guests are coming. Ones who hold my future.

So don't put your shoes on the sidebar. And make sure you don't type with your mouth full.

Or go ahead. Make yourself comfortable. That's okay too.

And I'll be making the blog rounds, but it's going to take me some time.

My Uncle Owned a Dairy

2009-04-23T12:53:00.001+02:00

How do they get the cats to stay still? A vat of fish?

Spring Break

2009-04-14T09:10:00.002+02:00

We're all on Spring Break right now.

Unfortunately, I don't know when I'll be back.

I've taken some time off lately and have breathed a big sigh of relief. I have not been tied to the computer. I've been able to spend time with my kids. I've been digging in my garden. I've been taking long bike rides.

I miss you all, but I need to take a long break and have a little more outdoor fun.

The sun does this to you when you live in a place with seasons.

I hope to be back soon.

Monsters vs. Hard Rock Cafe

2009-04-09T08:36:00.000+02:00

The crime scene:

Hard Rock Cafe, Prague, Czech Republic, Practice Party - Opening Day

The culprit:

The Missing Link (with a little assistance from Piglet)

The victim:

An innocent bar glass (and some truly terrified bartenders).

The incident:

Friday afternoon, during the practice party for the grand opening at the Hard Rock Prague, the missing link descended on the bar of unsuspecting patrons and bartenders. It appears that he fell (or was pushed) from the 3rd floor balcony where a mother and her 6 year old child were eating the free meal provided by the Hard Rock Cafe. The only casualty was a highball glass, although there was some emotional scarring of the bartenders which may take years of therapy.

The suspect was returned to the custody of his family, where he spent the rest of the day in a backpack so as to not continue to wreak havoc on Prague.

Too bad we couldn't do the same thing with Piglet.

(And when I was jotting notes for this post in the Hard Rock Cafe, Piglet said, "NO! Please don't put this on your blog!" Does that mean I have a problem? Is there a 12 step program?)

There's a Hard Rock in Prague?

2009-04-07T13:19:00.004+02:00

After the train ride, we were supposed to meet up with D at his hotel. Of course, we had to make a small detour into bum town. We really enjoy venturing into the bad side of town when we travel. It helps us to remember the people who are less fortunate than we are.

And we're not so good with directions.

So after a short stop at McDonald's (yes, we have McDonald's here, but we've been engaged in the experiment, so the kids hadn't seen the inside of a McDonald's in 37 days - that's some kind of record) and a stop at Starbucks (yes, it was essential. You must stop at Starbucks when you don't have one in your city* whenever possible. It's like a rule.) we met up with D at his hotel.

D regaled us with quaint stories of his stay in Prague. Did you know that Prague has bad customer service? Who would have known? Except all of us who live in the former Eastern bloc.

We sat at the hotel bar and Dylan asked the bartender if we could sit and have our coffees. He glared at us in typical Polish/Czech fashion and said, "Normally, no."

So we sat anyway.

We then proceeded to sight see. We passed a sign for the Hard Rock Cafe, which thrilled D. Then we went on the long hike up to the castle. Upon arrival, D declared that this doesn't look like a castle.

We then determined that D must come and meet us in Mad King Ludwig's castles. Because real castles don't look like castles.

At lunch time, we thought back to the Hard Rock Cafe and made the hike back down to eat some good ole American food.

To be continued...

*Starbucks Warsaw opens Wednesday!

Night Train

2009-04-06T10:25:00.001+02:00

About once every 6 months, my brother in law rings us and says "I'm going to be in a country near yours this weekend/next week/tomorrow. Just wanted to let you know."

And then we make every possible arrangement to meet him in that country. Because he never has the decency to ring and say "I'm gonna be in Warsaw." That'd just be too easy.

We love you, D;). Even though you don't read my blog.

Anyway, this time he rang and said, "I'm gonna be in Prague." And we said, "Oh, it's Lent."

And then we went anyway. The cheapest route possible. 2nd class night train to Prague on Thursday and then 2nd class night train to Warsaw on Friday. No sleeping in a comfortable hotel. No need for that.

We can rough it.

Dylan and the boys can rough it. I'm pretty, um...rough, if I have to rough it.

Our sleeper compartment. Luxury digs, no?

To be continued...

Sister Dearest

2009-04-01T17:19:00.004+02:00

My little sister's birthday is today.

She's an April Fool.

Although really I think my mother was the April Fool as Amanda was induced (because she was 2 weeks late, so like her:) and the doctors somehow talked my mother into induction on April Fool's Day.

I'm pretty sure our dad does know when her birthday is.

She's the baby. I'm the one sticking out my tongue. 'Cause that's how it is.

Happy Birthday Amanda!

I'm going to be taking a break for a few days. Rest assured that I will be back to reading and writing on Monday at the latest.

Shots of London

2009-03-30T11:16:00.005+02:00

I gave Tigger explicit instructions to take LOADS of photos and sent her with my camera.

It's always interesting to see what other people, particularly your children, see in the world. Here are some of her shots.

This one cracked me up. She's taking Rosetta Stone German right now in order to catch up to her peers so that she can take German 2 next year. She showed me this picture and said, "See this? It's called the Rosetta Stone! Isn't that cool?"

I think she only took this because it's written in English. In fact, I'm pretty sure that most of the pictures of signs were just because they were in English. This fact does not thrill me as much as it did her.

Yeah. Got no clue on this one either. We kind of alternate speaking British English and American English at home, so I don't know what was so thrilling about a lift. We use that word sometimes too.

I love her for this one. She hasn't told me about the pictures yet, but I know this one is for me. This is her way of saying that if we lived in London the chance of me getting hit by a car would be much less. Because not only do they HAVE bike lanes, there's a concrete barrier there. Sweet.

There is also an awesome short video of her friend flipping off the camera and then having a mild freak out when she realized that Pamela was holding her mother's camera.

And of all the souvenirs she could have brought me, she brought me only this:Because she is the greatest daughter in the universe.

And I Actually Purchased It...

2009-03-29T08:00:00.001+02:00

This is Piglet's new shirt.

Do you see the obvious punctuation error? I didn't.

And this isn't a locally bought shirt in a country that doesn't speak English natively (my "Chili & Pepper: Come and be the heat tonight" T-shirt is always good for laughs when I wear it around native English speakers). This was ordered online from Old Navy.

So I gather that hurt belongs to Get...or that there's some new fangled slang that nobody get is hurt. Or maybe Get is hurt.

Poor Get. We should probably get him some snacks.

So She's Gone?

2009-03-27T13:07:00.001+01:00

Tigger, my oldest, went on her very first trip outside of the country by herself. Well, not by herself. I'm not one to send my 14 year old off on a plane all alone.

She's on a school sponsored trip to London.

When you don't fixate on it, you don't realize what a milestone it is.

And it's easy to not fixate on the fact that your "little girl" has grown up, when you're busy fixating on the fact that you have never been to London.

And when she brought home the permission slip I said, "OOH, ooh, ME ME ME! I want to go to London!"

She kept dancing around the house saying "They speak English there!" While I glared at her from the corner.

Yeah, whatever. You go off and see the Old Globe theatre and speak English to all those nice people.

I'll be fine. I'll stay here and creep out the only English speaking people I know by being all weird and silent. And by mentioning my blog in every conversation.

It's probably better that I hang out in a country where I don't speak the language natively. Or fluently.

I can have my conversations with the deli clerk.

"Please Miss. Please 1/2 kilo meat. Turkey. Slicing. Please Miss."

She Simply Has A Little Herb Garden

2009-03-26T13:51:00.001+01:00

So lately, husband has decided that we can't possibly send our little naive, always lived overseas, no idea how the world works, daughter "off" to college.

She's almost 15. I wasn't really planning to send her off until she had at least graduated from high school.

I guess he had other ideas.

So, in an effort to ~~traumatize~~ familiarize her with the ways of the world, he's got us watching Weeds every night.

We had never seen Weeds, as we've been outside the United States since 2005 and AFN doesn't carry shows with ~~drug content~~ ~~graphic sex~~ Mary-Louise Parker in them. It took us to the end of the second episode to realize that Weeds meant weed.

And now I gather from this show that every widowed American housewife is actually a pot grower/dealer who is secretly married to a DEA agent who targets other drug cartels in order to allow his wife's business to flourish.

I guess America has changed since I was last there. Or perhaps I just didn't know any widows.

And now I'm pretty darn sure that I will not be sending the aforementioned daughter anywhere. She's going to live at home until she's 30. Or she'll join a convent.

So That's Why!

2009-03-25T13:59:00.000+01:00

The other day, I picked Piglet up from a playdate at his friend who happens to be a girl (not to be confused with his girlfriend, because she would be very angry to know that things changed while she was gone for 3 months).

I asked him how everything was and he said, "Fine. They only have girl stuff."

I said, "Well, that's because they only have girls."

He said, "I wish I was a girl."

I asked him why.

He said, "Because girls always get to go first."

I Just May Kill Someone

2009-03-23T13:53:00.003+01:00

For those who are just joining us, our cat died last year.

Not too long before she died, some kittens came to live in our garbage house, then our garage.

We took said kittens to the vet to get their shots and get "fixed".

The vet said that at four months, they were too young to have surgery and that we had to wait until they entered puberty or until they had their first litter.

On many issues, I completely understand where Poles are coming from. Like how they drive like maniacs (And why were you driving 60 kph anyway? Just because it's the speed limit? Pshaw!) and how they really like to dress nicely (who doesn't? Wearing stiletto heels in the dead of winter acts like an ice pick and keeps you anchored to the ground.).

This is the one case where I think they are backward (well, this and the idea that a kid with a runny nose due to allergies most certainly carries the next black plague which will indeed wipe out Europe).

When we had our 6 year old furnace replaced (I KNOW!), one of the kittens vanished.

So now this has left us with one "kitten" to contend with. And guess what? She's in heat. In this time of no money spending, the damn cat has gone into heat! So she's howling at the top of her lungs ALL THE FREAKING TIME whilst rubbing her body all over every piece of furniture to make sure that any wandering males who happen upon our living room will be able to find her.

And my husband continues to sing this song:

I may very well lose my mind. Send medication. And liquor.

We're Sophisticated!

2009-03-21T22:32:00.000+01:00

Have you seen the news coverage about the prostitution ring in Houston?

I grew up in Houston. I read the Houston Chronicle most days.

When I read the first article about the prostitution ring, I was offended. They said, "The couple stands charged with running a sophisticated brothel and call-girl operation that catered to the city’s high rollers and screened its prospective clients carefully. Like similar operations that have come to light in New York, Washington and New Orleans..."

It made it sound as though Houston was not sophisticated. At least not as sophisticated as New York, and D.C.

I was highly offended.

Houston has a world class medical center, wonderful museums, and fabulous shopping.

And apparently, some really high class hookers.

What's not sophisticated about that?

Why You Should Never Give Your Spouse A Magazine Quiz

2009-03-20T13:07:00.000+01:00

Thank you all for the birthday wishes. I feel very loved:).

Last night, on the way to our big local grocery store (we've decided that shopping at the corner store is insanely expensive, and we're having a go at once a week shopping at Auchan), Dylan decided he wanted to administer a sex quiz from Maxim.

I'll spare you the details of the whole quiz, but one of the last questions was "What's a deal breaker in a relationship? a) Lying - about anything, b) Using online pron, c) Flirting with another woman, d) Cheating (this includes just kissing another woman)?"

I said, "Cheating, to include kissing."

Him: "Really? Even if I was just kissing her?"

Me: "Why were you kissing her?"

Him: "Oh, so I could have sex with her. But we didn't. We just kissed."

Me: "Yeah, well that's only 'cause you got caught. And that's why we're getting divorced. Are you happy now?"

Him: "You're going to write about this on your blog aren't you?"

Go Shorty, It's My Birthday!

2009-03-19T07:08:00.000+01:00

Yep, today, 35 years ago, yours truly was born.

And my dad still doesn't know that I wasn't born on the 18th.

Maybe my "dad" wasn't there...

Anyway, I have little to say about this except that this has been the most depressing birthday by far. There were SO many things I had wanted to accomplish. Not that I really had a date in mind, but in my family if you make it to 35 - well - you're pretty much at the end of your life.

That said, Piglet and I are drooling over the mere idea of chocolate cake...yummy American style chocolate cake with loads of frosting.

And wine. Well, that's just me. Piglet is not so interested in the wine.

Because Father W. was also born in March and has granted me special dispensation for my birthday. Because he had whiskey on his birthday and a little Irish birdie told me that.

So I have special dispensation.

Random Holes

2009-03-18T13:30:00.000+01:00

Have you ever seen the movie (or read the book) Holes by Louis Sachar?

Sometimes I feel like I'm living it.

But It Has Melted!

2009-03-16T10:33:00.007+01:00

A few weeks ago, we had an electrician come to the house to check on our outside lights.

Others look like this:

Ours look like this:

As a result of our simply turning them on.

The conversation with the electrician went like this:

Him: "I have come to check on the lights."

Me: "Yes, they are right over there."

A few minutes later, after he circled the house two times.

Him: "I think you will need to come and show me these lights. I cannot find the broken lights."

Me: "They're these ones right here."

Him: "So they don't work?"

Me: "Well, they ARE melted."

Him: "But do they turn on?"

Me: "You see, I didn't turn them on again once they melted. I don't actually know if they still work."

Him: "Please turn them on."

I turn on the lights, one does work and the other does not.

Him: "Well, one works. The other one probably needs to have a bulb replaced."

Me: "But you see...the lights have melted. I don't think that's normal. I'm pretty sure it's a fire hazard."

Him: "But the lights work."

Me : *Throw up arms in frustration and give up*

Wow, my grammar was horrendous today. I apologize if I've missed anything.

Sadness

2009-03-14T08:04:00.004+01:00

Two bloggers I read and love and feel all friendly with have had something horrific happen to them in the last few days.

Braja was on her way to the airport when the car she was riding in hit a truck. She has suffered facial injuries and a broken wrist and a punctured lung. Her husband's injuries were much more severe, but it looks as though at some point he regained consciousness. Read this update (updated regularly) then go send Braja some love.

Kelley of Magneto Bold Too! suffered a stroke on Wednesday. The day before her birthday. She is 36 years old. She (along with her husband, MPS) is blogging and her sense of humor is intact, but please go and send her some love.

Yeah, We're Related

2009-03-13T10:10:00.005+01:00

Last night my husband discovered the We're related application on Facebook. He added everyone he could remember being related to.

It popped up in my Facebook (if you are friends with one or both of us on Facebook, I'm very sorry, but you'll know that in the evenings he usually sits at the desktop and I sit across the living room using the laptop and we harass each other incessantly on Facebook - we're weird that way. It's also something that meets the requirements of the experiment. We also occasionally harass our daughter, but she ~~gets really angry and hacks into our accounts and changes information~~ is no fun). So last night, it popped up asking me to confirm my relationship to him. He was giggling like a schoolgirl.

I confirmed that I was related to him and THEN it popped up with "You've confirmed your relationship with Dylan as his old lady. Add your relationship to Dylan.

He said, "Are you going to put My A$$hole? Have you seen my a$$hole?"

Me: "My a$$hole has it's own Facebook page. You wouldn't believe how many friends my a$$hole has!"

Him: "My A$$hole has an extensive online following. You should add my a$$hole as a friend. My a$$hole even writes a blog."

At that point we both collapsed in laughter. And Tigger said, "Y'all are weird" and left the room, most likely to go find some nice normal people - like drug dealers and prostitutes - to talk to.

But now you know why, after 15 years, we're still married.

Thoughts on Week 3

2009-03-11T14:28:00.005+01:00

This is the beginning of week 3 of the experiment. Saying it that way makes me feel better than saying "it's been 2 weeks". The beginning of week 3 insinuates that there are only 3 more weeks left (not that I'm counting, but it's exactly 742 hours, 29 minutes and 14 seconds until April 11 at 3 PM). So these are some random thoughts about the experiment.

- We're almost out of iced tea blend tea bags from the States. I fed my family "baby" tea last night (tea that's for babies not tea made from babies. Wouldn't that really be like bathwater?).

- It was a sad day the day we opened our last jar of Jif Peanut Butter. I think I will cry when it is all finished. On the plus side, I've taught the children to make peanut butter from actual peanuts. It's like we're pioneers!

- If I could buy one thing from the store that was not "essential" it would be woda gazowana (water with gas). I love the stuff. I live on the stuff. Distiller water is making me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry.

And those are some of my random thoughts. Maybe I should keep them thoughts.

Super Why! Super Scary!

2009-03-10T08:15:00.000+01:00

Stewie has always been the timid one. I mean, he's not actually timid and he can beat the crap out of his brothers with the best of them (like this weekend when he hit Piglet in the face with his Leapster L-Max), but sometimes movies and TV shows scare him.

Which is strange to me. I haven't had a kid who freaked out at television.

A few weeks ago, iTunes had Super Why! as a free episode. We had never seen Super Why! as we have AFN which shows the same Blues Clues episodes on endless loop since Tigger (who's almost 15) was 2. Don't get me wrong, I love AFN, it's just that we're not always getting the most updated television there is.

But it's better than no television. Particularly when there's no money to do anything else.

Anyway, Piglet and Pooh LOVE Super Why! It's a PBS show, so it's educational AND entertaining.

AND it scares the living daylights out of Stewie.

So really, it's a win-win for the big boys.

I Can't Help That You Have Psychosomatosis...

2009-03-07T09:54:00.003+01:00

Dear Parent of daughter in Pooh's class,

I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your going to the preschool director about Pooh and his runny nose.

I found it particularly amusing how you saw Pooh's runny nose on Monday and your daughter fell ill that night with what he was ill with.

I understand that your daughter has a "delicate" immune system. Only girls who are the youngest in their families by 10 years often do. Only children also suffer from this ailment. And, interestingly enough, mothers of these types of children often suffer from psychosomatosis and/or hypochodriosis. I believe they must be genetically linked.

I also found it interesting how you threatened the director that if my child was allowed back with a runny nose your child would no longer be attending the preschool. I thought you'd like to know that she did pass that on to me.

I also thought you'd be interested to know that:

a) Pooh has a medical condition that causes his nose to run uncontrollably ALL THE TIME. I assure you it's annoying to me as well. We have provided a note to the director from his doctor that notes that he is not contagious.

b) I pay for two children to attend the school. You pay for one. You will be leaving this summer. I will not be leaving this summer. I believe the director will take all of this into consideration when she is forced to choose between us.

Oh, and please pass on to your husband that my husband would like to see him in his office on Monday.

Have a very nice weekend.

I Always Go For Walks After I Go to Bed

2009-03-06T13:11:00.001+01:00

Piglet came down after bedtime last night with this complaint:

"The cat keeps following me wherever I'm going."

"Where are you going? You're supposed to be in bed!"

"Um. Whenever I go to get a drink of water."

Tigger: "How many drinks of water have you gotten? You've only been in bed 20 minutes!"

Piglet: "Four."

Okay then.

And my friends, today I discovered soy milk*. I know that sounds stupid, but I have always avoided "milk" that comes from beans. Of course, since I'm lactose intolerant, I pretty much avoid milk that comes from mammals too.

So now I just have to figure out how to make it an "essential" item. Seeing as I haven't been a milk drinker since I was a kid, it's hard to convince hubby that this new invention is something I MUST HAVE.

*I purchased it about a month ago and left it in the pantry. I did not just buy the milk.

And Now I Do...

2009-03-04T18:52:00.003+01:00

Awhile back I posted about why I don't use Google Analytics (or a sitemeter of any kind). Well, this weekend I finally got curious enough to find out who's reading my blog, so I signed up for Google Analytics.

I am, indeed, just as paranoid as I thought I would be.

I'm also a wee bit disappointed. I had imagined there were WAY more of you out there reading me and you were all just being quiet about it.

You know, 'cause it's easier to believe made up crap in your head if you don't have any proof that it's true. Heck, there's an entire website devoted to disproving that sort of thing.

Anyway, I don't get many hits off of Google searches, but the funniest one I got, in just this first weekend, was for "don't use Google Analytics".

And so I thought I should come clean. My name is Kylie and I'm a Google Analyticaholic.

And, for all of you who are still curious about the experiment, I'll update more tomorrow...or perhaps the next day. I'm still feeling a bit lazy and apathetic. I think it's the no moisturizer/Coke Zero/crackalattes.

Taking a Break

2009-03-02T16:29:00.000+01:00

I'm taking a break today from my whining and moaning to update you all on my friend.

I saw her today for the first time since the surgery and she's doing really, fabulously well. She was back at work.

And, in case you were all curious, we came to an amicable agreement on how she would pay me. She provides me a service normally. It's, um, not something I want to talk about here - because ~~it's embarrassing~~ ~~she's my crack dealer~~ it's personal. Anyway, she will provide the service for a discounted rate for as long as I continue to help her out.

Win-win!

And, because I am such a ~~slacker~~ productive human being who has a lot going on in her life, I have not yet responded to those of you who asked for interviews. I'm ~~lazy~~ highly efficient, so I have decided to send the same interview questions to all of you then post the questions here and link to all of you.

See, highly efficient.

Days 52, 73, & 365

2009-03-01T16:23:00.002+01:00

Edited to add: Yes, my blog header has changed again. I'm still in this imaging class and I'm messing around with my blog look. Sorry. I'm going to be doing this for the next four weeks until I get it perfect.

Day 2

8:30 AM Realize that I am almost out of my $50 a pot moisturizer. Start to use the Mary Kay samples from my dealer. Start to freak out that I might have to resort to *gasp* a drugstore brand. Are we barbarians?

7:00 PM Score a bottle of nice wine from some friends in return for watching their dog while they vacation. Am learning to freeload. Or at the very least barter.

Wonder what I can get if I sell my body? A haircut? Free moisturizer?

I'm pretty sure the salesperson in Douglas was checking me out the last time I was there. So what, if she's a woman?

Day 3

7:30 AM Am officially out of Coke Zero. Resort to instant iced tea. Consider starting a Coke Zero plant in my kitchen.

10:00 AM Receive email about a sale at Gymboree. Realize that there is no way that my children will have new Easter clothes. Explain to Dylan that the children NEED new Easter clothes so that they don't look like bums. People in church may think we're neglectful parents.

He doesn't buy it. Thinks they have enough clothes since their (collective) closet won't actually close. Tell him it's a bad hinge on the door. He doesn't buy it.

5:00 PM Try to figure out what to make for dinner from flour, water, and diced tomatoes. Assume that no one will eat a tomato casserole. Make a pizza. From scratch. Pizzas don't HAVE to be round, right?

Day 4

2 AM Wake up ridiculously early panicking about my phone card, which I'm pretty sure I threw away.

Let the dog out. Dog does not come back in. Freak out that dog has escaped and I will have to call friends and tell them "I know you haven't even left the country yet, but I lost your dog. Here's your dog toys, bed and money back. Oh, and the nice bottle of wine *sob*."

Dog comes back in the house just after I have gotten completely dressed to conduct a massive neighborhood search.

(Before typing all of this up, wonder for a long time if said friends read my blog. Decide that even if they do, they won't be in town to read this one. And really, what are they going to do? Turn around and come home?)

3:30 PM Send kids and husband to the park while I "work on my photoshop homework". In reality, dig through yesterday's garbage scrambling to find 50zl phone card.

Neighbors probably will never talk to me again.

What In The Hell Was I Thinking?

2009-02-27T07:09:00.000+01:00

~~Week~~ Day 1 of the Experiment

Day 1

8:30 AM Realize that I haven't had a haircut. Ask ~~keeper of the rules~~ Dylan if haircut is an allowable expense. He says, For me, yes. For you, no.

Try to figure out how to get a free haircut. Which should be fairly difficult as I don't personally know any hairstylists. Tigger offers her services. I respond "Well, great. I'll just have some really lopsided hair all through Lent."

Did I mention that I'm fasting?

10:30 AM Tigger says "I have 10 zloty. Can I buy a Coke?"

Check with Dylan. He says, "You can do whatever you want with your money. But because your primary source of income is babysitting for your parents, and your parents won't be going out during this time, perhaps you should rethink your budget."

Tigger goes to the store and buys a Coke.

5:30 PM Dylan says, "I'm thinking of this being like when we were broke. You remember, when we had to bounce checks for rent? We've done that. We can do it again."

Yeah...I remember those days. I DID live them. I never really thought I would have to RElive them. By choice.

7:00 PM Dylan asks "How much did you spend today?" I turn to my personal shopper, "Tigger, how much did I spend today?"

Dylan says, "WHY DID YOU SPEND MONEY TODAY? IT'S ONLY THE FIRST DAY?"

I say, "YOU DON'T WANT US TO EAT?"

Realize this experiment will destroy my marriage. If it means that I can get a haircut, I'm okay with that.

The Experiment

2009-02-25T20:00:00.001+01:00

A few months ago, Dylan and I both read an article in the Reader's Digest about the Hochman family's experiment in anti-consumerism.

Since we lived in Africa, we have recognized that we have too much stuff. We don't spend outside our means, but we own too much - like most people who have the money to do so. You will always buy more to expand to the amount of space you have.

We decided that we would follow the same experiment in our own terms (they were a family of 3 and we are double that, they lived somewhere where they could take public transport everywhere - we COULD but standing outside in 7 degree F weather [remember the Polish word for February] with 3 children under 7 was, um, not as hardcore as ~~I am~~ we are interested in).

Seeing as the Slightly Cracked/Thrifty Expat house is a Catholic one, and Lent begins today, we figured two birds, one stone.

My husband will be blogging our adventures over at The Thrifty Expat. I'll just keep you updated on how I will possibly live without my ~~daily~~ weekly sushi and how grumpy I will be without my daily crackalatte. Also, no trips to IKEA for the next 40 days.

I just might die.

Facebook: Tool of the Devil or Awesome?

2009-02-24T08:18:00.002+01:00

I finally gave in and joined the masses on Facebook on Saturday. I blame my very best friend - from the time we were 6 years old - (do you see a theme here? I've known my husband since we were 12 and my best friend since we were 6...I guess I don't like change). She's never been a big fan of computer related nonsense, so when she joined, I knew I had to. I'm a huge fan of computer related nonsense.

The thing I liked least about Facebook was the idea that people I used to know could contact me and "friend" me (BernThis wrote a lovely post that expressed the kind of anxiety that kept me from getting on to FB). My theory was that if I hadn't kept in contact with you, there was a reason.

So I thought I'd be all stealthy and put my married name with absolutely NO MENTION of my maiden name. This way only people who know me now could contact me. Mwahahahaha!

Except that most of the people that we went to high school with knew only one person named Kylie. Most of them jumped to the conclusion that because Kylie and Dylan dated in high school, that Dylan probably married that same Kylie.

And (in a moment of complete and utter stupidity, no matter how hard I tried I COULD NOT put "Kylie is in an open relationship with Dylan" and then go and confirm it for him because I have his login information knowing that it would pop up in his profile as a status change and all 2000 of his friends would see it - sometimes I really hate the fact that I actually care what people think) I linked my account to my husband's. He had a lot of people that I knew (and he has no recollection of) in high school on his friend list. So some of them have sent me a friend request.

And I don't know which is worse. The fact that some of them have sent me a friend request or that some of them haven't.

But the most important thing I have learned is that the popular people in high school remained popular. And that no matter what I tell my daughter and how many times we watch "Mean Girls" and believe that things will change and life will not always be like high school, those popular people are just built different. Their personalities are different.

But I guess, as long as you don't live in the FB world, life isn't like high school.

That said, if you send me a friend request (~~and I haven't already been on FB begging you to be my friend so that I can no longer look like a loser with only 35 friends - just like high school~~), I would never click ignore.

When it rains, it pours...and more weird stuff about salt

2009-02-22T17:04:00.002+01:00

Not really. I just wanted to quickly note that my desktop went to meet it's maker (if it's maker is Dell and meeting it's maker means that I threw it through the window of the Dell store) on Friday AND Tigger's laptop (that's issued by the school) cannot connect to the internet because of networking problems (hers is ALSO a Dell), so our family of 6 is down to one HP laptop from the 3 computers we had on Friday morning.

So, you may not see me around that much for a bit.

But, I will be trying to post, and perhaps I can do so telepathically. Or perhaps Dell will send me a new computer to keep me from revealing my horrible review of their products.

Or they may have shut me down to take care of that. Hmm...

Anyway, I've tidied up a bit and redecorated...at least for right now. See, I'm taking a photoshop/dreamweaver class and I'll probably be changing things around for the next few weeks. Don't get too used to the new look.

A Bit MIA

2009-02-19T08:43:00.003+01:00

Sorry that I've been a bit MIA. For all of those who have asked to be interviewed, I will soon have the interview questions coming to you - but that means I have to be all witty, which could be a problem. Be expecting them next week - the children and I are on break then:).

I leave you with this anecdote:

Tigger's piano teacher declared 2 weeks ago that the winter was officially over. I said (this is how I respond to all Poles who tell me winter has ended), "You know, I find it fascinating that the Polish word for February (Luty) means ice. It literally means ice."

Yeah... and I've lived here only 3 1/2 years (collectively).

There's an ice skating rink under there somewhere.

Oooh, oooh! Pick Me!

2009-02-16T07:06:00.000+01:00

Laura of Are We Nearly There Yet, Mummy? agreed to my ~~incessant begging and bribing~~ request for her to interview me. So without further ado...

1. You’ve lived all over the world. Which was your favourite home and why?

I loved living in that cardboard house out by the airport. You know. The one with the old rusting shopping cart in front. It was SO much better than Ghana.

But seriously, my favorite place to live was Damascus, Syria. The food is fabulous, the weather was pleasant, I could walk to work and the gym and the souk, and the Syrians are the most genuinely friendly people I have met. And it was safe. Because military regimes suck for the people who live under them, but they're great for foreigners. Which is sad.

2. I remember one of your children tattooing himself with a pen. Do you have any tattoos and what are they? If not, what would you have?

Yes, when my eldest son tattooed his younger brother. Good times. No, I have no tattoos. I am actually terrified of pain. But I have given birth to 4 children with no medication.

My sister, on the other hand, has two tattoos. And only one child. With meds.

I think that means we're both warped.

3. This morning I resorted to doing something I said I would never do. All out of baby wipes I gave my child a lick wash with a tissue. What child rearing line have you crossed?

I never cross lines when child rearing. My children are all perfect and I am mother of the year as evidenced by any one of the following: when I videotaped my child's terror and posted it on the internet, or when one of them (not the teenager) got drunk, or the fact that my boys wear tights.

See. Just as I said. Perfect.

4. You work with pre-schoolers. Are you mad?

"We're all mad here."

Yes, you probably must be a little mad to work with children of any age. I also teach teenagers (12-17) and they are difficult in their own right. The biggest difference I can see between the two is that the teenagers mostly participate because they think they have to, because they have been through so much school up to this point where participation was mandatory. Preschoolers don't yet do this. They mostly have to be coerced into participating.

The other thing I have learned: the bad kids ALWAYS come to class.

5. When your children have flown the nest what will you do with yourself?

More time for blogging!

I will cook gourmet meals every night without having to hear about how this is "Yuck!" (my husband is better behaved than that. My house will be perpetually clean with only a little bit of dust occasionally. I will own white furniture. I will own furniture.

In the next couple of years I will begin working on my Master's in Marriage and Family Therapy. This is what I want to do when I grow up.

Here’s the directions:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

For Just 150 zloty, You Too Can Skip A Party

2009-02-15T07:22:00.003+01:00

So last week, in a moment of weakness, I complained about an experience I had at the bar and that I would have to attend a party with the two people involved.

Fortunately, Stewie locked both sets of keys, both my mobile and Dylan's, and my purse in the minivan. Making us wait for 2 hours for a locksmith and making us 150 zloty (USD 42) lighter in the wallet.

But we totally missed the party. With a damn good excuse.

It was a good day.

So how did you spend Valentine's Day?

Maybe It's Like Robin Hood?

2009-02-12T07:40:00.008+01:00

This is part of the series in which I make fun of the ways Poles dress. This is only for fun and is totally an American perspective.

At the preschool where I'm teaching, there are 5 Polish children, 2 French children, 3 American children - although one of them thinks she's Mexican, one of them thinks he's Polish, and one of them thinks she's Israeli...only the Israeli one is correct, 1 New Zealander, and 2 Spanish children.

Notice how the nationalities come in pairs or more. Except the New Zealander - that's because there just aren't that many of them in New Zealand, so they don't often export them.

So there are 5 Polish children at the school. 1 of them never comes to school - he's just on the roster, so he could potentially show up at any moment. Of the other 4, 3 of them wear the same clothes every.single.day. This is because they have separate inside and outside clothes.

What does this mean exactly? Well, think about how long it takes to get a 3 year old dressed in the morning. We must put on tights, then an undershirt, then trousers, then an overshirt, then snowpants (no matter what the weather - as long as it still technically winter we must still wear snowpants...it could begin snowing at ANY GIVEN MOMENT!), then scarf, jacket, mittens and hat.

So, because all the other ~~normal~~ children come to school in tights, undershirt, trousers, overshirt, and spend the school day IN THOSE CLOTHES (mostly, there is one boy and one girl who just have to be in their undershirt and tights all day long), it doesn't take 20 minutes to dress each one of them to go outside.

Add to that the boy who is ADHD and can't sit still long enough to be undressed from his trousers and shirt and then redressed in (a totally different set) tights, undershirt, trousers, overshirt, snowpants, scarf, jacket, mittens and hat, and there is no way I will teach preschool for the rest of my life.

The other thing about this whole ordeal is that IT DOESN'T GET THAT COLD HERE! Our average winter temp is -4 C/25 F.

And before you ask, yes, my boys wear tights.

Their teacher asked me if Americans do this and I said, "No." She asked, "Then why do you put them in tights?" I said, "So the old ladies don't yell at me." Because if you've ever lived in Poland, you know that everyone on the street thinks that it is their business to tell you how to raise your children.

The teacher's ass almost literally fell off. She laughed that hard.

But my boys do have some manly looking tights.

Fashion Dos and Don'ts

2009-02-10T12:00:00.000+01:00

Monday was my first day of work. I'm currently a preschool teacher. I'm learning that I don't really like working with preschoolers. I also don't really like working with teenagers. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't like working with adults either. Perhaps I just don't like working.

Anyway, I wore a skirt (stupid I know, but my jeans had just been in a mudslinging accident with a two year old) and tights. About 2 hours into the day I realized I had a huge hole in my tights. Like "make me look like a homeless person" hole. I couldn't see it because it was on the back of my leg and somehow when I put them on my foot didn't got through the hole, so perhaps it wasn't there the whole day.

Anyway, once I learned of the hole, I discarded said tights in the bathroom. But now, my legs were bare. Well, except for the skirt and the knee high boots I was wearing. There was approximately 1 inch of bare skin showing.

I went into my local store and the clerks stared at me. I was dressed nicely, just lacking in hosery. I looked back at them. I was all "What! WHAT? You're staring at me because I have 1 inch of skin showing? Agnieszka looks like a hooker and you're staring at ME?!?!?!"

She does too. I'll try to get a picture.

Tales of the Religion Class

2009-02-09T07:32:00.002+01:00

One of the schools that feeds into my class has holidays next week. A huge percentage of my class attends that school. My director told me that if half the class was going to be gone, I could cancel the class. SCORE!

So I asked my kids "Who's going to be gone next week?" 5 hands immediately shot up.

"Daniel*, yes your mum already told me. Dominik*, yes, you told me last week - even though you actually had no idea when the holidays were. Cecil*, okay. Richard*, okay. Thomas* - wait, Thomas you go to a different school. Your holidays are the following week. Why are you going to be gone?"

"Um...uh....I...don't...know."

"Right then, I'll ask your mom."

"No, I was confused. I'll be here next week."

Now, I'm not sure why I argued with the kid. I totally want a holiday too. But now, because I~~'m stupid~~ couldn't resist, I have to work next Sunday.

And aside from being totally tempted to roundhouse kick the troublemaker in the class (not Thomas) in the head, that was the highlight of my evening.

*Names have been changed to protect the ~~not so~~ innocent.

ARGH! I'm Trapped!

2009-02-07T08:16:00.003+01:00

So my desktop refuses to start up. I'm involved in this scrapbook challenge where everything has to be posted by midnight and my desktop, where I do almost all my work, refuses to cooperate with me.

Then last night, as I was tending bar, a "friend" came in and proceeded to tell me in front of the other patrons/friends some juicy gossip about a mutual acquaintance. I don't really care that much about the gossip, while I didn't know these particular things about this particular acquaintance, it's nothing that other people haven't done in the past.

Perhaps because I was unimpressed with her juicy news, or perhaps because she is just...I don't know...mean, she then proceeded to tell me about how this acquaintance gossips about me. I was a bit shocked and hurt. If I thought quicker on my feet I would have flat out asked her "What are you trying to accomplish by telling me this?" Because seeing as this is an acquaintance, I don't really know him well enough for him to have any gossip about me.

And during the whole thing, I was transported back to high school. And I realized that perhaps I have led a sheltered life since then, but no one has treated me that way since high school. If you hear someone gossiping about others, how do you handle it as an adult? I certainly would not tell the person who was being gossiped about, that only serves to hurt them.

Unfortunately, I am supposed to attend a party with both of them next week.

And then I came home and my damn desktop would not start!

Things I Learned From Scanning Slides

2009-02-04T07:38:00.001+01:00

While my slide scanning is nowhere near finished, I am noticing the same things over and over again. Tips that you can take away from my experience, right now. For free. Well, for comments.

When you take 700 photos of the same event or thing, such as a cake, keep only the best shot. In 30 years the only thing your daughter will learn is that you were really really impressed by a mediocre cake. Or that cake technology has come REALLY far in 30 years.

If you are not planning to scrapbook, notate, or otherwise indicate what various and assorted pieces of equipment at NASA are, don't bother keeping the photos. Again, 30 years later, the only thing your children will learn is that yes, indeed, you did take an awful lot of trips to the Johnson Space Center. So many in fact that they have no desire to go. Ever.

Photos so over or underexposed that you cannot tell what they are supposed to be only serve to teach your children that you were not the best photographer. But they can provide hours of "magic eye" style entertainment. I think this one is supposed to be a giant reptilian ghost bird.

And the most important of all. No matter what you think of yourself, how you look, or how you appear in photos, someone someday will treasure having photos of you. This one made all the work worth it:

My mom and me circa 1975

Conversation in our Kitchen

2009-02-02T11:34:00.007+01:00

Sunday Conversation

Dylan: "Huh. Well, that's not good. I think I just blew up the refrigerator."

Me: "..."

Later

Dylan: "I changed the light bulb. Now everything is good again. But it's kind of high wattage."

Tigger: "WOW! Heaven is in our refrigerator!"

Dylan: "Okay, you can open the door, but don't look directly INTO the refrigerator."

I'm thinking of rigging up some kind of heavenly music that goes on every time the door is opened. Or maybe the refrigerator could fill in for my "happy light".

---

Some of you have taken stabs at where Hell is from my last post. Apparently, it was Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico. And those were the souvenir slides, which did not age nearly as well as all the ones that my family took.

Others have asked about converting slides to digital. I have emailed those of you whose email addresses I had directly, but I thought I'd put a little plug in for anyone else who is interested.

I'm using the Plustek OpticFilm 7300 slide/film scanner. I think it's a fabulous scanner and does a lovely job. It's also small and compact. Be aware though that it takes about 2-3 minutes per slide and you have to manually change the slides, so it's a long project if you have a lot of slides. I've made it through about 300 slides in the past week.

And Grandma, if you ever come across the slides that you know are around somewhere, I promise I will scan them in and give you copies. And I will not make fun of them on my blog. I reserve the right to make fun of people who do not read my blog only.

Childhood Memories

2009-01-30T14:21:00.001+01:00

Over the Christmas holidays I managed to ~~rip the slides out of my father's grasping hands while simultaneously beating him over the head~~ convince my father to let me have all the slides from my childhood. That's right. I said slides. Because I was born in the 1970's. And yes, I added the wikipedia link for those of you who think a slide is something you create in Powerpoint. *Sigh*

Anyway, I also bought a slide scanner and have spent many, many hours (and by hours, I mean days) scanning in slides.

Do you know what you learn when you get your parent's slide collection?

That they lied to you all those years.

And that at one time in your life, your left eye DID indeed open all the way (but I'm sure that bathtub falling incident had nothing to do with the eye...nothing at all).

That someone in your family visited Hell. And took pictures.

And that when they said, "We moved to the United States when you were 9 months old and visited Disneyland and New York and drove across country." those were all separate thoughts. Or you were a giant 9 month old.

Your father was not always the best cook. And he took photos to prove it.

And best of all, that over 1000 slides can provide loads of blog fodder.

Til next time...

Thanks to all of you who had advice about my friend. I really do appreciate it. I will keep you all posted on her recovery.

How Poles Dress (Alternate Title: Why I've Been A Bad Blogger)

2009-01-29T13:07:00.002+01:00

So after my last post, y'all (ha, my Texas roots!) showed a lot of interest in how Poles dress.

And I was all set to start making fun of Poles (which always sounds totally wrong, but the Polish words are Polak for men, which is kind of derogatory in English, and Polka for women - which is a kind of dance/music from...Czech - seriously).

Then I came down with a really bad stomach virus. The second one I have had in two months.

Then today, I learned that a very dear (Polka) friend of mine has cancer. She runs her own business and has asked me to fill in for her while she has surgery and recuperates. So today did not seem like the best day to make fun of Poles.

But worry not dear friends, in the next couple of days I will revert to making fun of Poles.

For today though, I wanted to ask your advice. My friend wishes to pay me for my time. I would gladly do it for free (I have a very soft spot for cancer victims), but I know it would make her feel better to pay me. Should I let her pay me?

If so, how much? A token gesture?

Meager Monday

2009-01-26T14:54:00.002+01:00

Meh.

I've been out of blogging mojo lately. But because I know my loyal readers ~~all 3 of you~~ are awaiting a new post, here's something to tide you over.

But it's not a real post.

1. President Obama ~~indirectly~~ canceled a party that I was looking forward to. I'm now not happy with him. Isn't it funny how the tide turns?

What's that you say? He's working on the economy? He's going to get us out of Iraq?

Whatevah. He canceled a party.

2. Poles really like to dress up. It's a thing for them. In the past week, I have had 2 people complain to me about how Poles stare at them when they dress like Americans (although one of them was not American, so perhaps I should say "relaxed dress"). My solution: dress like a Pole. That's what I do.

No one else seems happy with that response.

3. Once, when I was in the U.S., someone complimented me on my English. Since I am a native speaker of English, I was unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. So I just let it go.

4. I have some good news that I was so hoping to share soon, but because of the aforementioned canceled party, I cannot. And there is no end in sight. Ugh.

5. I told one of my ~~minions~~ helpers for my religion class that I wanted to stab one of the kids that I teach in the head with a fork. I also smacked one in the head for drawing a mustache on Mother Teresa.

And the parents/teachers/priest still let me teach their kids.

And that's all there is. For now.

And He Actually Hasn't Spent That Much Time In Prison

2009-01-22T10:16:00.001+01:00

Last week, at breakfast, Pooh and Piglet were talking as usual. Piglet asked Pooh "Would you like a tattoo?" (Read: Would you like me to write all over you with this pen?). Pooh, who hates to have people mark on him and has a severe aversion to even face paint, said "Um, SURE!" So Piglet wrote Mommy on one forearm and drew a picture of me on the other. You know, prison tattoos. I took Pooh to school and his teacher said "Pooh, what do you have on your arm?" So Pooh showed her. She said, "Mommy. Of course. Does he sleep with you?" I said, "No, he sleeps in his own bed in his own room ~~with his brother who can't sleep alone~~." Pooh doesn't actually love me THAT much.

Stewie does. Stewie loves me so much he tries to impale me with the drumsticks from Rock Band. Often.

That's true love right there.

So, um, How Much Does Botox Go For These Days?

2009-01-20T07:12:00.000+01:00

Every year that we go back to Houston, my dad likes to get a family photo. Even if we don't change that much from year to year. I guess it makes him feel like he's ~~an involved grandpa~~ around his grandchildren more.

So, every year, my sister's family, my family and my father carve time out of packed schedules to make our way to Picture People (the mall atmosphere is TO DIE FOR when you're trying to corral 5 children) to have that family portrait. This year we had our photography session and then ~~bribed~~ treated the children to ice cream (at Marble Slab - YUM!) while we waited for the digital photos to...develop?

My sister, who had ~~very low blood sugar and was starting to threaten people~~ had not eaten in a few hours and was quite hungry was ~~begging for food~~ asking nicely if we could go to eat. So, after the ice cream, Dylan and my sister took the kids to eat, while my father and I went back to Picture People to collect our photos.

The guy who "sold" us the photos was different than the guy who had taken our photos. This will play an important part later in the story.

I mentioned to my father that I wanted to get that cousin photo with my nephew, but that I only wanted it in 5x7.

My father, who was born and raised in the United States, said, "Do they just sell one?"

I said, "No, you have to buy two."

"Why?"

"Because two come on a sheet."

"Well, why don't you ask? Maybe they'll sell you just one."

"No, Daddy. I will not. They have posted prices here. I WILL NOT BARGAIN WHERE THERE ARE POSTED PRICES!"

"I was just saying you should ask."

"No."

"Fine, then I will ask."

The salesman returned and my father asked him if I could buy only one 5x7.

Salesman: "No. They come two on a sheet."

Me: "SEE! I told you!"

Salesman: "You know this is how it is in my house too. I'm always trying to get something for free or discounted and my wife is always looking at me like I'm an idiot. Just like you're looking at your husband."

*Stare at him in silence*

Me: "He's not my husband. He's my father. But thank you for that."

Maybe the salesman moonlights for Botox?

Something About A Gym

2009-01-18T21:37:00.000+01:00

My gym opened. After much ~~Polish~~ ~~red tape~~ hurrah and delay, it finally opened.

The best thing about it? It’s on my way home from my kids’ school. In order to get home every day, I have to pass it.

So I don’t.

The cardio room rocks. There’s treadmills and ellipticals and cross country skiers and rowing machines and lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

And the best part about it. I don’t have to fight anyone for equipment, because there’s no one there.

Because the majority of people who buy gym memberships don’t use them.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all the ~~lazy~~ people who think that merely owning a membership will make you fit.

And the first day I wandered around and got “lost”. I found the pool, which is awesome, and the locker rooms. (Men stop reading – this will ruin your fantasy) The showers that actually have locks on stalls as opposed to a giant tiled room with spigots where everyone stands together, in the words of a friend, “as God made you.” (Male readers can resume reading). A beauty salon, a spinning room, and child care center. But without the annoying “bar” that all the other gyms in Warsaw seem to have.

And then I walked into the weight room. And it sparkled and shined and there were rainbows and fairies and flowers and Obama flew in on his unicorn.

And I knew I was home.

My Daughter Has Minions

2009-01-16T13:10:00.000+01:00

Can you call them that when you're talking about church?

Surprising to us, on Sunday, Father told Tigger she had to serve on the altar. We'd been gone for three weeks and there was no posted schedule before we left (but that's not really anything new), but we were there and he needed her...so whatever.

It turned into a promotion ceremony. Tigger got promoted to red, THE highest rank of altar server. So she's now the highest ranking altar server.

And, like the infamous cousin picture, she looked like a giant.

But aside from that, she's got minions. All the little altar servers look up to her and do her bidding. She sat on her butt and did nothing, while she directed the other altar servers and smacked some of them around for misbehaving in church.

'Cause we're Catholic, and I think we invented corporal punishment.

Anyway, as our family filed out the door, we looked over at the altar for Tigger. She was gone. Her minions were working and she was chatting it up with father and heading out the door to meet up with friends.

It's good to be the king.

A Young, Female Gulliver

2009-01-15T09:06:00.001+01:00

My kids with Dawn's (my SIL) girls.

My kids with my sister's son.

For Piglet

2009-01-14T01:03:00.000+01:00

6 years ago today, my second child and firstborn boy was born. His birth was the most pleasant of the four for me, but it was fairly traumatic for him.

He was blue.

They never told me why he was blue, and he was only blue for a very short time (it's all kind of a blur). I only remember thinking, "I don't think Tigger was that color when she was born." And when the doctor and nurses were saying "Come on, come on, breathe!" I thought, "I don't think this is normal."

But all was well and he's been normal and tormenting his brothers and sisters since then.

He's my funny one, without trying to be.

He's my friendly, mean, sweet, deceitful, loving, manipulative, obedient, rule following, playful, leader.

He stutters and he's anxious. But he's calm and friendly with people he knows well.

And he's never afraid of blustery days.

He's the only one that was planned for.

He's my Piglet.

Give a 6 year old a camera where he can see himself while trying to take the photo and he will take a photo of him looking at himself.

Zombie Cat

2009-01-12T08:43:00.000+01:00

We returned from Houston to snow.

Our garden was covered in snow.

Except one patch.

That's E.D.'s grave.

AND, before there were all those kid footprints in the snow, there was a trail of cat footprints that surrounded the house.

Just one trail of cat footprints.

Starting right around E.D.'s grave and going completely around the house. As though she was looking for a way in.

So, um, how do zombies get in your house? Are they like vampires? Do you have to invite them in?

'Cause I'm just gonna go bolt all the doors now, and we're going to stay inside for the next few months.

At least until the snow melts and there's no more proof that a zombie cat is trying to get in.

'Cause that's kind of spooky, scary. And not in a good way, like a werewolf Bar Mitzvah.

"My" Harley

2009-01-11T13:22:00.001+01:00

She's pretty, no?

Sorry, there are no photographs of me riding her yet ("That's what she said!" Teehee, I'm 12). The only time I took her out was when I stole her because I was angry with my husband. And I didn't have my license yet, so I didn't want evidence that I was illegal - I'm generally not big on having evidence. The photographs of me will have to come, at this rate, in the summer.

Having a Bad Day? Try the DPS.

2009-01-09T07:12:00.001+01:00

Over our Christmas holidays, I earned my motorcycle license. That's right, I am now legally able to drive a motorcycle (really, really poorly...). The state of Texas will apparently give licenses to anyone. Although...

The easy way to get my motorcycle license was to go back to my "home" state and take a motorcycle safety course, then go to the DPS (Department of Public Safety) and have them add the "M" class to my license.

I finished the course (on the only cold, rainy day they had all year in Houston) and went to the DPS the next day. If you are ever having a bad day, just go stand in line at the DPS and people watch and eavesdrop on conversations.

To start with, a young man (probably about 18) walked in behind me in line. He loudly told everyone that he had been there at 7:30 that morning (this was about 8) but had been told that he had to go take a drug and alcohol class before he could renew his license. If the volume with which he told this story was any evidence, he was very proud of this.

The couple behind him in line asked him if he had ever had a DUI (they were probably in their mid to late 30s). He assured them that no, he had never had a DUI. He continued to loudly complain about this until someone asked him if he had ever been busted with drugs. At which point he said, "Well, the cops caught me with a joint once, but that's supposed to fall off your record when you're 18."

Um, yeah.

Then there was the girl who was wearing the red heels with the maribou feathers around the top and capri jeans. Her nails were about a foot long and when she scratched her head, all of her hair moved with it. Now that I think about it, she very well may have been a he. I wonder what gender she/he put on the license.

In order to get a motorcycle license you have to either take the driving test, or the safety course, and take a "written" test (which now means computer). The first 2 of 15 questions are your name and date of birth. The kid behind me failed the written test. It was at that point that I realized I didn't want to be on the road with most of the people in the DPS. Which is good, because I don't have to be on the road with those people.

I'm very sorry for all of you who do have to.

I'm still making my blog rounds, so sorry if I haven't caught up with you yet. I promise I'll be around soon:).

We're BACK!

2009-01-07T11:37:00.003+01:00

Hello Internets! I'm back to my rusty old desktop and mostly awake, but my goodness the jet lag is killer. So it will just be a short post for today, as I'm not sure I'll make a tremendous amount of sense.

Some highlights:

- In the Frankfurt airport, Dylan forgot to take his cell phone out of his pocket while going through security. This resulted in him being escorted to one of those little cubbies and a nice man with latex gloves coming to ~~interrogate~~ question him about his intentions. It's a very good thing that the Poles confiscated my scissors before I got to Frankfurt, otherwise the children would have been left to their own devices.

- On going back to Warsaw, I had an ongoing conversation with Tigger about liquids in her carry on. (Tigger CAME to Houston within .2 kilos/half a pound of her weight limit on suitcases - apparently she figured she wouldn't acquire anything during the trip.) Finally she relented (after several hours) and coughed up all of her makeup, shower gels, hair care products, etc. and put it in a suitcase. This from a child who makes regular flights through Europe (they're sticklers for the liquid thing). She was totally assuming that she could get through by telling them that all her make up and hair stuff was medicine. A little part of me wishes I had let her go through security in Frankfurt with all that stuff.

- Returning to 5 degree F Warsaw from Houston, where the temps were mostly in the 70's and 80's. Global warming has fooled me again.

And there will be more (oh, yes, there is always more). I'll be making the blog rounds today. I'm sure my google reader has over a billion unread items.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-03T13:37:00.002+01:00

Happy New Year from the land of "I have only one laptop to share between six people and even though we got a PSP for Christmas, someone who is not me tends to dominate all the computer time".

Yep, that's where I am.

And my New Year's resolution? To never take a car trip with my dad. Oh, wait, guess I blew that one already since I'm off on that today.

I should be back to my rusty old desktop on Wednesday with some good stateside stories for y'all.

How's your new year?

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-25T14:32:00.002+01:00

Just to wish you all a very Merry Christmas (you know, if you celebrate that, if not have a very nice Thursday)!

And Happy Chanukkah! Piglet is celebrating too (at least he's telling all of our families that he celebrates both Christmas and Chanukkah, and he's picked out the menorah he wants).

And my favorite Christmas clips:

Bowling Pins, Fish and Nudity

2008-12-22T07:12:00.001+01:00

A few days ago Dylan was complaining about his leg hurting. He decided that he needed a massage. And, because he feels guilty running off to get a massage and leaving me with all the children, he invited me to go along.

A few items:

-I have had exactly 2 professional massages in my life (and that includes this one).

-I generally do not pay people to look at me naked. I try to reserve that for people who are taking a baby human out of me.

-I'm not big on the "pampering" thing. Massages hurt. Manicures hurt. Haircuts hurt. Really it's like saying, "Hi Kylie! Would you like to go to Spa Gitmo?"

So, because I had been thinking a day at the spa would be a good gift for my sister (yeah, she doesn't read my blog, so I can say whatever I want about her), I thought I should actually go and TRY to enjoy a massage.

So we went to a multipurpose joint. It's a swimming pool/spa/bowling alley/nightclub. I think they also sell fish.

And the massage rooms are directly below the bowling alley. Because back after the wall fell, apparently someone thought putting a bowling alley on the third floor was a good idea. Actually it seems that several someones thought this, as I have yet to see a bowling alley in this country that is on the ground floor.

So, because I am extremely uncomfortable being naked in front of people, I try to keep my mind occupied. It wanders pretty well because I have the attention span of a gnat. And being directly below the bowling alley helped.

I wondered whether my masseur ever gave his significant other massages. You know, if I had a committed partner who was a masseur (and I was a normal person who didn't think massage was actually a code word for torture), I'd be demanding massages all the time.

Several times I wanted to yell "STRIKE!" Did I mention I was DIRECTLY below the bowling alley? Nothing more relaxing than the sound of a heavy ball rolling across a wooden floor and knocking things down. On second thought, it sounds an awful lot like home.

My masseur worked on my legs, back, and arms and then asked me to roll over. Except, because he spoke only enough English for the commands, and Polish has the whole command thing down it was more like "Turn over!" As though he was commanding that a pancake flip itself.

When I did turn over, I was a caught a bit off guard.

Didn't he have clothes on when I walked in? Had he been naked the whole time? Do they always do this?

I thought, "I'm just gonna close my eyes and PRETEND you're wearing something other than a Speedo." Which is totally the opposite of what my husband was thinking about his masseuse.

When I met back up with my husband I asked him if his girl was naked.

*blink, blink*

Then he said, "NO! You have to pay extra for THAT! This is gonna cost us!"

And I'm out of my country for a couple of weeks. I'll probably not be posting all that regularly, I'll try, but I can't make any promises:).

Merry Christmas from Prison

2008-12-20T12:25:00.002+01:00

I went to Piglet's school Christmas party the other day.

Piglet is in Kindergarten so the day consisted of a holiday concert followed by a lovely party in the classroom.

And because they forced family time on us, we all had to submit our family projects to be viewed at the party.

We made a gingerbread house.

Jun Sang made this:

Nothing makes you feel more like a loser than looking at a 5 year old's clay Japanese anime.

Anyway, the kids were also to present their parents with the gifts they had made. It's a lovely decorated framed photo of your child.

Everyone else's kid looked smiley and happy. Or at least fake smiley.

Ours is inmate 728965.

Welcome to Kindergarten.

Fare Thee Well, Good Friend

2008-12-19T07:05:00.006+01:00

There's a tradition in the military/foreign service lifestyle of giving/selling your worldly possessions when you leave. It's a little bit creepy, like picking through Aunt Edna's stuff after she's died, except that you're usually accompanied by the deceased.

My real life Warsaw bff, Globetrekking Mom, is leaving sooner than expected. So, being the good friends that we are, we've engaged in the tradition of picking through her things and taking all the good stuff. Because I had just cleared out my kids' toys in anticipation of birthday/Christmas/birthday season, my kids are thrilled with the new stuff. (And I'm totally getting over on these poor deprived children, by only allowing them one "new" toy a day and only after they have done some housekeeping - because goodness knows I don't have time to do the housekeeping - I blog!)

While this is all very cool - you know, getting stuff for free - it's hard to do. I will miss Milena and her kids tremendously. As I look at all the "new" stuff, I am reminded that my dear friend is leaving. That she's leaving unexpectedly, which will be harder than usual on her family. That when I return from Christmas break, I will be working alone on Monday mornings, with no one to have my 2 hour long coffee breaks with and chat about everything in our lives, all while "guarding the złoty".

But, when I look at the stuff, I will be reminded of a wonderful friendship that will hopefully surpass time, distance, and space (through the awesomeness of Facebook, blogs, and email), and that we will someday be reunited back in the home of all displaced diplomats.

I hope you had the time of your life.

Wait, I'm NOT Mexican?

2008-12-18T13:39:00.001+01:00

Several people in my real life have heard me bragging that someone in my husband's office paid me to make a dish for him. He said he likes my cooking (and he has a wife that lives here, so it IS a little strange).

I blew this WAY out of proportion, of course, because this was an opportunity for me to stroke my own ego. I've been tormenting my husband with threats now. "You can never leave me because other people think I'm a great cook!" "Other men want me. You know, because I'm such a good cook." "I'm going to leave you because you keep leaving your clothes by the door to the garage. And I'm a great cook."

I've also threatened to start my own catering business (or coworking business if you follow me on Twitter, mainly because I'm a little bit stupid). I went on and on. "People PAY me." "I could do this for a living." "I'll have a little Mexican catering business. Can you imagine the business I will get?"

My husband, totally unimpressed, said "You can't cater Mexican food. You're not Mexican."

To which I said, "LIAR! I am SO Mexican. I grew up in Texas!"

He said, "Yeah, all Australians who grow up in Texas, automatically become MEXICAN. It's in the Constitution."

So see, I was right. I AM Mexican.

Who wants enchiladas?

What's in a Name?

2008-12-16T20:23:00.003+01:00

Last night, as I was yelling "NO!" at a cat who was using my furniture as a scratching post, which then sent Stewie into hysterics because he thought I was yelling at him, I was reminded of another amusing incident.

When I was 3 months pregnant with Pooh Bear, I moved to Houston and visited my sister. She had just moved in with her fiance and they got a puppy, because apparently that's what people do when they make a commitment. I wouldn't know. My husband doesn't like animals.

Anyway, when I met the puppy for the first time I asked her its name. She replied "Pooh Bear".

I just stared at her.

"That's the name I've chosen for my baby if it's a boy."

(Yes, I chose Pooh Bear. I really wanted my whole family to be named after A.A. Milne characters and they all fit in quite well in school thankyouverymuch. No one ever teases any of them. Even Piglet.)

So, because I had a boy, I named him Pooh Bear. Honestly, I didn't think that the relationship between my sister and the fiance would last and figured he would wind up with custody of said dog and there would never be a problem.

Yeah. She married him. And then they had a kid. And they kept Pooh, the dog.

So we go to visit my sister, and they yell "POOH! NO!". And MY Pooh Bear cowers in the corner, trying to figure out why everyone in Houston hates him.

And we're going for a visit soon. Pooh is dreading it. Should be fun.

Rockstar! - Updated

2008-12-15T07:06:00.002+01:00

Because my husband is on Facebook and some of those Facebook friends also read my blog, sometimes he posts items that I don't necessarily intend to post about, but that apparently people still want to hear my take on.

It's a lot of pressure. "Write, Monkey! WRITE!"

This is one of those.

Because there is not enough to do in the holiday season, my older kids' school decided they needed to put on their version of "America's Got Talent". Friday night, Tigger got up and sang her heart out for the judges and her whole school.

And she was good. Amazingly good. So good that Dylan thought she was lip syncing to Christina Aguilera.

But, unfortunately for my blog, she did not fall off the stage or catch fire, and aside from a minor technical glitch with the microphone, everything went well.

Until it came to the judges.

And unfortunately, that one beyotch judge also did not catch fire.

It's surprisingly hard to start a fire with only stage lights and a camera lens.

And yes, I know the judges were just kids too. But she was a beyotch. Don't judge me. You weren't there.

It was at that point that I realized I could totally become that psychotic cheerleader mom who put out a hit on another teenager.

Not that the judge should take this as a threat. 'Cause it isn't.

But she might want to watch her back. Just sayin'.

Update: As ~~obnoxiously~~ pointed out by Melissa the cheerleader mom I mentioned actually put out a hit on the mother of the other teenager, not the teenager herself. Perhaps I should actually read the links I put up. ~~Or put out a hit on Melissa.~~

It Gets Better...

2008-12-13T12:25:00.000+01:00

This morning I had "Chanukah, Oh Chanukah" stuck in my head. This makes sense since Piglet sings it ALL THE TIME!

While I was making breakfast for the kids, I was singing, and Piglet was chiming in. When we finished the song, I asked him "What do you play with at Chanukah?"

He said, "You play a game and get candies."

I said, "What kind of game? How do you play?"

He said, "I don't know. I'm not Mexican."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

And I promised a winner announced today. As much as I wanted ~~to fix the election so that Dawn would win and I wouldn't have to ship anything~~ everyone to win, we have only one winner.

The winner is

Heather!

Heather, email me your snail mail address and I will get this ornament out to you on Monday!

(If Heather is otherwise unable to fulfill her duties as the winner of the ornament, the ornament will then go to ~~Dawn~~ ~~Masi~~ ~~someone else in the Houston area~~ another drawn name.)

Drinking in the Afternoon

2008-12-12T07:12:00.001+01:00

This time of year in Poland, when the sun sets before the kids come home from school (I am not kidding), the Christmas/holiday season makes everyone act a bit more like heathens than usual, and there's not even any snow to make it a little brighter, people start to really dislike Poland.

I have chatted quite a bit with expats who don't like it here. I can relate, because the first time I was here I hated it.

Then I moved to Africa. And Poland looked like heaven.

But anyway, the other day I was talking to a new friend. She was telling me that she likes it fairly well here, the kids are getting on, she walks a lot and "I haven't started drinking at 2 in the afternoon. Yet."

And then I knew that she would be my BEST friend for the next 2 years.

Don't forget to post here today to enter the contest!

Views of Warsaw

2008-12-10T07:12:00.002+01:00

I have a confession to make, I don't actually live IN Warsaw. Yes, my name means Kylie IN Warsaw, but I don't actually live there.

You knew that was coming, right? You were always like, she can't possibly live in Warsaw, it's so exotic. There's no way.

Well, it's true, I don't.

I live in a rural suburb of Warsaw. Which is way less exotic, and much more...rural.

Rural meaning I pass fields and fields of cabbages on my bike path to my kids school. Rural meaning that I've actually been bitten by a horsefly, which the city doctor then told me was not possible because you only find them where there is livestock.

So anyway, I make a lot of trips INTO Warsaw, but rarely do I go to the Old Town.

Yesterday, I went shopping with friends in the Old Town. And I took my camera specifically to take photos for you, my readers.

You're welcome. And just so you know, my friends all think I'm crazy, but I'm pretty sure they thought that already. It probably had nothing to do with you. Probably.

Decorated empty street. At 9 AM on a Tuesday. And I live in a rural area.

The Mermaid. Um, there's a whole legend about her. She's kind of important here. And she looks like a badass. Even with the Christmas lights.

The tree at the Royal Castle.

And a creepy ass Santa Clause. I'm pretty sure his face is on upside down. Or it's melting off. Either way.

And don't forget to go and post here before midnight on 12 December to win a lovely Polish Christmas ornament.

300th Post

2008-12-09T14:20:00.003+01:00

NO. WAY.

This is my 300th post. I had to post today, just to say it.

And I will not do 300 things about me, because I have a very short attention span and would forget what it was I was writing before I got to 2.

So, I will just thank you all for being my readers, but I want to give a very special shout out to my very first commenter, Amy. Thanks for getting me started writing for a wider audience!

For all my commenters and loyal readers (even those of you who don't comment), I appreciate you. You are what makes me blog. Thank you.

When I was in high school I wanted to be a writer. I wrote fictional stories in serial form and passed them around my group of friends.

I do the same thing now, except that my stories are less fiction (yes, I said less) and I pass them to my group of friends around the globe.

Thank you for that.

And, to celebrate this milestone, a giveaway! Leave me a comment on this post and I will enter you to win this Polish hand painted Christmas ornament:

Contest is open to everyone. Except Amy. (You'll be getting something for being my very first commenter ever, so it's unfair to allow you to win twice;)

Contest closes midnight 12 December. Winner will be announced 13 December.

Hookers! Where?

2008-12-08T11:02:00.000+01:00

If you're ever in Warsaw, the hookers are behind the Marriott. Not that you would ever be looking for hookers. But if you were, that's where they are.

That's where they were when we lived here in 2002 and that's where they still lurk, even though the area has been built up since then.

But recently, a friend of ours encountered a hooker at the bar at another hotel in town.

She was apparently quite brazen. Of course, I suppose if you were a good hooker you would need to be brazen. I don't have much experience with hookers.

Anyway, she approached our friend and said "I'm very good."

He said, "Okay, that's nice."

She said, "I don't like Big Mac, so I not fat like American women. I have small breasts."

He said, "You're not really selling me."

Hookers, take note. Telling a man that you have small breasts is not the best way to pick one up. Who would have thought?

Pooh is Four

2008-12-07T08:01:00.000+01:00

Today, my darling Pooh Bear is four. And also, I am very sick with an awful cold, which just sucks for me (and is why I have not been doing my blog hopping and why my writing is so poor).

He was due on December 6th. Daddy arrived at 10 PM on the 6th and Pooh Bear arrived at 8:01 AM on the 7th. That speaks volumes to his personality.

Pooh Bear with Kanga. Look at those thighs (his not hers)!

He was the fat, rolly-polly baby who didn't walk until he was 18 months old.

Through all his troubles, he's always been the easy going one. Well, mostly. He really hated school when he started, but we learned that was because he attended Polish preschool and he could only lip read in English. Although, after several months he became awesome at lip reading Polish too. (He's had surgery, because it was really only a minor problem that was causing his hearing loss - but unfortunately it went undetected for a long time. Long story short, he can hear now.)

A miserable existance for a 2 year old.

He was the one who fell through the stairs in Ghana and broke his collarbone when he was only 2. He was the one who got Tumbu flies. And all the while stayed fairly easy going.

May you be always the easy going one, Pooh Bear. It suits you.

When's Chanukah?

2008-12-05T10:30:00.002+01:00

A fly on the wall would have been hearing this conversation EVERY DAY in my house lately:

Piglet: When's Chanukah?

Me: I don't know. I'll check for you.

Piglet: When do we put up the Menorah?

Me: We don't. We only put up the advent wreath.

Piglet: We should get a Menorah.

Me: Piglet, we're not Jewish. Chanukah is a Jewish celebration.

Piglet: Oh. So when do we put up the Menorah?

And he requests this song

every time we get in the car.

This is the same kid that loves that blue and white flag.

I firmly believe that my son, who thinks he's Polish, is planning to immigrate to Israel and convert to Judaism. And he's five.

Kelley's son, Boo and my Piglet would make great friends.

How to Make Mommy Take a Time Out

2008-12-03T07:25:00.001+01:00

by Stewie

Step 1: Make counter sandwich.

Step 2: Throw BRAND NEW jar of Nutella against the white tile floor causing it to explode all over the white cabinets.

Step 3: Stand back and watch.

(Kylie here. Just to clarify I DID NOT CHOOSE to have a white kitchen. My husband's job, which owns the house, decided that white kitchens and bathrooms were THE thing - 'cause the person who made the choice did not have children.)

Parenting in a Facebook World

2008-12-02T14:40:00.004+01:00

This notice has been coming home via email for a few weeks from my older kids' school:

Parenting in a Facebook World
Topic: Social Networking has become very popular with students at (name of school removed because I believe in censorship). During this Parent Partnership workshop parents will get a hands-on look at Facebook when they log in and create an account. Parents will learn how to keep profiles private, learn the lingo of Facebook, and discuss how to talk to their children about Facebook.

This whole thing stems from the first meeting where the kids were issued their laptops (I KNOW!). A few parents strongly suggested that the school should block Facebook.

Hello 1999! Awesome. Let's block Facebook. And while we're at it, the kids shouldn't be able to access wikipedia (because, you know, it's not accurate, except for those references at the bottom), or email. Next thing you know, they'll be blocking porn and blogs too (we all know those two go hand in hand). And there goes MY readership.

Our daughter has a Facebook page. But, hubby ALSO has a Facebook page and has her as his friend. He (we) can keep tabs on her and her friends. Heck, I check up on my own students. It's this simple, people. Which I guess is why they are having the workshop. Because it IS this simple.

And this reminded me of the conversation that Globetrekking Mom and I had about how the Polish people don't check their email. The first time I asked a person (who was not Polish, btw) if she got my email and she said, "Oh, I don't check my email", I was just flabbergasted. I just babbled, "You duh...you don't cheyhhh...what?!?!?" I mean, I don't expect that everyone checks their email every hour like I do, but at least once a day, right? And particularly when you have ASKED SOMEONE TO EMAIL YOU SOMETHING.

*Ring, Ring* "Hello Ula? Yes, I just sent you an email. You should probably check it."

But I'm still amazed that parents of children the same age as my daughter are so technologically impaired. When will it happen to me?

Kitten? Really? Kitten?

2008-11-30T11:59:00.000+01:00

I've seen this billboard around town:

It's always intrigued me, but then I've been known to be fascinated with billboards. Particularly when I have to translate them (poorly) myself. Because despite what my children think, I do not think in Polish.

But this one I kept thinking about. What does "To Nie Tak Kotku" mean? My horrible translation of this is "That's not yes cat".

And now you know why I don't shop for groceries much.

Finally, yesterday, I was not ~~paying attention to the road~~ driving so I was able to get a closer look at the sign. It reads "To Nie Tak Jak Myślisz Kotku".

I thought about this all day. Again. 'Cause I fixate a bit.

I called Dylan* at work at noon. When he picked up the phone I shouted "It's not what you think, Kitten!"

To which he replied, "Huh?" As though he hadn't been thinking about it every minute since I dropped him off.

"That sign! It says 'It's not what you think, Kitten'! Like, you know, she's a kitten. Or he is. Or it's about a cat. Whatever. That's what the sign says!"

"Well, that's great. I'll talk to you later."

Humph. Like he wasn't thinking about what signs mean all day when he's working. Sure. It's only me.

* Yes, for a short time my husband was known as Owl. He hated that and ~~threatened to never buy me camera equipment~~ ~~scrapbooking supplies~~ ~~anything again~~ politely suggested that I use a different name for him. I agreed because ~~I like stuff~~ ~~I don't make money~~ ~~there was alcohol involved~~ I love him.

WORST GIFT EVER!

2008-11-28T07:12:00.004+01:00

I spend a lot of my day Christmas shopping this time of year. For me that means, a lot of websurfing.

In my websurfing I found this item. I couldn't figure it out for quite some time and then I finally realized that it's a cat that hangs from your ceiling and MOVES like it's walking. It's also listed on their site as "For Kids".

Please DO NOT get this for me. That last cat looks like my E.D. and I still sometimes see her out of the corner of my eye wandering through the house. It really freaks me out, you know, since I killed her and all.

So the worst possible thing would be to have a cat that looks like my dead cat that I killed hanging from my ceiling haunting me. Of course if you were trying to push me over the edge, then I suppose this would be the best gift to get me.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T12:46:00.002+01:00

Today, the United States celebrates Thanksgiving. In the words of AnnaKay, "They have two days off, so apparently it's a big deal..."

I thought I would go with my SIL's (who got the job! Go Dawn!) idea and just post 10 things that I'm thankful for.

1. My children. They are the best gift ever. And I know how blessed I am.
2. My husband. I love him more and more each day and I'm grateful to have such a love.
3. My health. This is a huge deal in my family.
4. My whole extended family. My mother and father in law, who are the best anyone could ask for. My sister in law her husband and my nieces (the cutest little girls ever!), my brother in law, my brother in law and sister (who is wrapping my Christmas presents!) and nephew. And my dad.
5. For all of you, my dear readers. You give purpose to my blog.
6. For a delicious meal that I'm cooking, therefore I know it will be delicious.
7. For life in Poland. For all it's faults, it's an awesome post. I always have power and water and I can buy food that I'm familiar with here.
8. That I'm nearing graduation finally. 16 years is a normal time to finish a bachelor's degree, right?
9. For a nice non snowy day to play American football with my kids in.
10. For a half day of school. Enough to let my kids have a nice big dinner, but not enough for them to get bored and torture each other constantly:).

Hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving. Even if it's not your holiday!

Wordless Wednesday

2008-11-26T14:14:00.003+01:00

Seasonal Ambiguous Disorder - Updated

2008-11-25T07:06:00.001+01:00

Last week I went to see the psychiatrist because of my blues. I generally try to keep this blog as my happy place (and pretty much everywhere else because as a neurotically depressed teenager you learn that people don't really want to be around the sad, depressing person, which just leads you to being more depressed, and so on. Like that old anti drug commercial about cocaine. But for me it's more, I seem happy so I can have more friends so I can seem happier so I can have more friends...)

ANYWAY, I went to the psychiatrist and he diagnosed me with Seasonal Affective Disorder and prescribed me a light. A FREAKING LIGHT. AND it costs over $200.

And because my field of study has been psychology, I was like, "WHAT THE HELL KIND OF PSYCHIATRIST ARE YOU? You're supposed to be a drug dealer. Hey, drug dealer! WHERE ARE MY DRUGS???"

Yeah, but I didn't do that because then I might have been committed. Or thrown in jail. Or tossed out of Poland. All of which would have been bad. I think.

And he told me to quit drinking and exercise more. And I was like, "Yeah, only ONE of those is going to happen. I'm not superwoman! So which is it doc, drinking or exercise?"

(Oh, and the "exercise more" for those of you who know me, was because he asked if I exercise and I said "I used to" meaning: about a week ago I quit because the parking situation was too bad and almost made me burst into tears so I had to stop going to the gym to keep my sanity, and he heard "I used to" meaning: the last time I strapped on running shoes was in 1985 - and I was 11 then.)

Updated - I should have posted a picture of the light originally. And here's where you can find one (in case you also have seasonal affective disorder and a psychiatrist who doesn't believe in medicine):

Invisibilty Cloak Revisited

2008-11-23T10:49:00.001+01:00

Last week I posted about how I (or the kid) should get an invisibility cloak and this week I was reading this issue of Time:

And guess what I found!

Yep, an invisibility cloak is feasible! And you saw it here first!

Now excuse me, I'm off to Berkley. Can you watch my kids? I'll be back in about a week, but you won't know it.