California foxes are ugly little bastards

So, I've been wondering where all the wildlife is here in NorCal. I've seen the hummingbirds (Ah-freaking-mazing) and the black squirrels and the odd wasp (I have no idea where those little bastards come from, but this is MY house, and, in lieu of a firearm I suck the little fuckers into the Dyson to die amid my hair balls) and I've read about the annual tarantula migration in the mountains round here (what fresh hell is this??), but I've not seen anything like the badgers or foxes you get in the UK. Until yesterday, when I saw the most heinous of creatures - like a giant fucking rat with balls of steel!

I was on my way back from the cheap-ass mall in Milpitas (don't judge! They have delicious plastic mango cake and Banana Republic with a permanent sale) and I had to swerve to miss what looked like a giant rat in the middle of the road. It was completely still, staring, with squinted eyes, into the scrubland on the roadside. As I passed he didn't flinch. A second car passed and again, he moved not a single muscle. I actually started to think it was a prank and that someone had placed a stuffed giant rat in the middle of the road. Then he trotted off into the sunset, the lights changed and I was left asking 'WTF?' very loudly in my car on my own.

http://www.lovetherunning.com/2014/02/stupid-opossum-you-cant-even-spell-your.html

Meet the opossum. Cheery little fella, hey?
It turns out that the possum is an adorable little munchkin who lives down under. The opossum is the yang to the Australian yin - the least adorable little rat-faced fuck I have ever seen in real life. Look at him. LOOK! His long pointy, freaky little face. Imagine a cat-sized rat. Urgh.


I was kinda hoping to see a raccoon or a bandicoot or a jackalope* (whatevs - we didn't learn much about North American wildlife in my school). I see them as akin to the fox or the badger - scruffy and cute from afar (though don't ever piss off a badger. They are mean. MEAN!!) See, these are like the little fellas that lived in our garden in London.

And they have the courtesy to scarper as soon as you come within 30 feet, so you never really have to deal with their nasty side.**

I literally never want to see one of these fuckers' on a bad day:

http://www.nps.gov/prsf/naturescience/virginia-opossum.htm

I'm serious. This little fella could take me down in a shot. Shudder.

* A little nod to any cryptozoology fans. Fun fact - the jackalope is a mythical antelope/jackrabbit hybrid that apparently roamed the American planes. Sightings of rabbits with 'antlers' have been recorded for centuries, and biologists now attribute these to the shope papilloma virus. Seriously, google some pics. Gross.

** I paint these little critters in a very positive light, despite the fact that they scream in the night like kidnapped babies, and tear the shit out of any rubbish bags you leave outside. The second of these habits can be forgiven though, because if this happens to you once and you are scraping old KFC from your driveway then you don't do it again. You buy a wheelie bin, or put your rubbish out on the morning of bin day. Don't you? Seriously?? Am I picking up your fucking rubbish off my driveway again, moron?? I know who you are - the fox has handily left some of your junk mail covered in old egg just behind the back wheel of my car. Don't worry. I've picked it all up and will post it all through your letterbox while you're at work, Steve at number 27. You're welcome.

A tax-related near-homicide averted

The lad and I live about 45 minutes outside of the big smug, so if we want to soak up some of that Prius-driving, sushi-eating hippy magic in a trendy bar-du-jour we have to get the Caltrain (and do the Cinderella dash about 10:30pm), get a taxi (and simper as we realize how much it cost the next morning) or book a hotel. 

One of the things that I am pretty awesome at (in addition to my navigation skills and my baking) is my ability to source cracking hotel deals in the best locations. Its not really that tough, with the arsenal of comparison sites at your fingertips, but it does take a bit of cross-checking. You check against google maps for location, check the cost of parking (very important in SF! $30 minimum. Its a freakin' joke!) and check tripadvisor. Weighing up all these fellas gives you a spanking deal 90% of the time.

Well, that was all from the UK. Now I'm in the US it should be the same, surely? SURELY??

Aw hell no! After spending 2 hours doing my usual trick and finding a splendid little boutique hotel on Union Square I click though to book and BOOM! The price jumps up by $50 to include the previously unincluded sales tax (an apparently arbitrary 14%) and the mystical 'city tax' of 2.5%. What? WHAT?? Why would I ever, EVER need to compare prices without tax. As I'm sure I've mentioned before I WILL ALWAYS NEED TO PAY THE TAX so why quote anything without it? 

And, even more frustratingly all the different comparison sites seem to include tax/exclude tax at random, so they seem to compare apples with oranges and, sometimes, badgers.

Having stamped my little feet at the fucking ridiculousness of the situation I suddenly realized that the site I had been looking at was now showing a 'total price' including all taxes. What had changed in the last 10 minutes? Had I missed something?

It turns out that I had spotted an awesome little trick that shows that these sites know their audiences. Most of them have a little flag and a title currency indicator somewhere near the top. When you select the stars and stripes it automatically chooses the greens. The interesting news is that if you select the little Union Jack and then change the GBP to USD it still shows the prices in dollars, but, in a nod to the sensibleness of the British consumer, it gives you the TOTAL price you're going to pay including taxes and fees. I nearly cried! All this extra information at my finger tips! No hidden charges! I could actually make value decisions with the numbers I had in front of my tired little peepers. God save the Queen!

So, in short, if you want to compare the total price in $$$ including taxes, make sure you select the Union Jack instead of the Stars and Stripes, and change the currency to USD.

Dr Johnsons' post-watershed word of the day

Dr Johnsons' post-watershed word of the day

Aw, hey! I've missed you guys! You're looking great! Have you been working out? Me? Oh, I've been a bit slack recently.









Geez, fishing for compliments, much?








Well, some of us would benefit from a bit more exercise and a bit less navel-gazing, Mr Gouty-pegs!








Fuck off - you know thats hereditary.







Anyhoo, my little wordsmiths, we're going a little bit naughty today, with three words that mean very different things depending on where you plan to use them! And I'm not just talking about pronunciation issues (I'm looking at you, the delightful Mickey Flanagan)! If you're a cunning linguist then you've probably come across 'fanny' before...

Fnar!!!

Grow up! You know what I meant. In the US this is a slang term for your bottom, but in the UK its actually slang for a lady's vajayay.







Yeah, I think you'll find we invented the fucking language, so I don't know how you guys got so
confused. You don't know your crack from your clunge!





Gross.
Secondly we have a US term that has very different connotations in the UK, bearing in mind the use of the word 'bum' as slang for 'bottom'.

bum-rush

verb

USinformal

Suddenly force or barge one's way into.





Pfffffffft!!








Seriously, grow up.

Finally, a rather offensive slang term for a homosexual man in the US, 'fag', can be heard throughout the sixth form common rooms of the British Isles, as young people ask to 'bum a fag' meaning to 'have one of your cigarettes'.







BAHAHAHAHA!!










Dammit! I can't take you anywhere!

'Dickhead' is the same both sides of the pond though, right?

Jerk.

Dollar bills, ya'll

It wasn't til I was in Starbucks and the creepy guy behind me told me not to playfully toy with my debit card that I realised how fucking easy it is to fraud-it-up in the US. Its actually laughable.

So, the Social Security number that all proper people in the US are given (DON'T get me started on that. Yes, I have a valid visa. No, I do not have an SSN because I am not really welcome in the US. Whatevs.) and it is super SUPER important. You can't share it with anyone. It is super secure, like a giant PIN. However, because it is so important and it represents all your important deets you have to wheel it out about 3 times a day to every pleb that works in a phone shop, insurance company and bank. Not so fucking secure now, eh?

And what is the reluctance to buy in to PINs on bank cards and credit cards?? I either have to sign for stuff (which, BTW, can be forged. And rarely does the shop clerk check that my scrawl actually matches the card) or I just swipe and go? Wha??? So, I give you my card (which, BTW, is no longer a thing in the UK. You don't ever have to hand your card to someone else. You jam it into the machine and you take it out - at no point does anyone else have their sticky little fingers on it) and then you take as much money as you want without me checking it first? Um, no.

Finally, the cheque (spell it properly! We're not 5 years old - it doesn't have to be spelt phonetically) situation.

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<<Bites finger to stop oneself from laughing out loud>>

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When I transfer funds online from my account to someone elses the bank still has to PHYSICALLY POST A CHEQUE....BAHAHAHAHAHA!! Sorry, I can't even type it without cracking up. I have nothing to say about this, except that perhaps some of the US banking bigwigs might want to shadow a grown up bank sometime soon?

Travel winge 9

So, after a couple of months in Europe visiting family and friends and having my washing done for me (thanks Dad!) and being generally pampered I am now back in the US after a monster of a flight combo. I am tired from the travel, jetlagged and generally a bit ratty, and even the slightest thing is pissing me off.

Philly airport terminal really did cheer me up (nice shops, pretty good food selection), but I do have a few little things that, if everyone could take note, would make my travel much more pleasant. Are you listening, fat woman on scooter who stank of piss? And you, oblivious twat who trod on my be-sock-ed toes? And you, squawking group of east coast hags??

Queuing twats.

1. We ALL want to get on the fart tube as quickly as possible, and the best way to do that is to sit the fuck down and wait til the lady calls your seat number. Until then, don't crowd round the gate like they're giving away free donuts. They're not. I know you want to make sure that there is space for your laughably vast cabin bag, but, here's an idea, take a smaller fucking bag!

2. Man who trod fully on all my socky toes while I sat on the floor against the wall charging my phone: you are a dick. How can you be completely oblivious to an entire (fairly tall) human, squishing herself against a wall with her bag so as not to be in the way? You trod on me like you genuinely didn't see me, and then looked back a few seconds later and appeared genuinely surprised to see me. Dick.

Yoga twat.

3. Why are you doing yoga in a main thoroughfare at the airport. Surely the man who approached you and asked if you were ok while you spazzed out trying to get your ankle over your head should have been a clue that this is not a normal thing to do in an airport. Stop it.

4. And the biggest winge: US Airways - how come I paid you to get me and my luggage from LHR to SFO and it appears that I am doing half the work? Hmm? I had to pickup all 3 fucking huge cases (that I paid extra for, might I add) at Philly airport and lug them, sans trolly, past your fat ground staff to then place them on another conveyor belt and wave them off to SF?? What exactly have I paid for? I want approx $47.52 of my money back, please. Besides, your chubby airport staff could do with a good workout. Just sayin'.

All of that aside, Philly airport was rather nice - they had the same rocking chairs as Dallas, which is a nice touch (although they could do with a few more), plenty of places to charge me gadge and mini exercise bikes for you to get a workout in before you board your next flight. They were like little unicycles on stands. Nice idea.

The wifi was down for most of my time there, which was disappointing, although searching for another network I did notice that I was travelling with a local political celeb. Nice.

Noms from the heavens

Since living in the US I have discovered some mightily delicious items to make me fat. I'm big into my smoothies at the moment, but thats really just to balance out the filthy salty snacks that I've been pushing into my face every day. Exhibit a: Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuits. Oh sweet lordy lord. I'm a fan of Red Lobster anyway (yeah, I know they're going down the shitter, and I know their food is aimed at old people, but its tasty!) and the best bit of the meal is the biscuits. Blistering barnacles, Batman, they taste like the very ambrosia of the gods, sent dan on a cloud of salt and garlic. And you can make them at home. So I do. Frequently.   

In a similar vein, there are these delicious morsels: Chicken in a Biskit (I presume the spelling error was deliberate?) Like crackers (and not the sad Cream Crackers you get in the UK. These are more like actual biscuits) that have been kissed by chicken bisto. Salty, slightly stock cube-y and very delicious when crumbled into soup. Or over a cottage pie. Or eaten from the box on the sofa.

As you may be able to discern - I like salty snacks. These little beauties were discovered in a service station in the mountains. You can't get the butter flavor in quality establishments like Safeway - you have to go to Walmart to get these little fellas. They are cheesy poofs without the cheese. Like popcorn without the little husk bits that stick in your gums. 

Finally, some afters. Banana cream Jell-o pudding is like Angel Delight with more chemicals. You have to buy the one that you cook (the instant one is a bit too wobbly, but the cooked one is like banana custard. Noms)

All of that said, there are still things I really miss from the UK, and its not the stuff I thought I'd miss. Sure, there's Cadbury's chocolate on the list (y'all need to have a chat with the FSA about the atrocity you call Hershey's. All the schmaltzy, sappy, childhood-reminiscing adverts cannot trick me into believing the shite that I just put in my mouth tastes anything more that plastic vomit. It doesn't melt properly! And the AFTERTASTE?? WTF is that? I don't want a Hershey's kiss from someone who's just vomited.) More so that a block of Cadbury's, though, I miss the Fudges, the Flakes and the Milky Ways. 

And on the savory side - Salad Cream!!! Dayum. I watch the lad munch away on fries with ketchup and I crave the vinegar delight of Salad Cream.  

And to wash it all down? Some squash! Yes! Some weak-ass barely flavored water. Thats full of sugar, but lacking in flavor.  Its not a root vegetable with sloppy guts. Its not the same as fruit juice. Its not the same as these terrible low cal water additive atrocities that taste like saccharin from satan's arse. Its what tennis champions at Wimbledon drink - a drop of orange and barley. Refreshing! 

Travel winge 8

This is a plea to the people in Rome airport.

Employees: if you want to have a conversation with your chum about what's for lunch, or to flirt with
the tart spraying perfume in people's faces please do so quietly and not over me while I am being served. Unless you want me to have a loud conversation with my dead grandmother while you are serving me? Its the same thing. You are just shouting in my face. I don't know or care who you are talking to so loudly, through me. Stop it.


Passengers: learn how to queue. That way, we all get a turn. Stop nudging into my back, or using your child to push in front of me.

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Updated: Everyone in Milan airport: this applies to you too. Especially the English douchebag with the scarf. Douchebag.