Invisible Gifts

And by 'we,' I mean, 'me and all of the voices.' My new London blog has been officially launched and can be found here. And here. And here. (Please note all these hyperlinks go to the same place.)

CHEERS! See you on the other side!

Do: convert all recipes into grams and ml in advance of shopping.
Don't: bother with recipes at all, as you won't be able to find the ingredients, anyway.

Do: handle all plastic containers of soup with care.
Don't: drop your soup container in the aisle, where it then busts, spraying butternut squash all over the floor.
Do: run for it.

Do: bag your own groceries.
Don't: stand there, staring expectantly at your cashier for ten awkward minutes before noticing that the patrons in the other lines are all taking care of their own, leading you to scramble and pack your groceries in a frantic rush, guaranteeing you will arrive home to find that you shoved your bread between your jars of tomato sauce and your eggs are missing entirely.

Do: leave via the main entrance.
Don't: leave via the fire exit.

Do: get home as quickly as possible with your load and vow never to return again, as you can survive by sucking the splatters of butternut squash soup off the hem of your jeans for at least a few weeks.
Don't: realize you forgot the kitty food as soon as you see the mewing cat.

Do: take advantage of your return trip to buy a bottle of red wine.
Don't: wait until dinner to open it.

Any ideas would of course not only be appreciated, but humped beyond oblivion. And totally worthy of a care package from London consisting of pub coasters and a British tabloid. Please. Help me jump the gap. (And yes, that's been taken, too.)

I hope I don't peak out early.

Last night Jeremy and Katy and I found ourselves wearing ponchos indoors, soon to be sprayed with red corn-syrup blood, doused with water guns, and squirted with fake semen. What sort of event was this? It was not an animal sacrifice (though that may have been more relaxing, given the cap gun held to my head throughout the evening), nor was it some sort of complex mating ritual (at least as far as I could tell, though the full bar may have lent itself to such).

No. It was Point Break Live.

Oh, yes. Point Break Live. Where they squirt you with water when they're 'surfing,' where the dead presidents rampage throughout the audience demanding fake money they gave you at the door, and the homo-erotic undertones of the original film were more than exaggerated on stage, as the surfers groped each other with excitement after each 'rad tube.' The director of the movie was there to play Tyler's part as well as to direct the staging ('Stunt double! Go fight for Keanu!' Then the double enters the fracas, a girl swinging punches on his behalf). Keanu's part, Johnny Utah, was picked from the audience, and the guy read from cue cards to 'authenticate the rawness of a Keanu performance.' It was impeccably done. Keanu himself would've been jealous of this guy's ability to capture him, one delayed sentence after another. 'Right, braaaaaa?'

As we crowded out of the theater after, arms and faces and hair sticky with fake blood, you could see alarm on passing pedestrians. The guy at the crepe trailer was unnaturally fast at serving us, and a passing police car slowed to a crawl as we crossed the street. Fellow theater-goer's are hollering on the street, "Duuuuude! You want me so bad it's like ACID in your MOUTH."

Last night was the show's last night in San Francisco, otherwise I would I recommend this to EVERYbody. And if it's coming to your city, you really must go see it. VAYA CON DIOS!

So you can only imagine what I'm unearthing as I begin the slow and painful process of sorting 'what to pack,' 'what to try and sell,' and 'what to toss entirely.' Somethings are obvious: shoes, coming. Shoe rack, selling. Torn pajama pants, tossing. And as I'm emptying out purses I haven't used in months (why all the unused napkins, Rona?? Are you worried about a shortage??), I've found unused gift card after unused gift card. And of COURSE they're only good in the U.S. So it looks like I'm going to Pottery Barn, Cost Plus World Market, and Borders this weekend! I can't wait...just one more thing to pack...or several, if I play these cards right.

And lest I forget...a cell phone pic of the best cheesesteak EVER, begotten on Sunday afternoon:

The bread was soft, the beef was rich, the peppers sweet...I wanted to roll my FACE in it, it was so good. And of course root beer to drink, as is only proper.

Now for some photos from last week...

This may be it until I arrive in London! What with last Friday being my last day at work, and not having internet at home...I'm pretty much up a creek. There will be no last-minute checking of evites, no googling restaurants, no email checking, and alas! No blog posting. A neighbor of mine has graciously offered the use of his internet, but as I would hate to inconvenience him TOO often, my activity won't be what it was when I had hours of work time to blow. I mean, lunch breaks.

Hugs, and until we meet again,
S.