Our Lives are Full. Almost.

Moi-meme: Love-filled and bubbly-all-over.

Days like today make me remember why I feel so lucky to be a part of my family.  Things happen, like my little sister calls me to tell me that she's just found out she's having her first son - a new little brother to my niece Ava, a new cousin to my son Roman - and suddenly, my heart, my life, feels so full I could burst.  We have so many good people in our lives, so many happy moments, so much to be thankful for.  Our lives are full.  Almost.

There are a million hopes and dreams that remain to be hoped and dreamed - some more immediately attainable than others - but, in a strange, fortunate way, here lately I've felt like I am truly appreciating and enjoying the life I have rather than focusing on the one I wish I had.   No, life is not perfect, but there's a vision and reality there that feels so right, so attainable that it almost doesn't matter.  And there's so much good coming up in the next six months that, if only for a brief, fleeting moment, it feels like I can do the Ren & Stimpy "Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy" dance in-the-now, and minus the depressing, nihilistic undertones.

Tomorrow we embark on a beautiful adventure to visit family in the last days of summer warmth and to usher in the beginning of a new era.  Matt's brother (and he's mine too, actually) is getting married.  It will be a "last hoorah" on many levels and for many people.  Besides the obvious nuptials, Matt's sister is also expecting so it will be their last big family event minus a baby, it will also be Roman's last visit with Nana and Grand as the only grandchild (thank goodness!).  My sister and her husband will be joining in the celebration - also their last vacation / event minus baby #2 due in January.  And, for us, well - who knows what life can and will bring in the coming months.  I feel that somehow it is a last for us too. In a good, very, very exciting way.  :)

So to kick off a great week and a half of fun times, and new memories to be made, here are some photos that visually represent the beautiful spirit of my life and family.  I found them today as I was going through my pictures and couldn't help but smile.  There's an irrepressible happiness that shines through them.  And, as they say, from the mouths (and minds) of babes...

All photography and artwork by Romanorum Master Forum.

This post is brought to you by Mr. Blue Sky - the song by the Electric Light Orchestra and the embodiment thereof in my-personal-offspring-form.

Malta: My Own Personal Benidorm

My Beloved Kinnie:
Bittersweetness in a sad, disgusting world of Maltese Benidorminess.

I'm not going to lie - I've seriously been avoiding posting my thoughts on our trip to Malta last October. Not that we had a bad time, but, well, the food was just terrible and to me that kind of taints the whole experience. Yes, I do realize it's been like 5 months, but it's such a dreary day outside, and if nothing else, we had great weather in Malta, so here's to the memory of that!

* * *

Have you ever seen the show "Benidorm?" If you haven't, you're not missing much. Well, ok, you are. because it's a comedic show that exploits the natural hilarity and inherent grotesque quality that is the reality of the used-to-be-quaint-village turned skyscraper-hotel-package-holiday-hell in the south of Spain called Benidorm.

Benidorm (the show) cleverly draws out and makes fun of the stereotypical (can't emphasize that word enough here!), working-class, Northern-European (read: British) tourist. It points out their quirks, annoying habits, and inevitably-familiar preferences. To them a vacation is an all-inclusive package of nothing but British food (English breakfast every morning!), bad cabaret shows put on by dolled-up locals who treat the tourists like the idiots they are, and days spent sunning (burning?) at the pool, critiquing the other "stupider" tourists and / or conspicuously flirting / making out by said poolside.

It hurts a little bit to watch shows like this because probably every single one of us either knows someone like the characters or has to admit to wanting their "eggs and bacon" breakfast everywhere they go. But it is hilarious because, in the end - whether it touches something personal or not - we all know exactly what they're talking about, and can laugh our haughty that-will-never-be-me-laugh from the comfort of our (my British) living rooms.

The Family: single-mother-daughter with token-interracial-baby, annoying brother, overweight dad, clueless mom. Mel & Madge, the feisty grandmother with the saggy-perma-tan and her (not-so) beau.

I did say grotesque.

But returning to the point of this post, I'm still not quite sure how Matt and I ended up in the real-life Maltese version of Benidorm in early October, but we did.

We were at a really nice hotel in the off-season in what was advertised as a "quaint village" north of Valletta in Malta. Numerous people on Trip Advisor had specifically commented on how great the buffet breakfast was --

* Small Note on Buffet Breakfasts *

I do not hold my nose up at buffet breakfasts. I am a fan of the buffet concept as a general rule, as long as it is done well. For example, the hotel we stayed at in Thailand had a buffet breakfast that rivaled many a la carte restaurants I've been to. Grilled fish, fresh tropical fruits, complimentary champagne...on the other hand, I've had my fair share of crappy Chinese buffets and so I do know the dangers that can and often do lurk beneath the stainless steal lids...

* end small note on Buffet Breakfasts*

-- and frankly, I was looking forward to my all-included gluttonous morning feastivities. The hotel had three pools (a must with the Master in tow), was in walking-distance from the beach, and offered easy access to both Valletta and Gozo. Great? Not so great.

* * *

My Top 5 Stories, Thoughts, Musings on the Maltese Experience
or, why Mellieha is Benidorm

5. Guido the Cab Driver
As is often the case, our first introduction to Malta came via our cab driver from the airport. Unlike in Brussels, the guy we got was about as close to the stereotypical idea of a sleaze-bucket-douche-bag as one man can get. His name was Guido (I won't get into the ironically appropriate implications there) and he knew everything there was to know on any subject worth knowing - and better than anybody else (especially women).

We weren't paying him to drive us, he was doing us a favor. He escorted us to the car by clicking his mouth to signal he was ready to go after leaving us to wait (me, seething) for five minutes while he chatted in Maltese with a fellow cabby, all the while lifting his shirt half-way to rub his nasty middle-aged belly, the way sleaze-buckets are wont to do. (This was at 2 in the morning, mind you.) He would only address Matt ("stupid women don't understand") and he claimed to speak four languages and assumed we only spoke one ("stupid Americans don't understand") even after we'd told him several times that wasn't the case (still seething).

He gave Matt a lecture on driving on the left-side of the road (even though he has done it pretty consistently for the three years we've lived in the UK, which we mentioned to Guido), told us to check "on top of [our] heads" whenever we park somewhere to see if there is a no-parking sign, told me that all women are after men's money and possessions and that's why he'd never married (apologizing the whole time for saying so but that it was true, "so, sorry") and was back in Malta living with his mother (silent internal screaming fit in Brenda's head start NOW.).

When we asked if there were any good restaurants in Mellieha (his hometown apparently), he patronizingly said, "well, none of them are bad - you'll get food no problem. It's not tough - just check the menu to see what they have and how much it costs before you go in or you might end up somewhere you don't want to be."

Thank you Guido. Seeing as the stupid American woman has never been to a restaurant, other country, or outside of the kitchen (where she permanently resides, barefoot and sometimes pregnant, scheming for her husband's money and possessions) frankly, it is a good thing we got you as our cabby.

Once we'd arrived, he then proceeded to say he didn't have change (in order to "con" the stupid American man out of an extra large tip) but quickly changed his tune when Matt said he had no problem waiting for him to go into the hotel lobby to get change from the concierge. Bastard Guido. At least now we knew where we stood as American tourists.


4. The Food Dilemma
The buffet breakfast was up to snuff...if you're a character in Benidorm. It consisted of a continental breakfast (not my bag) and a British breakfast, complete with badly cooked sausages, soggy bacon, baked beans, and copious amounts of ketchup and brown sauce available. In fact, probably the best things they had were the fresh rye bread loafs (which I could only snag on the days we were early) and the fried eggs (and even those were sometimes really bad). Oh and the little foil-wrapped cheese wedges you get at all European hotels. I'm a fan of those.

Thinking breakfast was an anomaly, we decided to try out the hotel's really well furnished pizzeria downstairs. It offered really basic fair that it would take a decidedly, determinedly bad chef to mess up: pizza, spaghetti, salads. Guess what, they had a decidedly - triumphantly, even! - bad chef.

The experience at every other place we ate was the same. The menu looked good, the place looked good, the food was horrendous, even their "typical Maltese dishes" which were generally "rabbit in a white wine sauce" (oh it sounds good, but oh it isn't!) or some horrific variance thereof.

To put it in black and white for you: Matt and I ended up eating at the local Chinese Restaurant 3 out of 5 nights we were there. Desperate times call for desperate measures (and fried ice cream).


3. Another Douche Bag and his Famiglia
When you're at a medium-sized hotel it's inevitable to run into other guests on a repeated basis. I actually find that charming about certain travel experiences - getting to know others on a basic, acquaintance level, so that you have someone to nod or smile to every morning at breakfast, at the pool, or even a new friend. Sadly, the only people (besides several German, senior citizen couples) this happened to us with was a douchey Italian power-couple and their catamite (as Matt shamelessly dubbed him) son.

I wish with every fiber in my being that I had mustered up the courage to take a picture of these people. You probably won't believe me when I describe them. Then again, if you've ever been to an Italian city or beach you are likely to have run into them or one of their many followers: Hands flying, chins jutting out and shoulders raising, they walk and talk as if they were being followed by an entourage of paparazzi at all times. After all, they are too cool with their curly hair stiff with too much product, a generous whiff of spray-on deodorant, skin-tight clothing and permanent sunglasses - at breakfast, lunch, dinner, while swimming, while coffeeing, day or night, inside or outside. Oh, and they all seem to possess an unshakable conviction that they can convince anyone of anything anywhere (I like to call this the "veni, vidi, vici complex"), just because they deserve to get their way.

Matt, Roman and I were lucky enough to see them everywhere every single day of our vacation. We breakfasted at the same times, swam at the same times (their 6 year old, for the record, swam entirely naked in the pool and I am compelled to comment here that I really think that age is a little past the cutoff where kids are "cute" when naked in public places), asked questions (well, demanded things) at reception at the same time, we arrived the same day and left the same day, and we even decided to take a day trip to Gozo and eat and play at the same beach the same day. It was funny in a "why the hell is this happening to us?" kind of way.


2. Gozo & Jeffrey's Restaurant
Gozo: If you don't plan to go(zo) there, you better not go(zo) to Malta. :) Ok, enough with the cheesy gozo jokes, and enough with the exaggeration: there were other nice places in Malta. Valletta was very pretty, actually, and has lots of amazing history. But Gozo is stunning. Stunn-ing. And if we hadn't gone there, I probably would have left Malta feeling really cheated because my favorite place we'd have gone would have been the indoor pool at our hotel. (Enough with the exaggeration, Brenda!)

But of course there was a catch: Jeffrey's Restaurant almost ruined Gozo for me.

We spent the day lounging on beaches, seeing Calypso's disappointingly small cave, and driving through beautiful little villages. The island itself is the picture of rusticity and untouched beauty with only one small "town" on the harbor for the large ferries that are constantly coming and going, and even that is very pretty. The most amazing thing we saw while there was what is sold to tourists as the "azure window." It is a rock formation that dramatically juts out onto the ocean on the wilder side of Gozo and one of the most beautifully wondrous places to see a sunset. Being there on the off-season, it was only lightly sprinkled with other sunset seekers. But it is awkward climbing on spiky eroded rock, and the light goes quickly, so if you do go, make sure you're not carrying a baby, or bring a flashlight. Or both. :)

After a small transcendentalist moment at the azure window, we, famished, headed out to find a restaurant that was open nearly 9pm, which in Gozo is much harder than one would imagine. Given that there are literally probably under 5 ATMs for the entire island, Matt and I jumped at the first half-decent place we saw that wasn't fast food and ended up at Jeffrey's Restaurant.
So quaint, so cute, and so jam-packed full of happy looking people, I sighed a great relief when Roman fell asleep and the women gave me a table despite not having a reservation (several people came through the door and were turned away after us). How could we go wrong? The menu was full of local dishes as well as international cuisine and had some decent sounding seafood. Matt and I felt happy to have finally found Malta's culinary redemption in an off-the-beaten-path little family joint such as this.

But then we got our food. Seafood soup - more unopened mussels and clams than open ones. Shady fish, and crappy broth. I ordered a filet mignon steak (mistake 1), then asked for it medium (mistake 2). What I got was something approximating leather in the form of a salisbury steak - so dry and old I almost threw up the moment I tasted it. Then Matt thought I was exaggerating (mistake 3) so he tasted it (mistake 4) and also almost threw up. I tried to compose myself as I gagged into my napkin and realized the maitre d' / owner had seen the whole thing. He brought the chef over who insisted on giving me a new steak. ONLY in order not to make a scene did I accept the second steak which was slightly less old but equally disgusting. I couldn't eat more than 2 bites. We paid and left as soon as we finished the "on the house" dessert we got to compensate us for the rotten 40Euro steak they had given us, TWICE.

Ah, we had a good time anyway. But if you like food and depend on it as a big part of your vacations - take it from us, don't go to Malta.


1. How Kinnie Saved the Trip
One out of two of the only truly and uniquely Maltese things that I found redeeming about this trip was, amazingly, a soda.

I don't drink much soda and therefore I'd never heard of Kinnie until this trip to Malta. I've still never seen it sold here in the UK, and think it would probably be hard to find almost anywhere. But I dream about it - oh how I dream about it.

Kinnie is like coca-cola with a few drops of orange bitters thrown in. It's like a grown-up version of a soft drink minus the alcohol. A campari and soda with the sweetness of pop. It's tasty, refreshing and comes in an awesome orange can reminiscent of the only other uniquely Maltese thing I found redeeming of Malta: its really cool retro orangey-yellow public buses.

GO KINNIE! At the end of the day, I took refuge in you, knowing that I would one day get back to my own kitchen again and eat normal food, but just a little bit the sadder also knowing that you would not be there to share it with me!

* * *

Some fun Maltese Moments


Roman at Ramla Beach;
still young (and cute) enough to go naked at the beach.


Fried Ice Cream at the local Chinese in Mellieha


The Azure Window: worth the trip to Gozo.


Maltese Public Buses - super retro, super cool.


So happy to be here.

Little Lovely #4: My Favorite British Commercials Part III

It's about time I did another "Favorite British Commercials" entry. There is so much food, or fodder, for fun-making out there on British television that I can't believe I've been able to hold back this long, frankly.

If you're really bored or in a fight on Valentine's Day, just whip these out and I guarantee one of you will eventually crack a smile. If you don't, save yourself some money and skip the counseling - you have no hope.

* * *

Top Five Lovely Little British Commercials of Late
mostly in the "absurd-hilarity" category

5. Heart FM Commercial
Utterly nauseating, utterly danceable, utterly...British.

Heart is my favorite London radio station. Mostly because for the first year I lived here I thought the station was called "Hot FM" due to a lack of understanding regarding British pronunciation, therefore also misleading me to think Heart had the best tagline EVER: "This is HOT."

Whether you agree or not - you gotta love the blue t-shirt girl's dance moves. :)

PS: I heart Xanadu.

4. Berocca Commercial
Keep your eye on the balding fatty in the suit. Now just think: that's him on a "really good day." Maybe life is fair after all? *hums to self: "I'm so small, I'm so small..."*

What exactly about dancing on treadmills in the middle of a city sidewalk says "multivitamin and mineral supplement containing essential nutrients that work in synergy to help those with hectic lifestyles be at their best"? I'm still not sure. Just another one of those "I'm kinda glad it did, but honestly, how the hell did this get past the brainstorming table?" ads. :)

3. Lynx bullet (Axe) commercial - "Can't Seem to Make you Mine"
Awesomeness in the form of a skinny, douchey little guy who uses Eurotrash deodorant spray.

2. Corsodyl Mouthwash Commercial
BOOM! Bet you weren't expecting that!

The hazy Sting-fields-of-goldesque ambiance sets us all up for a nasty fall from grace.
Go on, I used mouthwash for the first time in years after I watched it too.

1.Seat Biker Cupid Commercial
In honor of Valentine's and this week of little loveliness, here's a commercial that says and does what many a man or woman has wanted to say (or do) in order to rope the "one-that-got-away-but-shouldn't-have" into being their Valentine / encapsulate their appeal in two simple verb-implied phrases.

Love the biker, btw.

* * *

Honourable Mentions (with a "u")

1. Barclays Card Commercial w/ Rollercoaster
I guess they decided the theme worked the first time and ran with it. Yeah, it's a cop out on Barclays' part (but hey, what isn't?), but I kinda enjoy it. Still think the waterslide would be WAY cooler though.

2. ACT F.A.S.T. Stroke Prevention Commercial

*Disclaimer Thing*
The inclusion of the following commercial is admittedly in questionable taste and is in no way belittling the seriousness of the issue at hand. However, the powers that be cannot help if they tend to laugh (with attempts at stifling every time for the sake of propriety) at every single face this dear lady makes. The powers that be also wonder what filming this commercial was really like and whether people at the studio weren't also stifling laughter.

Now that's out of the way and evil-Brenda can come back, just one comment on this one:

"F: FACE"

* * *

Random Tangential Sidenote:
I originally started this post before Christmas with the intention to make it a holiday-themed banter on ridiculous and materialistic Christmas commercials, but there weren't enough good ones to include. Winningly, I did find this hilarious article. It is an actual Brit's take on "awful Holiday advertising." I especially enjoy his post-modernist intro and later reference to Richard Hammond as a "straggle-haired midget." Enjoy it as a 2-month-late Christmas gift from moi :)

* * *

This post was originally brought to you by The Pogues utterly classic Christmas Song: Fairytale in New York. Because if this freakish Irish-Christmas video / song don't so absolutely reek of "Holiday Surprise" - or should I say madness? - that they make you rethink your labeling your family "weird," then nothing will.

But now that this blog is no longer Christmas-themed, we're going to have to go with something more lovey-dovey and I think Glenn Medeiros freakin' MASTERPIECE absolutely does the trick. :)

Happy, Joyful, Deliriously Glee-filled Christmas!

Presenting Rom-olph.
Thrilled, as you can see, about his antlers.

Roman has been pretty good this year (or the 8 months of it that he's been alive!), so we'll see what Santa brings, but I know of another little kid who wasn't so sure he'd be getting anything but a piece of coal. I can't help but smile, because I'm pretty sure I've definitely been in that situation before, and have a feeling maybe Roman will be too one of these years very soon. :)

* * *

Merry, Happy, Joyful, Indulgent, Deliriously-Glee-filled
Christmas to everyone!

Even the bad kids. >:P

Douchebaggery abounds.

Thanks Perez Hilton via Beckers.

Three words, my friends, three words: Gucci Tennis Shoes.
(Or should I say "Kate Plus 8"?)

No, I don't take the high road and look away when I see a nasty accident.
Is that so wrong? :)

Why do all the work when somebody else has already done it for you?

Interrogatory Addendum to Yesterday's Mullet Post

Question:

Does Jim from The Office have a mini mullet?

She hasn't said it yet.

Business in the Front, Party in the Back: Red Mullet Madness

The only "tasteful" mullet out there: the red mullet.

Inspired by a previous entry which, only in passing, referred to one of my favorite "mulleted men," and the fresh summer weather, I have decided to devote a post to all (or as many as I can think of) my favorite and, IMHO, the most noteworthy of mullets.

First off, no, I don't know whether "mulleted" is a technical term, but I'm going to continue using it, and if it catches on, I'd like to take full-credit. :)

Secondly, in writing this entry I also came across several sites I find worthy of passing on (mainly because they are borderline disturbing):

Mullet Madness: Where terms like "Tennessee Tophat," "Kentucky Waterfall" and "Canada Passport" are thrown around with respect and knowledge.

Rate My Mullet: Where real people go to have their mullets rated. (Seriously?)

Mullet Junky: If you can make it past the introductory warnings about being a true lover of mullets, you'll enjoy the pics. My personal favorite is the "Animull."

Finally, and most tastily, today's recipe is inspired by the madness of the mullet. As mullets go, my favorite by far is the Red Mullet, or a delicious little red fish once regarded as a delicacy in antiquity and still prized as a good catch today around the Mediterranean. It is also known as the "Woodcock of the sea" because its liver is considered an especially delicious treat left in the fish when cooked, unlike most other fish where all innards are removed (why the term "woodcock" would refer to that is beyond me, but I'll just roll with it and pretend I understand).

* * *

My Top 10 Favorite Mulleted Men Out There
(or the ones that come to mind, anyway)

because, apparently, you're never too rich, too famous, or too talented to go there

10. The guy on the Mungo Jerry video.
Yeah, THAT guy.


9. Jerry Seinfield
Like it or not, that definitely qualifies. Sorry Jerry, your hilarity cannot excuse the shameless weirdness of your hair. And yet, you own it. I salute you for that.


8. Andre Agassi
I bet you forgot about that one eh? And if you didn't, then admit you at least tried to (God knows he did). Now that I see it again, I feel like he kind of resembles an elf in the Lord of the Rings. Odd.

7. Patrick Swayze

Hot. Sexy. Sweaty. Patrick was all this and more. And let's face it, we all had "the time of [our] life" watching that mullet spin as Baby got tossed in the air. That fact cannot and will not mask the reality that Patrick had a mullet. Worse than that reality, however, is the reality that we all loved it and wanted to grind with it - err, him. :)


6. Angus McGyver
Nothing do-it-yourself about this professional-grade mullet.




5. Chuck Norris
This just confirms two things: a) that Chuck Norris is nasty looking in every way imaginable and b) that Chuck Norris is so much of a badass that even with a mullet people still devote time to writing long lists about why Chuck Norris is a badass.


4. Michael Bolton
"For my money it doesn't get any better..." than Michael Bolton's mullet. :) I'm not ashamed to say I am a fan of that "no-talent-ass-clown's" music too. Bonus points for the mullet a) being curly and b) for him being half-bald. Both things add to the "grotesque aesthetic" I believe this gets categorized under.


3. Slater on Saved by the Bell
Sexy Latino Mullet? Check.
Amazing how he looks incomplete without it and the trademark ringlet curls covered in gel that used to flop around tantalizingly while he did his signature dances wearing MC Hammer pants...


2. Billy Ray Cyrus
This definitely gets the prize for nastiest mullet of all. A couple of issues contribute to this: the length and yet ratty thinness of his mullet, combined with its high ratings on the "ubiquity of the mullet" scale. Billy flaunted his party like nobody's business. Sorry Billy, you broke my achey breaky heart when you cut that thing off.


1. Romanorum Master of the Forum
Yes, you read right: shockingly enough, my own darling-of-an-offspring is currently sporting a mini-mullet of sorts. Certain other-halves insist we should not cut it off because it's his baby hair. I sometimes have to reference mulleted man number 2 on this list for Continental Europeans to understand what I mean by the term "mullet."
That fact alone is starting to get the old husband to admit perhaps it is time hair met steel...

My favorite mulleted man; 3 days old and rockin' it.

* * *

Baked Red Mullet with Oregano and Garlic
in the spirit of delicious mullets

Serves 2

Red Mullet to me is a summertime fish. Bright, red, and delicately tasty. It's best when small, so serve two small ones per person or one medium sized one. The skin is thin and not too fishy, and if you're brave of heart, eat the liver too.

Because the red mullet was popular among the Romans, I've invented a recipe as a small ode to my favorite ancients. It uses oregano, a very mediterranean herb and white wine (a little nod to Bacchus there ;) ), and is perfect on a warm and dusky summer eve, with a dewy glass of pinot grigio and the ripest of tomatoes in the mix...

Ingredients
3-4 small to medium red mullets, gutted, cleaned and scaled (with tail intact - head too if that's how you roll)
3-4 bay leaves, preferably fresh
3-4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced finely
4-5 tbsps (a handful) of fresh oregano, finely chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine
4 tbsps good olive oil
1 lemon, juiced and zested
salt and pepper to taste

Procedure
1. Preheat oven to 190°C (375°F) and take out a large oven-proof casserole dish or baking pan.
Lay two layers of foil in the middle of the casserole dish and create a "pouch" with sides raised, so mixture will pool around the fish.

2. Place the fish in the ovenproof dish, within the open foil pouch, about an inch or two apart. Salt and pepper the fish on both sides, and inside and place a bay leaf in the cavity.

2. Mix the oil, garlic, lemon juice, zest, wine, oregano and 1 tsp of salt together in a bowl and allow to sit for 10 minutes or so.

3. Spoon the mixture over the fish evenly. Salt and pepper again over the mixture.

4. Bake for 20 - 25 minutes, or until the mixture looks browned and the fish is tender.

Serve with white rice and a nice zucchini and tomato bake with feta sprinkled on top!

feta-y-goodness :)

Life Coaching & Douche-baggery Continued.

It's been a while since I added to what has now become an unintentional but critical segment in my blog: Life Coaching & Douche-baggery. (I realize some may take issue with my choice of adjectives and nouns here, but why write a blog if I can't indulge in using my favorite, albeit sometimes inappropriate, slang terms on it?)

Life Coaching

Every month or so Matt and I bother to pick up the latest issue of our local borough newspaper: The (Wandsworth) Guardian. It generally boasts funny local anecdotes, random historical information about the borough, and announcements for goings-on such as food festivals, D-grade concerts, and random business openings. It also, however, has a classifieds section.

It was with equal glee and shock and plenty of cynical sniggering (snickering?) that Matt shoved this little doozy under my already preemptively flared nostrils:

Yes, the Guardian does actually have a special section devoted entirely to Life Coaching. Am I missing something here?! What the hell is a "Life Coach"!?!



Douche-baggery

One of my (many) sinful indulgences is reality tv. The most recent butts of my (and Matt's) reality tv obsession, and therefore also our merciless criticism, are none other than the unlikely stars of, well anything, but this time "Date my Ex": ex-fiances Jo "the ho" De la Rosa and Slade Smiley. Yes, that is apparently his real name. What gives, right?

Jo & Slade;
in the words of my favorite mulleted man:
how can we be lovers if we can't be friends?

If you don't know the plot, I won't bother explaining it - just go here. If you've seen the show, then chances are you probably already know what I'm about to tell you. It doesn't make it any less funny. I will probably have to devote a separate entry itself to Jo (Matt pronounces it in Spanish: "ho." Yes, that is ironic.), but Slade definitely falls under the category of D-baggery, and so here we are.

Top 3 Reasons Slade Smiley is a Douche Bag

I almost feel bad...but you know you were thinking it too.

3. Because Dave says so, and it takes one to know one.
(See comments on second link.)


2. Because Lucas says so, and Lucas (despite appearing somewhat vapid) is kinda hot.


1. Because this blog says so, and it's freakin' hilarious.
(See comments at the end as well.)

* * *

And just because it's a great video...



What can I say? We all need a small dose of power-balladery every once in a while. :)

Motherhood "bring[s] out your carnivorous side."

Raaaaaaar.

There are a couple of things worth mentioning that, despite the immense (pretty much immeasurable) joy of the little creation you now have, are kind of tough (although probably more amusing than tough, really) about being a new mom. Having now entered the second half of the fourth week of maternal bliss, I feel I am enough of a member of the proverbial club that I can complain a little bit. :)

* * *

Top 5 Amusingly Tough Things About Being a New Mom
or, why motherhood is the only sure-fire cure for OCD

5. The definition of "clean" has officially changed.
Matt and I are convinced we both have mild-ish forms of obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleaning, cooking, etc. Parenthood has officially changed that. My mom said it would happen and I admit I laughed incredulously, but after having to do 3-4 loads of laundry in a day because of all the "accidents" (see point 4) it suddenly became much easier to adopt the "if it doesn't stink and you can't see the stain from a distance of two feet then it stays on" rule.

I consider it life's little way of making one keep perspective.


4. Bodily fluids. Nuff said.
They aren't kidding when they tell you that you'll be peed, pooped and vomited on. They just don't tell you it will all happen in the first two days or that it will continue to happen no matter how diligent you are about tight diapers, burp cloths and peepee teepees. Yes, somebody did go there.


3. Making the transition to Polyphasic Sleep is harsh.
Let me start by saying that I'm lucky. Roman generally sleeps more at night than during the day. I think God had mercy on me (or maybe Matt?) in this regard, because I'm one of those people who turns into Oscar the Grouch the moment I get less than 9 hours of sleep. That said, it has been a test of will for me to wake up at all hours of the day and night to meet the demands of the (irresistibly cute) screaming and usually hungry midget who has taken over the house. Plus, I hate naps.

In desperation, I've chosen to, like Kramer, see this as an opportunity to bring out the inner-Da Vinci. Let me tell you, being a 16th century genius is not easy.


2. Nothing prepares you for having the life, literally, sucked out of you. And in public.
With the help of a green and blue elephant-patterned baby blanket, and with the forceful impetus that a screaming infant in a public place can be, I have now officially breastfed my child
a. on a crowded (and sweltering hot) public bus through London's east end
b. twice at a crowded pub (once while eating dinner, once while getting creamed by Matt at Scrabble)
c. at the bank holiday freak-show festival in the local park
d. in a Starbucks in central London

The things we do for love.


1. Kinda sucks when you realize you've turned into the Fridge Raiders werewolf.
Eating and preparing food has become laughably difficult. On the rare occasion that Roman isn't awake and wanting my attention or hungry or cursing the Gods because he has to burp and I can actually cook, it usually involves something simple and fast. I don't think I've eaten a properly hot meal in one sitting for two weeks now. This is why it has become vital to keep snack-ish food around that I can eat quickly (and ravenously) when babybeast's schedule allows.
Enter fridge raiders - the refrigerated chicken-chunk snack created for those of us who prefer savory, hearty meals to granola bars and crackers for "a quick bite." The "roast" flavor rocks, incidentally.

Ok, so truth be told I almost never buy them, but what's not to love about little pre-chopped chunks of savory, meaty deliciousness advertised by a freakishly funny dancing werewolf to the tune of a mean clarinet solo?

Just had to share. :)

Love the clarinet ditty.

L'Enfant-Terrible does Flashdance.

Time again to join the living. However briefly. :)

Believe it or not, yes, I am still alive and well. I have survived the first three weeks of Romanorum The Master of the Forum, and am much better for it. Incidentally, he's thriving. The little guy gained 10oz in his first two weeks of life, rather than losing weight after leaving the hospital. (Something tells me he got mom and dad's "eating gene.")

Part of the fun of parenting is getting to dress the little creation in all sorts of miniature outfits that I find incredibly a) hilarious b) cute c) adult-like and therefore cute.

To this tune, my friend Krista got Roman a ridiculously awesome onesie that says "Enfant-Terrible" on the front. I thought it fitting to pair this with some mini-midge leg warmers my sister got him.

Eat your heart out Jennifer Beals.

Here is the enfant-terrible inspired list for today.

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Top 5 Hilarious / Cool / Ridiculous Man-Child Outfits Roman Now Owns
courtesy of thoughtful friends and family

5. A hunter green long-sleeved, lomg-legged corduroy onesie that looks weirdly like something santa's elves might have worn.

4. A fully accessorized Ralph Lauren summer lounging outfit from Harrods including navy blue chinos with a red belt, and a long-sleeved striped button-up and matching socks, all for a 3-month-old.

3. A black and white striped onesie (a la prison uniform) with matching hat that reads "Been Inside for 9 Months." It should say 10.

2. An old-fashioned linen sailor outfit bought in Connecticut by his grandmother - he'll be ready to set sail next time we're visiting!

1. A bonafide suit including slacks, a tie, vest and a dress shirt. I plan on finding a jacket or blazer for this ASAP.

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He's a maniac, maniac on the floor.

My Past Life.

Why not while away the (hopefully) last pregnant hours
by searching for absurd pictures of bards?
Image credit.

Thank you Krista and your most recent blog post for one of the only amusing distractions I've found lately.

The Past Life Analysis is not only an entirely frivolous and bizarre thing to do - it is strangely accurate, as I think I was definitely a bard in a previous life, though I don't know how happy I am that I was born in Wales.

Matt, on the other hand, was some kind of ritual sacrificer in Latin America. Pontifex Maximus indeed. Dead sexy.

Ditto for semi-humorous pictures of fake but very intense
Aztec priests who look weirdly like distant relatives of mine.
Image credit.

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My Past Life Analysis:

I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Wales around the year 725. Your profession was that of a dramatist, director, musician or bard.

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Your brief psychological profile in your past life: You always liked to travel and to investigate. You could have been a detective or spy.

---

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation: Your lesson is to conquer jealousy and anger in yourself and then in those who will select you as their guide. You should understand that these weaknesses are caused by fear and self-regret.

Life Coaching and Mindless Eating.

Thanks to my dear friend and bride-to-be (not mine!) Krista at Bohemian Ghoulash for the inspiration for today's post. While strolling the streets of Chicago she was kind enough to spare a thought for me and take this picture, which she then sent via cyberspace in order to encourage my random but apparently obvious-enough preoccupation with Life Coaches and their sheer hilarity. (Yes, someone is bound to be offended by that - whattayagonnado?)

Anyway, here's the picture:

For only $10.00 you too can learn your future, be healed AND get a coach for all things life-related!

Thanks for that Dori.

Am I officially a jerk? :)

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The other thing Krista threw my way was a cool little quiz in the New York Times.

Go here to take the quiz (just write your answers on a piece of paper) and then read the follow-up article that explains your cooking personality here. (What else do you really have to do on a Wednesday afternoon?)

Krista seems to be particularly apt at finding interesting quizzes on one's kitchen-personality. I'm all about this kind of quiz for a couple of reasons:

Why I'm "All About" Random Food Personality Food Quizzes

and taking quizzes in magazines in general

3. Seventeen (or approximately so) Again
These quizzes take me back to the days of "What is your dating style?" or "What chocolate truffle best describes your love language?" in Seventeeen magazine. As adolescents my friends and I poured over those silly quizzes, swearing they held the answer to our future love-lifes in their clutches. That and M.A.S.H. (and I don't mean the Vietnam war show for all you old fogies). Yes, there is an electronic version of it now. Where was that 15 years ago?!


2. Super-fancy Nutritional Jargon
These types of quizzes arm us kitchen-pro-wannabes with just enough legitimate sounding but fun kitchen terms to make us (or at least me) feel highly scientific discussing our place in the family as kitchen-wench. I plan entirely to enthrall Matt and my chef brother-in-law with terms like "Nutritional Gate-keeper" and "Innovative Cook" vs. "Giving Cook." Both Krista and I were "Innovative," in case you're curious. *enthusiastic high five to self*


1. Food for Thought. Or Thought for Food. Whatever.

Plus, this quiz reminded me of a really cool discussion regarding food and the sociological / gender-related place it has in our lives that my friend over at Tangled Noodle recently did a three-part feature on. Interestingly, both the quiz and her discussion come from the book Mindless Eating by Dr. Brian Wansink (apparently quite the hot ticket!). They are sure to give you some super-food for thought if you're a nerd like me in this regard. :) Check it out.

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