Take another little piece of my alcohol soaked heart

For this weeks roundtable my boy Donny B asks where are all the growling, spitting rock chics? These days Avril Lavigne and Ashlee Simpson are what passes for punk. Donny thinks this sucks, and frankly I agree. In fact I'm going to drink a double shot of tequila I'm so pissed off.

C is for Cookie

Tonight, by pure coincidence I made not only my first Curry, but also my first Alliteration meal. At home I had curry powder and courgettes (as zucchini is known over in the UK), I went to the grocery store and bought some chicken, coriander and cumin.

So tonight we had a Chicken courgette coriander cumin curry. To drink we had a bottle of red wine from Cahors and for dessert (and I promise I didn’t plan this) we had…Carrot Cake! (By the way the curry turned out fabulous. Stephane thinks we should open our own curry house. )

After dinner we went outside in the garden for some fresh air (we turned the clocks back in England and spring is finally here) and we found out that we were not alone.

A hedgehog lives in our garden. We named him Hilbert. I love him.

One for you nineteen for me

Oh yeah it's the taxman. Stephen V Funk discusses why taxes are so, well, taxing for this week's Roundtable discussion. I personally am quite enjoying the tax system here in England - the money just disappears from my pay check each month. And unlike other places, I feel the benefits of these taxes immediately. Ask me how much I paid for the doctor last week. Go on ask me. Nothing. Not a single pence. Yeah. And guess how much I pay for my birth control. Go on, take a guess. Nada. And they shove free condoms down your shirt before you leave.

But needless to say, Stephen V Funk is not as happy with the tax system in the United States. Is anyone? Go on over and give us your best rant.

Playing house

The house is slowly starting to come along. Billy the book case is set up, full of trinkets, photos, DVDs and books. My pop-art corner is blossoming with an olive green glass lamp sitting on a bright orange chair. The dining room still needs a lot of work done, but the rustic kitchen table donated to us by Stephane's boss is perfect. We're actually eating at the kitchen table, listening to the radio instead of wolfing food down on the sofa in front of the t.v. I feel so grown-up! Pictures soon.

Yeah that's right. I'm the short one.

I am often shocked at how lucky I am to have the person whose life is the most closely woven with my own also be the person I love the most.

For the first time I was able to see my little sister for the incredible woman that she is.
We talked and walked and pretended to visit Nottingham while really we were visiting each other.

We live oceans and worlds apart. Sometimes I think we couldn’t be any different. But I can see my childhood mirrored in her face. She brings me to my knees with laughter with a simple glance and forces tears from my eyes with a single word. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We were going to give you a photographic rendition of the song “I love my Sister” made popular by the Barney show, but we became preoccupied with father issues, pissing on corporate billboards, flirting with scientists and just never got around to it.



For this weeks roundtable, Head over to Sereena X and join in on her plea for comments. Get a cold drink and saddle up. Because as much as we like the sound of our own voices, we'd like to hear from you.

You call that customer service??

And now for the debut from our newest Roundtable member, Atul. He gives us a rant on customer service, something we can ALL relate to. Why is it so poor and why do act like children on christmas morning when we experience a sadly rare positive customer service experience?

Go over and give us your worst customer service experiences. You know you're dying to share.

In like a lion, out like a lamb

March has started out like a Lion. Well, as Lion-y as the East Midlands can get. When I think back to some gruelling months of March in Chicago, with freezing rain, wind, and snow, this English lion, is more like a lion cub, but a rebellious one at that.

Here we have the first snow in our backyard. I can’t wait to buy a pair of Wellies and start exploring in the woods/trash yard that encompasses the end third of our garden.

My little sister will be our first guest (if you don’t count certain “homeless” scientists). It’s amazing how clutter and squalor that you deem perfectly acceptable for a Couple just having moved into an unfurnished home with only a coffee table and a TV to their name suddenly becomes shameful evidence of the unkempt dinginess that is your life when you know family will soon have to share the squalor with you. At least it’s just my sister and not my mom who is coming to see the new place before it’s ready. Otherwise I’d be having kittens right now.

I’m sure the house would be in a more finished state if I hadn’t got the Nintendo Game Cube. MarioKart Double Dash is sure to be the end of this happy relationship. But hey, we had a good run.

I had a request from Neil to a) Post more often and b) put up a picture of me setting up house in my underwear. Unfortunately for Neil, it is simply too cold and curtain-less in my home for such photo shoots. But since it is his birthday, I will give him this:



Not only is it a rare photo of me smiling, but my right breast is practically leaping out of my dress. Nothing but class.

If I could paint a picture of Love it would look like this:

A man taking a shower while his severely hungover girlfriend is sitting in front of the toilet with a bowl of plain rice he has made her. He tells her, " It's ok, you can throw-up. I won't look."

Is it Thursday again?

Well well well, we have another roundtable. By the master himself , the man sitting at the head of the table, is a rant on how Brokeback Mountain has made gayness so mainstream, it, well, kind of sucks.

The Oscars are looming, and I'll probably be trying to listen to it on the radio over in England at three in the morning.

Throw in your two cents. Lord knows we could use the change.

How much did you miss me?

Do you want to know how much I enjoy unpacking? () This much. And that is actual size people, actual size. The house is slowly coming together, thanks to shameless charity that we have been taking from anyone willing to give. Fabulous plush chairs, wine glasses the size of my head, a lamp that I couldn’t live without, and a plant that I’m sure to accidentally kill within a month’s time – all free. One man’s junk is another woman’s fortune. Wait. Gross.

I get swirls of pride and elation when I walk up MY stairs, when I see a cat stop by MY garden before moving on to his next prowling grounds, when I hear the sound of the Boy taking out MY trash cans to the curb. But here in lies the problem. Having my first proper house makes me realise that I have control issues. All those "MY"s in bold? They should be OURS, but I’m having a hard time sharing the interior decorating tasks. Each room is an empty canvas, and the end result in mind’s eye is so perfect, I know that if I want it done right, I’m going to have to do it myself. I guess I prefer to play house alone. Which has not been easy on the other occupant of this house, who certainly deserves equal say in how his shelter will look. All I can do is thank my lucky stars that I am with a kind and patient man, who far from a doormat – at least knows how to pick and choose his battles.

The Boy was outside the other night for a whole of two minutes and came back in having met two new neighbours and managed to acquire a dinner invitation for us both. Stephane’s French charm draws people in like flies to honey. A little social butterfly.

After scrubbing the kitchen clean with my own toothbrush, removing how ever many years of pizza’s and ready-made meals from students of yore I have finally made my first meal in the new place. A plaite fish on a bed of tomatoes and courgettes with dill couscous. A delight.

Besides the house being a bit chilly, the fact that I have to walk over a different pile of broken car glass from all the break-ins, the fact that bailiffs are approaching us because the previous tenant is in serious debt and that I’m convinced that one of our neighbours makes crystal meth in their kitchen and they haven’t even approached me for a trial taste, I am utterly content. A kitten asleep in a sunspot with a belly full of warm milk kind of content.