There Ain't No Devil, It's Just God When He's Drunk

Okay, so yesterday, when I received all my documents back, including passport with no visa, I freaked out. I panicked, started crying, and immediately called Scottie to say that I was doomed. He calmly assured me that if they kept my bank statements, then maybe it was okay still and that maybe they had all the information they needed...they were just waiting on more bank information. At the time it sounded reasonable. Sure, they sent me back the stuff they didn't need, kept the stuff they did, and I'll hear from the soon. Sure. Okay.

Then today I was talking to Kiki. She reaffirmed my initial fears that if they had sent me back my passport, then obviously I didn't get the visa. Visa's aren't loose documents that just get stapled or something, they are laminated into your passport precisely so it doesn't get lost. She sent me off on a barrage of phone calls. FYI: Contacting these people is easier than contacting Guantanamo Bay. I phoned the 900 number, and my phone disconnected, saying "call restricted". Pants. Then I tried the LA number that was sent to me when they first contacted me requiring my physical address. It was a recorded message saying that I should go on line, or phone the 900 number. It also stated that the 900 number was for general visa enquiries only, and that they would be UNABLE to provide me with any information about visa statuses after I had received the e-mail from the Consulate stating that my visa had arrived at the Consulate offices. Crap....

So I sent off more e-mails to Ingrig, who I feel I know rather well now, after sending her 8 e-mails in the past two weeks, and at 14:52 she sent me this back:

Please look in your passport for the entry clearance (visa). I have sent your original bank statements back to you today.

So does this mean I got approved? I assume it does. But god obviously is drunk and has a mean sense of humour because THERE IS NO VISA IN MY PASSPORT!



Seriously! I have gone through EACH AND EVERY PAGE, looked at everything 3 times over, went through all the loose documents that came with my passport, looked at all my stamps, did the whole thing 4 more times. THERE IS NO VISA! So, even if I am approved (which hopefully Ingrid's e-mail suggests), then I STILL have to send my passport back to LA to get it taken care of.

What is worse, I JUST sent off an e-mail describing this to Ingrid. I JUST got an e-mail back.

I AM CURRENTLY OUT OF THE OFFICE UNTIL 5/1/09

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

NOW SHE IS GONE! On farking holiday until MAY! So now I have to contact another person and get her to realise that Ingrid FORGOT to give me my visa!!!!

God, I am totally joining you tonight in deep inebriation. Fuck.

Well...I am pretty confident that I got my visa application denied. Several factors seem to indicate this.

Yesterday, I received a UPS letter full of my supporting documents. Passport, diploma, un-accepted bank statements. That was it. No letter of refusal, no more information, that was it. So I sent off some e-mails and tried to leave some messages, but nothing so far. I went online to see what it said I could do:

If we refuse an application for entry clearance and you think that an error has been made, you can ask us to check our decision. This is known as an Administrative Review.
You MUST NOT send any additional documents such as passport or supporting documents with the Administrative Review Request Notice. If the refusal is subsequently overturned, you will be asked to send in your passport. You may request only ONE Administrative Review per refusal decision. Any further review requests for the same refusal decision will not be accepted and will be returned to you. However, where the Administrative Reviewer upholds the refusal but with different grounds, you may request a Review limited to these new refusal grounds.

Must not send any supporting documents? But what about all the freaking bank letters and such I have been asking for and which have been trickling in...and which I have been sending off to the lady in LA...?

So the fact that IF the refusal is overturned then I will have to send my passport back. Seeing that I Have my passport now, it means that I have been denied. EVEN THOUGH I HAVE CLOSE TO $20,000 ready...they don't believe my e-statements are real!!!!! And when I go down to the bank to speak with the managers, they say they can't provide anything more legally real and official than what I already sent them. When I go online to the direct customer support centre, they say they'll give me letters...but apparently banks FAIL at reading the directions I provide them, and their letters are deemed insufficient by the British Consulate.

I know that I haven't received an official rejection letter, but I feel that is coming since I have my passport and documents already.

Shit.

I found a shirt today that I had brought from Edinburgh to California to wear, and the first thing I noticed as I slipped it on was the smell. No, it didn't reek from weeks of being stored in my suitcase, but had the fragrant aroma of home. The smell that I first notice when I hug my Scottie after not seeing him for months, the smell that wraps itself around me when I first crawl into the Edinburgh bed, and the smell that I recognise from 5,000 miles away as belonging to us. Along with that smell came the realisation that I could smell it, meaning that I have now been away from home so long that I've lost the us smell and probably have reverted back to giving off the odour of my parents' home- dog, wood smoke, horse sweat, a dash of incense, a dash of hay, and a hint of wind carrying the bite of snow.

It's funny how people create their own unique smell- the one that hits you when you first enter their house or get in their car or borrow their sweatshirt. I think you can tell a lot about people by how they smell, but maybe that's just me.

People who tend to drown their living space in those sickly artificial plug in fragrances, spray deodorisers, and potpourri bowls that are supposed to smell like fresh rain, ocean breezes, or sun kissed country raspberry lemonade tend to be anal neat freaks with something to hide. A two-faced false nature, or a rotting corpse in the basement? No one will know with their nostrils so clogged with the scents of Amazon Mist distracting them.

Those who tend to have more musky, woody scents around tend to be more laid back and unreserved. Especially since sandalwood incense helps to fudge the smell of other headier aromas, like the ones that result from smoking pipes or joints.

Then there are those who surround themselves with floral scents. Not the artificial kind from the potential ax murders, but from real flowers. They might also have an assortment of floral sprays, like lavender water, rose water, or lilac water hanging around for when they think their feet smell. I even had a friend who went and bought lavender scented bin liners and rose scented toilet paper. Very prissy, very girly, and very much sending subliminal scented messages that she was not of the common populace, but all together on another tier of high moneyed society. Plus, I have to say I secretly loathed the fact that she could afford FRESH bloody bouquets from Marks and Spencer's EVERY BLOODY WEEK!

I've always wondered what I smelled like from an outsider perspective. I guess I'll never really know unless something happens and I find myself living alone. I would like to think of myself as an earthy, woody, warm scent with dashes of clean breezes and a dollop of floras punctuating every now and then. Scottie claims that I have my own "Shady-Smell' that I give off when we're cuddling, but he's not very good at descriptions and can never pin point what it is about my smell that makes it mine.

I just hope I never become one of those peopel who smells bad and doesn't know it. Like my brother's college room. Musty from the mold accruing in cups, old lanudry that's festering in the corner, unwashed bedsheets, stale sweat, and hot plastic from the computer that is never turned off.

Blech.

No, I didn't get a job. Or have really looked for one, since Mom decided that I would be their next painter. BUT I am being interviews nonetheless from the fabulous Erin over at andherheardisinireland.

1. What birthday has been the best?
The ones where I've been in the UK. I never really did birthdays growing up because my birthday is in the summer and all my friends were off with their parents on family holidays. So most birthdays consisted of me going out to dinner with my family. But over is the UK, I have the bestest friends ever, and while we still just go out to dinner, there is also mucho drinks and banter involved.

2. If English was your second language what other language would you have has your first?
A few years ago I would have said French, since one of my life goals in to be fluent in another language, and 4 years of high school and one quarter of French in uni means that French would be my closest bet. But I'm not that that into it. Plus thinking about the question, what it's really saying is "if you weren't born in an English speaking country, where would you like to have been born, since English is not your first language." Born wise, it would have to be Norway. Ever since we had to study Norway's socialist economy in high school Econ, it always struck me as a great place to have been born. BUT, if I could be fluent in another language in addition to English, I would go for Quechua. Because then I totally would be able to go to Peru and fulfil my archaeology dreams, most likely with a fatty (or as big as they come for South American Archaeology) grant since I would actually be able to converse with the local indigenous tribes that remain. I suppose then I would also have to know Spanish so I could fit in with every else.

3. What is your favorite piece of artwork?
This is a tough one since I was an Art History major. I also was a History MSc. So I like art that really rubs history in your face. Enter Jacque Louis David, especially during the early rumblings and height of the French Revolution. I'm a big fan of Oath of the Horatti



and Death of Marat, not just for the Neo-Classical mastery, but for all the historical symbols imprinted into them. Looking at either piece is basically like reading a historical text book on the French Revolution, but much more ascetically pleasing.

4. Where has been the best class you took in college, why?
Another toss up. Def Early-Modern French art with Norman Bryson is up there. Not only is Bryson a genius, he also makes class every fun, very easy to understand concepts, and opens your eyes to the history ingrained in each piece. His classes were very much like History..only with Pictures, rather than Paintings...let's talk about how we feel about their styles and what the artist was feeling.. Blech. The other awesome class I took would be Intro to the Inca by Goldstien. This was my first archaeology class on Peru, and while I had taken others on the Maya, the ancient Peruvians really struck a chord for some reason which led to this fascination with Peruvian archaeology. Everyone else in the class seemed to struggle, but for some reason I totally go everything that Goldstien was saying, and even enjoyed the readings...very rare.

5. What has been the most beautiful place you've been to and why?
As much as I would like it to be Scotland or some romantic scenery of the Highlands, the most beautiful place I've seen would be Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt County.

It's not so much the road through the trees I like, but the forest itself. I grew up in a forest very similar, but with much smaller trees. I love the overwhelming feeling of growth, the beauty of sunlight trickling its way down through the canopy, the, and the history that resonates out of these giants, many of whom have been around since the Alexander conquered the Mediterranean.


Everything is so green, there's hardly anyone else around, and you feel so at peace. There are loads of places to pull over and hike, and there are wonderful hiking trails that take you through the heart of the trees and along the river.

Thanks again to Erin and her questions. If anyone wants me to shoot a few questions their way, lemme know and I'll be happy to think up something.

The breakdown
Two days ago, I broke. Things seemed to be going well, but then just as I was about to go to bed, I got hit by the tsunami of negative emotions that seems to hit me every so often. There was the typical girlie stuff of being too fat (damn always comparing myself to others...like YOU Miss Americans), of the stress of being home and having to deal with granny (FYI- she has now turned paparazzi. My bedroom door was open 3 inches. She came out, stared at me on my bed knitting for a good minute, before coming back and trying to take "sneaky" pictures of me through the crack in the door. WTF.)and with missing my boyfriend so much. Add to that general depression from being stuck at the ranch in the middle of no where with no friends, nothing to do, and knowing about my visa whatsoever. So I started crying hysterically. Normally, Scottie knows exactly how to make me feel better. Since he knows me so well emotionally, he can calm me down make me be reasonable again. But he wasn't here. So I did what the next rational person would do, I phoned him over skype at 8am his time to cry. It took him a while to wake up, but finally he did to answer the phone. And he managed to soothe the savage beast by throwing something positive at me every time I lashed out with something negative. He suggested that I should get outside and get some fresh air at least once a day. Take a little walk. Get some time to myself, rather than keep myself confined to the house (as I had been for the past 3 days...yeah, cabin fever might have added to it all too), and that I would probably start feeling better.

The Attempt

The next day I did. I was resigned that since I can't play tennis with anyone, I should at least try to find some fun for myself. And maybe burn some calories while I was at it. So I slipped on my tennies and headed for the door. Now, my parents bought this property because it was 20 acres, surrounded by probably another 100 acres of cow pasture and undeveloped land. Which is good for my mom and her horseback riding. Our property is mainly the side of a hill though, and mom converted that into donkey pasture. To get to our house, you have to drive through a closed gate, through the donkey pasture, and then through another closed gate to the house. In my head, I was going to try a little run from the closed gate by our house, through the donkey pasture, and then through another closed gate leading to the undeveloped land. But I hate running, so instead I was going to run to different trees and climb them.

Things started out fine. I ran to the top of the hill, looked around, saw tree #1, and ran to it. Then managed to monkey up. That's when I noticed that our dog Beau had sensed me and was trying to get from behind the fence to play too. And sure enough, he did. This wasn't supposed to happen. Beau then took off towards the undeveloped property fence, slipped under, and was gone. Oh shit. So I ran back down to my mom and told her that he had escaped. We went out to call him in, but as always, nothing is easy in my world. Mom had to open the gate that leads from our house to the donkey pasture, and when she did, the donkey decided to make their break for it and dash in. I was on the other side of the house calling the dog, but saw them dart in. So I had to run off again, this time arms flailing, hands clapping, and feet stomping to try and heard them away from the house and back down the driveway towards their pasture. I felt like a sheep dog. Eventually, we managed to get the donkeys back, find Beau, and then patch up the fence where he had slipped under.

The fail
By now, I was getting tired,but I still wanted to attempt my failed excercise plan. I started off again, but quickly realised that it wouldn't be so easy. The ground up here isn't exactly good for bipeds, and in fact it will try to kill anyone moving faster than a slow walk. There are hidden rocks scattered amongst the 2 ft high grass ready to trip you if you're not paying attention. Also hidden among the tall grasses are gopher holes, snake holes, and small mounds that are ideal for anyone looking to break/twist their ankle. Add to that the ticks, rattlesnakes (coming in about 2 months), and hidden bogs, and it isn't so much running as trying to manoeuvre through an obstacle course. You can't so much run as prance. A running skip where you bounce like a deer, making sure to land on the balls of your toes roll back. I totally looked like King Arthur in Monty Python's Holy Grail prancing around in a field. All I needed were the coconuts.

After almost an hour of this, my clothes were soaking, I was mud splattered up to my waist, I was covered in bits of moss and soggy bark, just really wanted to go home and take a shower. However, I did feel way way way better and was even quite happy. So the plan worked, but I need to figure out a way that isn't so dirty or runs the risk of playing sheep dog all day.

These dudes just keep popping up everywhere and wreck havoc

It's pretty common knowledge that Granny does not have the best hearing. She is also known for asking inane questions, making pointless comments, and speaking for the sole purpose of eliciting some kind of response. So in a way, she really is asking for it. IT would be the awful little game that I play with Granny and her horrible hearing.
Granny: "Now where are you going?"
Me: "To kill some hookers"
Granny: "The post office? Oh, I have some mail too!"

Granny: "Where's your dad?"
Me: "Dead"
Granny: "So early? wow, he must be tired."

Granny: "Where were you all day?"
Me: "Vivisecting puppies."
Granny: "Gettin groceries?"
Me: "Yeah"

Sometimes I genuinely am telling the truth and Granny still can't understand me, so I just agree with whatever she says because it's so much easier than arguing.

"Oh, don't forget I have an eye appointment on Tuesday"
"You mean Thursday. Thursday at 11"
"That's right, 11"
"On Thursday."
"Tuesday at 11. We can go to the bakery afterwards"
'Okay."

"Oh, is that In-N-Out?"
"Yeah"
"They made such a fuss in the paper when In-n-Out was coming to town. They has a picture of cars lining up around the block just to get a hamburger."
"Do you want to stop and get a hamburger?"
"Okay. I think they were created by some old lesbian women in Southern California"
"What?!?!"
'Yeah, and that's why Marge likes them so much- because it was started by women."
"They're actually kind of religious...they have proverbs printed on all their cups and stuff"
"Because they're lesbian."
"Okay."

I also tend to see how much I can make her believe me. This happens a lot, particularly when she asks particularly stupid questions or is just downright annoying me.

For instance, I just got home after discovering not one, but TWO Thai markets in the uber ghetto. I have been aching to make some of my sweet, sweet Asian dishes, so I splurged on things to make Vietnamese Spring rolls, Thai tea, prawn salad- noodles, sauces, fresh herbs, etc. Granny came into the kitchen to poke around and start taking things out of bags so she could see them.
"Oh, where did you go?"
"Thai supermarket"
"Is all this Thai food?"
"Thai/Vietnamese-ish."
"Oh, and what are you going to make with it?"
"Italian."
"Italian?"
'Yeah."
"Oh, I didn't know they used the same ingredients."
'Oh yeah, Thailand colonised Italy in the 14th century."
'Wow, I learn something new everyday!"

Normally I try to restrain myself when company is around, but sometimes I can't help it. I remember when Scottie was here and we were preparing to leave for town so that he could buy up some quality American merchandise before flying home where everything is twice as much. Granny caught us as were were making for the door.
"Now where are you going?"
"Into town, bye."
'Hold on, now, why are you going into town?"
'We're going to Kohls."
"What are you buying at Kohls?"
'Nothing. Bye."
'No, wait. Why are you going to Kohls if you aren't going to buy anything."
"I' m not, Scottie is."
"Scottie!?!? What does he need to buy at Kohls?" (FYI- Kohls is like a Macys or Debenhams, only 187 times cheaper. Levis are $28-$32, Vera Wang towels are like $10! They just sell clothes and shoes and a few home furnishings like picture frames, candles, and posh frying pans.)
"A chainsaw."
"A chainsaw? Why does he need a chainsaw?"
"They don't sell them in Scotland."
"Really? Then how do they cut down trees?"
"With axes. "
"But how will he get a chainsaw on the plane?"
Before I could go on, Scottie came to my grandma's rescue and told her that I was only joking, and that he was going to buy jeans and shoes. Then we ran out the door before she could ask any more questions.

I started to do the same thing with mom, but she catches on quicker and isn't as guillible. I know that this will probably happen to me too in 40 years, and I only hope I'm as entertaining.

The computer/technology gods tooooooooooooooooootally like to screw with me. So, once upon a time, I thought I'd be clever and change the el bloggo layout. I have always wanted a three column thing and thought that I had found one. After uploading it, I realised it was crap. Horrible, horrible crap. So I tried another one. ERROR! And another one. ERROR. Then the ORIGINAL ONE I had saved BEFORE uploading the others. ERROR. It failed EVERYTIME. I tried to look up the errors, and they said that google has yet to fix any of them and that you had to just delete your blog and start over again. Ha, right. So instead, I tried to rebuild it. And still, I find that certain things give me ERRORs. So if anyone out there knows how to solve a template error starting with bx-, PLEASE enlighten me.

All this after my pay as you go phone doubles my minutes. Since I bounce between the US and the UK so much, there is no point getting a real phone, especially since I really *heart* the idea of pay as you go. My old contract cost me $50 a month, but since I live in the boonies and have no friends, I can get away with $15 a month- or could until they raised their minimum to $20. Still cheaper than before! Today I had to top up. I bought the credit on line, and...ERROR. But it told me not to hit refresh or else be charged twice, so I ran away. Later I found a tab for "adding time." It told me that I had to re-programme my phone. I did, and presto, I magically ended up with twice the amount that I paid for. Score.

So win on phone minutes, fail at blog. I'm really hoping this bug gets fixed...or else it might be a moving party!

"This is regarding your visa application. My manager will not accept these bank statements. Please see the Immigration Rules regarding maintenance"

DUUUUUUUUUUUUDE! By now, I have sent this chick 3 different forms of bank statements, all SAYING THE SAME THING, some PRINTED OUT BY THE BANK!

Oh, and btw, I DID SEE ALL THE IMMIGRATION RULES REGARDING MAINTENANCE! I FOLLOWED THEM!

Tomorrow, I am going back to the bank. I am having them stamp EVERY PAGE of my statements. Then, when my official verifying letter comes, I am sending that too. THEN, when my hard copy statements eventually arrive, I will send that too.

Nice that I put Jan.20th as the day I expected to depart. Thank jebus I don't have to deal with things like plane tickets and schedules....but what it means is more time spent at home. And grandma needs new eyewear now...

For those of you out there who don't know, I happen to live in one of the most remote, backwards, white-trash, hillbilly areas of California. That is, when I am not living in Scotland. Normally, when I tell people in the UK that I am from California, I get the typical not-from-California responses: The weather must be so nice! Everyone must be so tan! What's is like having Arnold Schwarzenegger for a Governor? And almost all their comments (apart from the last one) is location specific, as in anything SOUTH of San Luis Obispo. For those of us North of that pseudo-equator, its a different story. We have trees that have been around since the ice age, live half the year in fog, the other half in rain, and every once in a while get to enjoy weather in the mid 70s/80s Fahrenheit in the summer. Then there is the sliver of California that even Northern Californians blink twice upon hearing about its existance. It's dry as a desert, rattlesnake infested, and contains neither trees, beach, fog, rain, or any form of civilisation. It is so un-Californian that I think most people just call it Nevada, and in fact, Nevada county is just 40 minutes away, even though it's like 2 hours from Nevada state. I believe that this is because California secretly wants to let this part of CA cede from the state.

And that is where my family has ended up. Here's a list I've drawn up of what I've noticed so far.

-More women have mullets than men...and that is only because there is a larger female to male ratio
-Children under the age of 4 have Mohawks...when they turn 5 they get to graduate to mullets
-They list the day's hunting hours on the front page of the local paper
-You see people walking their llama up the driveway
-Your driveway is over a mile long
-The freshest milk available is at the gas station next to the highway, a 10 minute drive away
-You're the obvious outcast if you don't have at least one gun
-Your household only has 2 legal drivers, but your yard has at least 4 cars, 3 of which have dogs, goats, chickens, or cats living both on and inside of them
-You still use livestock as a form of currency (my mom had 10 guinea hens butchered and paid the butcher 5 hens for the task of killing and cleaning them)
-The roads don't have lines painted down their centres
-Everyone has a truck that has 4 wheel drive, covered in dirt, mud, and won't get washed until it rains
-The illiteracy rate is 20%
-Your mom waters the garden with a hose in one had and a rifle in the other...just in case there are rattlesnakes
-Dressy attire at a restaurant is dusting the dirt off your jeans and scraping the equine/bovine manure off your steel toed boots
-There are two sit-down restaurants, complete with menus and waiters/waitresses for ever 14 fast food ones. 1:8 = classy dining.
-The town consists of (1) post-office, (1) "mercantile" shop which sells jerky and chewing tobacco, (1) elementary school, and (1) bar.
-The bar opens at 9- this most likely leads to
-Headline in paper: Farther shoots son in car chase, injures friend.
-Also could lead to : Four assault rifles, about 40 pounds of frozen meat and piles of 20-year-old deer antlers all point to a case of poaching against a father and son
-Might also be the reason the deputies drive into canals
-It's not uncommon to eat rabbit, deer, and any animal you happen to find in your back yard
-You're not hard pressed to find a varriety of people selling produce out of their homes, trailers, cars or trucks every mile or so, most of which looks like it was previously purchased at the Grocery Outlet store beforehand.

I'm sure this list will grow, but I've only been visiting home for about a month now.

Holy hell, I miss Edinburgh SO much!

So I get this today:

From: Ingrid
Date: 2009/1/15
Subject: visa
To: Shady

This is regarding your visa application. I need your original bank statement, please send to my attention as soon as possible.

Thank you

Ingrid

The problem? I DONT HAVE ORIGINAL BANK STATEMENTS BECAUSE I GET ELECTRONIC ONES! The ones I sent her WERE the official electronic ones. So I race down to to the bank (40 minutes away, might I add!) to get THEM to print out my statement. Turns out they can't, they can only print out a copy of my transaction history. Fine. So I get that, post it to this chick, and go home. Then I look online to see what it says about electronic statements. I know, I probs should have done this first, but in my haste to make it to the bank and post office on time, it just didn't occure to me. I search, I search, and finally (since the helpful website does not come with a 'search' feature), I 'ctrl f' it to look for the words "funds." 20 minutes later I find it.

It says that printouts are fine as long as they are accompanied with an official letter from the bank on company paper stating that the information on my electronic statement is true. Ummm...shit. So I go BACK to the bank (I SPENT ALMOST 3 HOURS in travel today!!) and show them what the visa requirements say. The problem? Banks in the US DONT DO LETTERS. I asked a Teller and was referred to her manager. The manager said that they don't have letterhead because anything they print out is verified legal. So there is NO way I can get a letter from them because they don't have any letterhead, and I would have to contact their corporate customer services for help....All she could do was print out my transaction history (again) and stamp it with the Washington Mutual branch stamp. She also signed it...for what it was worth. So I posted that too. Then I came home and went back on line to see what the Washington Mutual webpage had to offer. For $5 each, I could get a paper copy sent to me. So I spent $20 on that...which takes 5-15 working days!!! So IF this lady won't accept my Bank print out of my transaction history, then in a week or two I should have my paper copy....but by that time, who knows if this lady will have given up on me , DENIED my application, and sent it back.....I am going off to sob hysterically into my pillow now.

I am in my room, just finished putting my bra on, and what do you know, I hear the doorknob turning and in pops grandma. GET THE FRACK OUT OF MY ROOM! I'M GETTING DRESSED!

"Going somewhere?"
"No, it's almost 10 in the morning and I am getting dressed!" You nosey, snooping paedophile!
"You mean you're just getting dressed?!?"
"I'm more dressed than you!" (grandma lives in her PJs and bathrobes until she has to go into the public sphere.)

AND, I had actually been up much earlier, but since I have nothing to do in life at the moment, I take my mornings leisurely. Get my cup of coffee, go online, see if the lovely people at the British Consulate are still alive (note-they're not) and eventually get around to making breakkie and getting dressed.

This better not turn into a habit...I know how to lock a door, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Seriously! Ever since I came back to the US, I have seen a correlation between the amount of time I spend with Grandma and the amount of alcoholic beverages I consume. And there it is- the reason why I never really drink the UK is because there is no grandma there to drive me towards daily inebriation.

This happened the last time I had to return from the UK to 'look' after grandma. My 6 month student work visa had expired, my family (grandma included) was moving to a new house, and someone needed to play chauffeur whilst my mom and dad made weekly trip to the 'ranch' 3 hours away with all our worldly belongings.

Now, to the outside viewer, grandma is a lovely, sweet, adorable little bundle, similar to a baby bunny. And every where I go with her, I always get comments from people like the hairdresser, the lady at the sandwich shop, the dental receptionist, going on about just how adorable and sweet grandma is. But luckily for them, they don't have to live with her.

It starts and builds slowly. First come the demands. "Fill this cup," "make me an egg," "put this on a shelf," "when you're done planting my azaleas, get me more toilet paper". No "please," no "thank you," just an endless list of demands that slowly wear down you patience as they eat away at your soul like acid. I called her on it once during that 3 month moving process when I first got back from the UK and she started crying, saying that she loved me so much she thought she didn't need to be polite because it was inherent in her demands...or some crap like that, but said through the tears of a granny. Oh aren't I horrible for even asking her for some polite recognition because really it's accusing her of not loving me!

Which brings me to no.2- the passive aggressiveness.
My grandma is the queen of being passive aggressive. If she wants something done, somehow the facts that (1) she's old, (2) she's a nuisance in your life, (3) she used to take care of you as a baby, (4) she would do it if she could, and (5) she loves you more than you love her will come up during the hour, day, week that she needs something done. And it is always over something amazingly trivial. You could be bleeding from a gaping flesh wound caused by man-eating rabid cows, and as you desperately dial 911, grandma will come in and say 'Well when you're done, doing that, don't forget to come in my room and put new staples in my stapler!"
"Right, well, trying not to die over here!"
"I know, but- oh, my arthritis is just acting up so, and I would do it if I could, but I just don't know how."
"AH! I think I am fainting from lack of blood! Can it wait until tomorrow?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry I am such a burden! You know, I never complained when I had to do things for you when you were a baby. I enjoyed looking after you so much" Que tears.
Later, as you lie in the hospital bed, grandma will come in and say "Hey, I bet you forgot about my stapler, so I brought it for you do to right now."
Oh, thank you so much for reminding me about your stapler. I know it was an emergancy that a paper clip could just never fix, and I know just how many important documents you have laying around that are in desperate need of being stapled.

Mhhh, smell that guilt! And after making you feel like a horrible person for making her wait for 3 hours for her stapler to get filled so that she could put it away in her desk, she tries to trap you into admitting it.

True story: I knit a hat for my mom. It was the first hat I ever knit and I was just trying to use up some alpaca/wool blend I had. Mom showed it to grandma. That night, when I went to take grandma her hot chocolate in bed (because granny gets a cup of hot coco EVERY night in bed, heavily laced with brandy), she pounced on me. "Say, that's a really great hat you made! Am I special enough to get one too?" And what do you say to that? Plus, grandma HATES hats. They mess up her hair. I have only seen grandma wear a hat once, and that was to a neighbours pool to keep the sun off her face. And I like the things I make to serve a function and be used. So yes, granny, I will eventually knit you a really crappy hat just to shut you up, and you will put it in a drawer and never look at it again. Thanks for making me waste my time.

Lastly, it's the constant interruptions. Naturally you're at fault for her having to interrupt you because she's just so lonely, and if you made constant trips down to hall to visit her, she wouldn't have to come in a pester you will 2,000 questions. And the things that get me the most is her use of the words "now what," said as though you are at fault for having different activities, all of them blatantly obvious.
-I'm pouring hot water from a kettle into a cup.
"Now what are are you doing?"
"Making tea, grandma"

-I am on the couch knitting the SAME thing I've been working on for a week
"Now what are you making?"
"A shawl, grandma"
"You mean the same one"
"Yes, grandma"

-I am on the couch watching TV
"Now what are you doing?"
"Watching TV, grandma."

-I am on the couch with an open book in my hands
"Now what are you doing?"
"Reading"
"Oh, what's that, a book?"
'Yes"
"Oh, what's the title?"
"It's a book Brother gave me for Christmas, you wouldn't know it- it's science fiction"
"Who's the author?"
"You wouldn't know him. Orson Scott Card. "
"Oh, I've never heard of him."
"I know! Can I read now?
"Oh, I'm just so interested in your life! Sorry for being such a nosy nuisance, but I get so lonely with no one to talk to. I'll go back to my room now since no one wants to talk to me"

And ALL of these events happen EVERY DAY, SEVERAL TIMES A DAY! I could handle it well when I first got home because I had been away for so long. Plus, having Scottie there made it easier to run away/avoid grandma/have him calm me down. But now, with it just being me, my mom and my dad here, the diluted version of grandma has turned into super concentrate.

And thus, enter the drink. Why hello there, you sexy bottle of Merlot! Drown my frustration in you? Why I just think I might!

Back to my mini-holiday last week- it was FANDABIDOZI! I love reconnecting with an old friend, and it really made me feel so relaxed and happy how easily we slipped back into each others' lives. Even though I am rubbish about keeping in contact with people while I am in the UK (me and phone don't happen too often), my friends matter, and I figure that a good friendship is one that you can just pick up right where you left off, no matter how long it's been since you've last spoken. Missy and are are like that. After barely speaking for a year, we jumped in the car, drove up, and had the best time ever. Always had something to talk about, were thinking the same things, and never at any point felt awkward.

Anyway, our trip began to a late start thanks to being New Years Day, aka hungover. Well, not so much me, but Missy. So I drove up to Eureka since I was full of pep while Missy tried to keep her stomach through the twisting dark roads. We arrived, found a Motel 8, and crashed. The next day we went into Old Town Eureka. It just so happens that at the time we were talking about...knitting. Apparently Missy knits too...and had brought her knitting...just like I had brought my crochet project. As we turned a corner looking for parking, I mentioned how we should look for a knit shop so I could get some double pointed needles for her to show me how to use, when BAM, we literally almost ran into a knit shop! Que spending 4 hours at the knit shop, spending too much on our non-existant budgets, and not moving apart from knitting and purling. But seriously, what else is there to do in Eureka?

Not wanting to waste all our time feeing our crack habit, we up and left at lunch time and shot our way North to Arcata, which, we were told, was 'A college town like Berkeley'. Ha. If Berkeley were the size of one city block. However, we did get FANTASTIC views going to Patrick's Point:



The next day marked our desecent back to the living via Avenue of the Giants and the horribly tacky throwbacks of 1950's tourist trap delights.

Avenue of the Giants is probably my favourite place in CA apart from the redwoods of Sonoma county. The trees are massive, ancient, and there is something so magical about the intense, verdant ocean of life that surrounds you.

A local giant Totally reminds me of Twilight...not that I am obsessed with that or anything...

We also made sure we caught the delights of the Loleta Cheese factor, with it's 39 different cheese, all of which we could sample at our pleasure. Heck yes!

We opted to take the senic Hwy 1 down the coast of Mendocino to Jenner before cutting back into the redwoods for home. And managing to catch some lovely sunsent along the way.


Our trip included Confusion Hill, Ledgend of Bigfoot, Chimney Tree, and the Living Tree House, all of which were ridiciously over the top and harkened back to when road trips were the 'thing' to do.

It was two night and three days of absolute fun, relaxation, and the exact escape I needed from live on the ranch...aka life with grandma again.

E-mail today:

PLEASE CALL 310-481-**** AND PROVIDE A PHYSICAL MAILING ADDRESS IN THE US. WE DO NOT MAIL TO PO BOX. PLEASE LEAVE YOUR NAME, COMPLETE ADDRESS AND YOUR REFERENCE NUMBER 30****

REGARDS,

LOS ANGELES VISA SECTION.

So....my fate has been decided, now it's just a matter of waiting....and hoping I spoke clear enough for them to send my visa to the appropriate address...eek eek eek!

I promised Scottie I wouldn't obsess/dwell/panic/have anxiety attacks over this, but I can't help being who I am. Yesterday I got some destressing news. A friend of mine who graduated with me from Edinburgh, who currently has a job over there working for the University as a Teaching Assistant and as a part time office assistant, and who has more money than me (read: a stock portfolio and didn't have to take out any loans EVER) got denied for the Post Study Work Visa. DENIED! When I asked what the reasons were, he said 'due to insufficent funds.' I asked how much he showed on his statements, and he said 'almost $9,000'. All you need for the visa is £2,800, or roughly $6,000 (in the days when the pound was actually quite strong). So insufficent funds?

I didn't have quite that much, but well over the $6,000 needed (they don't have to know that 90% of that is going to pay off my loan). For all intents and purposes, he is like me- has an National Insurance number, a place to stay, a UK bank account, graduated with a Masters degree, meets all the requirements.

So I freaked.

Still freaking.

Today I got an e-mail from the LA British Consulate saying they had recieved my documents and would process my visa. According to them, it would take no longer than 2 days. But it also said it could also take up to 15.

So I will be finding out soon I guess.

I'll be hiding under the coves.

I gotta ask: WTF is up with 'lookin gansta'? Apparently the Podunk hick town my family moved to is not only in the absolute middle of nowhere, but also the METH capital of California and home of one of the LARGEST Latino gangs in the state. Boy do they know how to pick 'em!

Today, my mom and I drove into town to restock on household supplies. While waiting at the red light, two guys walked across the crosswalk. Now, I don't want to make any assumptions, but I think it's pretty safe to say that the look they were going for would not be found in J.Crew. Hair slicked back with so much grease you could probably fry a chicken in it, jeans so baggy and low that three people could fit in them, and a big, puffy jacket that would have made even the most anorexic look like the Marshmallow Man, had it been worn properly. Instead, despite the (in my mind) chilly 42F foggy weather, the jacket was worn off the shoulders, as though it was desperately in a race with this individual's pants to see who could fall to the ground the fastest. Because that's so sexy.

I mean really, to girls (or at least this female mind), I can see nothing attractive about that look. So if it's not meant to impress girls, then it must be meant to impress guys, but I am still trying to figure out the male mind. I can only assume that wearing clothes too big for you means you haven't grown up from being 7 when wearing your dad's tee shirts was seen as adorable, and you're just on the look out for another 7 year old 20somthing to play with. Awww.

Also, there's the walk. These guys were limping across the road like they both were peg-legged pirates with a bad case of termites. My mom looked at me and asked if they were born with hip or joint defects, or if they actually practiced that forced hobble. I can just see it now: guys in front of a mirror, catwalking back and forth in front of each other. "No, man, more limp! More arm swinging! You need to really embrace the essence of a gorilla with a club foot"

Then of course are the cars. Chicks love cars, right? Especially the ones that are really really really really low (because we love getting to flash everyone trying to manoeuvre out of those ), and baby, nothing makes me want to rip off my clothes and bang you harder than seeing a crappy ass jalopy 'pimped' out with gold rims and a fur lined interior that together cost more than 5 of those cars sans the cosmetic augmentation. I'm getting hot just thinking about it. Blasting music loud enough to make my unborn children deaf is also a major plus because hearing is totally overrated, just like literacy.

Seriously, I can't see how or why this image in my town has become the definiton of cool, tough, sexy, and hot.

Which is probably why I stay at home knitting. What was that, grandma, you want more tea?

New Years Eve was sad and depressing rather than than celebratory- it was the gut wrenching day when I had to take Scottie to the airport, alone, and not know when I would see him again...ON OUR 4 YEAR ANNIVERSARY! I know, I know, drama queen, but it was very sad having to leave him at the airport to wander off to his fate (can I add that we had to leave the house at 5:00 AM), a fate which turned out to be hellish.

There wasn't enough room on the plane for him, so Scottie was forced to pay $200 for a last minute flight to LAX. Where he stayed for at least 6 hours before boarding. Once off the ground, the plane needed to make an emergency landing in Chicago. After finally taking off once more, he made it to England, only to find that he had missed his flight to Edinburgh and had to fork out £200 to buy a new ticket.

This was all unknown to me.

Having dropped off my sweetie before the sun arose, I turned around to drive my sorry self home and mope. Having failed at going back to sleep, I decided I might as well head out of my leg of a journey. Since my family's version of New Years Eve is having friends over, eating pizza, and heading off to bed at 9:00 PM, I decided to hightail it back to the glorious Sonoma country to see my best friend from elementary school.

And proceeded to have 6 or 7 margaritias and two or three lemon drops. All in all, it was a fantabulously drunk night of party revelery, and I magically managed to NOT be ill OR have a hangover. Giggidy.

The next day one of my best friends from university drove up, and together we escaped reality and ran away to Humboldt county to get our fill of redwoods, rain, hippies, and hicks. And we got plenty of all of those. Stay tuned for the adventures of Shady and Missy on holiday.