Pleased to Meet You

Our first Sunday in Gold Coast had finally arrived. Hubby may have flown all the way to Australia for a couple of stupid conferences but I was here for a completely different reason. I was going to finally get to meet some of the girls from EC Fans. Imagine if you will a young girl on Christmas morning excited to the point of bouncing around and squealing with anticipation at opening the gifts that Santa had brought. Well, that was me on Sunday morning.

I was waiting outside of our hotel for GirlyMum to arrive to pick me up. The plan was that we would drive to the nearby Cascade Gardens and meet up with the rest of the gang for a daylong picnic. I was slightly dubious that it would last all day as I was being picked up at 9:30 in the morning. I needn’t have worried, as I didn’t get home until almost dusk.

GM finally arrived with her two incredibly cute and well behaved daughters sitting in the backseat of her car. We awkwardly re-introduced ourselves using our real (aka non internet) names and hugged before heading off for the long three-minute drive to the Gardens.

Surprisingly we were the first to arrive. With the help of GM’s daughters we snagged the last available picnic table and started setting out the feast that GM had brought to feed us all. After a few minutes, we noticed a young woman dressed all in black looking around the park and then rather dejectedly turning around to head back to the car park. After a few beats we both realized that this had to be Ace!

I ran over and rather embarrassedly asked the girl about to climb atop a black motorcycle, “Are you Ace?” I sincerely hoped I was right. She turned to me with a grin and a yes. After another round of intros and hugs she and I headed back over the to picnic table ‘o food. In case you were wondering the motorcycle dude was not her boyfriend as I had surmised, but rather her father. Oops!

About a half hour later our group grew yet again as Storm, Lois and Minnow all climbed out of Lois’ blue rental car. The bouncing, hugging, introductions and giggling started up for a third time as the early birds greeted our three newcomers. The EC Summer Meeting was officially underway.

To honor the occasion, GM popped open (the first) bottle of bubbly and we toasted everything from Jean Auel (who we had to thank for brining us together) to friends who couldn’t be with us. Due to her new tongue stud, Ace decided to forgo the champers on the first round and joined the toast with some diet Coke. (Ok there was probably another reason she skipped the Champagne but this way I get to show a picture of her brand new tongue piercing! Tres cool!)

We must have terrified the poor old couple sitting at the table next to us as we joked about Jondalar’s many talents, Harley’s ego, my obsession with the world’s cutest animal: the Koala bear, and more. The poor dears finally left and we were finally able to really let go and be ourselves. That, I should point out, in my case meant being a good, demure and well-behaved young lady. No really, I am. I swear!

The day continued as we ate the once kidnapped Pavlova that Lois had saved from the clutches of an evil hotel maid. We also nibbled on cheese, crackers, chips, dips, incredibly yummy and addictive Cheesy-Mites and Tim Tams. GM had kindly provided enough food to feed the entire park of picnic-ers. Thank goodness we didn’t have to share with any of them!

For the most part we were good about calling each other by our real names but occasionally a Typ0, GM or minnow would slip out. This of course happened more frequently the more champagne we drank and the more sugary Pavlova we ate. We also tried to climb trees, run off the annoying stork-like birds who kept trying to eat our food, discuss why each of us was or wasn’t good at scrabble, and even snuck in a few minutes to write post cards to those people who couldn’t make it for the Meet. Despite the many hours we were there the day literally flew by.

Evidently some of the local ladybugs got into the second bottle of champagne that GM opened. Naughty little buggies!

We even had a theme song for the day that the ladies kindly sang for me. It’s a real song and it’s called the Vegemite Song:

We're happy little Vegemites
As bright as bright can be.
We all enjoy our Vegemite
For breakfast, lunch, and tea.
Our mother says we're growing stronger every single week.
Because we love our Vegemite.
We all adore our Vegemite.
It puts a rose in every cheek!

And people call me weird…

I could honestly go on for pages and pages about everything we talked about and my very favorable impressions of these amazing ladies. This day of giggling, laughing and making friends was the single best part of my entire trip to Australia. From now on whenever I think of “The Land Down Under” I won’t be humming a song by Men at Work (ok maybe a little), I’ll be smiling and reflecting back on a perfect day spent with five other wonderful women and the memories we made together.

Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!
Oy! Oy! Oy!

When Good Airlines Go Bad

It’s amazing how different airline personnel can be, whether we’re talking about different airlines or even the same airline but at different airports. Take the KLM staff in Amsterdam for example. We’ve dealt with this airline in several different countries and not had problems but their local staff in Amsterdam is beyond rude. Have a problem and need them to fix it? Hell no! It’s your own damn fault and had better have a darned good idea on how to rectify the situation yourself before you go and ask one of the kind blonde women behind the blue counter for assistance.

You’d prefer a more recent example? Fine. When we were getting ready to visit the Down Under we attempted to check-in online only to be told (after hours of trying) that Emirates online service was down that day. Ok not a problem. After all, despite the problems we had encountered at the Nairobi airport in the past, this time we were flying on a great airline and who are always wonderfully smooth running. Dang we were naïve; we should have remembered that the airport always trumps the airline.

The two people on duty there were busy checking in an A340 Airbus full of passengers eager to get the heck out of Dodge and wing their way to Cloud City (aka Dubai). Moving at a pace that even the snails thought was rather slow we edged our way closer to the check-in counter. By the time it was our turn to obtain boarding passes, Hubby and I had already had four fights, made up five times (an extra kiss never hurt anybody, thank you), found a cure for bird flu, and cobbled ourselves a pretty cool plan for world peace. (It involved kissing too!)

Once at the counter, we discovered that not only could the brilliant Emirates employee not provide us with boarding passes but also that she could barely figure out how to check our luggage in. We should have taken this as a sign of things to come. We were directed to sit in a corner with other Losers Without Passes (like Doctors Without Borders but less into healing and more into wreaking vengeance upon incompetent Emirates employees). We all watched as dozens of people in line after us walked away with passes and made their way toward the boarding area.

Hubby glowered at them menacingly for 30 minutes at which time they succumbed to his evil powers and called him over for ticketing. More stern and angry looks got us seats together on the first flight. We then politely asked for exit rows seats on our next flight. “Sure. No problem!”

You’d think we would have learned to stop being so darned naïve. Not only were the seats they gave us NOT in exit rows, they were directly behind an exit row filled with screaming babies. Flying out of Nairobi is just so much fun… or something.

All this, you see, is in direct contrast to the amazing service we received from Qantas last Friday as we departed Cairns for Brisbane.

The briskly moving line at the Domestic terminal quickly steered us to the good-looking Australian girl behind counter number five. We handed Aussie Lady our ID, tickets, and frequent flyer cards and smiled tiredly at her. After a few minutes of keying information into her computer she turned to me. “Where is your ticket for Brisbane to Sydney?” Say what?!

First of all, that wasn’t even the flight we were checking in for. And second of all: HUH?! She explained that it looked like someone had inadvertently torn it off already. (Picture, if you will, me starting to have a nervous breakdown as the tears started to well up and I looked fearfully at Hubby.) She verified that Hubby’s ticket hadn’t been kidnapped (doesn’t that just figure!), and smiled at us reassuringly.

Taking our tickets in hand, she jogged over to the ticketing counter a few yards behind us. Meanwhile at the check-in counter, Hubby and I were contemplating my new Aussie life since I was about to be stuck in Brisbane for the foreseeable future. Good Lord, I was going to have to get a job!

Moments before I fainted, Aussie Lady returned to us. She explained that she had noted in the computer system what had happened with the missing ticket. All we needed to do was go to a ticketing agent in Brisbane before we left and they’d give us a new ticket voucher and we wouldn’t have any problems. She even wrote these instructions onto the ticket envelope so we wouldn’t forget.

The moral of this story is that we’re naming our first-born child after Aussie Lady (not that we know her name), and we love the Qantas staff in Cairns. Oh and the next time Hubby tries to leave me behind in a foreign country, he’s going make sure that there are no kind hearted Qantas staff on hand to bail me out.

Post Script: On our way home we had to fly through Syndey and bug the local Emirates staff there for boarding passes. A woman at the information counter saw we had no baggage (it had been checked through already courtesy of the ever wonderful Qantas staff) and called us over. Dealing simultaneously with us and three other sets of passengers she stayed calm and sweet to all of us. Not only that but she hooked us up with exit row seats giving the seats we were supposed to get to a rude couple that pushed in front of us.

Emirates staff in Sydney: we love you!

He Blogged. She Blogged.

Typ0: My desire to sleep in on Saturday was shot down by two things: the Australian sun and the completely useless venetian blinds hanging in the window of our bedroom. The damn things block out exactly zero sunlight which forced me awake somewhere around dawn. Which, I should point out, wouldn’t have been so bad except that the beach floodlights were on all night and illuminated my half of the room beautifully. I like my bedroom to be dark when I sleep – I know I’m such a freak. Arrrgh!

Hubby: Not like that quieted the snoring last night …

Typ0: Shortly after Hubby returned from registering for the conference (nice bag but way less cool than the one from Cairns), we restarted our debate about where to go for the day. Hubby, being a 12-year-old boy at heart, wanted to go to Wet and Wild Water World, the local water park. He kept referring to it as Monde D’eau and was determined that we not miss an opportunity to spend what was left of the day freezing our swimsuits off on the water slides. Admittedly, the park did advertise that all the water was warmed year ‘round and had at least one cool sounding laze around the lagoon type ride that sounded fun for lazy Typ0s.

Hubby: Monde D’eau! Monde D’eau!!

Typ0: Thank you for making my point for me, Sweetie.

After changing into the cute new swimsuits we bought back in Canada in June, we grabbed a beach towel, sunscreen, and money and headed out for Monde D’eau. As we neared the park, we were uncertain if it was even open because it looked virtually deserted. It turned out that the park was open; there simply weren’t a lot of people there since it was Australian winter and what not. The good news was that as we had killed half the day doing nothing, the park was due to close in a few hours so we got in for half price.

Hubby: Sweet!

Typ0: The bad news, however, was that the one ride I wanted to go on, the Lazy River, was closed for the winter. Further proof that God hates me. Yay. Other bad news for your out of shape Blogger B!tch was that every single waterslide was really high up and required that we walk up a zillion flights of stairs in order to enjoy the wet and wild fun.

Hubby: WEEeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Typ0: Despite the stairways from hell the slides themselves were wicked ass cool. Due to the slightly out of season date, not all of the rides were even open. But we made a point of going on every single one that was! Oh and on the good news front, there were literally no line-ups. Once you made up your mind to climb up to a slide there were no bratty or annoying kids standing in the way of your fun.

Hubby: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Typ0: Exactly. On several of the rides we found ourselves screaming with equal parts fear and glee as the rafts we were on turned so high along the slide walls we thought we were going to flip over.

Hubby: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

Typ0: For half price plus the locker fee we spent less than $50 AUD which was a really good deal. Both Hubby and I agreed that if we lived in the area, we would totally have a seasons pass so we could come frequently.

Hubby: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

FernGully: The Aussie Edition

On Thursday, whilst Hubby toiled the day away hard at work at the conference, I elected to go touristing. This meant making my way to the local rainforest and the tourist village of Kuranda. The forest has existed since long before Cairns became such a popular tourist Mecca. But that hasn’t stopped the locals from making it a modern marvel of fun and picture taking.

We drove from the hotel toward the undulating hills that border Cairns. Drawing ever nearer to our destination, I wondered in a rather Canuckian way if skiing would have possible had their been snow on the ground. I looked again at the hills and laughed at my whimsy ‘cause only a good slalom skier would have been able to negotiate around those thickly treed knolls.

There are three ways up the mountain to Kuranda – car, train or SkyRail. The latter is an ingenious gondola ride up and over the rainforest canopy. I had signed up to ascend on the SkyRail and come back on the train. A good idea I felt, as it would allow me to nap on the way home without fear of missing too much.

After a puzzling hour at the train station-ticketing counter, a group of us were shuttled to the SkyRail depot to begin our adventure. The smallish gondolas seat up to six people but the operators didn’t pack them up which allowed couples to ascend on their own. A sweet elderly couple (he from Tasmania or Tassie and she from Adelaide) saw that I was on my own and invited me to join them.

I learned during the first leg of the trip that the SkyRail had actually been privately built in the last decade or two. I forget exactly when but Tassie Guy claimed it was in the 80’s sometime. Or so he thought. Whoever did erect it did an amazing job. We climbed high and higher over the trees allowing us a bird’s eye view of both Cairns and the amazing eco-culture beneath us.

Unlike at Green Island the day before, Man and the local government (aka The Man) did interfere with the forest here to a certain degree. I spotted several trees that had been trimmed back to allow for the smooth passage of the SkyRail gondolas. Still others had inexplicably died into a beautiful silvery maze of braches.

The ride up to the town of Kuranda was done in three separate states and took a good 45 minutes to an hour. At each junction, we were able to disembark from our gondola to explore the rainforest firsthand along guided paths. At the second stop, we were also able to get some rather nice pictures of the 300-meter high Barron Falls. Sadly, since this was not the rainy season we didn’t get a terribly roaring falls to view but it was still very pretty. It brought to mind the rather picturesque one we saw in Mauritius at Christmas.

The nice couple opted not to join me for the final walk so I enjoyed a solitary ride up to Kuranda while sprawled across the gondola’s plastic seats.

Kuranda turned out to be a total tourist trap of a town – but in a good way. Small shops selling everything from boomerangs and didgeridoos (damn I love that word!) to magnets and opals dotted my path along the cobblestone streets. Eager tourists were flocking to these stores like bees to tchotchke heaven.

I was under strict instructions from the Aussie EC Crew™ not to buy anything. “No true Aussie would buy anything there,” I had been told rather sternly. I was one of the few people going home seemingly empty-handed. Yes, seemingly. I can hope that the Ladies will forgive me for, after an invigorating pint of cider I did buy a cute kanga-shaped magnet for the fridge. But nothing else - I swear!

A relaxing river cruise, Koala kidnapping… err… petting center, and butterfly sanctuary are all available once you arrive in Kuranda. I avoided the Koalas since I was due to visit a similar park in a few days with the Ladies. (*bounce*) All in all, I spent a rather relaxing day up there enjoying the typical and awesome Aussie hospitality. Plus, unlike the day before, I didn’t get seasick!

The ride down took a rather pleasant hour and a half, most of which I spent napping. I woke up long enough to see another waterfall and oogle a few Aussie tourists but that was it. I’ll say this for Cairns – everyone walks everywhere and it’s exhausting. I was more than ready for that fresh air nap as we headed back to town down the hills. I dreamt that I was a local Australian girl with my very own Koala for a pet and Kangaroo for transportation. *sigh*

Life is good mate!

PS with Irony: According to IMDB (the coolest place on the Internet), the rainforest depicted in the movie FernGully was actually based on rainforests here in Australia. Go fig!

Great Barrier Sea Sickness

Wednesday was the day Hubby and I were due to be bound for the Great Barrier Reef. The day dawned darkly; clouds loomed over Cairns in ominous warning of what was to come. The rain and wind soon took up battle for which would ruin everyone’s day the most. Although the rains had ceased by the time we lined up to board our boat to the Reef, the wind had yet to cede the competition.

Poetry about the nastiness of the day aside, I have come to a new conclusion that I need to share with you, my Dedicated Readers. I no longer hate airplanes. I loathe and detest boats. I hate the way they pitch from side to side: the waves battering the sides of the ship, the ever present wind whispering just loudly enough to mock any thought you may have had of your stomach settling down for so much as a minute. I’m nauseas again just typing this.

It was with great relief on the part of everyone but Sea Legs Hubby that the boat docked at Green Island. The small island was made by nature over the last eon or so and adopted by the Aussie government over the last few decades or so as an eco-tourist trap. This pit stop along the Outer Barrier was our afternoon destination.

Due to the frigid water and the freezing air temperatures, Hubby and I skipped the chance to snorkel with the tropical fishes and catch pneumonia. Instead, we hopped aboard a glass-bottomed boat to view the fish from the comfort of a dry, wooden bench. Due to the incredibly low tides we were unable to see all that many fish. The suckerfish; however, really seemed to like Hubby as it kept clinging to the glass under his sandaled feet.

Not wanting to miss out entirely on the ocean experience, Hubby and I then made our way over the beach where the snorkelers were wishing that they had joined us rather than opting for goggles and flippers. After shucking our shoes on the beach Hubby managed to get out almost to knee deep when he realized that my tender tootsies weren’t up to the task of traversing the coral-lined sand that edged the water. Luckily his sense of gallantry was not put to the test as the skies suddenly opened up and began spitting on us.

We wandered up toward the beach café and remained there only long enough to dry off and listen to an English woman flirt unsuccessfully with the Australian lifeguard who was lingering under the shelter.

This dreary day was, however, depressing Hubby so much that not even a plate of chips (fries) and gravy and a sausage roll could cheer him up. Seized by inspiration, and knowing that Hubby loves walking around somewhat aimlessly, I headed us in the direction of guided Eco-walk. [Hubby Edit: Please note that she did this only by accident] This wind-ridden tour took us around part of the island’s perimeter while we were told all sorts of cool factoids about the island and it came into being.

All of the flora and fauna on the island found its way there naturally. Whether they were seeds that floated there of their own accord or ones that arrived courtesy of one of the many birds (or rather, the bird’s digestive system) that called the Reef home, they all fought for space beneath the green canopy. Our guide explained that several plant varieties grew only during the monsoon season while others thrived during the drier weather.

The incredible variety of foliage the guide kept pointing out had me wishing that I had brought a notebook, or better yet, a waterproof tape recorder so that I could share his wisdom with you. One of tidbits I do remember is pretty cool, however, and has to with the coconut-like seeds that we kept seeing throughout our walk.

Although virtually inedible to humans, the Box Fruit is a useful thing to find when you’re starving on a deserted island. We were told that Aboriginals would use the unpalatable center of this seed to catch fish. They would spread it around in the shallow water where the fish swam and wait. The Box Fruit doesn’t kill the fish -- it simply and briefly de-oxygenates the water, stunning the fish temporarily. This allows the fisherdudes to select the victim they want, take it out of the water, and take it home to eat. The rest eventually shake off the effects and continue their daily swim. A perfect fish dinner without having to bait a hook. Cool, n’est ce pas?

With a half hour to kill before we had to reboard the Boat From Hell, we elected to mosey along the boardwalk that bordered the island. This turned into a curious adventure as Hubby decided that he was an eight year old and spent the entire time making car sounds (VROOM!) and racing along (VROOM!) instead of simply walking. This was fine except when he continued to do it in front of other people who were somewhat confused by his actions. But I couldn’t blame them really since I have been equally as confused by him for at least the last eleven or so years.

All in all, I wish our wonderful day at the Great Barrier Reef had never ended. But that has more to do with the bumpy ride back more than anything else…

G’Day Mate!

After the world’s longest series of flights, Hubby and I are now in Aussie-land™. Hubby has already made several comments regarding how much Cairns is just like California so you know he likes it. For myself? Well, it ain’t half bad at that.

The warm weather means that coats aren’t necessary except at night and even then only if you’re a Californian who can’t stand even the slightest cool breeze from the ocean. Our hotel isn’t the fanciest in town but it is quite centrally located, as we’re only a short walk from the Convention Center, waterfront and main shopping areas. My current plan is to investigate at least the latter today once this blog is posted and I’ve enjoyed some lunch.

Lest you think I’ve been goofing off and not enjoying all Australia has to offer I post this picture from an Australian Rugby game Hubby and I watched upon our arrival yesterday. No, that’s not porn – that’s an official Rugby League game photo. If they had fun stuff like this back home I’d watch way more sports!

Naked men running around Rugby fields. Bookstores filled with romance novels. Good looking Australian men being… good looking Australian men. I realize we’ve been here less than a day but I’m really starting to like this place!

Come Fly With Me

Time flies when you’re stuck in solitary confinement. Thankfully the parole board here at Kenya-traz™ has elected to let me off for good behavior. That’s right, my wonderfully Devoted Readers, even as you read this your favorite Blogger B!tch (aka ME!) will be on her way to Aussie-land™.

I realize that I’m about to spend the next 15 billion hours on an airplane but I don’t even care. (I’m sure that by the time I blog about the trip I will once again hate flying again but for now it sounds like lovely way to travel.) Sitting around for hours on end in an airport while I wait for the next flight? Not a problem because I won’t be sitting around doing nothing…

D'oh! Hold on. You guys talk amongst yourselves while I try not to cry at the thought of being stuck in airplanes and airports with even less to do than I do here in Nairobi. *sob* Ok, i'm back...

So here are some things that you can look forward to reading about either during or after my two-week long furlough to Australia. The current itinerary includes petting (and hopefully kidnapping) a Koala, meeting several wickedly cool EC-Friends, visiting wineries, annoying Hubby by learning to speak with an Aussie accent, swimming along the Great Barrier Reef, eating an Oz Burger with beetroot, and one or two other surprises that you’ll just have to wait read about! Oh yeah, and attending all of Hubby’s lecturing while paying attention and not reading or napping while he talks.

So sit tight, write some comments for me to read when I get back, and I’ll be blogging again before you know it! ‘Onya!!

I'm Here to Help

“Yes, Jean Luc, I will do anything for you and the Federation,” I whispered as the tall captain brushed his hand lightly over my hair. I smiled as I welcomed him into my cabin. “If we have to appear to be married to fool the Ferengi I’m willing to play my part.”

“But Jodi,” he cautioned, his sexy English accent floating over me in a wave that melted my insides. “They are watching us very closely. This is not simply an undercover mission that we can leave behind when we are behind these doors. They have spies everywhere. You must be willing to commit.”

“Anything, Captain. You know that.”

As if to test me, he leaned in and swept me into his arms, his soft lips only inches from my own. Suddenly a loud alarm starting buzzing and we flew apart, startled. “Is it the Ferengi, Jean Luc?”

He looked at me hungrily, “No, Lieutenant, it’s time to wake up.”

“Sweetie, turn the damn alarm off and get up,” my husband said groggily. But what happened to Jean Luc I wanted to cry. Stupid alarm clock I thought as I leaned over to squint at the glowing red numbers. Stupid six in the morning I whined as I turned the alarm off.

As I prepared to turn back over Matthew quickly sprawled himself all over my side of the bed. “Fine, I didn’t want to snuggle anyways,” I muttered as I began to waddle toward the bathroom. “What’s the date?” I called out.

“Damn it I don’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn everyday Jodi, you do!” I heard in response. I waited for him to wake up an inch or two more. “It’s Tuesday the 4th.”

I closed the door to the bathroom in response and hopped into what I hoped would be a steaming shower. Hot water on demand, you see, is the ultimate gift from the gods and it wasn’t one I was ever willing to ignore. As I stood beneath the pounding spray I did some quick calculations in my head. If today was the 4th then I would have earned another half day of sick leave which would bring my total unused sick leave to one full day which would mean that I could call out sick!

I squealed gleefully as I finished my morning absolutions and practiced my sick voice. “Hi, Leslie, I can’t come in today because,” I paused trying to think of an excuse I hadn’t used in the last six months. Then I smiled that wickedly evil smile that every naughty child knows. If I called in the next 20 minutes he wouldn’t be there and I could leave a voice mail and I wouldn’t need an excuse. Just a few well-placed coughs and an offer that if he wanted to, he could call me. The last part is key, you see, because bosses never call if you tell them to; because they think you’re being sincere and don’t want to disturb your rest. Some people excel at working; I excelled at not working.

Just as I was about to make the call and return to my wonderful dream-state Hubby called out again. “Babe? Yeah, it isn’t the 4th today. Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. Today is the 3rd. If it was the fourth I’d have to give that lecture to the incoming grad students.”

I had stopped listening by that point. Not the 4th? But that meant that I wouldn’t earn my extra half-day off until tomorrow, which meant that I couldn’t call out which meant that I had to work today! I hated my husband at that point. I planned ways to have him killed as I pulled my jeans on and stared at my closet for sweater inspiration.

“Wear the blue one. You look cute in it,” he mumbled from the bed. He had good taste so I couldn’t hate him entirely. Maybe I’d just hate those horrible suffragette women who wanted to be able to work way back when. Yeah, I’ll hate them.

After a quick hunt for my purse, keys and other essential items, I wandered into the bedroom and gave Matthew a quick kiss goodbye on his cheek. In a last ditch attempt to demonstrate that I held no ill will about his falsely advising me of the date I turned the coffee maker on and ignored the lunch bag sitting next to it. If I was going to be forced to work on what could have been a day off then I was at least going out to lunch. And with that I was out the door and on my way to hell.

You may think that I hate my job. I don’t, I just resent the time it takes away from watching TV and doing nothing. If the not working gods had been watching over me today, watching TV, fast food and doing nothing would all have been on the to do list. Instead I had to drive the twenty minutes to work and hope that I could find a parking spot within a 5-mile radius of the front door of the building.

If it weren’t for NPR I would hate my drive to work. Luckily listening to the news helps relax me and keep my mind off the doom that was looming closer as the miles disappeared beneath my lead foot. Some people listen to music in the car, but that always makes me car dance and when you live in a small college town where everyone knows you and your car that can be dangerous.

The drive ended the same way it always did: at the private building that housed my company’s local offices. The company’s headquarters were miles away in Texas but our local branch was home to almost 500 souls, most of whom were, I assume, as miserable as I was. The giant teddy bear logo next to the front door was the only hint that this Fortune 500 Company existed hidden behind the suburban maze of side streets in this nondescript mid-western town. But that was the way that we liked it: we didn’t want people to find us.

We aren’t the CIA or the FBI: we’re way more important than that. We are the anonymous voices that you yell at without fear of retribution. We are the faceless geniuses who fix the problems that you claim we caused in the first place. We are Customer Service and we may not rule your world but we’ll keep you on hold for five minutes for the privilege of fixing it for you.

Harry Potter

I’m not sure if you realized this or not, but today is Mr. Harry Potter’s birthday. That’s right, the Boy Who Lived was born on this late July day several years ago. It is no small coincidence that today is also Ms. JK Rowling’s birthday; so happy birthday to you too, Jo!

I’m guessing that many of you Devoted Readers know that I’m slightly enamored of the Harry Potter books. After all, I stayed up for the midnight releases of the last two books and have read the entire series more than once. (Which, for true fans, isn’t actually all that much!) I count the fact that the most recent Potter movie was released on the same day in India as the Real World one of the best moments of our time in India. And I include the film release of OOTP (that’s “Order of the Phoenix” for you non-fans) and the rumored simultaneous release of book seven next July, when we will be in the Real World and not in Kenya-traz, to be one of the best things about Home Leave.

In the mean time, while we await these great moments, we have a year to ponder what will happen in the next book (Will Harry die?), and what won’t happen in the next book (Who won’t die?). People from all over the world debate these and other questions at all hours of the day and night.

Which leads us to a question that was recently raised, “What will happen once we know?” What on earth are we going to do with ourselves during all those hours we once devoted to 'shipping Harry and Ginny once we know that lived more or less happily ever after?

Fanfic is always an answer of course. And while I’m no good at writing it I certainly enjoy reading it, which makes fanfic only half an answer for me. I could, of course, get a job or a hobby to replace Harry… But that seems rather drastic to me.

Hubby keeps suggesting that I start writing seriously: like write a book as opposed to this trove of witticisms I call a Blog. I am after all related to a fabulous published author! (Go Mum!) You know, Nairobi Typ0, Published Author doesn’t sound entirely bad (if slightly conceited, perhaps).

So what do you think, Dearest Readers, would you read a book if I wrote it and promised not to mention Becker even once in its pages? What would or should I even write about? Hubby mentioned my longtime desire to write the Great Canadian Novel or, more likely, at least a romance novel.

Maybe someday…

Once upon a time there was a Canuckian girl who met a Yankee boy on the Internet...

The Need for Speed

The best of the boys on the Formula One circuit have nothing on my family. I have distinctly amusing memories of the first time Hubby sat in the passenger seat with my Dad driving as they sped along at the Bayview extension during rush hour. I’m not sure what the actual speed limit is on this patch of road and, more to the point, neither does my lead-footed father.

Although I’ve only driven with BBS once or twice, I was a frequent passenger in my other brother’s car. BBA was always famous, at least in my mind, for driving like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were after him. Of course, I think part of that was just to see how crazily he could drive before I finally broke down. I’m proud to say I never did.

I, myself was once cruelly pulled over on my to work at Company C doing 40 or 45ish miles over the limit. But it certainly wasn’t my fault! If they didn’t want people to speed why would they make the road delightfully flat and straight? I still think the ticket was bogus because the cop… err... kind officer, was coming in other direction when he spun around to pull me over. If I had cried, do you think they would have waived the $100+ ticket? I was only going fast because I was driving my friend Lady C to work and I didn’t want her to be late. (Did anyone buy that excuse? Yeah, well neither did the mean ticket giving cop!)

This, of course, brings us to Mother Dearest (aka Merthyr). Shortly before Hubby and I got married, Mum drove me to work in our old station wagon: the GrizMobile. The Griz was a 10+-year-old rusting car with an engine that purred more sweetly the faster you drove. Well, there we were on the 401 when we saw the flashing lights behind us. The officer that pulled us over simply couldn’t believe that the Griz was the one he clocked at 140 km/h that he let us go without a ticket.

But in June of 2005, this desire to go fast finally caught up with my poor mother. Not wanting to pay the horrible and probably *mostly* unjust ticket my mother opted to fight The Man. This of course took over a year - her court date was yesterday.

Now, I have not been made privy to exactly how fast Madame Speed was going but what I do know is that in spite of the fact that officer managed to show up *just* in time (D’oh!), the judge waived all the points and over $100 and she still had a bill to pay. Go Mum!!

The moral of this fable of the Typ0 clan is this: Driving fast is fun. Driving quickly is exhilarating. Just, please whatever you do, remember not to get caught next time!

Rant of the Moment

How the heck can it still be July!? I swear to Chocolate that it has been July for the last 9 or 10 weeks at the very least. I am sick of July! I am sick of being stuck here in Prison. And who ever heard of it being cold in July? July is the universally translatable word for summer and warmth. Evidently Kenya didn’t get the memo. All the more reason I want it to be August!

August 1st will mean that Hubby and I will be imminently stepping off Kenyan soil for our jaunt to Australia. Yay! It also means that we can officially start the countdown to the most important day of the year: My Birthday! The dawning of August will, almost as importantly, mean that it is no longer the never ending, tediously long month of July.

Oh, and before i forget; do you know what’s worse than waking up to discover that July isn’t over yet? It’s waking up to discover that it isn’t even Friday yet! *sob* I thought it was Friday today and I’m very pouty about the lack of Friday-ness to this Thursday.

Thursday means that we’re having leftovers for lunch again. Thursday means that we’re not escaping from Kenya-traz for at least another full day. Thursday means… Deep down it means that it isn’t Friday, which means that the weekend is not just around the corner which means that life sucks.

So what was the rant of the moment? That time and life are moving too slowly for me right now. I’m ready for my trip to Australia and, more significantly, I’m just plain sick of July.

Now who’s with me? Are you ready to join me in boycotting the rest of the July?! The remaining days will simply be referred to as Pre-August. And for the what's left of today: it will no longer be yucky, false advertising Thursday, it will hereby known as Pre-Friday!

Let’s hear it for end the July as we know it and mark today, Pre-Friday, as the first official day of Pre-August!

My Obsession

It has been suggested in the past that I have a teeny, tiny adoration, love, and all consuming passion for that center of any good living room: television. (The center of any good universe, in case you were wondering Devoted Reader, is Me.) I have never understood where people get this idea that I’m fixated on television. I mean, just because I named the TV we had in Illinois, and just because I cried sweet but silent tears of joy when we unpacked our new television back in Delhi doesn’t mean that I have a problem.

Doesn’t everyone spend hours on end planning what to watch on TV, watching TV and then thinking about what they watched? No? Oh… Well, I’m sure you’re lying so that I don’t bug you for Project Runway updates.

Knowing that you are all as consumed with my television habits as I am (just pretend here for me, please), I thought I’d fill you in on Prison TV. I make a point of calling it that, as despite the dearth of show selection I get here on Campus I have been promised on all that is chocolate that it will be that much better once we’re on the Outside. Please God!

Anyways, although we were TV-less at Number Four, we were blessed with the world’s smallest television set here in the hostel. Hubby, in a rare moment of blog inspired charity, wanted to note that most of the commercials that appear on our miniature television, unlike in India, are actually in English. The remainder of the adverts are in Swahili, which was not an elective when I was in High School. Dang it!

On the plus side, we do get about 12 different channels. Of course one of those shows the 700 Club 22 hours a day, two of them keep showing news all day long (Hubby told me that they’re called CNN and BBC), and one of them shows sports all day. Which doesn’t really leave a girl all with all that much in the way of choice.

Daytime TV is beyond dreadful. We used to complain in Delhi that daytime TV consisted of last night’s shows and Oprah. Oh my dear lord how I long for those days. Here it’s rap videos, news or, if I’ve been a very good Blogger Bitch, I can cross my fingers and hope there’s a good movie on. (No such luck today – I’m currently being forced to ensure the dreadfulness that is Elektra.)

While the days suck, prime time viewing isn’t half bad. Last night we took in The Practice and an episode from the most recent season of Scrubs preceded that. Ok so it’s still old TV, but at least so far they’re episodes we haven’t seen yet.

Best of all, thus far I haven’t seen so much as a single ad for Becker!

HELP!!!!

There's a bug in the sink and it's big and scary and probably wants to kill me! I swear on all that is chocolate that I am not exaggerating this all that much: it was huge, evil looking, and scary!

I decided to be a good Typ0, earlier this afternoon and do the dishes before Hubby got home. So I wandered over to the kitchen area (about 4 feet from the living area and 2 feet from the bed), and I picked up the sponge on the side of the sink. That’s when I saw It: the evil, giant bug.

I squeaked my fear quietly, knowing that any sound from me would only bring out the Bug’s friends for a large-scale attack. I immediately threw the sponge into the sink and turned on the water hoping to drown it. (Hot water wasn't working again so I wasn't going to be able to scald it.)

Do you know what happened?!

The damn evil demon could swim! What kind of hellish, spawn of Satan bug can swim? But there he was, valiantly proving that I couldn’t drown his evil, yucky bugish hide. He started wandering all over the sponge trying to avoid the direct stream of the tap.

In an attempt to prove that I am smarter than the average bear, I turned on the water even harder. The gang from Starship Troopers would have been proud: he ended up slipping further into the sink...

Which brings about another problem: he's probably still there. Waiting for me. Hoping to extract his revenge by killing me!

So now I’m sitting on the opposite side the room shooting the sink furtive glances and hoping against hope that the bug stays there. The dirty dishes certainly will.

I am Not a Drunk?

Back in our early months in Delhi Hubby and I used to occasionally go to a bar called Punjabi by Nature in Basant Lok. We weren’t there so often that we could be mistaken for Norm of Cheers fame, but one or three times a month, we could be found on the 2nd floor of Punjabi enjoying a couple of mint chutney dusted papad and a drink or two. It wasn’t the best bar in town, but it did have a really good happy hour: two for the price of one until 8 o’clock. And they let you place drink orders at 7:59 to get you through the night. They were good people.

Some of you may remember that back in December I blogged about the odd thing that happened in early in the month when Hubby and I stopped in with our friend the Prez. As we wandered off the elevator and toward our usual bar of comfy couches, the waiter came up and greeted us warmly. He then offered to bring me my usual, “Sex on the Beach for Madame?” I honestly didn’t think we were there that much.

Fast-forward several months. Letter and the Duke (who are now cutely and happily engaged!) have introduced us to The Vodka Bar, Aura. Our first trip there, Letter and I discovered the yummiest drink known to man: the Pink Cucumber. Or, as we liked to call it, The Spa Drink. They swore there was alcohol in there but I’m not sure I ever believed them.

Again, we weren’t there so often that we had names engraved in a table but Hubby and I had been known to wander over the bar and have a couple of drinks and dim sum followed by dinner at the Chinese restaurant in the same hotel. A yummy way to spend an evening any way you slice it.

About a month or so before we left, the Delhi Gang (Hubby and I, Letter, Duke, Jewels, the Baronet, the Prez, Birdie, and a few others) found ourselves the Vodka Bar for reasons that I’m certain were along the lines of “it’s a Thursday.” Anyways, Hubby and I were, oddly enough, not the first to arrive for a change and as we sat down the waiter handed Hubby a drink menu and then turned to me, “A Pink Cucumber again Madame?’ Ok, so that is the drink I wanted. But that was hardly the point! I wasn’t there so much that they should know my drink. Was I?

It was a little known fact amongst our friends in Delhi that Hubby and I developed a taste for Sunday brunch around February of this year. See, what you, my Dearest Friends and Devoted Readers, may not have been cognizant of was that we loved sneaking off around 12:30ish on a Sunday and heading off to one of the 5-stars for the All You Can Drink Champagne brunch. We would then eat, drink, and them come home to pass-out content in the knowledge that we had used our weekend time well. You did know? And here I thought our Sunday binges were such a well-kept secret.

Our favorite of these, and honestly the best deal in town, was the brunch at the Metropolitan Niko: all you can eat sushi and tempura with not half bad sparkling wine thrown in for a mere 1500 Rupees. (If you didn’t want to drink it was 1300Rps. So why not drink?!) We even took BBS there when honored us with a visit in April. Good times.

Our final visit there, Jewels and her Hubby, the Baronet, joined us in one of the private dining rooms. As we seated ourselves the waiter saw us and smiled. He then brought over the ice filled wine bucket and opened a bottle of bubbly for us. It was like he knew. When we questioned him on it he said he remembered because whenever we were there we always the first in our group and always wanted to start drinking when we arrived. Oh. Well in that case…

Which brings us to last night here in Nairobi. The Prison Campus is full serve: tennis courts, a swimming pool… a bar. While I’ve passed by the first two on my way the canteen for lunch, I’ve actually visited the latter on purpose. Go figure, huh? Now, Hubby and I aren’t there everyday. Every Friday they have a BBQ night and we’ll maybe show up one other time during the week just to make sure that the bartender is doing his job. Turns out he is.

As Hubby and I walked into the Bar last night, Patrick smiled and waved. I then claimed seats for us while Hubby went to place our order. As luck would have it, he needn’t have bothered: sitting on the bar top were two glasses and a bottle of Black Ice for me, and Tusker for Hubby. Patrick remembered our drinks. I rationalized it by assuming that the campus isn’t really that big and that Patrick has a really good memory.

So what’s the deal? Am I drunk? Or am I just so wonderful and memorable that waiters all over the world recognize me after only one or two visits? (Please let it be number two!)

Scenic Prisons of the African East

I realize that some of you (*cough* Mum *cough*) feel that I’ve been a bit of a hater about Kenya and our life here. While I’m not admitting to total Hater status (that right is reserved for Hubby), I do realize that I haven’t shared a lot of the nicer aspects of the prison… err… campus on which we now temporarily live. It really is quite a pretty place to be stuck, if the truth were to be known.

Take for example the exquisite and lushly landscaped grounds. I could honestly show you a hundred photos and still not cover all the wildlife, flora and fauna to be found. Everything from trees, flowers and even cacti are used lavishly throughout the grounds. Our neighbors across the scary fences get cool landscaping benefits from living next door to the Campus too.

Isn't this the coolest tree?!

Doesn’t this plant look like it’s about to attack someone? I mean if Poison Ivy were around, she’d love this thing and make it the center of her evil plant family. Maybe use it to maim innocent by-standers who tried to hurt her precious vegetation. (Ahh, the great joining of super villains, their modus operandi and random blogging. What could be better?!)

Heck even some of the architecture isn’t bad. Archways and window frames sheltered by local greenery are the rather pretty and scenic norm. Many of the buildings almost seem to have been designed to fit into the hilly scenery rather than the other way around. The whole effect is really rather easy on the eyes.

Well that’s not entirely true. The campus is picturesque as long as you avoid the Crayola orange brilliance of the Potato People’s building. Potato People, BTW, are like Pod People but more potatoe-y. Oh, and they have their own PP research center here on the campus.

Ok now for my favorite part! (Dad, you’re going to love this when you come visit.) We have these giant birds that hang out around the back of the campus. I’m positive that they’re somehow related to carrion birds like the vulture. Their wingspan is simply amazing. And if you get up close enough, you can hear their freakishly weird almost Moo-like song.

See! Not everything about Maximum Security Prison Nairobi is bad. Hubby and I take nice leisurely walks around the campus and are now enjoying the outdoors-loving side of us we never knew existed. It almost makes us want to get plants and greenery for our as yet unselected apartment.

Don’t worry, gardening Devoted Readers, we likely won’t actually do it. After all, my black thumb has killed one too many plants… Although a new country, a new beginning. A new string a dead…err… alive and kicking plants?

PS: Do any of you know what type of bird this actually is? Really Big Mooing Bird just doesn't sound quite scientific to me.

And the Heat Goes On…

As I type this, my taste buds are still attempting to recover from this evening’s See-Through-Time taco dinner. Don’t get me wrong, what I was able to eat of it was tres yummy, but dang did somebody who shall remain nameless (Hubby!) spice that stuff up to nuclear levels. Using local ingredients is all well and good, but next taco night, I’d like to be able to taste something beyond the heat of 9-alarm fire.

Which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy it, because I did. Heck, with only one exception, we never had good Mexican food in Delhi so this is quite a nice treat. Here were able to buy tortillas, sour cream and even create what may well have been a yummy meat filling. (What little was left my taste buds after dinner couldn’t recall any distinct flavor past ACK SPICY!)

Tomorrow night’s dinner of pasta with fennel and salami will be heavy on the flavor-meter and, in deference to my battered buds, light on the heat factor. And, maybe if I'm feeling generous a good bottle of wine will be opened to mark the occassion... for flavour purposes only to be sure. Slainte!

PS: Can you believe that I’m actually blogging about cooking rather than take out? Me neither!

Mosquito Redux

It is well onto the middle of the night and at the corner of my mind where consciousness and dreams collide I hear it. Bzzzzzz. Even half asleep I know the Evil that sounds heralds. Bzzzzzz. I shoot straight up and start waiving my arms like a mad woman. The noise dissipates and while I know I haven’t killed the Evil, I lay my head back on the unfluffy pillow content in the knowledge that I have conquered it at least for this one sleepy evening.

Bzzzzz. God dammit! Didn’t you read the previous paragraph? I was supposed to conquer you!? *sob* Go away!!

That’s right the mosquitoes are back. Evidently their relatives in Delhi emailed them to tell them I was on my way; evil little buggers! I hate mosquitoes. I realize that I’ve said I hate a lot of things of late but this time I mean it most sincerely. They are Evil. I’m pretty sure that Satan keeps them as pets and dotes on them the way some people lavish love upon their dogs. Evil I tell you.

“Do you hear that buzzing noise?” I wake my sleeping husband up to query. After a glare I can feel even through the darkness of the night he mutters that he heard nothing and I should get back to sleep. Fine! Be that way! The rational part of my mind points out that it was my sleep-deprived decision not to sleep under the mosquito net tonight. “But they make me claustrophobic,” I counter.

Bzzzzzz. ARGH! I pull the mosquito net safely around my prone form and laugh silently and manically at the buzzing going on outside of my safety net. “Tell your Master that tonight’s dinner is cancelled!” I crow to what I’m sure is a now defeated Evil Minion.

“Hey, sweetie,” I hear Hubby whisper. “I hear that buzzing now.”

Evil cronies of Satan they may be. And Hubby may have been their second or third choice of meal. But knowing that the Evil Ones too woke him too? That my dears, is truly priceless.

A Different Kind of Homesick

You know what I miss most about living in the Midwest? My friends there. The same thing goes for Delhi. That’s really what makes a place feel like home, after all.

Take today for example. Normally a Friday during the year in Delhi would mean a visit up for knitting group, or Twisted Threads as everyone insists on calling it. (Just because I’m the only knitter amongst a gaggle of Needle Pointing Ladies doesn’t mean that I’m not right!) I’d wake up early with Hubby and drive to meet MK at her house and we would share the one-hour ride to Gurgaon where all the Ladies live. For two hours we would sit and gossip (about everything from Doctor Pepper and Queen E’s friend Pedro, to making fun of a certain Delhi Typ0 and her tendency to drink), sit and eat, and sit and maybe or maybe not work on our crafts. Then MK and I would head off back into the city to eat lunch, maybe do some grocery shopping and then back home. If I was feeling particularly industrious I’d maybe even meet Kiwi for a coffee and a look at her bump (aka Little Kiwi). (Although I still think that Typ0 would be an excellent name for the baby!)

Later that evening, Hubby would come up and we’d debate about what we didn’t want to eat for dinner. Then we’d head off to the bar of choice, which had lately been Aura (aka The Vodka Bar), for some drinks with the gang. Dinner would follow soon after for reasons having as much to do with sobering up as being hungry. Life and friendships were good. Life was good because we had cool ass people to hang out with.

The same was true back in Illinois. I’d get to work and toil for hours on end (stop laughing, guys!), con someone into thinking they wanted to go to Casa for lunch. Then we’d work a little, chat a little, gossip a lot… I miss that. I miss you guys. (BTW, Yahoo ate my address book so email me, guys, and I promise not to take a year to email back!) Chatting about work, goals…

That’s the other thing I’ve been missing about Illinois: work. I used to love getting to work, seeing what new thing there was to do, complaining about the new thing there was to do… Figuring out the perfect training schedule, putting it in everyone’s calendar only to be told that the days were changing and my work was for naught. Freak I am, I really enjoyed that stuff. Keeping in touch with the lives of everyone in that building kept me busy. It kept me sane. Sane-ish?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying my life as an expat wife but every so often a girl needs to know that she’s the one with the answer to the riddle that no one else can answer, and that she has a purpose. I can’t even imagine how much that place has changed in the year since I’ve been gone, but a small part of me wishes that I could have been part of those changes. And an even bigger part of the lives of the people in that building.

Moving Stinks

You may not realize this, but I lived in the same house all the time I was growing up. We never moved from that perfect house and, in fact, my parents still live there. I enjoyed not moving, not having to make new friends and not packing and unpacking. I enjoyed knowing my community, the bus schedule and everything around me could be counted on for at least some degree of sameness. Know why? It’s because, as I have learned in the last 8 or 9 years, I loathe moving.

Do you realize that Hubby and I have lived in three different countries in the last 12 months? Heck skip countries, they’ve also been in three different continents! Were we to expand that slightly to 14 months we could say that we had lived in 4 different homes in that time. Not to mention all the temporary hotels and other dives (IIC) we’ve been sequestered in, in DC, Delhi, and now Nairobi. Allow me to break down the last two months for you…

In June we packed our suitcases and said goodbye forever to our home in Golflinks and headed over to the Duke’s flat in Jor Bagh for two days. We then repacked our cases and headed over to the Oberoi (sweet!) for 3 days before we winged it home to the Real World. During that two-week sojourn we spent delightful suitcase time in both Toronto and Illinois before heading out to Kenya. Now in Nairobi, we spent two and half weeks in House Number Four and then yesterday we were moved into the Hostel for the remainder of our stay. Hopefully in a few weeks we will be moving again but this time into our shiny new apartment.

Let’s recap the number of places we’ve stayed, shall we? In just seven days in June we racked three separate Indian domiciles, followed by two Real World ones and, so far, two Kenyan ones. That’s seven homes in less than two months. Rumor has it they may even try to move us to another room yet again. Do the words over my (insert several four letter words) dead body mean anything to these people?!

One more recap for the road, shall we? I hate moving. I hate living out of suitcases. (Please note: There is one exception to this rule: I will not mind flying to, or living out suitcases for our vacation in Australia!) Where was I? Oh yeah... We still don’t have an apartment to live in. Our status has not yet been changed so our things that didn’t fit into suitcases are melting in storage in India. Oh, and if I have to write a blog in 8 or 10 month’s time about how we’re moving to a new country again: Hubby will… I don’t want to make threats but let’s just say that it won’t be pretty.

Did I ever think I loved the life of the ever travelling expat wife? Well... maybe just a little.

Twisted Typ0

I realize that many of you have known what I’m about to say for ages and then some; however, it has only just occurred to me how truly sick and twisted I really am. No, you freaks not in the evil, yucky way that defines a truly twisted soul. More in the “I really need to stop being such a hater and finding humor in the wrong things” kind of way.

Case in point: I was perusing a new blog I found recently and the subject of book reviews came up. Well, you can’t very well talk about book reviews and not discuss Amazon and all the reviewing that goes on there. (Before I get to the meat of the story allow me to interject that, as my Devoted Readers you know that I use, read and shop on Amazon for both wishfully and practically. Thus I am not one to randomly dis the randomness of reviews found there so any humor I may find there is pure and not overly twisted… I think.)

Anyways… The person I was talking to via the oft-unused-around-here Comment feature (hint, hint, hint), told me a funny Amazon story. According to her, a few years ago Amazon accidentally hiccupped and showed the real names of people who wrote reviews. This would be their real names as opposed to the their cool Cyber Nairobi Typ0 type names. What was revealed was that family members of “rival” authors had done several very negative reviews and several good reviews had been done by the author’s family themselves.

I’m almost positive that I was supposed to be outraged by the horrors of having family members write reviews to pump up sales but all I could think was, “Good ‘onya!” Growing up your mother has to say you’re pretty even when you’re not. But doesn’t it make you feel a little bit better when she does? And your husband has to say that your fat butt looks good in those jeans that haven’t fit for 6 months. But it makes you love him, and yourself, all the more when he does.

The flip side of my hilarity was the Rival Family angle. Ok, this is totally wrong but so funny I’m actually giggling as I type. It’s so high school to think that these wonderful and published authors have the Head Cheerleader of from their school out on a whispering campaign to ‘dis some other random author who beat them up at recess once and is now pillaging their potential sales. (Please forgive my total mixing of metaphors there.)

“My son’s book is better!” “No my daughter’s book is perfect and even more better!” “No mine!” “No mine!” Please, let’s grow up or at least remember to use better fake names in the future.

To further my amusement at the cost of only me, I looked up reviews of your favorite blog (this one, silly!) online only to find that these horrible Rival Families were after me too!

Review by Nair Obi:
“You do not want to read Delhi Typ0’s blog. She’s a no talent hack who disses India up one way and down the other! If you want to read about the real beauty of India check out Nairobi Typ0’s blog. She’s got talent oozing out her tanned little pores.”

Review by Del Hi:
“I recently read Nairobi's blog on the subject of obtaining a maid (and keeping her) while in New Delhi. I must say that this woman’s erratic writing style and inexcusable misspellings make her prose virtually unreadable. This, of course, is to say nothing of the fact that she should quit her day job and try doing the housework herself if keeping a maid is difficult. I found her writing pedantic when compared to the unerring good taste and brilliance of Delhi Typ0’s blog which I recommend to anyone who wishes to view an honest and forthright vision of the wonders of India.”

If any of you know where I can find Mr. Obi please tell me so that I can find out why they are going around being mean to my friend Delhi Typ0. But then Delhi Typ0 is such a great, wonderful, talented, and incredibly modest blogger.… As I’m sure you’d all agree. :p

Good Luck!

Good luck to the gang at Illinois who are taking The Test today.

I know you'll all do well!!!

Remember the Core Rule:

Post exam beers at Murphy's.

And

Absolutely NO hashing out or talking about the exam at Murphy's!!

Fun Travel Time

About a month or so ago, I mentioned that we would be having some cool travel blogs upcoming… And then I never told you the details. Those of you not in the know, probably thought that our exotic trips to Middle America and Canada were the special trips I hinted at. Nope not even close!! It’s not even a blog based on Hubby’s current locale of London, England. (Pip pip and all that!) But I doubt he’ll remember his blogging duties after such a short jaunt across the continents.

The truth of the matter is that we’re about to Wander the World again!

I went today to pay for my half of the ticket to our next cool destination: Australia! While Hubby has been to the land of Kangaroos before I haven’t which means that I get a new continent and a new country. Yay! Watch out for the cool travel blogs from down under in early August.

Currently on the list of stops are a wine tour (shocking, huh?), a wicked cool meet up with the gals from ecfans.com, hopefully a tour of the Great Barrier Reef, and time in the Dubai airport duty free on the way home (can you say McDonalds?!), and tonnes more. I wonder if I can adopt a Koala to take home as a snuggle pet while we’re there? Obstinately, this is a business trip for Hubby and he will have to work for part of the time but I intend to keep that silliness to a bare minimum so that the rest of the time we can enjoy ourselves in Cairns, Brisbane and Goldcoast.

For those of you Devoted Readers who know the long, sad tale of Singapore I have news on that front: we’re not going… again. ARRGH! Someday, maybe when I’m 80, I’ll get to see the sunny shores of that paradise known as the anti-Delhi, but not this trip. Come on, how many of us actually thought it would happen? Ok, I may have hoped a little… *shrug* I suppose I shouldn’t complain, at least we’re not flying on Kenyan so I don’t have to go via Oman.

Any suggestions of what we should see or do while we’re there? Hot shopping spots? Good bookstores (I am so low on romances it’s sick!) or yarn shoppes? Tourist meccas we shouldn’t miss out on? Dish the scoop on Oz and help make your future blog reading more fun. (Or something like that.)

World Cup: Italy Wins!

Italy wins in penalty shoot out!

Viva Italia!!

World Cup Mania

Yes, my beloved Devoted Readers, it is that time again: World Cup Soccer Time. (I’m not sure how it works in relation to Hammer Time or Emmy Time but it’s up there in coolness at least once every few years.) Even I, who frown upon all sports unless watched under an Olympic flag, have the fever.

As my buddies the Walrus and Carpenter once told me, “The time has come.” No, not to discuss cabbages and kings, but to decide upon something far more important: where are you putting your World Cup Wandering the World Dollars?

Are you rooting “Ole!” all the way to the bank for ITALY?


Or are you sipping wine and nibbling on cheese in support of FRANCE?

State your preference now so that on Monday I can blog who were the smart ones who went with me to ITALY and who were the poor silly naïve children who thought France would pull it off.

It's Emmy Time

Emmy Time: Like Hammer Time…. But Better!

This afternoon, or this morning depending upon your home in this world, the Emmy people announced the nominees for this years Emmy honors. I think it safe to say that not having seen more than 10 hours (if that) of American television programming during the 2005-2006 season I am as equally qualified to denounce the nominees and pick the early winners as the people who chose them in the first place. Keep in mind that they changed the whole voting process in order to make the system fairer for smaller shows and networks. We’ll see…

Thus here is a list of the nominees, along with a few random comments from your favorite Nairobi Typ0. As long as Lauren Graham got nominated and “Becker” didn’t, it should be ok. I hope!

DRAMA SERIES
Grey's Anatomy
House
The Sopranos
24
The West Wing

I love the West Wing as much as the next girl and based on the numerous articles I’ve read at EW over the past year, it improved a lot this season but I’m not voting for my favorite Prez in this category, I’m afraid. Sopranos and 24 are also out because… well… I don’t like them. Sorry. House turned out to be a really cool show, once I got to see last year’s eps earlier this season in Delhi. Grey’s Anatomy is also an awesome show (and Hubby is in love with Izzy), which I actually caught last year when it first premiered.

So here is the battle: Grey’s vs. House. House is cool but Grey is getting the press.

Should Win: House
Will Win: Grey’s Anatomy

ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES
Peter Krause, Six Feet Under
Denis Leary, Rescue Me
Christopher Meloni, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Martin Sheen, The West Wing
Kiefer Sutherland, 24

Ok first for the ones that we’re discarding because I simply don’t like them: so long Kiefer and Peter. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice boys but they don’t deserve to win (since I never watch their shows). Denis is funny. Period. I realize that this is a drama series but still, the dude is actually semi-cool. Chris stars as my least fave character on one of my fave shows: SVU. That leaves us with Martin whose show is now off the air (sympathy vote here from old time academy members) and who really was an awesome pretend president for a few years.

The Battle: Sheen Sr. has no more show, Meloni’s character is annoying but his show rules, and Leary is Irish, funny and he does some good work and doesn’t hang around to get the credit.

Should Win: Christopher Meloni
Will Win: Martin Sheen

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A DRAMA SERIES
Alan Alda, The West Wing
Michael Imperioli, The Sopranos
Gregory Itzin, 24
Oliver Platt, Huff
William Shatner, Boston Legal

This one could be a toughy: I don’t watch any of these shows other than West Wing, and I really like Oliver Platt as an actor. Oh, and Shatner, other than being a Canuck, is a putz.

Should Win: Oliver Platt
Will Win: Alan Alda

ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES
Frances Conroy, Six Feet Under
Geena Davis, Commander in Chief
Mariska Hargitay, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Allison Janney, The West Wing
Kyra Sedgwick, The Closer

We are once again faced with several shows I simply don’t watch (Closer, Six Feet), and people I don’t groove (Geena). Since my Head Cheerleader Mentality has narrowed the field for us, Devoted TV Watcher and Reader, that leaves us with Allison, who was always good on the Wing, and Mariska who is tres, tres cool and, again, on one of the greatest shows on TV: SVU.

Should Win: Mariska Hargitay
Will Win: Allison Janney

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA SERIES
Candice Bergen, Boston Legal
Blythe Danner, Huff
Sandra Oh, Grey's Anatomy
Jean Smart, 24
Chandra Wilson, Grey's Anatomy

Finally an easy peasy one! Murphy Brown is cool but her current show bites. Blythe gave life to that no talent Oscar winner Gwyneth, and… well… it’s Jean Smart. Ugg! So basically we’re left with Sandra (Canuck!) and Chandra (not a Canuck!).

Should Win: Sandra Oh
Will Win: Sandra Oh

PAUSE: Where were the nominations for Gilmore Girls?!!!! Ok, you’re right, I should calm down. They think that Desperate Housewives is a comedy maybe they did the same for my Girls. Deep Breath and….

COMEDY SERIES
Arrested Development
Curb Your Enthusiasm
The Office
Scrubs
Two and a Half Men

They left out Gilmore Girls!!! This is… well, given the state of the world today it isn’t a travesty or the end of the world but is really damn sucky! They nominated a Two and Half Men and not Gilmore Girls?! What the heck drugs are these Emmy voters on? Needless to say that GG should have been nominated and won. Period.

With what we have left….

Should Win: Arrested Development
Will Win: Scrubs

ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES
Steve Carell, The Office
Larry David, Curb Your Enthusiasm
Kevin James, The King of Queens
Tony Shalhoub, Monk
Charlie Sheen, Two and a Half Men

I can’t even pick since I either don’t watch or don’t like any of the shows nominated. Charlie Sheen had better not win or… well he just better hadn’t! They guys over at EW will be fuming over Kevin's nomination and how to properly scewer they’ve favorite whipping boy. Hubby hates the show Monk and Steve's acceptance speech at the Globes was funny. Therefore…

Should Win: Steve Carell
Will Win: Tony Shalhoub

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A COMEDY SERIES
Will Arnett, Arrested Development
Bryan Cranston, Malcolm in the Middle
Jon Cryer, Two and a Half Men
Sean Hayes, Will & Grace
Jeremy Piven, Entourage

Sean had his day and now his show has been cancelled so he needs to move on. Jeremy is cute and I loved his show Cupid when it was on. But basically there is one winner here: anybody who starred in Arrested Development; a great and awesome show that should never, ever have been cancelled.

Should Win: Will Arnett
Will Win: Sean Hayes

ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES
Stockard Channing, Out of Practice
Jane Kaczmarek, Malcolm in the Middle
Lisa Kudrow, The Comeback
Julia Louis-Dreyfus, The New Adventures of Old Christine
Debra Messing, Will & Grace

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A COMEDY SERIES
Cheryl Hines, Curb Your Enthusiasm
Megan Mullally, Will & Grace
Elizabeth Perkins, Weeds
Jaime Pressly, My Name Is Earl
Alfre Woodard, Desperate Housewives

Do I even to mention that they snubbed my girl, Lauren? I take back what I said earlier, this may, in fact actually be a travesty. Since I don’t watch most of these shows I have decided to eliminate all of the actress categories. Sorry, Alfre (for what they did to your part in Housewives and for taking this win from you) but there will be no statuettes for women in comedy if they’re going to 'dis Gilmore Girls!

It’s getting late and I still have more hating left in me about these nominations. I’d share with Hubby but he could care less. So please share your thoughts and hate-er-ate along with me.

Happy Birthday!

Happy B-Day BBS!
You are now well on your way
to being officially
O-L-D and Over The Hill.

Happy 4th of July

Happy Independence Day, USA!!!

Happy Canada Day!!

PS. And Happy Anniversary Mum and Dad!