Extra Ordinary Me

I was at the grocery store the other day buying cascade liquid dish detergent. My cashier was a 40-something, short, fat, balding, pale white man with long jet black hair. As he scanned the dish soap he said, “So, you prefer liquid?”

Me: “Yes. I used to use powder but I had a white film on my glasses so I thought I’d try liquid to see if that helps.”

Him: “Me too!! What about those little packet things?”

Me: “Yea… I think those are too expensive.”

Him: “I know!!! Oh my god! Are we twins?”

There is a mountain near my home that I’ve been climbing on a regular basis. It is considered a difficult, strenuous hike. Even a person who is in very good shape would get a workout. There are people who climb it every day. There are people who climb it twice a day.  I met a guy once who was on his way up for the 4th time that morning (he was also wearing the tiniest, brightest, little short shorts I’ve ever seen on a man). There are people who climb it with weight vests on. There are people who run up. There are always, always people.

It is a very busy trail. People are drawn to this mountain. Only once, one early morning after a night of rain, did I feel that it was quiet. A few other folks and I had the mountain to ourselves.

Usually, on my way up I am quiet, I keep to myself, I listen to music, I huff and puff in my own little world. On the way down, I look around at the other people, I smile, I talk. There is a camaraderie amongst the hikers.

The mountain, though, is temperamental. You can’t stay away for too long or it will beat you down. It will make you cry for your mommy.

And always on the way up you think, I hate this mountain! Why did I come here? Why am I doing this? This mountain is trying to kill me! Then when you reach the top, you breathe in the fresh air, you take in the view and you think… wow… I’m going to do this again tomorrow.

I am a San Diego Chargers fan. During football season I put a magnetic bolt on my car.  My husband calls it ‘the bolt of shame’. Which I happen to think is pretty funny. Especially this season. It would have been easier if the Chargers were just a bad football team. But, no they are a team that could be so good if only they weren’t so… bad.

If they don’t play well and don’t have a good season it is frustrating… briefly and then I move on. But that is about as intense as my emotions get when it comes to football. I’ve noticed, though, that boys and men respond with much more intensity when their team loses. I see it in my son. I see it in my husband when a team he likes doesn’t do well. I see it in my male relatives and friends. I’m not saying they cry about it (my son does) but they just get so… worked up about it. When the Steelers lost recently my sister’s boyfriend spent hours alone in the basement collecting himself. Seriously? STFU!

I tell my son… it’s not like your on the team! Philip Rivers isn’t your daddy. I’ve told him, too, that if he can’t be tough then he should just take his jersey off and stop watching football. Which is kind of weird when you think about it. Generally, if my son were to cry about anything else then I’d comfort him. But if he gets (too) upset about football it just irritates me.

What I’m really asking here is why are men such babies when it comes to football? Do they channel all of the emotion they are unable to feel and to express about real life into football or other sports? Or am I missing some integral part of the football experience?

… or so they say in Scotland… every. single. day. Holy crap! That place is gloomy! Even though we knew what we were getting ourselves into and packed accordingly, the rain and the cold and the gloom put a bit of a damper on the trip for me. Don’t get me wrong I did enjoy our winter trip to the U.K. and Ireland, but growing up in Southern California and living in the Southwest for several years can definitely spoil a person. I mean, seriously, the “sun” sets at 4:00 over there. Every day at 4:00 I was thinking… OK… it’s either time to party or time to go to bed, and since I have children with me who don’t yet drink beer I’m gonna hit the sack.

Scotland is beautiful. It’s green.

The people in Scotland apparently speak English although I can’t say I understood anything they said.

We (well, some of us) really wanted to try some haggis while in Scotland (because part of the fun of traveling is trying new local food) but we ran into one problem after another trying to get a freakin’ table at a restaurant. Part of the problem is that we were there during the New Year’s celebrations and another is that they’re weird.

Our first try was based on a recommendation from our hotel. We got all bundled up and walked and walked and walked and walked to the restaurant, went in and asked for a table for 5. The woman says, “Oh I’m sorry we don’t have any tables tonight.” What?! What the freakin’ hell kind of restaurant is this? Being Americans we, of course, expected them to tell us what the wait would be and hand us a pager… but no… they just didn’t have a table… apparently.

The next day we tried a different restaurant, in a different city, that catered to tourists. Same thing. No, sorry, we have no table. Seriously? We can wait? No… no tables. Do you people want to make money with this restaurant or not?

So… we ate at fish n’ chip shops and cafes. Talk about some good shortbread… those people know how to make it.

In Ireland I had a much easier time understanding their English. But it was still cold and wet and sunless. And we still couldn’t get a table in a restaurant! We had a coupon for a traditional Irish meal. It clearly stated that we could get the meal deal between 12 – 7pm… so we got all bundled up, took the bus, got off, walked and walked and walked to the restaurant that was apparently closed… at 3pm which, in America, is between 12 and 7pm.

Finally… in London on our last night there we went into a pub and had a delicious English meal. Seriously! I’m not joking… it was good. My husband had bangers and mash and I ate some kind of roast… thing… the weird thing was that it was served on top of mashed potatoes and the side was roasted potatoes… HAHAHAHA! Good thing I really like potatoes. My son had some treacle sponge for dessert. I had never heard of treacle sponge before but that was some seriously good stuff.

That’s it. And ever since then I’ve been trying to readjust to the proper sleep cycle. For whatever reason it has been particularly difficult for me this time around.

Possible blog post titles based on what I’ve been up to since November:

- Sarah’s Key and The Book Club

- Benzodiazepines and Me

- The Mountain is Angry

- It’s a Dreich Day Ootside!

- Breaking the Girl Code