Finger sandwiches
2004-03-09
2:09 p.m.

Ahh, okay then. I have been talking to myself a lot lately but not typing it out. So let's see.

The British tea room was really adorable, and tea was fun. Scones! Warm scones, with clotted cream and straberry jam! God bless it. Also, finger sandwiches (not like this) and fancy cake. Whoo! I love it. My husband wants to go back and get all kinds of things that scare me (well, scare me in that we share a bedroom and they will surely make him stink) like Cornish pastry and bangers and mash. Good times.

Unfortunately, they were out of Mint Aero and they don't stock chocolate dipped Hob Nobs or HP Curry. Dammit! I am hoping that they might let me use their contact to buy a case of HP Curry, though. We are sick, sick addicts. Ohhhhh, the curriness and the HPness, though, if only you could taste it you would KNOW, man.

This tea experience has sent me on this hilarious (and embarassing) bit of anglophile rampage, and recently I have been doing things like, oh, I don't know, re-reading the whole Harry Potter series. (The British versions purchased in Guernsey (tax free!), dork dork dork.) Huge, huge honking loser here.

Speaking of Guernsey, I still want to move there. I am still wondering whether or not I have the rights to purchase as a local, since we can trace my family back there to the 1600s? I doubt it, since everyone bolted in the early 1900s, but it would be fun, no? Local buying rights are worth about a million pounds in the house price. I suppose I shouldn't worry about it until I'm looking to move several thousand miles and have several hundred thousand dollars to spare. So, basically, never.

In completely unrelated news, I weighed in today. Good times. I'm still scared of meetings, because they are run by Pete Burns' Weight Watchers doppelganger who hugs everyone when they weigh in (I get there late on purpose DON'T TOUCH ME), but other than that, it's going really well. Eat points, lose weight. I can live with that. I'm down 8.2 pounds in 3 weeks. I "cheat" once a week or so, but it's built in, so it doesn't matter.

In related news (category: I am a suburban housewife cliche) I joined Costco today, as well. For the gas, baby. Eff you, civilian gas prices! I get 10 cents off a gallon, at least! Totally worth the price of admission alone.

And, in the gossip that's only really interesting to me category, I spoke to my old neighbors this morning, and they gave me the low down on the new owners of our old house. It seems they waited a few weeks to move in in order to do a ton of work on the place, and they gutted it and added a bathroom and made all sorts of lovely changes. And, they're expecting twins right around what my due date would have been. Which makes me incredibly jealous -- not really of the bathroom on the first floor (though that would have cut down on the puking in the kitchen sink that inevitably happened at parties), but of the house and the babies and the etc. When we bought it, I was certain we'd have babies there in its sunny cuteness. Sure, we could barely afford the payments and I hated my job and my husband was travelling almost every other week and we couldn't afford to do any of the projects that the house really needed, but I loved that house and us in it.

I suspect I'll never have a house like that again, with its nooks and 1927 crannies and history and all that. Here I have beige and white and beige and white and the same house as everyone else in the neighborhood, not one of only two houses that some Irish architect built in the US for twins who wanted to live next door to each other.

Oh well. There is nothing that can be done about it now. I hope they're happy there and they don't find those polaroids that went missing somehow in the move. Or if they do that they at least have a sense of humor about them but don't have a scanner or anything like that.