Home is where your suitcase is

or in my case, home is where your ridiculously-cute-Vera-Bradley-Weekender-bag-that-Santa-gave-you is


For the past 3 weeks, "home" has been divided between my parents house in New Hampshire and Sean's family in Boston, but tomorrow evening my bag will be packed yet again for the trip back to London.

but for the past 8 years, "home" has been in a myriad of places along the eastern seaboard. From my childhood house in New Hampshire to my college apartment in Tallahassee, I've lived in a lot of different places with a lot of different people.





(Alright, you got me on the last one. I've never actually lived there. BUT it is the super wicked awesome beach house Sean and I rented as accommodations for our wedding party and since we are paying for it ourselves, I get to count it. esp when I go back to the one bedroom flat in London where I have to start the oven by hand with a lighter and cannot flush the toilet twice in a row. mmmkay?)

but now, I am ready to settle down. I am ready for one home with one person. (and that's Sean. Unless Josh Halloway reads my last post and decides he'd like to throw his hat in the ring, of course)

and I want that home to be back in the United States. *gulp*

It's no secret to those closest to me London just isn't my bag, baby. Over the past 3 months, I realized while I like traveling abroad, I do not want to live abroad. I love that feeling of stepping off a plane in a new city and exploring all it has to offer. I am ecstatic with every new stamp in my passport and charge on my credit card in a foreign currency. (Okay, maybe not that last part) However, at the end of most vacations, people claim "I can't wait to be home and sleep in my own bed" and I am missing that.

Coming "home" for Christmas was strange. As Sean and I wove our way through the streets of Boston, everything was familiar. Our favorite restaurants, the movie theatre, my running route along the Charles...and yet, none of it was really ours. We were tourists in our own city. It was such a surreal time, feeling like this place was our home but knowing we were merely short term visitors.

It was with this thought in mind that Sean and I made the decision to move back to Boston once my program is finished. As we visited with our friends and celebrated their new apartments, new jobs, and other exciting developments, we couldn't help but be green with envy. While it's been an interesting adventure and we are learning a lot about ourselves through this experience living abroad, we are ready for that next step...ready to unpack our suitcases once and for all. We want "home" to mean more than the location most currently scrawled across our luggage tags.

Does this make us failures? Does it make us crazy for selling all our furniture and cars to move there in the first place? Does it make us any less bad ass?

Certainly not. You know what they say...The sun never sets on a bad ass.


ha.

In all seriousness though, I decided to take this journey because I wanted to be a stronger person and try a new experience. I wanted to satisfy a desire I've always had to travel...and all of that is still happening. Nothing makes you stronger than counting out coins to see if you can afford dinner, having all of your loved ones half a world away, and being 2 sizes bigger in European clothing than American. Just kidding. (Okay, not really. I don't like it. Not one bit. Give me some typical American vanity sizing please!)

So tomorrow I am going to pack my suitcases once again and head back to London. But this time I am going with a fresh perspective. Sean and I are going to stop stressing out about the failures of this move and focus on the positive. We are going to enjoy the city for all its worth and take advantage of living in a European hub. We are going to appreciate the time we have left here and soak up as much learning, and changing, and growing as possible. And as I unpack my bags, stow away my passport and start saying, "bloody hell!" again, I will slowly smile to myself...

because I know soon enough I'll be grabbing a "beeah at the bah" with my homie Ben Affleck. I'll be like Blake Lively from the Town. but without the horribly fake accent. or skanky clothes. or coke problem.

I cannot wait.

Top 10 of 2010

It's that time of year again...time to pick yourself up by the bootstraps, dust off that Christmas coma, and look towards the new year. 2011 is rapidly approaching and before I can make my list of half-hearted resolutions I'll probably forget by February, I want to reflect on everything that's happened over the past 12 months. 2010 has been a doozy and not just because so much of it was spent drinking tequila. A LOT has happened, in no particular order:

1. I made risotto (and other tasty things)


Risotto is a feisty bitch. It can be high-maintenance, aggressive, obsessive compulsive, and just a little bit needy. Basically its me, but in food form. I learned to make it for the first time in February and have been obsessed ever since. My favorite version is sausage and ramp risotto from Epicurious. (Really though, gimme any form of pasta with loads of parmesan cheese and I'm not going to complain)

2. I bought my first pair of shorts.


This is a big freaking deal, folks. I have never been a fan of shorts, I always felt so incredibly self-conscious in them. I never dreamed I'd ever go for a run, let alone in a pair of shorts. But after my first 5k in March, my confidence began to grow. With every run I took that spring, I felt myself becoming more comfortable with my body. By the time I was training for my half marathon in May, I was straight up hot. (as in sweaty. not as in supermodel) I knew I'd have to make amends with my disdain for shorts or else be the crazy lady passed out from heat stroke on the sidewalk. Now, I'm so into this whole shorts thing, I even bought another pair yesterday. in December. after a blizzard. Wordtoyomotha.

3. I blogged. and people actually read it! (This one still surprises me sometimes)
Quarterlife Quandary began as last year's resolution. A couple years ago I wrote a blog called Polos and Pearls, but never stuck with it.


After some loving nagging from my friends, I decided to jump back into the blog world. Over the past year, I've had some great opportunities through the blog. My post on British vocabulary was featured on Boston.com which swelled my ego to "epic" proportions. For that fleeting weekend, I could hardly carry on civil conversation with people, I was so obsessed with my stats and # of visitors. (Reality certainly hit hard that Monday morning when it went back to normal) More recently, I've been honored with the chance to be a contributing member of Hollaback Health. Not going to lie, being a Hollaback Health girl is more exciting than grad school, sorority rush, and happy hour combined...plus I get to sing Gwen Stefani every time I get an email from one of them.

4. I was the Maid of Honor for my best friend's wedding.


Being an only child, I figured my chances of being someone's maid of honor were slim. Lucky for me, God brought me a sister in the form of my best friend. Roommates in college and friends over the past 8 years, standing beside Laura on her big day was one of the highlights of my year. I am so excited she'll be there for me as my Maid of Honor in 2011.

5. Let's just keep the wedding ball rolling, with my own engagement



One of the hidden rules of blogging is not to brag about what you have, the same goes for gushing about who your with...no one wants to hear how wonderful and amazing your relationship is. Now, I could tell you the top moment of 2010 came the first time Sean farted in front of me or the first chance I got to do his laundry because these are the more realistic aspects of being in a long term relationship, but screw that. It's my blog. I want to profess my love for this man. I love him and I can't wait to marry him and put up with his farts for the rest of my life.

6. I almost murdered Mother Nature


When the volcano in Iceland ruined my birthday and the chance to go to Trinity Ball in Ireland, I was irate. When my second flight was cancelled because of that same damn volcano and I lost all chance of going anywhere on my vacation, I was ready for revenge. I took all my sound and fury out on the local businesses of Boston and had a shopping spree worthy of Dr. Phil levels of therapy.

7. First trip abroad, followed by a move to Europe!



Apparently my vacation to Ireland and Italy wasn't enough time spent abroad for me, so Sean and I decided to spend some more time there. Although, as I've said before, our decision to move to London hasn't been an easy one and we're not really happy there, I still consider it one of the top moments of the year. In fact, it's one of the top moments of my life so far. Making a decision like that is balls to the wall scary, but I did it and I know after this I'll be a stronger person as a result. I'll just be a stronger person without any furniture, a car, a job, or life savings. pshhhh minor details.

8. I quit my job


This was, by far, the scariest thing I've ever done. I still have dreams about the students I left behind, I still get emails from those same former students, and I still worry sometimes that I was an idiot to throw away the safety and security that accompanied those weekly paychecks...but that's all part of risk taking. I have faith that 2011 will bring a new job my way that further bolsters my belief I made the right decision to leave teaching.

9. I signed up for a marathon. in Barcelona, Spain.


Hey, go big or go home right? So the people will be cheering for me in a different language, that's okay. Lucky for me, sangria and tequila are the same in every language. Mas cerveza, por favor! Ole!

10. I fell in love. with myself.

2010 has been a crazy year. I had a psycho roommate and a psycho ex boyfriend who repeatedly made appearances in my life, I had 2 car accidents, and a sprained ankle. I cried A LOT. but I also laughed a lot. and smiled alot. and learned a lot. I've pushed myself and showed myself I'm capable of so much more than I ever thought possible. I've learned to stop hating the person I see in the mirror. She's pretty awesome, even if her thighs will never be like Marissa Miller's.

I cannot wait for all the things 2011 will bring: a wedding in September, a move back to the United States, and Britney Spears new album....


bring. it. on.

The risky side of risk taking

Our 2 month "anniversary" of living in London came and went a couple weeks ago but I never documented it. I've been debating on how I want to approach this month's reflection.

Moving to London was a huge risk for Sean and I. It's nice to dress it up in words like opportunity, potential, excitement, adventure...but when you take away the glitz and glamour of it all, it was a risk pure and simple.

We sold our cars. We sold our furniture. I quit my job. and expats we became.

We told ourselves the risk was worthwhile, continuously striving towards the inevitably amazing reward that was sure to come from all this risky business. We patted ourselves proudly on the back for making such a courageous life decision and spouted off lines from Robert Frost about taking "the road less traveled". We scoffed and deflected the "conventional" stepping stones of college, marriage, house, baby. We knew we'd get to it eventually so why rush it?

and yet, here we are, almost 3 months into this adventure and it is not the picture Sean and I painted for ourselves. Recently, we've faced some really major setbacks here...the kind that grip you in your gut and make you lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling in an absolute panic about the future.

We are doing our best to maintain a state of calm in the midst of this life chaos that is currently happening to us. Sure the red wine intake has certainly stepped up a bit, but we are doing our best not to let it overtake us (the stress, I mean, not the wine. I'll always let a little wine overtake me)

It is hard when we are feeling this way, for me to not get caught up in the comparison game. Logging onto Facebook becomes dangerous territory as every newsfeed brings announcements of houses bought, babies born, milestones accomplished. It amplifies our problems and the life choices we've made and is like a siren screaming out: YOU SCREWED UP.

But this is the gamble we took. This is where the risk of risk-taking really lies. Whenever you take these chances, failure is a possibility. You hope it won't be, you make every effort to avoid it, but sometimes it just happens. The question then becomes: What will you do about it? We rolled the dice and so far, we've lost...but all we can do at this point is cut our losses and move forward. We need to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and look towards a brighter day. (I'm pretty sure I mixed a few metaphors there, but you get the point)

We can't compare ourselves to our friends. We aren't them. We are us. and it is as simple as that.

and I will continue to tell myself that over and over and over again, until I start to feel better. I will remind myself that everything happens for a reason, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor...you know, all of life's important lessons.

The greatest challenges are still ahead of us. We are United States bound in 9 days, which will provide the battery recharge we so desperately need, but after that it is back to London. Our adventure here isn't over and even if our reasons for coming aren't as exciting anymore and the picture we painted as been tarnished and faded, I refuse to spend the next 7 months sulking.

We may be down, but we're not out yet. Not to mention, I have Kate's wedding in April to attend. Someone told me that she's not allowed to have a bridal party, which is probably why I never got the phone call to be her Maid of Honor, but I know my invitation is in the mail.

Are you taking a piss?

Piss.

what a funny word. and it has so many uses.

Before moving to London, I was pumped to come over here and hear all the stereotypically fabulous British slang. I had visions of screaming "bloody hell" and "crikey!" in any and every potentially inappropriate place, like the library at school. or behind someone in line at the supermarket. Alas, It's been 2 months here and I have yet to use either expression.

On the flip side, there are a couple expressions that I still can't quite handle. All of the ones involving "piss" in particular. (and there are more than one). Every time I hear them, I immediately conjure up images that are in no way, shape, or form appropriate for the context.

For example: "is he taking a piss at me?"

My response: pissing at you? Ummmmmm, girlfriend. He better not be pissing at, on, in, or anywhere near you. That's dirty, nasty, and just plain rude.

Oh wait. That's not what you meant? Turns out "taking a piss" at someone means you're putting them on or making fun of them, but that's not the only pissing that happens over here.

You can also be pissed. As in: "Oh man, I got so pissed Friday night". My first instinct? I get nosy. Oooooh potential drama, I wonder what that person was so angry about. I want all the juicy details. Au contraire mon frere, to get pissed is to get drunk.

How could I mess that one up? I love getting drunk and I do it so frequently (and quite well, might I add). I really need to get this all straightened out before I start incorporating taking or getting pissed into my daily vernacular or else the next time I try to tell someone "I was so pissed at Sean last night" they are going to assume I either got drunk or peed all over him. or both. (wait, nevermind, I'm the only one who thinks "taking a piss" is peeing. Shoot, I'm wrong again. See how tricky this can be?)

Another common phrase that get's me every time: "Are you alright" or "Are you okay", which is the common British way of saying "How are you". Whenever someone asks me this, I always get just a little bit defensive. I immediately stutter "uhhh yeah. why?", which is usually met with a confused look from the other party. That's when I realize, crap. I messed it up. Happens to me every. single. time. I'm pretty sure most of my classmates think I am either completely socially inept or the biggest biatch alive. or both. crikey.

I've yet to hear my personal favorite expression, Sweet Fanny Adams, but I'm holding out for it. This expression has become my beacon of hope in the cold, dreary London landscape. I know someday, somewhere, I will hear this sweet, sweet expression and the speaker of it will instantly become my bff4L. We will waltz around Central London hand in hand taking pisses on people. errrrr, AT people.

I can't wait.

Editor's Note: I really wanted to provide a picture for you, you know proper blog etiquette and all. I was very apprehensive to type "taking a piss" into Google Images. As I waited for the page to load, I got nervous. Sean is supposed to be home any minute now. What if he walked in and saw me googling pictures of people peeing? What if my computer is being monitored somehow and I get in trouble for being a total creeper. But never fear, Google pulled through in the clutch. Right on page #1, this lovely little number:



George Bush and the Prime Minister? Now what exactly, are you trying to insinuate here Google? hmmmmm.....

Would you like a side of Freedom Fries with that wine?

Last night Sean and I participated in the honored time old tradition of soccer. England v France to be precise.


Hence tonight's blog title. I may love me some wine, but I don't love me some Frenchies. (tonight's total generalization and stereotyping brought to you courtesy of Quarterlife Quandary)

I got us tickets to go see the match at Wembley Stadium as part of Sean's birthday present.


Having never been to a professional soccer game, I was looking forward to all sorts of shenanigans. Other people didn't seem to share in my enthusiasm though. As I spread word to my classmates that I'd be attending a soccer game that evening, I was met with a lot of lackluster replies. Turns out there is saying here in the UK:

Rugby is a hooligan's sport played by gentleman
Soccer is a gentleman's sport played hooligans.

So apparently last night Sean and I were hooligans, but we were okay with that; it meant there was room for plenty of shenanigans and tomfoolery. (I think I should win some sort of vocabulary prize for being able to use all of those ridiculous words in one sentence). Unfortunately, we did not realize this also meant that no drinking is permitted.

anywhere.

within a mile radius of the stadium.

for real.

We hopped off the train hungry, our throats parched for the quenching taste of a cold pint only to be brutally rebuffed at the first pub we came across. They were shutting down. at 7pm. We didn't understand it so we went to the next one. They, too, turned us away. What the heck guys. This is not cool.

We attempted to rally our spirits and push the thought of tasty, delicious beer to the back of our minds. We didn't need alcohol to have fun. Noooooo. Our love will sustain us.

and then we spotted some guys drinking beers out of cans on the sidewalk. SCORE! Forget the love, we'll always have that. But beer before a sporting event? Now that is what dreams are made of.

We popped into the "off-licence" (convenience store) and grabbed some tasty pints (Stellas in a can. but a big can. bigger than in the US, so that counts for something).


At this point we had our beers, but we still lacked in the food department. We didn't want to eat inside the stadium because they charge ridiculous prices. For a £20 hamburger, you better be serving it with a side of Botox and a little liposuction.

Since all the pubs were closed, our options were severely limited. We opted for a greasy burger joint that had a line out the door. except by the time it was our turn they were sold out of pretty much everything. Sean wanted a hamburger. gone. a "chicken burger". gone. fish and chips. gone. Finally he settled on the sausage. Only to find out the man literally just took this giant rod of meat and slapped it on the plate (ohhh stop it. get your minds out of the gutters please). Sean took one look at it and said "no thanks-I'll just stick with chips (french fries)"

You may ask why I'm telling you all these details. Well, it is because they are important. Many of you have expressed envy over my life here in London and while I'm sure you are envisioning leisurely afternoons of tea, red telephone booths and me schmoozing it up with royalty, in reality I'm standing outside a convenience store in the rain chugging beer from a can and eating french fries for dinner. (Mom? Dad? how proud are you? I bet loads)


However, this experience really allowed me to interact with the local culture, the "natives" so to speak. One guy asked me where in the States we were from and when I answered Boston, Massachusetts, he replied "Oh, is that next to California?"

ummmm no. not even close. but thanks for playing, better luck next time.

I had a rousing discussion with this group of gentlemen (actually no, scratch that, they were definitely hooligans) about the British culture's use of the "c word". I know in American culture it is very very very inappropriate to use that word, especially around a woman. I couldn't even bring myself to say it last night. I just kept referring to it as the "c word" and they'd laugh and say "oh you mean c---? C--- is fine!" and laugh even harder. I'm still not sure if they were laughing with me or at me. (I'm pretty sure it was at me.)

The best line I heard all night though? As I was eavesdropping on their conversation (what? how can you not?), Guy A said to Guy B: "You know what I need? A good shag" pause. wait for it. there's more. "with someone I do actually like" bah ha ha ha ha. Maybe I'm just a dirty old lady who takes pleasure in the sadness of others, maybe it's because it was said in a British accent, I don't know but I found this to be hi-freaking-larious.

All in all, it was a fantastic night out in the UK. I'm so glad I got to interact with some different types of people and experience the city in a new way. huddled under an awning in the warm fluorescent glow of the local off-licence.


oh yeah. and the soccer game was fun too. Even though England lost, it didn't really matter to me. I was too busy staring at all the guys in their short little soccer uniforms- Olé! or Pelé! or whatever it is they shout out during soccer games.

Wordless weekend (okay so I used a few words, but you get the gist)

Old, cranky ladies in the 1800s used to say Children are to be seen and not heard. Sometimes the saying is true for bloggers as well. So take a gander at our pictures from this weekend's adventures. I know they say your pictures should tell a story, but after an hour playing around with my stupid iPhoto, Picasa, and Blogger, I am about .2 seconds away from throwing my laptop out of the window, so these pictures aren't in any sequential order really...In fact, I will let you infer your own stories from these photos. Get creative with it.

For documentation purposes all photos were taken at: St. Paul's Cathedral, Galvin Bistrot de Luxe, Marble Arch, City of Westminster (section of central London), The George Pub

Other weekend events not shown: me eating an entire bar of Cadbury Caramel chocolate, running 9 miles on Saturday morning, the bomb.com sausage and ricotta pizza we had last night for dinner, the fact that its 4:48pm here and I'm still in my pajamas (you don't want to see a picture of that. trust me)