The 5 year itch?

This month marks five years of permanently living in the UK for me. Not a momentous milestone compared to the tenure of some other expats I know, but it feels big to me regardless.

When I came over in 2007, I remember our plan was for me to spend five years in the North East after which time Will and I would set sail for a new life in America. It didn't register to me then that I might not actually WANT to move back yet after five years. Surely there was no way I would stay in the UK longer than I had to, right?

The thing about me is that I am an extremely restless person by nature. I don't really sit still for more than five years at a time. I like new experiences more than new achievements. That's one reason why we moved to London last year - I was feeling overwhelmed by the need to have an adventure but at the same time I didn't want to do it without Will by my side. I still may give up cities and jobs easily, but when it comes to my family and friends, nowadays I generally prefer to keep the "good uns" around. (Against their will even if must be - thank goodness for Facebook eh?)

The last year or so living in London has been fantastic. I don't feel like I need to move on from this city just yet, but I have a feeling that the restlessness will settle back in eventually - sooner rather than later. It's inevitable really.

I think I was just born impatient. I have this (made up) memory of kicking the hell out of my mom from inside her uterus, shouting "are we there yet lady?" at the top of my prenatal lungs.

And yes, I realise impatience isn't glamorous nor attractive, but I wouldn't change myself too much in this area either. Despite the fact it can be a bit annoying, the internal drive I have for continually doing new things, learning more, finding new places...it's made me pretty damn brave over the years. I'm not afraid to make a fool of myself for the right reason. I'm not scared to risk everything for something I am passionate about. I don't really mind starting over as I've done it so many times already.

And most importantly, I am pretty sure the journey is more important than the destination in life, so as long as I get things more right than wrong, it will all be good in the end right? At least, that's what I always tell myself. ;)

Public transport pro?

As I travel to Teddington from Durham today, it strikes me that I'm becoming a bit of a pro at utilizing mass transportation. Three months ago I used England's infamous rail and tube stations cautiously and with loads of self-doubt, constantly worried about getting lost or always fumbling like a fool with my bags whilst simultaneously riding an escalator or buying a ticket. Three months ago, a four-plus hour journey to Teddington via public transportation would have put me totally on edge, and by the time I got there, I would have been frazzled. Today I feel incredibly cool and content during my journey, which seems to be a dramatic shift within me. So now I am starting to wonder exactly what has changed.

It's obvious to me that I've become one of the Average Jane commuting masses. I "fit in" somehow, instead of always sticking out like a sore thumb as I did in the recent past (or rather I came off like a car-dependent bus-phobic Middle American to be more accurate). Here is some proof…

I pack my belongings in the manner most optimal for the journey ahead. Roller bag if long stays, backpack for short ones, purse inside backpack if tube AND train, outside if tube only. Always keep both sunglasses AND an umbrella in my bag's side pocket when an outdoor hike is required, as the weather changes rapidly here.

Before departing, I put my Oyster card &/or train tickets in my right hand outermost coat pocket for quick access to the ticket scanner or to show the porter.

Amazingly, I can now both collapse the handle on my suitcase and carry it up tube station stairs all with one hand & in one smooth motion without missing a step (the key is proper thumb-on-handle placement).

I have mostly broken my American habit of always walking on the right side of the gangway, and instead I can weave in and out on the left with ease.

I have memorized all the tube and train stops which I frequent, usually down to the level of knowing which side the doors open at each station, and also what carriage to be on for the post-departure race for first in queue at the taxi stand.

I have all the various fares memorized, and I pay for my tea with exact change whenever possible to keep the snack trolley vendor happy and efficient. Hell, I can even walk up the escalators on the left like a sprinter without feeling any awkwardness, no matter what type of heels I'm wearing!

I assume this change has occurred in me slowly over time, but for some reason today it seems dramatic and sudden. I mean... sure, I still get lost or trip over the tube gap from time to time still, but its less scary than before and usually due to me being the clumsiest person alive instead of due to my public transport naivety. And that subtle difference makes me feel so good.

Sent from my iPhone.

Socialised Medicine, Part 2

Okay, so all didn't go so well with my little SM adventure today. I got to the clinic, started filling out the paperwork and when the forms asked for my credit card number, I got quite confused. Um, WHAT?! I thought this wasn't a pay per use type service! Totally frightened about looking stupid, I asked about the costs and quickly found out that I had stumbled into a private clinic that is not run by the NHS at all. The front office man did a little sales job on me trying to convince me to use them anyway (at £65/30 minutes plus ala carte prices for tests!). I was feeling pretty shitty at the time, had nothing in my stomach as far as sustenance, so in typical Julie-mode, I got mad and the tears started flowing. I would almost feel sorry for the guy at reception had he not made my general paranoia worse by trying to get me to stay and pay.

So, I called up Will and complained profusely which of course made things worse. Not sure how the man puts up with me sometimes, I swear! As my mom has always said, I'm a bit high-maintenance to say the least. (Note to self: Really need to stop using the phrase " I hate your country sometimes... " - doesn't get me sympathy in any way). Poor Will didn't know what to do with me in the state I was, except to say I shouldn't have to pay and he had no idea why I was being asked to do so. That pretty much made up my mind to leave.

I eventually got the guy at reception to tell me where the REAL (aka free) NHS clinic is located, and off I went. In my misery, I didn't pay enough attention to the signs at the station and ended up taking a REALLY out of the way route to Liverpool Street which involved about 2 miles of walking which I could have avoided if I had taken a train instead of Tube at Bank, which I'm pretty sure the reception dude told me but I wasn't listening because of my anger (duh, dumb American girl get with it!). Of course, the difficult journey made me even more upset and my hunger sure as hell didn't help, so when I finally got to Liverpool street, I was in a right state. Knowing my body well, I grabbed a sandwich and some water at the first place I encountered. And then I hit my iPhone.

Have I mentioned that I love my iPhone, and that I can't imagine a life with out it? I had no idea where this clinic was, only that it was near Liverpool Street station. I used Safari to look up the address on the NHS website, then I put the post code into Google maps, used the 'Current Location' function and next thing I know, I had precise directions on how to get to the clinic from where I was standing, in all of about 3 minutes (would have been faster if I weren't also stuffing my face). Thank you Bill Gates. You are a genius.

Ok, so finally got to the NHS clinic, filled out a MUCH simpler form (name, address, DOB nationality - that's it, no HIPAA shite, no insurance questions, nothing...). Turned the form in, sat down on a pretty damn comfy leather chair to wait, and 35 minutes later walked back to the train station with a diagnosis from a really nice nurse practitioner. Luckily, it's just really bad wax build-up and not an ear infection! Yucky I know, but I prefer ear drops and a potential 'syringing' next week to loads of drugs, so now I'm a happy bunny.

All-in-all, my first experience with socialised medicine was very simple and pleasant, once I finally made it to the NHS clinic itself. The fact that I didn't have to fill out a load of forms nor pay a dime truly did offset the fact that I REALLY miss having a car to handle these types of situations. ( Americans have no idea how easy they have it with HUGE parking lots outside of everywhere. But then again, I don't have a car payment or associated hassles, so there ! )

I did learn one key lesson today, one I will never forget:

Medical clinics inside of train stations really ARE too good to be true.

Oh yeah, and I also learned that the NHS are pretty alright.

Socialised Medicine, Part 1

I am writing from a London train, on my way to Waterloo station. I am full of anxiety and worry and loathing. No, its not because of work.

Its because my ears are messed up and I need medical attention. Which means I am about to try out socialised medicine for the first time. Which means that I'm behaving in a typical American way and am scared shitless.

What's funny about this situation is that if it weren't for Michael Moore, I probably wouldn't be going at all, or at least not until I passed out and Will dragged my unconscious body to the A & E. I have heard many horrible stories about socialised medicine in America and I can't imagine voluntarily subjecting myself to its evils! And seriously, how can it be any good if it’s free?! Nothing good in life is free, or so I have been brought up to believe. Despite my hearing going bad, an increase in pain daily and about 3 consecutive weeks of ear "issues", I have yet to see a nurse or doctor. And I was resolute in my decision not to do so until this weekend.

Sunday night I watched "Sicko" and Mr. Moore made me see how silly I am being. The NHS is not evil and it appears that my fears of it being sub par because its free is a misnomer because its not free - we are taxed out our asses here to pay for it.

So now you must be wondering why I am still filled with so much dread as we draw closer to Waterloo medical centre? Well, first of all, I'm going to a medical centre located in a TRAIN STATION. Seriously, how weird is that? Convenient, sure, but is it sanitary? Secondly, although Moore raised my confidence in the UK health system, it totally lowered my confidence in not appearing like a buffoon when using it. In a way I'm thankful that Moore asked all the typical American questions in the film, eliciting bewilderment and laughs from confused Brits.

Saves me the embarrassment I suppose. I mean who WOULDNT ask about co-pays back home? Apparently here its a foreign concept, which lends credence to my fear of feeling foreign.

Almost there now. Wish me luck. Tell my mother I love her should I not return.

:£

To be continued....

an unexpected result

the match we pretend didn't happen
Originally uploaded by juliehicks75

My interest in footy (aka soccer) was primarily spawned from my interest in Will and his general passion for the sport, as well as my desire to share something special with my nephew Elijah, who loves going to Columbus Crew games. Hence I watched parts of the World Cup with vague interest, I learned the basics so I could keep up in conversation with Will, and I got a season ticket to the Crew last year to share with little E. But really, I wasn't all that into soccer on its own. Instead I enjoyed it primarily as a mechanism to feel closer to the two important men in my life.

Fast forward to now, and it's amazing how things have changed. I find myself talking and reading about football with no prompting from Will. I love going to the Boro matches and I don't spend the entire time drinking and talking anymore - I actually watch the match! I know about 80% of the Boro songs, I get genuinely upset when they play like shite and I think I'd even go watch a match in a pub on my own should I be in London when the Boro play. I'm fascinated by the culture of it, and also by the game play itself. Suddenly the term 'the beautiful game' is starting to make a bit of sense to me. And this all just seems a little bizarre.

Quick thought on adjective usage...

As I was trying to nap today, I started thinking about how the British use the same words a bit differently than Americans sometimes. A really great example is the word "horny". In America, this adjective is used almost exclusively to describe one's state of mind from a sexual-desire perspective:

"I am feeling horny tonight baby. " --> Translated: I want to get laid.

"Jeff is a real horny bastard sometimes." --> Translated: Jeff always wants to get laid.

"It sucks becaus he's NEVER horny and I ALWAYS am ready to go" --> Translated: She wants to get laid, he doesn't.

In the UK they use this rough little adjective in those same sentences as well, but they've apparently derived another usage where they use "horny" to describe objects directly rather than just a person's state of mind. For example:

"That movie is horny." --> Usually used to describe porn, or sometimes ellicitly sexual scenes within a non-pornographic movie.

"I like that dress. It's horny." --> Basically means that observer thinks the the dress looks really sexy.

"That was a really horny conversation." --> Basically states that a conversation was deemed to be a turn-on.

And so forth...

I'm sure "horny" is not the only word that's switched from single-purpose to multi between our two great countries; however given the fact I'm feeling a bit horny today, it's the first one that came to my mind.

a sport i might like?

Getting ready for rugby!!
Originally uploaded by juliehicks75

I'm just not the type of person who loves organized sports. Baseball, basketball, football...all pretty much lost on me. I definitely love the FANS of organized sports (i.e. Will, AmyMo, my brother-in-law) and I definitely admire their passion, their excitement and their dedication - hell, it's almost infectious during a game/match - but I just don't usually "get" team sports.

The closest I've come to being a "fan" is for soccer. Soccer is a fast and strategic sport and the guys are HOT and foreign, which we all know is my type, so yes... I tend to be a little bit of a footie enuthusiast...but I'd never call my self a fanatic. I guess maybe I'm not wired that way? dunno... whatever it is, it seems to be a common trait between me and my sister Susie, so at least I am not alone in my general dislike of organized sport. And I've always accepted myself for the non-sports-interested person that I am and been happy in this non-team-affiliated bubble of mine... that is until I saw the Rugby World Cup.

When we were on holiday, Will coerced me into watching a couple rugby matches. For those of you who don't know me well, please note that "coerced" means he simply offered me a beer and chair to sit it. I am really easily influenced by both as long as pleasant company is involved. Anyway, to my chagrin I was incredibly turned on by and tuned into Rugby. Rugby is like a combination of the best parts of American football, soccer (aka football to the rest of the world) and roman greco-wrestling all combined into one sport, with a bit of complete superfluous gladiator-like violence thrown in for sport. And omg I am riveted by it!

Do I understand Ruby fully? Nope. But I'm learning.

Do I want to? HELL yes.

Do I find Rugby the most interesting team sport I've ever seen? Well, actually, I do.

I think Rugby is incredibly manly, fair, straight-forward, hot, sickening, scary and thrilling all at once. Rugby pretty much rocks. And I can't wait to go see it live one day.

Sure, maybe this enthusiasm will wane and I won't care so much for Rugby next time around... maybe it is just World Cup excitement that's got me all caught up in the rugby madness... who knows?! I do know I likethe feeling. I find myself reading about the World Cup semis coming this weekend and searching for them on my cable box so I can DVR the upcoming England for later enjoyment. Whatever this feeling is, and I admit it may be fleeting, for the first time ever I understand why people followsports with such a passion and I'm way cool with it now. W00t as jeff would say.W00t W00t W00t.