Digging Up Old Email

Because I was thinking about English things and people when replying to comments on the last post, I remembered an email that a friend of mine sent me a couple years ago. It's a bit old, but it's still funny.

Guide to the UK for American tourists

The Brits have peculiar words for many things :

Money is referred to as "goolies" in slang, so you should for instance say"I'd love to come to the pub but I haven't got any goolies."

"Quid" is the modern word for what was once called a "shilling" - the equivalent of seventeen cents.

If you are fond of someone, you should tell him he is a "great tosser" - he will be touched.

The English are a notoriously demonstrative, tactile people, and if you want to fit in you should hold hands with your acquaintances and tossers when you walk down the street.

Habits

Ever since the Tory government wholeheartedly embraced full union withEurope, the Brits have been attempting to adopt certain continental customs, such as the large midday meal followed by a two or three hour siesta, which they call a "wank." As this is still a fairly new practice in Britain, it is not uncommon for people to oversleep (mechanical alarm clocks, alas, do not work there due to the magnetic pull from Greenwich).

If you are late for supper, simply apologise and explain that you were having a wank - everyone will understand and forgive you.

Universities

University archives and manuscript collections are still governed by quaint medieval rules retained out of respect for tradition. Hence patrons are expected to bring to the reading rooms their own inkpots and a small knifefor sharpening their quills. Observing these customs will signal to the librarians that you are "in the know" - one of the inner circle, as it were,for the rules are unwritten and not posted anywhere in the library. Likewise, it is customary to kiss the librarian on both cheeks when he/she brings a manuscript you've requested, a practice dating back to the reign ofHenry VI.

One of the most delightful ways to spend an afternoon in Oxford or Cambridge is gliding gently down the river in one of their flat-bottomed boats, which you propel using a long pole. This is known as "cottaging". Many of the boats (called "yer-i-nals") are privately owned by the colleges, but there are some places that rent them to the public by the hour. Just tell a professor or policeman that you are interested in doing some cottaging and would like to know where the public yerinals are. The poles must be treated with vegetable oil to protect them from the water, so it's a good idea to buy a can of Crispo and have it on you when you ask directions to the yerinals. That way people will know you are an experienced cottager.

Food

British cuisine enjoys a well-deserved reputation as the most sublime gastronomic pleasure available to man. Thanks to today's robust dollar, the American traveller can easily afford to dine out several times a week (rest assured that a British meal is worth interrupting your afternoon wank for). Few foreigners are aware that there are several grades of meat in the UK. The best cuts of meat, like the best bottles of gin, bear Her Majesty's seal, called the British Stamp of Excellence (BSE). When you go to a fine restaurant, tell your waiter you want BSE beef and won't settle for anything less. If he balks at your request, custom dictates that you jerk your head imperiously back and forth while rolling your eyes to show him who is boss. Once the waiter realizes you are a person of discriminating taste, he may offer to let you peruse the restaurant's list of exquisite British wines. If he doesn't, you should order one anyway. The best wine grapes grow on the steep, chalky hillsides of Yorkshire and East Anglia - try an Ely '84 or Ripon '88 for a rare treat indeed.

When the bill for your meal comes it will show a suggested amount. Pay whatever you think is fair, unless you plan to dine there again, in which case you should simply walk out; the restaurant host will understand that he should run a tab for you.

Transportation

Public taxis are subsidised by Her Majesty's Government. A taxi ride in London costs two pounds, no matter how far you travel. If a taxi driver tries to overcharge you, you should yell, "I think not, you charlatan!" then grab the nearest policeman (bobby) and have the driver disciplined. It is rarely necessary to take a taxi, though, since bus drivers are required to make detours at patrons' request. Just board any bus, pay your fare of thruppence (the heavy gold-coloured coins are "pence"), and state your destination clearly to the driver, e.g.: "Please take me to the BritishLibrary".

A driver will frequently try to have a bit of harmless fun by pretending he doesn't go to your requested destination. Ignore him, as he is only teasing the American tourist (little does he know you're not so ignorant!).

For those travelling on a shoestring budget, the London Tube may be the most economical way to get about, especially if you are a woman. Chivalry is alive and well in Britain, and ladies still travel for free on the Tube. Simply take some tokens from the baskets at the base of the escalators or on the platforms; you will find one near any of the state-sponsored Tube musicians. Once on the platform, though, beware! Approaching trains sometimes disturb the large Gappe bats that roost in the tunnels. The Gappe swere smuggled into London in the early 19th century by French saboteurs and have proved impossible to exterminate. The announcement "Mind the Gappe!" is a signal that you should grab your hair and look towards the ceiling. Very few people have ever been killed by Gappes, though, and they are considered only a minor drawback to an otherwise excellent means of transportation.

One final note: for preferential treatment when you arrive at Heathrow airport, announce that you are a member of Shin Fane (an international Jewish peace organization - the "shin" stands for "shalom"). As savvy travellers know, this little white lie will assure you priority treatment as you make your way through customs.

In The Anti-Spirit Of The Season

10 Things I Am Not Thankful For

1. Gray hair (I'm only 24 for fuck's sake)
2. Intestinal parisites that refuse to leave
3. Boys who run off and hide in the woods
4. People named Kevin
5. People who try to tell me that wanting to leave the US is a sign of underlying mental illness and a tendancy towards escapism. I can make a good case that wanting to STAY in the US is a sign of insanity and deeply rooted masochism which should be treated with lots of drugs and perhaps electroshock therapy. Wanting to leave the US is perhaps the most sane desire I've ever had. So fuck off.
6. Dry skin on my heels
7. Boogers
8. The people who seem to think having a fucking college degree is so bloody fucking important
9. My credit card bill
10. Cellulite

Have a nice day!

Oooh! I made too many cupcakes, let me know if you want any.

Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past

I can't say I'm a big fan of Thanksgiving. I mean, it's a nice idea and everything, but I've never had one of those big happy families (or even happily dysfunctional families) who has a big warm celebration. It's always been sort of a non-event.

Last year, I spent Thanksgiving bartending for a private party where the obnoxious and quite bitchy wife thought that my $15 an hour should include bartending services as well as washing all of the dishes for the entire function (there were around 40 people). Not my idea of a good time. So, I did half of them and then informed the very nice husband that I needed to get home so my sitter* could go home. Don't look at me like that. I had already stayed 2 hours longer than I had agreed to when we made the arrangements.

The year before that, Maria Teresa and I were in the process of returning to Sana'a after cutting our end-of-Ramadan-Yemeni-exploration-tour a bit short**. I tried to send an SMS to US Embassy Paul who had driven us home from the Marine party a couple weeks earlier, but instead I got the wrong cell phone number from Suhail and ended up having an interesting conversation with Welsh Security Consultant Paul*** who was quite confused as to why anyone would want to wish him a happy Thanksgiving. And, instead of turkey and all the fixins, I partook of pasta with tomatoes and tuna (my standard fare when I didn't want to make the trek to Funny Bunny or any of the other fast food joints). It was also the first time I had heard from my parents since I had moved to Yemen 2 months earlier (they were kind of pissed that I was gallivanting around the land of "towel-headed bastards" and "sand niggers").

The year before that, it was my last day in Taormina. I was preparing to return to Siena. After packing, I went down to Carmelo's bar and where he had made a parting batch of sangria for me (thankfully this time I didn't fall backwards down the stairs). I had to say goodbye to Nino and Andreas and Emi and all of the fantastically strange people from Casa Grugno (where I had done a 4 week cooking course). Malcolm renewed his offer to marry me so I could get a European passport, and then he and Allison (a very stupid yet intelligent Republican from Denver who went to our language school) accompanied me down to the train station so I could catch my night train to Tuscany.

The year before that was spent in Castle Pines watching an emaciated anorectic girl**** cut her piece of turkey into microscopic bits while her obese parents beamed with pride at their thin daughter. They were also pushing her to marry the senator's son she was dating despite the fact that he had gotten her hooked on pot and had given her a couple of nasty diseases.

This year I am doing nothing Thanksgiving related. I had Kraft Macaroni and Cheese for lunch. I have smoked many cigarettes and spoken to no one. In a couple hours I will go with Chipper and his family to see Harry Potter. But that is the extent of the activities for my day.

Christmas will probably be the same. Except Boy will be living in my house so I'll probably have to talk to someone at some point. And I probably won't be seeing Harry Potter again.

*Sometimes it's fun and useful to invent children

**Maria Teresa forgot to bring enough cash and we arrived in Sana'a with about 30 cents between us

***His neck is larger than his head and he's really funny when he's drunk

****My Arch-Nemesis, Jordan - my mother and her parents grew up in the same town - she is two weeks older than I am and has spent her life perfecting demonic behavior*****

*****One of her favorite things to do between the ages of 5 and 10 was to tie unsuspecting visitors****** to chairs, leave them in the closet and then periodically return to pour cold water on them

******As it happens, I was only unsuspecting once, but I saw it happen to others on multiple occasions

No Relation

So, tomorrow Chipper and I are supposed to go see Jarhead. I was looking at the cast and was nearly alarmed to see my name* on the list. With such interesting titles as "Girlplay," "The Story of O: Untold Pleasures," and "The Ganja Express," I think perhaps I have more than met my match when it comes to scandalous behavior.

I like this girl much better than the other woman who shares my name, though. If Ms. Randolph continues on her current career path they might have the opportunity to meet. The other woman is an obstetrician who specializes in researching post-partum depression. She publishes a lot and is very boring.

So, it seems that whenever you share any part of a name with me you will necessarily have a career that involves some aspect of sex. I wonder where this leaves me...

*Well, not my whole** name, but the major part of it

**My mother stopped bragging about being a Randolph when the whole Thomas Jefferson slave love scandal broke

Jealousy

Somehow I found myself watching Oprah today. It was the "Oprah's Favorite Things" show. The only talk show episode that can make me pine to be in a live television audience. Because, I am, in my heart of hearts, a shallow, materialistic bitch.

To make myself feel better for not being in the audience and not receiving$25000+ of stuff I don't really need (but that would be really cool to have), I instead went on an internet shopping spree. Completely superfluous lingere and cosmetic products are in my near future. My credit card hates me.

Oh well.

I also need more cigarettes. I only have 1 left. Next time I should just go ahead and buy a carton. But then I remind myself that I quit smoking. Which is immediately followed by self-depricating scoffing. Which turns into blue-faced-popping-out-a-chunk-of-lung coughing.

Oddly enough, typing that I have talked myself into smoking the last cigarette. So I bid you all a fond adieu. I'm going to go kill myself slowly in a blissfull cloud of Camel Light Turkish Blend smoky haze.

Toodles!

It Somehow Seems Appropriate...

Genghis Khunt Random Brutal Sex Master (RBSMf) We almost called you Brutus the Uterus and attached this picture: But we figured you wouldn't understand, and rightly so. We don't understand either. So you are Genghis Khunt: master of man, bringer of pain--riding your way to conquest after conquest. Your sexual avarice is legendary. You've already had an unusually high amount of experience, and, still you look for more. You intimidate many. You make no apologies. Your exact opposite: The Sonnet Deliberate Gentle Love Dreamer Personality-wise, you're carefree and relatively easy-going. You don't plan things out ahead of time; you tend to live in the moment. Of course, this can cause some damage when the moment happens to include a screaming orgasm with his younger brother. Hence the 'brutal' tag we've given you. But you know what, take five seconds to lock the doors, and you'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with a little sex, or a whole lot. AVOID: The Slow Dancer CONSIDER: The 5-Night Stand, The Hornivore, The Playboy Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating. My profile name: SuperKate26

I Could Really Use A Good Nipple Tweaking

Unfortunately the closest I've come to such a thing in recent history is IceBluer's* repeated offer to deprive me of my nipples with scissors.

Sadly, Random Korean has disappeared. I think he dropped out of school and went back to Korea. Or maybe he's back in the hospital with gout. In any event his phone goes straight to voicemail so we shall never know. Unless he calls back.

Chipper was thinking about setting me up with someone, but then found out the dude has a preoccupation with other peoples' cocks. And then the other other guy he was thinking about setting me up with is moving to Trinidad** in a couple weeks.

Although I'm never sure about the people Chipper tries to set me up with***, so perhaps it is for the best. I mean, who can forget Short-Boy-Who-Is-Obsessed-With-Mommy-And-Ballroom-Dancing? And what about the One-Nut-Wonder?

Not that I do any better for myself. I can't remember the last time I was out with anyone who didn't have some kind of disease, a/many serious addiction(s), a major personality disorder or two, a couple of prison sentences, and/or a committed relationship with someone else****.

So, for the present, my nipples will remain sadly untweaked. And I shall have to cry in the corner.

At least until next week when I can expect a bit of scandal from Travelin' Man. Who, as far as I can tell, only falls into the committed relationship with someone else category. I'll consider it progress.

*Whose name has recently been changed to "Bunny" because this is what the Preppy Handbook tells us people with his name should be called

**The one associated with Tobago, not as opposed to the more local world capital of sex-change operations

***Okay, so I never actually met either of those individuals, common sense prevailed and I did preemptive bit of run-away-screaming

****Usually an exciting combination of several of those factors

Zack Lives!

Several years ago I heard a terrible rumor that the guy who played Zack on Saved By the Bell was killed in a motorcycle accident. But no! It was a lie! Zack lives!

Why do I bring this up?

I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but my tv is currently on a channel that is showing Saved By the Bell. Next, it's Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

Oh, the memories!

In other news, an Uzbek woman whose son was boiled to death in 2001 was arrested over the weekend, apparently for displaying his photograph.

The world is a very strange place.

Woohooo!

Despite my intense dislike of British Airways over the summer (being stuck in Terminal 4 at Heathrow for 30 hours will do that to a person), I am now back on happy terms with them once again. I have enough frequent flyer (or is it flier?*) miles to cross the pond several times without having to pay a single cent**. So, because my Russia trip fell through for February***, I'm plotting a visit to Mariangela and Maria Teresa**** (in London and Naples, respectively). Naples will involve being continually stoned or drunk or a more likely combination of the two that will also involve two boys making out on the bed in the corner of the apartment while the rest of us giggle nervously at the very bad Spanish sitcom that happens to be on the television. London will not likely involve anything more scandalous than a misguided walk through Camden, but will instead involve lots of Turkish takeout and deep philosphical conversations***** about why (or why not) it is never acceptable for a man to open a door for a woman******.

In other news, through complete lack of interest, I have managed to fail Hospitality Sales and Meeting Management. I haven't turned in a single assigment since the beginning of October. I really don't care. Apathy is quite nice, although I'll probably be fairly pissed off at myself when I'm taking the class over again in June.

*Fuck it, I don't care

**Excluding all of the single cents that make up taxes and fees, of course

***Not that going to Moscow in February was ever really a good idea, so it's probably for the best

****I never actually refer to them by name in real life because inevitably I get them mixed up

*****Yelling matches

******For the record, I like it when a guy holds open a door, and gaspshockhorror, pays for things

Gah!

I do not have a fork.

And Travelin'Man is still living with Nancy*.

Bastard.

But we're getting together next week, so should be fun.

*Really, it's the name that bothers me the most

Update!

I have a plastic fork!

Can I Really Deal With A Country Bar Tonight?

I am Chipper's alibi tonight. He's really going to Colorado Springs with IceBluer, but mom and dad don't know that. And they have more reason than ever to think that we're sleeping together, so I'm a good alibi.

The other day I called him, not knowing he was on speaker phone in his living room with his parents. He said, "Hi Kate." In my typical manner I replied, "Hey SugarPants." This was followed by awkward silence and then muffled murmuring then Chipper giggles. So yeah, they think I have a gustatory interest in his pants. Next time I'm calling him Tickle Tush. It's much more accurate.

Anyway, instead of going to Colorado Springs, I'm supposed to be going to the Grizzly Rose with Beaky. Grizzly Rose = Country Bar complete with rednecks and line dancing. I don't know if I have the mental capacity to deal with it at this point. As I have alluded to for the last couple of days I have a fucker of a cold and I don't have much patience for random silliness.

But it's ladies night and most of the booze is free (and probably tastes better than the Nyquil I've been living off of for the last several days).

Further complicating the matter is that my horoscope said today I am supposed to meet someone special. Hence I have spent most of the day sequestered in my house. I'm afraid I will meet someone if I leave. And life will get messy. Which could be interesting. And I am looking for someone to protect me from Boy when he arrives (remember, if I'm found dead and mutilated or just shot, tell the police it was him).

*Sigh* Why can't I just be a hermit in peace?

Rejected!

About a week ago in my Hospitality Sales and Meeting Management class we had to do a sales blitz. For those who haven't been subjected to such a thing, it involves cold calling businesses in person and trying to sell them things (or, in our case, give things away).

We were partnered up with a local restaurant chain called BeauJo's Pizza (I'd avoid the buffet if I were you, but ordering from the menu seems to be okay) and had to attack office buildings in the Greenwood Village Tech Center (some of the priciest business real-estate in Colorado) with flyers and coupons and little gift bags.

The first bad omen was the two police SUV's (apparently Greenwood Village doesn't believe in police cars) parked in front of our first attack point. Not heeding this sign, we snuck around back. Using clandestine insertion techniques, we made it to the elevators undetected by the security guard. Although, of course, once inside the elevators we made faces and rude gestures at the security cameras.

So, we were in. We blitzed the 6th floor (which was full of very nice people who like pizza, apparently), and then decided that to continue on with our stealthy mission it would be best to take the stairs down to the 5th. Little did we know that 5th floor was highly secured and required little ID badges to enter. Little did we also know that being an emergency stairwell, none of the doors from the stairwell opened, except in the basement.

We feared the element of surprise was lost to us. But apparently they don't review their security tapes very carefully because using our previously practiced techniques, we were once again able to get around the security guard and into the elevator. We blitzed the 4th floor. We blitzed the 3rd floor. And then we ran out of things with which to blitz anyone.

So, we headed for the door. Blocking our escape was an angry head-of-security guard. He demanded to know what we were doing. Fearing torture in a small back room, we whimpered that it was merely a school assignment and that if he wanted to torture someone he should go find our instructor. He then asked for some coupons. Shaking, we handed him what we had left (which included 2 discount buffet cards and a #2 pencil). He then growled that we had to get the hell out and escorted us from the property.

Now I can add "escorted by security guard from fancy business offices" to my resume. Life is so much fun.

Needless to say, aside from the darting around and being in places I wasn't supposed to be, the entire experience left much to be desired. But, I always knew I wasn't interested in sales, so no big loss.

In other news, the SPAMmers apparently think I need/want/use diapers because I have recently been inundated with offers for diaper surveys, diaper coupons, and the like. I'm not sure if I should be offended or taking a pregnancy test.

Narcissism

It appears the 90% of the random people who find my blog are searching msn for narcissism. The rest are looking for things like "secretary sin fuck" or "pompino".

I don't know what this says about my life...

Meet Me At The Corner Of Frunze And Panfilov

I should be writing a paper comparing the economies of Mexico and the European Union right now. But I have a cold and I can't be bothered.

Also, I just got my box from Victoria's Secret. Life is good.

I really shouldn't be allowed to have a credit card.

It's sad how happy a pink satin corset and silk chemise can make me. Tee hee.

News And Ponderings

I know I haven't posted for a really long time (this morning's post aside) which makes me a bad Kate. I should be smacked or something.

Anyway, there is, I suppose, a small amount of newsworthiness in SuperKateLand. Namely, in 2 1/2 weeks Boy is moving into my house. One would think that this would make me a SuperHappyKate indeed. But in fact my feelings on the matter are quite the opposite.

Boy has gone insane since this summer. Methinks the massive amounts of absynthe he has imbibed have something to do with it. He had no idea how long he'll stay. It'll probably be at least the month of December.

If my body is found shot and/or mutilated please tell the police it was Boy.

I'm thinking about starting something up again with Travelin' Man as a decoy/protection service from Boy. Or perhaps with Random Korean. That would be interesting.

He (Random Korean) wants to have Thanksgiving at my house because he's never had a real Thanksgiving before. I can't really help him with that as my cooking skills are nearly entirely Italian-based. But we could get laid. We (or at least I) would be thankful for that.

DoublyDee was going to go to Russia with me in February but the trip was cancelled. So now perhaps she'll come out here to Denver for a bit. That would be lovely, so long as Boy hasn't killed me.

Chipper still hasn't moved in due to homework concerns and some minor disagreement on the allowability of fishloaf, meaty porridge, creamy-lamb-based-shit-on-a-shingle, mayonnaise pie, and Kate cheese being prepared in my house.

Mayonnaise pie scares me. And generally anything that comes from the ChipperFamily recipe box.

That is all.

It's Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack...

I heard that KFC commercial for the $4.00 breast meal for the first time about a year and a half ago. And then I heard it again a couple days ago. So, to get back into the blogging side of life I'm posting a bit of an email I sent to a friend regarding said commercial...

"I was just watching Shark Week on the DiscoveryChannel and there was a KFC commercial advertising their new special deal (which can be seen in the subject line[*]). While not exactly as lovely as the moistness of Duncan Hines[**], it did make me collapse in a fit of giggles as I imagined possible ordering scenarios...

Customer: Hi there sweetheart, I'd like a breast meal.

Purveryor of Fine Fast-Food Dining (PFFFD): Alright sir, would that be silicone or white meat? And which two sides would you like with that?

Customer: The silicone was a bit gooey the last time I had it, so I'll take the white meat. With a side of... hmmmm, how about a nice piece of ass, and, uh, a hot pussy with gravy. Yeah, that's what I want.

Or, I suppose one could take it in the lactation sense...

PFFFD: Good evening sir, welcome to KFC. May I take your order?

Customer: A breast meal sounds good.

PFFFD: Would like that for here or to go? To go comes with a complimentary breast pump and bottle. But if you stay here you can get it directly from the tit. You also get to choose if you want milk chocolate, dark chocolate, whole, 2%, or skim milk. We have pictures if you need help with your decision.

I think I have too much time on my hands..."

The rest of the email goes on to detail a defurrification session, the superbness of a forbidden cigarette, doughnuts, shopping for jeans, meeting with a friend of my parents who offered to help me get ahead in my career through rather kinky means***, and the strange but true fact that Dennis Leary wouldn't have been famous if it weren't for British people. It was, all in all, a very interesting day.

*Breast meals only $4 at participating locations!

**Apparently there was a Duncan Hines commercial in the late seventies that had some people at a midwest hoe-down type of event bouncing around square dancing and such and one of the women looks at the camera, flashes a big smile, and says something along the lines of "Duncan Hines keeps me moist."

***He was much to short to even be considered