I never thought I'd say this

If Hillary is the Democratic nominee for the next president, I will not be voting for her. I always thought I'd vote for a liberal-leaning female no matter who it was. But Hillary? I'll pass.

I cast my absentee ballot for Kucinich, but it seems he's not going to be getting anywhere in this election. No one I vote for ever does.

On the horizon

I haven't been writing for a while because I haven't had anything to say, really, and we've had The Boy for the past week straight. The Boy got a Wii from his mom and her side of the family for Christmas, so we've been doing a lot of messing around on that. It has, at least, saved us from playing Monopoly twice a day like we've been doing in the past, but we've hardly touched the board games we got The Boy for Christmas. Board games. How old fashioned!

I'm getting my hair cut for the first time in six months today in preparation for the arrival of the little one. I'm thinking I won't have much time to do much of anything soon, so I'm trying to get myself in order as much as I can while I can. I'm going to be at the hospital three times a week until the baby comes taking prenatal and labor classes and going for a weekly scan to see how big this big bundle of joy is getting. The maternity nurse I've been dealing with already seems to think she'll be 8.5 to 9 pounds at birth. Lucky me.

C* and I have been acquiring all the things we need for the baby over the past few weeks. We've got a stroller, two car seats, clothing through 4 years of age (bought secondhand but in really great shape from a newspaper ad for £50), blankets, a baby sleeping bag, thermometers (body, room and bath), a baby bath, towels, washcloths, hooded robes, toys, hats, scratch mitts, socks, coats, shoes, breast pump, feeding bras, nursing pillow and changing mat. Whew! All that's really left to buy are all the lotions, wipes, creams and powders and a box to store it all in as well as a nightie, socks and a bathrobe for me to wear at the hospital.

Yes, the hospital.

It's looming on the near horizon. I'm 35 weeks pregnant come Monday. That means I could be delivering in as little as two weeks and as many as seven. Time to get my suitcase in order and figure out my delivery plan. I'm already thinking I won't be getting an epidural, that I can handle it without. We'll see when the first really strong contractions kick in. But this is the only baby I plan on having, and I want to remember, really remember, everything.

'Tis the season

C* and The Boy finished decorating the house for Christmas last weekend. They walked to the islands near our house and cut some holly branches from trees for the making of wreaths, C*'s first-ever attempt at wreath-making. The Boy and I both agree that C* definitely has what it takes to make money this way. The wreaths turned out better than I ever expected.

This one's on the outside of the front door:



And this one's on a wall in the living room:



The mantel of our (unfortunately) nonworking fireplace holds our Christmas cards:



And the artificial tree C* put up two weekends ago has piles of presents surrounding it:



Since The Boy doesn't read my blog, I can spill the beans about what Santa brought him this year: art supplies and board games. Since C* reads my blog, though, I can't say what he got. With a cap on spending set at £20, my choices were limited.

But Christmas isn't about what you give, I suppose. It's about the feelings behind the giving.

RADIOHEAD!

Radiohead is playing a concert at Glasgow Green next June. If infants get in free, it will be Hunter's first concert and my first in a very long time.

31 1/2 weeks and counting

I loves me some animules

Since the sun was out for the first time in more than a month Sunday, C*, The Boy and I went to the Black Isle Wildlife Park near Inverness for some animal fun. They had meercats, deer, wallabies, all kinds of ducks and birds - including owls, pigs, snakes, zebras, etc. Here are some photos, taken by my significant other.

Meercats:



A face only a mother could love:



The cutest rat I've ever seen:



His underdeveloped front legs are the cutest!



Deer are bigger than I thought:



Millions of ducks quacking for food around my legs:



Just chilling:



This big guy kept his distance:

Don't they have enough money?

Stumbling upon this ad for watches featuring George Clooney pushed me to write this post letting Americans know that plenty of actors and actresses who are famous in the U.S. jump at the chance to be in advertisements on this side of the ocean.

A few notable examples include Antonio Banderas for Marks & Spencer department store, Uma Thurman for some Lancome perfume and Nicole Kidman pushing some kind of brain-boosting video game.

I don't recall big stars like these pedalling products in the U.S. What gives?

Proof that there can exist a whole nation of people...

who need to go out and get themselves a fucking life:



From The Guardian, Dec. 1, 2007

The British teacher was freed after spending several days in jail for allowing one of her students, a child named Muhammad, name a teddy bear Muhammad - a crime in Muslim countries.

Blech!

Snot is oozing from my left nostril as I type this post. I've had this nasty cold for a couple of weeks now. Sneezing, runny nose, coughing. A total pain in the ass combined with late pregnancy blahs (I'm 30 weeks pregnant on Monday) that involve lower back pain, a sharp pain in my abdomen, constant peeing (mostly in my underwear), constipation and the staving off of the growth of stretch marks on the underside of my large melonious belly.

Baby girl has been kicking up a storm, too, mostly while I'm TRYING to sleep at night. During the day, she's quiet as a church mouse except for a few kicks after I eat lunch.

But as soon as I settle into bed, roll onto my left side and manage to drift off - bam! - there she goes walloping the inside of my gut. The movements, aside from being more than a little weird, are hugely comforting for me, but, as time trickles on, I get more and more scared about the labor part of this whole scenario. It's gonna happen, and it's gonna soon. Nothing I can do about it. This kid has to come out, and there's only two ways she can make her appearance. Neither one of these ways appeals to me, but I prefer to give birth vaginally, if possible. And I'm going to try and do it without a spinal block, too.

I have an appointment with the diabetes lady next week and another scan in a few weeks. I have been assured the little one is of average size considering her gestational age, so I'm not worrying about the obstetrician having to induce labor early. Still, that leaves 10 weeks at most until my body is ripped in half.

When are men going to take over this gruesome task?

Christmas plans

C* and I decided to sit our happy asses home over Christmas this year. The Boy will be at his mother's house, and we aren't going to be making the trip to C*'s mom's house in south England. We agreed on a £20 cap on spending on each other as well. I thought about making an overwhelmingly thoughtful homemade gift, but then I remembered that I'm largely uncreative and unskilled in the way of crafts.

Any suggestions?

I got a Thanksgiving - and some snow - after all!

C* surprised me by doing a little shopping today so we could have a small, quiet Thanksgiving meal at home. On the menu is turkey, turkey gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, green vegetables and Yorkshire pudding. Those of you who don't know what Yorkshire pudding is should really read the Wikipedia link. It's not dessert. It's bread.

Today marks the first white Thanksgiving I've ever had. On the way home from work, tiny pellets of icy snow were bouncing off the windshield and onto the pavement. The show lasted only five minutes or so, but it counts. I walked to Tesco earlier to pick up stuff for gravy and for lunches this weekend, and it was coooooold. Made my eyes AND my nose run! It's nice experience a season other than the perpetual summer that Florida has to offer, but milder temperatures are definitely more to my liking.

No pumpkin pie for maarmie

Tomorrow is my first Thanksgiving away from the United States. I won't be having any turkey (except a turkey sandwich for lunch), no potatoes, no stuffing and no pumpkin pie. C* and I printed out a recipe for pumpkin pie earlier then set out to find the ingredients. It's not so easy to find canned pumpkin over here, it seems. And there's no Publix around to just buy a premade one.

I guess I'll just have to suffer.

On another subject: Just because I've written about a few things that go on in Scotland or in the United Kingdom that I view as negative, that doesn't mean that I, in any way, regret moving here. Not for an instant. I am infinitely glad I moved here, and I am even more happy than that that I am with my sweetie.

I'm really very happy. Shocking, isn't it?

First day of work

Today is my first day at work in Scotland. I go in for an unbelievably difficult two or three hours today to get the lowdown from the woman whose last day it is and to meet the woman who will be my supervisor for the next month.

I got the job courtesy of a temp agency I signed up with. Today's wages will go toward the payment of a £20 background check since the work I'll be doing is in the medical field. I guess it's required. I guess in the next month I'll get to find out about the wild world of being a secretary. I'm less than excited, but, hey, it's a paycheck, however small.

Update to come after today's shift.

Update:

The 2.5 hours went about as I thought they would: a brief introduction to my duties. The atmosphere in the cubicle-ridden office is about the same as in either the British or American versions of "The Office": everyone sitting there doing menial, mind-numbing tasks while waiting for the sandwich van to pull in at noon or for the day to mercifully end.

It turns out I'm not going to be a secretary. I'm going to be a secretary to a secretary to the boss of all the head nurses in the highlands. Secretaries of secretaries get to print out e-mails with attachments, make copies, arrange meetings, do filing, open mail and complete other soul-ripping tasks. I'm glad this post is for one month only. I just left one life-draining job, and I'm not about to take up another one so goddamn soon.

Guy Fawkes celebration

These photos are from the bonfire and fireworks display in Rosemarkie celebrating Guy Fawkes Night (Bonfire Night), November 5.

Guy Fawkes didn't like Protestants, so he devised a plot to blow up the House of Parliament, and, with it, Protestant rule under King James I of England.

I'm not sure if this night is meant to celebrate the plot (unlikely) or to celebrate Guy Fawkes' subsequent capture and hanging. All I know is that when we tried to leave early to avoid the rush of departing traffic, an angry mob of Scottish people cried, "Halt, ye unbelievers!" and chased us with torches and clubs all the way back to our car.

UK v. US - round three

Banking. Why do the British have to make it such a fucking hassle?

From my limited experience, you go into a bank in the United States, wait to talk to an accounts person, fill out paperwork, hand over money, show ID, and, voila, you have just opened a checking or savings account.

Over here, they can't make things that simple.

This week, I've checked out four local banks having branches on the high street (the main street downtown). At the first bank I tried, the Royal Bank of Scotland (or RBS), the lady told me I needed a water bill with my name and current address as proof of my new address. Goodness knows I have tons of other kinds of mail to prove I live where I do, but that's not good enough. I need a utility bill. Bah! Even if I had one, the only account they'd let me open would be the most basic one - one that doesn't even come with a debit card! Can you believe that?

I worked my entire adult life to build up my credit score in the states (and can proudly boast a score of 826) and I move here only to be treated like a financial leper. What's worse is the banking people tell me they can't check my financial history in the United States. I have to start fresh.

The second bank I went to, Clydesdale Bank, told me I'd have to apply and, after my history is checked, they decide which account I can have. The third bank, Lloyds TSB, told me I could just come in and open an account. When I tried to do this, I was told I'd need an appointment, which I made for the next morning. When I showed up, I was told that I'd need employment (and a minimum of £500 being direct-deposited into my account each month) to qualify for even the most basic current account. Since I'm not yet gainfully employed (though I DO start a month-long temp job doing secretarial work for the National Health Service tomorrow), I would only qualify for some kind of what they call a "cash account." Again, no debit card. I can only deposit money and withdraw it from an ATM.

The fourth bank, and the one I have decided to go with, required me to fill out an application and mail it to some office in Leeds. Where the fuck is Leeds, anyway? I went into the branch to see if I could drop the application off there and was told I'd have to mail it. Even though that was my only question, the guy still felt the need to ask, "How long have you lived here?"

Jesus Christ, dude! None of your business how long I've lived here, how long I'm planning on living here (a favorite question) or why I live here! As long as I am legally allowed to be here and I want to put money in an account in your bank, what the fuck is your problem?

The downside at the bank I chose (and the downside at all the banks here considering my lowly status) is that I don't get any kind of overdraft services and I can't make deposits using a teller at a branch. Apparently, they have drop boxes and ATMs in which low-class people like me can make deposits. But at least, if I'm approved, I get a goddamn debit card.

These people are starting to piss me off.

UK v. US - round two

Gas prices. They suck over here. People in the U.S. freak out when the price gets much more than $3 a gallon. Well, try $8 a gallon, folks. You heard me right. Eight dollars. A gallon.

It's not that a barrel of oil costs so much more over here. It's that the British government adores taxing the fuck out of its people. Cigarettes are $12 a pack. There's a monthly fee that has to be paid for the privilege of having a television in one's home that pays to keep the BBC on the air. Sales tax comes to just over 17 percent. I shudder to think what percentage is taken out of paychecks.

Where does all this money go?

Are the schools world class? NO!

Are the roads perfectly maintained? NOT ON YOUR LIFE!

Are there plenty of city amenities available to residents and the public? NOT!

People are disgruntled, to be sure, as evidenced by the many newspaper articles wondering where the price of a liter of gas will come to rest. But people aren't fighting it.

Do the British feel as powerless against their government as Americans feel against their own?

Sick. Bleh!

I seem to be developing some sort of chest cold. My chest feels all raw and yucky. I hope I'm not in for a long winter of illness.

The Guardian, Nov. 3

Click on the photo to read the caption. It's good to be surrounded by people who hate the president and vice-president as much as I do.

UK v. US - round one

In the United Kingdom, officials who have weapons can actually be found guilty when they slaughter innocent people. Take the case of the Brazilian man thought to be a terrorist who took part in the London subway bombings. This week, the cops were found guilty unlike those monsters who beat and suffocated a child at a Florida boot camp.

Unfortunately, the cops in the London case don't face any criminal charges or punishments on the job. Instead, the police force is facing a paltry $2.1 million fine for shooting an innocent man in the head seven times on a crowded subway and killing him.

Oops! "Sorry" should be good enough, right?

I call that "murder," however, and I call what the boot camp guards did "murder" as well. Only those creeps aren't likely ever going to be held liable for what they did in any way, shape or form.

It seems like a trend in the United States. Might makes right. Except when the person exercising his or her might isn't a cop and, especially, when that person is black.

Welcome home

I might not have a job anymore, but there are plenty of things for me to do right now.

The first thing I did was get a library card and put some books on hold at the library. Then I went to see about opening a bank account. I handed over my passport this morning to get a provisional driver's license and have an appointment in three weeks to see about getting a national insurance number so employers will easily know that I'm eligible to work.

The day I got here, I went to my new doctor's office, and I have an appointment Tuesday with a midwife. I've already applied for six jobs (most of them are retail or hotel work but one is in the local office of a member of parliament) and hope something comes through soon. Momma needs a paycheck!

C* has been lovely and welcoming. The day I got here, there were flowers and balloons with streamers in every room. The day after I got here, the card above arrived for me in the mail. How thoughtful can he be?

I already feel more at home here than I ever did in the United States. Is it something about the environment? The attitude? The people? I'm hoping to figure it out and to make some interesting observations and post them here along the way.