The New Normal....

Gone are the days of using social media to share pics of your kid's, their accomplishments, your accomplishments, your pets, your garden, your dinner, your fancy drinks, a funny ad at the store, baby bunnies eating carrots, cute puppies cuddling babies, your friend- face first in the bushes after a drunken night out, your Dad napping during the big game, your new sneakers that you probably paid too much for, your favorite singer or celebrity crush, your new car, your old car, a snail on your fence, a perfect cup of coffee and other thing that seemed trivial or huge to YOU.

Remember back when you weren't subliminally trying to scar someone that hurt or wronged you? Remember when you weren't posting something snarky to piss someone off because you are now addicted to getting a gasp or some kind of reaction? Remember when you didn't have to post some new finding that you think will change everyone's mind about something? Remember when you weren't digging at an ex? Or trying to scorn someone that posted or tagged you in something you didn't find very funny? Perhaps you saw something they posted about a political candidate that you don't support, or perhaps they hunt and you support animal rights, perhaps they eat meat and you're a vegetarian, or vice versa- either way, you've found the perfect meme to post and without ever saying a name, you've made yourself feel better because you've posted your opinion and somehow you just know that the person you aimed it at saw it and now you feel like a million bucks.

Remember when you got on social media without some hidden far-fetched agenda? Remember when you things didn't bother you as much, it was just fun to interact with people you don't get to see too often or people you really just enjoy? Remember when there was no ulterior motive for the things you posted, it was just because it was funny or silly or cute?

Remember when you liked most of the people you follow? You enjoyed what they were sharing and posting, you looked forward to scrolling through your social media feeds? Remember when you were maybe just mildly passionate about a sports team and you were proud to post a score or a win, knowing you had followers and friends that were for the opposing team and it would grind them a bit but all in good fun?

Gone.

Like a fart in the wind. Long gone. Far off.

It wasn't that long ago, either.

Maybe it's politics. Maybe it's religion. Maybe it's the media coverage of every single bit of everything that's out there. Maybe it's the horrible things that happen in the world that we just didn't know about before the vast internet and the new breed of reporting it's spawned. Maybe it's because we've lost sight of what makes us happy because we've been seeing so many things that make us unhappy. Maybe we're geared now to react to anything that gives us a pang. We don't just think about things anymore, we're compelled to open a dialog, react, provoke, gather more info, get a plan of action together, "DO SOMETHING!", as if thinking about it ISN'T enough. We have to share our every thought about it and see what everyone else thinks, because ....well...because why? Does their opinion matter THAT much to you? Is it just because it's become a habit to have to know what everyone else is thinking and saying? What exactly are we addicted to? The response? The reaction? The knowledge? The good, the bad and the ever-present ugly....all of it?

Not to mention the fact that I feel bad for the public figures out there whether they're politicians, journalists, singers, actors, directors, chefs, TV personalities, producers, directors, bloggers, vloggers, an unfortunate person who's picture or video has gone viral and is now the butt of a meme, or the topic of hate mongering. I guess they know what they're in for, it comes with the territory. I wish I had the thick skin they have to not let it bother them to know that millions of people are calling them assholes, posting crap about them, teaching their kids NOT to be like them, hating on them, inciting others to hate them. What must THAT feel like? Does it spur them on? Do they really think  they can please everyone or even just the ones that matter to them? Are they trying? Do they care? Does it bother them? The responsibility must be tremendous. The flip side is they will always end up finding people who love them and worship them, support them and believe in them. That must feel pretty good. I guess that's what they hang onto.


I mean, I have 1300 Facebook friends, almost 10,000 Twitter followers, and no, I don't care about all of them or even know all of them or care what they think and it sort of bothers me that they THINK I care. I mean, they must ...or they wouldn't post or comment on anything I put out there, right? I used to really have fun with social media. It seems like these days, people are quick to point out a flaw, whether it's your hair, your eyes, your nails, the background of the pic, anything. Don't get me wrong some people are nice or complimentary. Some people just give it a "Like" and that's enough, really. Nowaday, though, it feels like 11, 300 people are arguing all the time over every little thing from vaccinations, politics, gun laws, human rights, government, animal rights, Wall Street, banking, housing markets, pharmaceuticals, the elderly, the young, sports competitions, schools, crime, restaurants, cars, food, mental illness, genders, bathrooms, refugees, terrorism, borders, TOILET PAPER under or over, Starbucks versus Dunkin Donuts, meat-free, diary-free, gluten-free, this diet, that diet, these exercises, those exercises, stores, shops, fashion, lifestyles, nothing is safe from a good ol' fashioned "healthy" debate with some underlying venom thrown in for good measure and of course, a bit of subliminal under current to get you see things how someone else sees them.

There are valid arguments on both sides of everything and most people really aren't willing to listen or open their minds up to something other than what they've been convinced and what I find the worst part of it to be is that those are the exact people who are going to go to any length to make YOU hear THEM and most of them do it through social media. I've been on Facebook since 2009 and not once have I seen someone actually say after a 79-comment-thread of debates "OH, I GET IT. THANKS FOR HELPING ME SEE THINGS YOUR WAY."  So...why do we do engage? Is it the hope? Is it the rush of speaking your mind? Is it putting someone in their place? Have you? Or did they just decide that it's time to walk their dog and get off Facebook for a while? You'll never know, but you're sitting there feeling pretty damn good about your last comment. Like... you're validated. Your self worth just ramped up to an all new high because you had 3 points to their one. The reality is that it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. They are out enjoying the cool night air, the stars in the sky, the pitter patter of their dogs little feet on the sidewalk. You are sat at your laptop, with your drink to the right, the TV on mute, the glare of the blue screen in your pale, demonic face, happy as clam because, hey- you won that battle- now, onto someone else who doesn't agree with you. It feels like a sickness. But it's really just the new normal and I, for one, am sick of it. It doesn't mean I'm shutting down all my accounts and logging off of everything although that would be a really nice feeling. I just mean that I have to find a way to NOT let this ridiculous online culture that we've stretched and battered and shaped into a virtual monster mind-fuck way of life stop me from being the big old fluffy fun person I've always been.

To be honest, I don't care if you aren't sickened by it. I don't care if you see it another way. I'm not asking what you think. If I want to know, I'll ask. But just know that if I don't say the words: "What do you think?" I really don't care. To be fair- neither do you. Maybe you don't want to admit it, but you don't. What I think or feel isn't going to effect your day for one minute so why can't you resist the urge to tell me to go fuck myself, to tell me what you think, to comment, to post, to email me, to post some off the wall meme that's the direct opposite of what I feel? Probably because social media allows you to, just like it allows me to post this and by doing that, I assumingly welcome your comments, when in actuality, I really don't. Don't lecture me on changing my settings, either. I know I can turn off the comments, I know I can make my shit private, I don't need you to advise on my own mental health, here, DOCTOR.

I wasn't on the debate team in high school. I don't watch debates on TV. I don't like seeing them unfold on Facebook every 30 seconds. I don't feel like verbally defending my opinions or thoughts or posts is healthy, fun or necessary. I never have, not before social media and not because of social media. I find it draining and certainly not passionate, not powerful, not empowering, not anything but exhausting. Oh, and possibly annoying.

Seriously, I don't know how Kanye does it.

I once dated someone who thought so hard about everything: the food she put in her mouth, the things she would say in casual conversation, anything she purchased, what she wore, how she looked,  what car she drove, what she read, what she watched, how she reacted, what she felt her body was telling her, just everything in general- and I remember thinking, "That's why she's always tired!"  It was exhausting to watch let alone be a part of. I guess some people are just geared that way. Maybe it's genetic. Maybe something happened in their childhood to make them that way, maybe they actually like it, the challenge it presents, rising to it, minute to minute, always winning, maybe it's what makes them happy. All I know is, the older I get the more I find happiness in the simplest of things, mainly because you can fit more of those in your heart and head than the things you have to fight so fucking hard for.

Not saying those tough things aren't rewarding, because they are and we need a few of those to remind us of how nice the easy, simple things are.

I don't know it all. However, I do know that I don't want the new normal to be "always feeling pissed off". Pissed that this person said that, or someone did that, or voted this way, or didn't support that, or DID support that, or doesn't like this or likes THAT. I don't think that's healthy. Yeah, I get that it's MY problem. My way of fixing it is to change my own perception, not yours. By writing this is my first step. I don't know what the next steps are or if this will help but dammit, I'm trying.

As Rose says, "Worry about yourself!"  and I am, Rose. I really am.

https://youtu.be/4A6Bu96ALOw

Remember the "Best"...? Screw that.

Back in my twenties and probably a bit of my thirties, I can vividly remember how important it was to be the best at everything. I don't even know where it stemmed from. I was never one of those kids that needed my parents approval because, well... I was an only child. Everything I did was celebrated and praised, from finger paints to short stories to swimming pool jumps. As an adult, I had never been fired from a job, or experienced any huge disappointment with projects or work or attempts at things.

Yeah, I quit dance lessons at the age of five. Okay, that may have been a pivotal moment, but I had my reasons for sitting cross legged on the stage in the middle of the recital: I didn't want to be the frog in the dance academy's production of "Dr. Dolittle's If I Could Talk To The Animals". Whatever. But, the thing is, as a grown up, I guess we all get a little competitive with ourselves at a certain age. I wanted to be the best podcaster, the best show host, the best writer, the best case manager (when I was in the insurance business), the best business person, the best cat owner, the best wife, the best lesbian (is that even a thing?), the best at sports, the best at cooking, the best game player-- the list goes on and on.

Although I never had to strive at being the best daughter because like I said, my mother was always there to support and cheer anything I did and she let me know with every card, every clap, and every hug. My father passed away when I was 19, but I even remember him praising my softball skills and my art work from high school, things that were so important at the time.

I can't remember the exact moment that it hit me, or even if it was a gradual change but something clicked and all of the sudden I began to realize that when I was so focused on being the best, I was missing out on the actual experiences themselves. It was all a bunch of extremes, either I was doing/being the best or I was pissed that I wasn't. There was no in between. Knowing myself as I do now, I'm pretty certain that the thing that made me come to this realization was that I was exhausted from the two extremes. I wasn't having any fun. I was either raging with confidence or wallowing in insecurity- those were the two constants in my being the best. Also, theres a fine line between being confident and being cocky. Nobody likes a cocky asshole. Not saying that was me, but from where I sit now, I can honestly say, in this day in age- there are a LOT of cocky assholes out there and I feel bad for them.

I surely don't think changing my perspective is any indication of failure, or giving up. Like I said, it was a matter of being exhausted at trying to keep up the momentum and operating on praise. I can remember thinking, at some point in my thirties, maybe it wasn't so hard to be a great case manager, handle a multi million dollar account, keep a super clean condo, have two happy healthy cats, a great relationship with my family, a successful podcast, a big circle of friends, and still have time to watch football on Sundays and take a nap, knowing I had a fridge full of groceries and options if I wanted to go out socializing. But, the truth was that it WAS hard. I mean, seriously. Even though there was no better feeling riding the "Best" high. Then there were times when I would sit on my sofa, in tears, because I took out a second mortgage on my condo, to keep up with the Joneses (as they say), I had recently been diagnosed with Adult On-Set Diabetes, my Jeep was in the repair shop, my mother being diagnosed with MS, knowing there was nothing I could do to help her situation, not feeling like going into work and dealing with other people's bullshit and feeling like I was the biggest failure on the planet.

I guess as I've gotten older, I remember the emotions that came with feeling of not being the best and over the years, those feelings became triggers and as I grew up I knew that I didn't want the failure feeling triggers anymore. It's always an effort when you want to change something within yourself. This was no different. It's a challenge every moment when you have to change your instinctive perspective of a situation but I did it. Over time, it's become easier, and although I still get sweaty palms and can feel my heart rate accelerate when I see my podcast numbers slow up, or I get constructive criticism from my senior editor at my new job, or my Mom has a bad day, or my house is a little messy, I still make every effort to relax and accept it, knowing things will level out, get better, or even just understand that I tried my best and that's all that matters. In the grand scheme of things, my Mom is doing good more often, my diabetes is controllable with pills, my house is fine, my work is fine, my wife is fine, my life is fine. I'm happy with how it's rounding out. I don't have to be the best at everything all the time. My family, my wife, my friends, my pets, my co workers, my business and show are all still here and no one has stink-eyed me or abandoned me or made me feel unworthy of anything. If I've lost anyone along the way because of who I am, they weren't worth keeping around anyway. So, why should I stress myself out trying to be number one at everything? Life is full of mistakes. You make e'm, you learn from 'em and you move on, hoping to not repeat 'em.

Listen, people in your twenties, I know being the best is what drives you, and that's perfectly fine. It's probably what you feel defines you. I just think later on in life, you'll find that other things become more important than being the best and when that happens, it's a beautiful thing! It's like you've been surfing the biggest waves but all of the sudden, sitting on the board, floating and watching the sun rise or set just might beat that feeling of riding a wave for a change and that's not a bad thing. 

One of the most important things I've come to learn is that it really feels good to be actually experiencing things for what they are and not consume myself with what the outcome is going to be -anything really- like events, life moments, other people's happiness, other people's successes. As long as I'm happy, and I'm not causing anyone grief, why should I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect? I feel like I've given myself permission to live for me, and not for anyone else. Not a friend, not a family member, not a co-worker, not society- no one but me. And it's exhilarating, to say the least.

Now that I'm well into my forties, I can honestly say that it's been pretty cool to NOT carry around the weight of being perfect, or being the best or worrying about what other people think. I can look at something I wrote and be proud of it before anyone else even sees it. I can do a chore and give myself a pat on the back. I can do a podcast about stuff I like and not worry about who else likes it, I can fold a fitted sheet the wrong way and not give a shit because, above of all, who even gives a crap about stuff like that? Who am I trying to impress? If your good at something, you'll always be good at it. You don't have to be good at everything. Fuck that fitted sheet.

Another thing about all this is that I don't think you can rush yourself into that phase of your life. You have to experience it organically. You may have to do a little honest soul-searching to come to grips with giving yourself permission to lighten up. You may still worry about other people's approval, like your parents, or friends. Maybe you're still figuring out who you are. Maybe you embrace the kind of challenge it poses, maybe your will power and sheer determination to be the best is what you like most about yourself. Ahh, I remember those days well. It just means you aren't ready. It'll happen, though. It's inevitable. It's nothing to try and stave off, or fight. Think of it as treating yourself a bit better, giving yourself a much needed break. Okay, maybe it won't happen for some because it's a sign of failure but I assure you it's not.

Whatever it is- I'll tell you this much- that "Best" pace won't last forever. I mean, listen, I'm not saying stop working out, stop pushing yourself in areas of interest, or to start telling people to fuck off, I'm just saying, mentally, once you've given yourself permission to take a break from that "Best" bitch, and you see that it's okay to let up on the gas pedal, I think you'll dig cruising into this new phase of life.

All of the Sudden…BOOM, You're Sad.

I'm pretty certain anyone can relate to this happening at some point in their lives. For me, it's happened just recently, at the age of 46. When you're coasting along in your life and all of the sudden, you're sad. Just SAD. You don't notice it right away even though the signs are all there: not motivated to do anything, and I mean anything, like finishing projects you started, whether it's DIY stuff, garden stuff, or even personal projects like writings, paintings or a web design or something. Then other stuff starts becoming a challenge, the usual  routine stuff seems like a load- simple stuff, like emptying the dishwasher, cleaning the bathroom, cooking a meal or putting away the fresh laundry.

You go out with friends who seem to never be at a loss for words or interesting stories and you have nothing to add. You used to be the life of the party and now you're sitting there with a drink in your hand, watching everyone else talking and laughing, and all you can think about is how you'd rather be home in comfy clothes and slippers, watching television.  I don't know how I thought this was normal. Probably all those Buzzfeed posts about "Life in Your Forties vs. Life in Your Twenties" or "How to Tell You're An Old Married Couple" or whatever.

But, one day, you wake up, get your coffee, sit down in front of the computer, scroll through your Facebook and Twitter feeds and every post has some sort of sappy story about a lost dog, or a mother cat who hugs her sleeping kitten or a baby piglets and goats playing and squeaking, or dogs that attend their owner's funeral or some inspirational kid with Downs Syndrome who completed a marathon while the city cheered and you just start crying. First off, you think: "Well, nothing like a good cry to start your day," but then it hits you- you're sad ALL day long and it's not because of the videos. Even though no one died, no one is hurt, the animals are fine, the sun is shining. Yet, there you are. Sad. For no reason. Then it slowly started making sense.

I hadn't plucked my eyebrows in months, I would wait until I couldn't stand my hair before I would get it cut or dyed, I would let my podcasts and writing go until the last possible second because I just didn't feel like doing them. I didn't care if my sneakers were old, if my jeans had holes, if I saw or talked to anyone for days. I couldn't find the tiniest joy in anything any more. It's different from a depression, I think (I don't know for sure) because I wasn't UNaware of all things I had to be grateful for or  the people I love or who love me. I was still appreciating those things. I wasn't suicidal, I wasn't in a daily struggle with demons, or in an obvious blue funk, I was just a big lump of lazy. Maybe that IS depression, I have no idea. Could possibly be, I'm no doctor or therapist, that's for sure. It was just a quiet, underlying unmentioned, unaddressed sadness.

That's been me for quite some time, and even though I have a seriously charmed life, and I've recently quit smoking, you can understand how confusing it is as to why I would be sad. Not just a basic sad. I've been unexplainably consumed with sadness and was just now realising it so I knew I had to take a deep look at what the hell was going on. My mind was all over the place. I was suddenly, out of the blue, really aware that I had no self confidence any more. To make matters worse, I felt like if I was feeling this, then of course my wife probably felt the same way about me- did she have no confidence in me, either? Then that became something to worry about which added to my sadness.

When we sat down and had a heart to heart discussion about what was going on, I told her everything I had been feeling. I was down on myself for not being able to find even the smallest, insignificant part time job. I had gained weight when I stopped smoking. I was feeling lousy constantly, everything ached, I had colds and illnesses all the time. I didn't want to do things or go places. I was telling myself it was because I was just unmotivated but the truth was that I had really become fearful of going out because I had no confidence in the way I looked or felt. I was in the same clothes over and over, I went days without putting on make up because why bother? I wasn't going out, I wasn't going to see anyone. I didn't even care that I wasn't taking care of myself, I guess because in my mind, I was the only one who had to see me, no one else, and I just didn't give a shit, really.

I was SO far from that person I was 5 years ago. I realised so much of my recent behaviour was because I was so unhappy with myself. It was causing me not to be able to make friends, even though I had convinced myself I just didn't want any more. It was causing me to gain weight. Just buying bigger clothes wasn't hiding anything. The truth of the matter was I was so worried (and sad) about what people might be thinking about me that it was just easier not to be around any one. I thought about how I was just a few years ago. I liked going out and meeting people, socialising, hosting events, going to different festivals and places because everything was material to write about. I could usually make it funny, too. It was exciting to be on stage, it was exciting to be a part of something, to be around people and lately, none of that was happening.

It was literally painful to admit it all. Plus, I didn't know how blatantly obvious it was to my wife, and furthermore, I didn't truly know the effect it was having on me, mentally or physically. But, I was getting it all out now.

As I listened to myself pour out my guts and everything that was weighing on my mind constantly, I heard how devastatingly unhappy I was….with myself.  Not my life, in general, but with how I was living it. When my wife began to cry, I knew we had a real problem because she doesn't cry over ANYTHING ever. When I said, "What are you thinking? What are you feeling? Why are you crying?"  She simply said, "…because you're not happy and I know you're not happy, but I don't know what I can do to make you happy because I feel like there isn't anything that I CAN do." For me admitting all of it was hard, but listening to what it was causing someone else was gut-wrenching. "I want you to be around for a long time, but I want you to be that happy, funny person I fell in love with again."

She felt all kinds of pressure to entertain me, after her long hard work weeks, she felt like she had to come up with things for us to do, which isn't an easy task because I didn't like walking, I didn't like bike riding, I didn't like anything too physical. I didn't like being out late, I didn't want to go far, I didn't like being out when it was too hot, or cold or rainy or snowy, etc, etc. As she poured out her feelings (which she doesn't do too often) I realised what a GINORMOUS pain in the ass I had become. How much longer could she go on around me like this? Ugh, I was overwhelmed with what I was hearing, feeling and with what I was facing.

Simply because I didn't like myself anymore -- and with that came fear, anger, and most of all sadness. The fear was causing the limitations I was giving in to, the anger was coming from the fear, and the sadness came from not doing anything about it. It was a vicious cycle.

I have never been one to put a lot of effort into change. I didn't like change. I didn't like challenges. I don't like them. Still. I don't have a lot of will power or determination, I'm not hard on myself about anything. I like things simple and easy and routine. I don't know where it came from because my parents aren't like that. Well, maybe my Dad was a little bit like that, but he's been gone for like 25 years so I can't blame him. My mother rises and faces each day with MS, and barely complains about anything, like how difficult it is to walk, to get around the house or a store, to carry groceries, to clean, to entertain her friends, to have company over, to just make dinner. So, I have no clue why I am the way I am. But, I am this way so trying to fix THAT is a whole other story.

For now, I knew I had to tackle the things that were immediately causing me to be so unhappy. I felt like there was now this pressure to be better otherwise my marriage was at stake, my life over here in England was at stake, and I had to do something pretty fucking fast.

I was worried about failing, though, so I knew I had to be careful not to jump into some massive lifestyle overhaul I would soon get sick of and stop. So, I've decided to make small changes about what I eat, the amount of physical activity I get, the way I think, and how I look at things, mainly myself, moving forward. I'm trying to trick myself into not thinking these are huge things I'm changing on a minute to minute basis every single goddamn day, but in fact, they are- and each time I make a better decision than I have in the past, I'm feeling a little better, a little happier, a little more proud of myself, and that's making a difference in how I'm doing. It's not easy. It's not going to be easy. I'll have set backs, I'll have days where things don't go well, but it's a matter of getting back in the groove right away and moving ahead to better days. Look, I'm not going to make the right choice every time, but I find what's happening is I'm getting into a rhythm of feeling proud of myself when I do and I haven't felt proud of myself in a really long time. Understanding things like that are a big deal. So part of getting myself to better place is being able to recognise that but it's also not falling into a trap of beating myself up too badly for being that way in the past.  Or if I do have a gelato at the mall once in a while.

Sometimes I think that somewhere deep, down inside I knew this day would come, where I would have to make big changes but focusing on everything and everyone else around me helped keep it at bay for a really long time, and I think my sadness started when all of the bad choices kept bubbling to the surface and annoying my thoughts so I would smoke, eat, nap, clean, focus on all kinds of stupid stuff instead of myself in order to avoid facing the realities that were catching up to me.

Now, they're here. Right here. Doing all kinds of damage. Not just to me. Now, I've said them out loud, I've written about them, I've talked to people about them, and I'm completely and utterly aware of them at all times. I'm aware of them when I eat a healthy breakfast, I'm aware of them when ride the stationary bike for 20-30 minutes a day, I'm aware of them when I walk around the block every day, or to the store, or to a friend's house, I'm aware of them when I pick out normal clothes to wear, I'm aware of them when order a salad instead of a burger, I'm aware of them when I choose a vegetable instead of fries. I'm aware of them every time I make the right choice about what to be eating, wearing, or doing. I'm aware of them when I'm getting things done, and I'm aware of them as I'm moving on….and you know what?  SonOfaMonkeysUncle, I'll be damned: I'm aware that I'm gettin' happier. I feel heaps better all the way around.

I didn't add a bunch of pictures this time (only a few) because it would end up looking like an episode of "The Biggest of Loser" but I did find this one picture of a monkey and he's probably another monkey's uncle, so …there's that.

14 Signs That Your Co Worker is A Lesbian and Why You Shouldn't Care

Here's a few signs that you may be working with a lesbian and why you shouldn't care…


1.) She takes a lot of Fridays and Mondays off in the summer.
And FYI that's because she plans her time around Lesbian and/or Pride Festivals. You may notice she returns with a lot of new colourful wristbands, rope bracelets, silver jewellery and she's moving a little slower than usual. Don't be alarmed. She's just had the time of her life at Girls in Wonderland, WomenFest, Gay Pride, L Fest or a Lilith Fair-type of thing. So what if she's walking funny.
Why you shouldn't care:  Mind your own beeswax. She doesn't care that you wore the same clothes into the office the day after last week's Happy Hour.

2.) She gets more excited about Casual Fridays than anyone else in your office and makes the most of it by sporting a pulled back ponytail, faded jeans, an UH-Huh Her t-shirt and Converse sneakers.
Why you shouldn't care: Secretly, you should admire how she can get away with throwing on a blazer and making that funky look work.


3.) Normally, she's dressed like any professional police woman detective, investigator or crime fighter on televison: navy blazer, a fitted button down light coloured shirt, navy chino front pants and a smart looking pair of sensible-heeled ankle boots, like Jane Rizzoli.
Why you shouldn't care: It's that look you see on every other night on "Castle" or "The Mentalist".

4.) She knows more about Orphan Black, Pretty Little Liars and  Orange Is The New Black and Grey's Anatomy than anyone else you know.
Why you shouldn't care: You could stand to know a little more about these current pop culture television phenomenons.

5.) She is the one that will likely bring a vegetarian dish to the office pot luck lunch.
Why you shouldn't care: You could probably add some healthy options to your meal plan.

6.) She is better than any of the guys on your company softball team and enjoys it more than anyone else that you work with, even Sunday practices.
Why you shouldn't care: You won the Inner-City Park League Corporate Championship, didn't you?

7.) She never engages in catty talk about the bitchy, tall, blonde boss lady.
Why you shouldn't care: She isn't being a goody-two shoes, she's just picturing what it would be like to get that saucy minx into bed.

8.) She knows more about your gay office boyfriend than you do.
Why you shouldn't care: You were off in the Hamptons with your boyfriend/husband drinking mimosas and stomping divots, while they were at the same Gay Pride Parade, where his boy toy was walking him on a leather leash.

9.) She was the first one in the office to get those ultra-chic black square frame eyeglasses.
Why you shouldn't care: They get her a ton of compliments …..in the lesbian bars

10.) Every Monday, she talks about what she and her group of friends, who all seem to be girls, did over the weekend like cycling, hiking, seeing an indie band at a tiny little club you never heard of, camping, a road trip, a new Mexican restaurant, an author reading, or the annual picnic at the dog park.
Why you shouldn't care: You probably got a lot of DIY stuff done with your husband.

11.) In all the pictures on her desk, she is with a really hot looking girl.
Why you shouldn't care: You had your girl/girl make out sessions in college ….and you know how good they were.

12.) She knows more about March Madness than your husband/boyfriend.
Why you shouldn't care: They can watch the games together while you go shoe shopping.

13.) She can actually change a flat tire herself.
Why you shouldn't care: You can call your husband/boyfriend.


14.) She drinks whiskey or beer like a champ, she actually went to a Hemp Festival, she drives a really cool sporty Jeep, she back-packed through Europe in her twenties, she writes poetry once in a while, she's an amazing Aunt to her nieces & nephews, she puts a cute little bandana on her dog for fun every weekend, she knows every good sushi restaurant in the area.
Why you shouldn't care: She is the girl you thought you'd be at this stage of your life, minus the downtown "taco eating" action, and you can live vicariously through her. She won't care.

No queer surprise….

It's not like we didn't have enough to talk about in last month's gay television- with Beyonce's hair getting caught in a wind machine, and Madonna getting yanked down the stairs by her dancing minotaurs at The Brit Awards…

... but then add in Lance's death on Channel 4's "Cucumber" (by Russell T. Davies) and the drama hit new high levels on the Gay Richter Scale.

Was it a big surprise? Hardly, I suppose. The question I keep coming back to, though, is "Was it necessary?" It was quite an interesting story albeit slow moving as ever, but it kept me coming back, if only to see when and if Henry would get his shit together. I desperately wanted Lance to triumph, seeing as how he put up with Henry's ridiculous issues for 9 years and instead, he took a 9 iron to the head from his homophobic co-worker and bled out on a shitty Ikea sofa in some man cave where he didn't belong. Grim gay TV, once again.

Sorry if I just spoiled the ending for anyone who had it TiVo'd but hadn't watched it yet. Welcome to my world. Thanks to Facebook and 50 posts along the likes of "Oh my, Lance!" and "Wow, didn't see that coming, RIP Lance!" -- I, too, was forced to know the ending before actually watching it unfold. So, there. We're even. I wasn't planning on watching "Cucumber" right away as it aired because I was still catching up on my Facebook, scrolling the days happenings.

I just so happened to be reading an article in the news about two young lesbians in Ireland who had been victims of anti-gay bullying- more likely to be classified as a hate crime, in my opinion- and were beaten and left in the street. In REAL LIFE. I shuddered after reading the details and scrolled on to find all of the "Cucumber" spoilers, so I sighed, and sat back and hit "play" on the TV remote and began watching what I knew was NOT going to be the ending I had hoped for. 

And so, I watched it. Afterwards, it took me an entire day to process it. I knew I was feeling angry about it but it took me some time to figure out why. I was reading some tweets the next day -finding praise for "good gay drama" and kudos to Channel 4 and Russell T. Davies for the "twist". When I actually tweeted that the ending made me mad, believe it or not @cucumber tweeted me back and asked "Why mad?" REALLY?…. WHY MAD?  Maybe because you took a slightly entertaining script which was giving me a look at gay life from a TON of different perspectives with some interesting characters and you had to throw in some horrible violent act that forced me to think about what I already see and hear too much of in real life already instead of showing an ounce of positivity ANYWHERE. I had hopes. All along, I had hopes. Silly me. 

I understand it's television and with good drama sometimes you need some horrific act to get a reaction and to get people talking, which is exactly what "Cucumber" did but again, I have to ask, "Was it necessary?"  I mean, what would be so bad about maybe having Lance realising he was in a dangerous situation and a.) fighting back, standing up for himself and maybe causing his asshole coworker to end up in A&E or even in jail thinking about where his actions landed him, or b.) maybe having Henry be a hero somehow saving the day, instead of being a sorry sack of shit with a ton of issues he was no closer to figuring out than when we first met him or c.) having Lance choose safety over sex and getting himself out of the situation when he first got insulted. I mean, honestly, what would be the harm in NOT showing a senseless violent homophobic act on television? Would we talk less about the fact that it happens in real life? I don't think so. Would we be completely unaware that this kind of stuff happens every day to a gay person? Nope, I think the news would still report it. So, why do I have to turn on my TV and in a moment of being happy to see a queer series that just may make me forget about the horrible truths of every day homophobia for 30 or 45 minutes -have it take a shitty twist and throw in a reality that (unfortunately) I'm quite used to -right in my face again- when I was just looking for a bit of an escape. I'm not asking to escape from it FOREVER, I'm just looking to be able to find some humour, something likeable, something light hearted and relatable for just a mere 30-45 minutes once a week but instead I have to see a main queer character take a titanium golf club to the side of the head and bleed out. Just like I had to see Justin get gay bashed on "Queer As Folk" after his dream prom date. Maybe I'm just looking for something that doesn't have to include a gay character losing their life since it happens in every day REAL life all the time. 

Another response I heard when I said I was mad about "Cucumber" was "Well, it did get people talking.."  Oh, because we're not already talking about the overwhelming amount homophobia that's still out there? Or- what? Oh. We're talking about the actual show? We're talking about what happened on "Cucumber"? Yay for the writers. Yay for Channel 4 & the ratings. Yay for the actors. But- the viewer? Haha, made you look. 

In my opinion, it's a cheap, easy way for television writers to give viewers that High-Low kick that you get on the "Tower of Terror" carnival rides. They evoke a flood of emotion from good to tragic especially after you've invested hours into a series. Basically, that's the risk you take watching TV, but I feel extremely cheated when it happens. It's almost like, "There you go. There's your reward for the time you put in, hoping for more meaty story lines and possibly something positive for queer TV."

I'm just going to wait for a scripted queer TV show that surprises you with something good. 

It blows my mind that there are gay writers who get an opportunity to have their work put on television for all to see and they fucking blow it (not to mention any names, Sue Perkins, with your stupid "Heading Out" series). They blow it. For everyone.

For fuck sake, thank God that Lady Gaga brought her A game to the Grammys last month. Imagine that? Something for gays and straight people to cheer about for 3 whole minutes.

It Ain't All Roses & Tea Cakes Anymore….

Well, as my Florida best friend would say, "It's been 3 years, 3 months, 8 days and 4 hours" that I've been living in England now. The first two years flew by, filled with trips into London, seeing shows, having amazing Michelin-star dinners, traveling around Europe (Amsterdam, Dublin, Copenhagen, Barcelona), meeting interesting people, taking road trips to different parts of the country (Weymouth, Birmingham, Brighton, etc.), not to mention all the spectacular things that were happening in London, as luck would have it, like the Royal wedding of Wills & Kate, the 2012 Olympics, the Queen's Diamond Jubilee- it was like a non-stop, star-studded party for 2 years straight!

At the start of my third year, we found out that in order for me to re-new and extend my marriage Visa, the laws had changed, and rather than fill out some online forms and show some mail with a valid U.K. address, I had to take an actual citizenship test to grant me a 10 year Visa, or an Indefinite Leave to Remain status. This sent me into a complete tailspin because I haven't taken a test since high school, and even then, I didn't do very well. Usually, just skimming by on luck & prayers. So, we ordered all the study material and booked the test date. It was daunting, and expensive, and the pressure was insane because my original marriage Visa would be expired and if I didn't pass the test and get my ILR status, I wouldn't be able to stay with my wife and continue building our life together over here.

I was in complete panic mode when I went to take the test. Everything was very "official"- the office, the proctor, the rules, the process. It was like being at a detention centre, and your only hope of getting out into the free world was to pass this test. There was 13 people in my testing group, none of which were American. It was all very regimented, explained carefully, and timed. I had 44 minutes to complete 24 questions and I could only miss 7 in order to pass. The questions covered numerous topics from government, history, religion, education, transportation, immigration, holidays, sports, dwelling, society and culture. It ranged from questions like "The Grand National is a _______?" a.) tennis tournament, b.) auto race c.) horse race or d.) building in downtown London" to the more difficult, like "King Richard III of the House of York was killed in The Battle of Bosworth Field in what year? a.) 1498 b.) 1485 c.) 1490 or d.) 1495" I had spent 2 months taking 15 practice tests online a day, I had read each chapter in the study manual, I took the practice questions at the end of every chapter, I would review the topics with anyone who would listen to me (by the way, I learned that most Brits couldn't pass this test if they're lives depended on it!) The entire time I was studying, I would think to myself, "I am never going to be able to retain all of this!" and "Why did I party so much in school, I don't have enough brain cells left for something like this!"

Somehow on that dreary day, in a stuffy, drab office in the centre of Croydon, where I was sat, sweating, with heart palpitation, filled with second guesses, gut instincts, and dry mouth, I passed my test. I don't know what my score was because it's just a "Pass/Fail" answer from the official, but I do know that when I heard "Well done, you. You've passed," from the proctor, I nearly vomited in my lap.
The relief was unbelievable. I ran out of the office, clutching my form that was stamped with "PASSED" and hugged my wife and took a deep breath, as my knees wobbled the whole walk back to the car. From then on, there was a lot of paper work, appointments at the Public Inquiry office, interviews, payments, proof of marriage, residency, work, and finally, I got my newly issued ILR card which allowed me to travel and stay in the U.K. for the next ten years. The timing was perfect because we had tickets to fly back to The States in three weeks for a family visit and without the official status change, I would likely not be allowed back to the U.K. So, now I was a legal resident of the United Kingdom, with all the proper documents, cards, identification and proof I needed to relax and remain in this new life that I….and everyone around me has helped make happen.

It was all very confusing because the first thing anyone would ask me after that was "Did you have to give up your U.S. citizenship?" The answer is no. I have an Indefinite Leave to Remain status in the U.K., making me a legal resident, but I am still a U.S. citizen. I still hold an American passport, and I'm still legally, an American. I was really fearful about that because I hadn't made any long term decisions about my US status, and because all of this happened so fast, I was worried that I "wouldn't be American anymore," and as stupid as that sounds, it was really important to me.

Three months after my passing of the UK test, my best friends from the States were coming over for their very first visit to the U.K. and I was super excited to show them everything, including what my life was like over here. It was intensely thrilling to finally have them here, in the flesh, immersed in my day to day life, seeing my neighbourhood, meeting people I've only talked about, doing the things I've rambled on about in phone conversations and emails, laughing about the little cars, the tiny houses, repeating the last word a British person says because we just have the uncontrollable urge to imitate it.
It was all hilariously fun but there is a moment…when anyone visits, really- a friend, or my parents, that a quiet, important conversation happens and they say, "It's all so perfect and lovely, you must be so happy. (PAUSE) Are you? ...Happy?"

Instinctively, my answer is always "Yes! Of course I am!" and not because it's bullshit, but because it's true. In just the past 7 months, my wife and I have bought a brand new house just around the corner from where we were living with our fairy godmother and international bestie for the last three years. We already loved the neighbourhood, we're close to the train station right on the High Street, in a gated little, tiny development, and we didn't have to change banks, doctor's, dentists or Jem's route to work.

My parents visited from the States, just as we moved in and helped us with little things, like stocking kitchen utensils, fox proofing the back yard and installing shelves, mantle pieces, buying bath mats and exploring each and every store within walking distance. My wife's mother has visited from Australia and given the place her seal of approval, a glowing review, cooking all kinds of great meals, loading our freezer with leftovers, and helping get our back yard and garden gorgeous with her amazing green thumb. We've had friends spend a weekend, we've had one of Jemma's friends from Australia stay with us for a few months while he made the move to England and got on his feet. We have a guest room, and our location is perfect, just a 40 minute train ride to get to central London. Ahh….Living in jolly ol' England, a hot, amazing wife, a new house, a writing career, a supportive family and circle of friends. Seriously, I couldn't ask for more.

I may love my life and I may like it here, but do I love it? Love is a strong word and I'll be completely honest with you, it ain't all roses and tea cakes.

Sometimes stuff just gets to me.

It happens. Especially..ESPECIALLY ...after a visit to the States. When I come back here, I look at things differently. I miss things. I miss important things like air conditioning, the swirling flush of a toilet, the ease of getting in your car without crumpling into a taco formation, just going to a mall to shop, a drive-thru car wash that doesn't close you in like a caged animal,  a 24 hour drive-thru Dunkin Donuts whenever you feel like it.

Most of all, I miss variety and options. I don't know if it's because I don't drive, or because I work from home, or just simply because my life is just so completely different from what it was for over 25 years, having all kinds of options at my finger tips, but lately I notice that  my "options" are limited here.

There is very little spontaneity in life here in England. A night on the town means researching your journey- are you taking a train or Tube to get into London? Have you purchased your tickets? Are you taking a car service? Have you booked your ride? Are you driving yourself? Do you know where the car parks are? Did you find your walking route on your "maps" app, so you know where you are walking to once you park? Did you go online and pay your car's congestion fees? Have you booked your reservation at the restaurant? All this thought for a burger at Shake Shack in Covent Gardens.

Watching late night TV? Get a craving for a snack? You better hope you have something in your kitchen because there are no McDonald's on every corner. There is (maybe) ONE in each city and it's usually closed by 11pm and not close by. No Wendy's…period. No Burger King every 3 miles. No 24-hour KFC for some popcorn chicken. No Dairy Queen….period. No franchise ice cream parlours anywhere, in fact. Just a day time (11am-5pm) "Mr. Whippy" ice cream van in the parking lot of a "B&Q" or garden centre, if you're lucky. By "Mr. Whippy"- I mean ice cream that's infused with air and for some odd reason, isn't even really cold. There are no "7-11" stores to grab a Slurpee, a Slim Jim, and a bag of Bugles. No 3am Taco Bell run, in your slippers because you never even have to get out of your car. Nope. Not happening.

Let's discuss leaving the house…for anything. I'm not quite sure why, but every person in England carries some sort of bag. Man, woman, child…doesn't matter- they have a bag. I have absolutely no clue what's in these bags, but I rarely ever see a person without one. I suppose, when you think about it- chances are if you're a kid, you have school crap in there, your electronic devices & games, perhaps your gym clothes, your lunch, your Oyster card for travel, your locker & house keys, a comic book, your weed (I'm KIDDING!) and a few pound coins for a kebab after school.

Men & women, especially those commuting to work have similar things, I'm sure- keys, electronic devices-a tablet, phone and a laptop, an umbrella, change of shoes for after work, wallet, travel cards, food (biscuits, granola bar, crisps, a wrapped up half-eaten ham & cheese sandwich), bottle of water (possibly 2), perhaps a light jacket or scarf for the unpredictable weather, a notebook, a paperback book, pens, sunglasses, tic tags, medication (if needed), spare socks, spare pantyhose, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lighter, work ID badge, a hat from last winter, and tons of free floating coins. Every time they leave the house, it's like they know they'll be gone for 12 hours or more and are completely prepared for anything the day may hold. At all times. Me? I'm used to doing the "3 pocket pat down" with one hand on the doorknob. Keys? Wallet? Phone? Go.  So, the concept of carrying a day's worth of things at all times is completely lost on me and it always amazes me when I see it. All kinds of people: bicyclers, walkers, bus riders, commuters, old, young, men, women, children, locals- doesn't matter. They have a bag: a knapsack, a rucksack, a shoulder bag, a travel bag on wheels, a cart-like bag they drag along behind them, a messenger bag, a grocery bag, a pouch, a hand bag, a book bag, a gift bag, a knitted sweater bag, a waterproof Timberland camping bag, a sport bag- you name it and someone is carrying it. Chances are they have smushed that bag into someone's arm or face, got it caught on a handrail at the station, tripped someone with it as they set it on the floor of the Tube carriage, stopped elevator doors from closing as they squeeze themselves in, or knocked something off a rack in store with it as they turned around to say "Sorry," for bashing someone with it in a tight aisle. Doesn't phase 'em in the least.

Driving? I can't even get into it about the driving. Driving over here is something that really can't be explained, it can only be witnessed to be understood. The streets are so narrow, with cars parked on both sides so what is supposed to be a two lane road is basically a risk-your-life pathway full of stopping, swerving, hand gestures, "no, you go"-headlight flashing, slowing up, gunning the gas, brushing against curbs, avoiding cyclists, holding your breath and squeezing past another car at a crawl to be sure you don't swipe one another-tucking in side mirrors, being aware of motorcycles whizzing between cars to get to the red light first, easing over speed humps, jamming on brakes for pedestrians with an insane amount of self entitlement, chancing life by guessing if it's okay to go around a bus, or dodging sneaky foxes. And the roundabouts. Ugh. Please. I can't even.

And then there is seeing something like this:

And this….

I mentioned variety and options. I guess that's the thing about being from the States- there is so much, so often, and so many options for every single thing.

Well, living in England is like living in an Aldi. You know about the Aldi chain of stores, right? Less options, more savings. Well, that seems to be case for England.

They have certain things and MANY of those certain things- and only those things.
Like..there are 5 kebab stores within a a half mile radius. There are at least 8 Thai or Indian restaurants in every neighbourhood. There are 4 fish & chip shops on every High Street. And curries.... My god, they love a curry over here. Ask a Brit was a typical week's menu was for them and I'll bet it goes something like this: "I had a curry 3 nights this week, a Thai take away twice, fish & chips once, and a lovely roast on Sunday." So, needless to say, they are a little set in their ways. I can't find a seafood restaurant anywhere, the only halfway decent, REAL hot dogs (one that isn't a fucking SAUSAGE) are at Costco, and don't get me started on the flavours of "crisps" they have over here. At first, you think it's a good thing, like when Lays came out with "Dill Pickle" chips…but, over here you see flavours like this….

..."Prawn Cocktail", "Roasted Chicken", "Flaming Steak", "Worcester Sauce", "Smoked Canadian Ham", "Pickled Onion", "Sweet Thai Chili", "Wiltshire Ham &  Mustard", "Haggis & Onion", "Tomato Ketchup" and "Lamb & Mint".  Don't believe me?

Needless to say, I'm always amazed that I can't walk into a local shop and get some sliced Havarti cheese for sandwiches. Or even a package of sliced Swiss. Sliced Colby. Nope, most of the time to get stuff like this, you have to go to a specialty delicatessen, or that particular area of the grocery store. You can't just whiz down the lunch meat aisle and grab a pack of sliced Monterey Jack. Nope- all you'll find in the packaged area is 900 different types of "mature" cheddar. Good luck with NOT getting sick of that. Mature, extra mature, Red Leciester, gold, white, aged, sliced, block, packaged, annnnny kind of cheddar you want. IF you want cheddar.

Have I mentioned the insane obsession with baked beans? You know that deal. I don't have to tell you, but this a typical "full English" breakfast:

Yes, beans. Yes, tomato, mushrooms, weird hammy-like "bacon" and (gag) blood sausages. It's breakfast! Keep it simple. Grab & go.  Sheesh.

I. Can't. Even.

But…enough about food- because there really are some great pubs with the MOST amazing menus I have ever seen and that's often the way to go for choices. Besides….who couldn't eat fish & chips twice a week?!

Let's talk space. In general…space. The area around you, space.

There is never enough over here. I'm serious. Not enough to park in, not enough to shower in, not enough to wash your hands in, not enough to store things in, not enough to grow into, not enough to walk through, not enough to drive through, not enough to lay on, not enough to sit at, not enough to put clothes in, not enough to cook in, not enough to sleep in and not enough fridge and freezer space, not enough to hang a coat or store your wellies, not enough to socialise in and not enough to stretch your arms out wide without smacking someone in the face. Ever. No matter where you are.

Things are tiny here. By things, I mean EVERYTHING. Sinks, faucets, handles, wardrobes, showers, storage space, rooms- in general, kitchens, bathrooms, houses, flats, cars, roads, stores, aisles in stores, parking spaces, chairs, cafes, yards, portion sizes, BBQ grills, beds, shopping carts, tiny tables, tiny bags of crisps, even SODAS are small:

But, I'll tell you this- when it comes to televisions- they go big. Yep, telly's, books, vocabulary and bags. No compromising on those things. LARGE, my friend. They go LARGE.

Every summer, I question why people don't have air conditioning here. I get that the weather is ever-changing (or the politics of weather, what with the global warming debates and all-is changing) So, it goes from a few years of brutal winters to a more milder few months. It goes from a year or two of constant flooding, to a near drought. It goes from a blistering summer to a breezy, lovely season. But, one thing is for certain, if you have sun…you have heat. I don't care if it's a mild heat, or a minor heat, or there is no humidity, it's a dry heat, whatever- heat is heat and summer brings it- in some form or another. The minute I complain about the heat over here, someone will instantly say, "Aren't you from FLORIDA?"  Yeah, I am and the only time I was ever hot in Florida was if I was walking to my car because every single place in existance-office, home, store, theatre, cafe, etc. has AIR CONDITIONING. Windows get tinted, overhead fans are installed, some places go as far as to have cooling water misters spraying the air, every car has air conditioning, people have plug-in mobil units in their sheds, or on their patios- there is no need to suffer EVER. So, yeah, I'm from Florida, where it gets up to over 100 degrees -but it's never more than 76 inside and ice is abundant.

Over here in England (probably safe to say, all of Europe) they never felt a need for it. "Open the windows, get the air circulating… it's fine." Sure. It would be, if the windows HAD SCREENS. So, now along with a mere breeze, on day where there MAY be one available, you open your windows to let it in, along with every spider, fly and bee within a square foot of your house. Your cat goes berserk, jumping, swatting, knocking things over to chase any moth or mosquito that enters your domain. You wake up with new bites every day, you have marks on every wall from the last thing you swatted to death, there is a never ending humming, buzz-like sound coming from every room in the house because of the £8 desk fan that must remain on and oscillating at all times to keep the air moving which gives us the false impression that it's "cooling off nicely" and by 2pm, when the sun is scorching into every window, regardless of what side of the house you THOUGHT didn't get the sun, and your sweating away, drinking your tiny Diet Pepsi with 2 pieces of ice because your tiny freezer can't hold more than a few ice trays, thinking, "How the fuck do they do this summer after summer?!"


Well..they don't know any different. These are people who plan vacations to Spain or Italy in July and August to roast themselves like the very sausages they savour. These are the true Brits. Then there are the Brits who've been to the States. These are the Brits that get it. They get what a luxury things like space, options, big portions, air conditioning, giant, open roads, big trucks and cars, yards with swimming pools, rooms with actual closets, 2 litre sodas, 24-hour drive thrus, giant bathrooms, massive freezers and electric bug zappers are all about. They get what I miss. And they make sad, pitiful eyes and nod their heads knowingly when I talk about it, almost tearing up with me. I long for one day where I don't give my poor wife a report on how much I've sweat in one afternoon, as she walks in the door from work.

Even the lesbian community, which I used think was so different over here-isn't really all that different. There are cliques, and groups that are impenetrable. There are promoters that think the sun rises and sets by them and their same, old tired events. There are the drinkers, the dancers, the DJ's, the girls who push their "feminine visibility" quest down your throat with their heels and lipstick and there are butches with bad haircuts that fall under the category of Lea Delaria. It's the same every where, I've concluded, you just have to find the friends you're most comfortable in and hang on for dear life.

Look, I've basically accepted the fact that there are things over here I may NEVER get used to. Things that will always make me wonder. Things that I'll never understand. Like...

Seeing a girl with hair dyed the colour of Hawaiian Punch or grape Fanta.

Knowing the nightly news weather report is just a simple map with a few numbers and some arrows for what direction the wind may blow, with no radar, no satellite imaging, no temperature gauges, no long range forecast, just a simple statement in the top corner of the screen saying something like "Delightfully sunny" or "Dreadfully wet" and a person who looks like they just finished a shift at the O2 store announcing it.

I have to accept things like it's shopping online all the time because getting in a car or taking a bus to a store is so incredibly inconvenient.
I have to accept that everyone starts their sentences off with "Right" or "Sorry" and end their sentences with a question all the time.  "Well, it's 2 for 1 down the pub, INNIT?"
That the "mall" is really a town centre and some stores are indoor... and some stores are outdoor.
That people over here use FAR too many words in one godforsaken sentence (i.e.: Stephen Fry at the BAFTA Awards every year)
That people over here think 2 inches of snow is a reason to close every business and stay home.
That biscuits are cookies, that "tea time" could mean a meal, not a drink.
That football is soccer and people may cry when their team loses.
That self expressive hair cuts are the norm.
That gas is petrol, wind is gale, and farts are wind.
That I always hear "God Bless America" in my head when the England National Anthem plays.
That you have to pretty much say "still" water and not just "water" when asking a server.
That chips are french fries and burgers aren't so great.
That "scampi" is some weird blend of shrimp, langostino and crab in a tiny blob that's batter-coated.
That not a day goes by there isn't 4 traffic accidents on the M25.
That a place may be 8 miles away, but it could take you 90 minutes in traffic to get there.
That "taking the piss" means "making fun of…" and not actually going pee.
That cyclists think they are better than everyone, even with butt sweat stains on their latex shorts.
That "rain" could mean a downpour that lasts all day, or 11 drops.
That every pub has it's "clientel"- working class blokes, uptight professionals, or casual neighbours and they smell as such.
That people over here will spend an hour creating the perfect fire on their BBQ grill to make a friggin' sausage and in the winer, just push a button on their fireplace to light it up.
That people here think a beach has rocks.
That there is a weird international store on every High Street with fruit and meat you've never seen before and owners you wouldn't want to sit next to on a plane.
That there are fucking steps and stairs everywhere.
That people here think custard is the greatest thing ever.
That "Cheers" can mean "Hello", "Yes", "Good-Bye" and "Thank You."
That people over here take enormous pride in their gardens.
That they call a grocery cart a trolley. It's not the thing on a Rice-A-Roni box or that's in San Francisco.
That buses & trains will hardly ever run on schedule.
That Gary Barlow is some kind of National Treasure.
That people over here actually sit in the park, with their bag, a book and a bottle of water, unlike in the States when you go to park to either play basketball or walk your dog.
That the cracks in your walls are 'normal' because every house 'settles'.
That a worker that's doing your painting, or dry wall or repairs is likely to ask you for a cup of tea and use your bathroom, like he's a fucking a lodger or something.
That you may get stuck behind a horse drawn carriage on your way to the store.
That a full season of "Downton Abby" is 8 episodes long.
That they call dessert "pudding".
That people listen to talk radio like the gospel.
That hotels and bed & breakfasts most people think are quaint and adorable are really just old & shitty.
That people over here, as a rule, are generally uptight (and they can't help it).
That I will not ever spend a summer day without a Dyson fan blowing directly into my face.
That I will never stop missing my family and my Stateside friends & cats. It doesn't ever get easier.
That I will always need to look at the street to see what way traffic may be coming….

The cool thing is that there a lot of things that I love about being here. I love how every time we drive into a different town or a village the view is exactly like a pop-up storybook and every bit what you'd imagine England to look like. I love when we hit a certain stretch of country road and on each hillside are sheep, cows and horses for as far as your eye can see. 

I love seeing old farm houses and knowing the same family has probably lived there since 1940. I love the view of Brighton as you head toward the beach and see the ferris wheel and pier. I love the gay scene there. I love that you can find the perfect mix of new & old in London. I love that you can get tickets to see live tapings of  TV shows all the time and that it's completely accessible and easy and fun to go to. I love the local festivals. I could go to a festival every weekend if they had 'em. I love that my take on why people here are so uptight is because they spend their whole lives thinking that they could possibly run into a Royal unexpectedly and have to "be ready".  I get it. I feel that way about maybe one day running into Adele.

I love what good sports they are when Americans try to imitate their accents, just like how we are good sports about British people taking all the good leading movie roles with their perfect American accents. 

And, I think it's culturally wonderful when we all come together and imitate the Chinese waiter by saying "Oh, ha-roh, we get flied lice," after he walks away. 

I know I joke about this being like the "land that time forgot" but the fact is I respect the way they hold their traditions and history so dearly and in such regard that they don't ever want to change things. It's sweet and I am proud to pretend to be a UK citizen (without the accent) most of the time.

The simple fact is the longer you are away from something, the more you miss it. Also, the longer you are immersed in something, the more you grow accustom to it, so I think I'm in the process of finding the perfect balance of the two.

Let's face it, England is a tiny little spot in the UK, and considering it would be like taking everyone in the state of Texas and cramming them into say…Delaware- they all seem to get along well. They are courteous with their local driving, they have very little crazy gun crime, they submit to the cattle call herding of Tube travel, they seem fairly respectful of their government, for having free National Health Care, they don't seem to be spilling out into the streets with diseases or anything, and regardless of the jokes about bad teeth, you don't see that very often and they are all incredibly polite about EVERYTHING, always chipper and friendly. They don't mind not having giant things, like road ways, streets, houses, cars, portions, it's like the are perfectly okay with what they don't know to miss. It's actually a pretty blissful way to live. So, it's lovely just to observe it and learn the ways of living in a more simple manor. With the things you need, and not so much with all the things you want. It's a lesson for me, every day.

But the thing I love most of all is that after 3 years of a long distance relationship, wondering if we would ever figure it all out, I can wake up with my gorgeous, ridiculously patient wife, in our own home every single day, even if it is far away from everything I've known for the last 42 years.