Do you hate me? Because I think you do.

I'd say this paranoia is getting out of control but that's redundant. If I were genuinely crazy, I'd get on some meds or something. But I don't think I'm headed for the loony bin quite yet. I think I'm just bored. Really. It's amazing to me that a large percentage of stay-at-home moms weren't sent to asylums before 1980.

I'm sure my current state of mind is aptly described in a Radiohead song as well. Not "Paranoid Android" even, though that's what is stuck in my head right now.

And the fact that I can't even cook a pie shell right now really isn't helping my self-image.

Oh, it's "Go to Sleep."

Bad English

It's Tesco. TESCO, dammit. Not "Tesco's." I'm so sick of everyone calling it the latter. There is no apostrophe. I don't get it. I like to think it's a cultural thing, though, like saying "aliminium" and "LIT-relly." I also think it's not entirely fair for me to judge, seeing as how it's not my country and all.

Also, this vexation is nothing compared to how much I hate it when Americans say, in reference to the person who shows real estate propery, "REEL-a-ter" instead of "REEL-ter." I understand that "real estate" sort of provides the elision into "reel-a-ter," but I promise you, folks, that there is no "a" between the syllable "real-" and that of "-tor" in "realtor."

And then there's the difference between "San Antone" and "San Antonio." This also is a cultural difference. And after living in a city that pronounces "Manchaca" as "MAN-chack," I guess I should just shut the hell up. But it's the nationwide "realator" that drives me freaking insane.

Word of the day: hubris

I dare someone to kick my ass in Freecell.

It's not you. It's me.

There comes a point in every reluctant social recluse's life that one says, "Wow, maybe everybody else doesn't suck. Maybe I really have some issues." And this is where I am right now. This is worse than one of those "every friend I have is disappointing me at this time" phases (and to my friends -- I am aware that this is just a personal mental issue; my true friends are always there for me). I'm also going through one of those. But I have been for a year now. It's a distance thing.

But now that I've met some American moms, some of whom I actually liked and with whom I exchanged the didge, and yet I have not managed to forge a friendship with any of them, I realize it's not Americans vs Europeans or the Rest of the World vs Brits. It's that my issues are magnified when I have too much time to myself and that my efforts at making friends are somewhat stifled by my preconceived notions of friendship. England isn't necessarily such a bad place (except for the weather); living outside your own country isn't so awful (except missing friends and family) ... it's that when you are forced to spend a lot of time with your own thoughts, or, god forbid, with the antics of a toddler, you think too much. Natch. And thus everything seems more complicated than it really is.

And I'm starting to think it's me. Other people don't suck as badly as I must seem to upon first meeting me. I worry so much about every impending meeting with a potential friend that I think I muck it up just thinking about it. I act obnoxious. I talk about my new house with a garden. I manage to seem like a know-it-all. As that commercial said, you never get a second chance to make a first impression. And I need that second chance. As a side note, my words don't come out right unless I've had a glass of wine for some reason, and as I've previously lamented, it's hard for me to drink at all without puking (two glasses of wine got me drunk and sick on Monday).

Anyway I think I'm socially doomed until I'm so busy that I don't have to think about my life, or lack thereof, as often.

Related anecdote: when we first moved here, we went to Thanksgiving dinner at Mark's coworkers' house and there were lots of Americans there. One said, "First Nick and Jessica break up and now this!" (I cringe to think what the topic really was.) And I thought, "What a horrid life, to be consumed with celebrities like that." And just in case anyone didn't already know, that is my life now. I hate Jessica more than I hate Nick but I hate Vanessa most of all. The girl cannot dress to save her life.

I need some caffeine.

Guinness vs Dr Pepper Zero

So when Gwynnie had a Guinness during her ninth month of pregnancy, I thought it was swell. Cheers, Mrs Martin! If I get preggers again, I will definitely consume more alcohol than I did last time (a total of 4 drinks, I think?). One a month isn't going to hurt anyone, nor is one every other week, I don't think. My mom says when she found out she was pregnant with each of us, the general public's idea of a fitting celebration was to go out and get shnockered. Funny, huh?

Anyway, at this point giving up alcohol in a very general sense doesn't seem to be too hard to bear. But caffeine ... caffeine? Are you joking? At this point I am consuming enough of the substance to stimulate a sober Chris Farley. I sit around and come up with various combinations of caffeinated beverages that I can consume in my day. I just discovered hot tea. (It was only a matter of time before this happened in jolly ol' England.) The stuff is ridiculously good with milk and sweetener. And I just started really drinking coffee in earnest a few months ago.

AND THEN the bastards that make soft drinks came up with this whole Zero ("zed") thing. Again: is this a joke? Because suddenly my fears of sugar overload are completely assuaged and what I'm really dealing with now is fear of caffeine withdrawal should I ever have to give it up. I thought Coke Zed was a gift to My People, but then I tried DP Zed and I'm telling you, this American girl in England has completely lost her shit.

OK, so back to Gwyn and the Guinness ... if I ever do get pregnant, I don't know how I'm going to give up my caffeine. I mean, a serving of caffeine every month or every other week just isn't possible. Part of me tells me to stop now and prevent the overindulgence that will make the separation anxiety even harder. But until I know I have to, I'm going full throttle into the world of OTC addictions. And loving every jittery minute of it.

It's just not fair

Why is it that when I exercise I'm heavier? I mean, I know the answer. It's because I am so hungry when I'm in a regular exercise routine, and something about my body doesn't seem to count burning calories as much as it counts consuming them. I'm eating very little now that I've stopped running and I can already tell that I'm going to lose weight. In turn, I can tell that I've gained so much weight in the last six months because I've been running.

So I guess the real question is: why does my body do this? IT'S JUST NOT FAIR. I love to exercise but I think I want to be thinner more than I love to exercise. So there.

Another thing that is not fair: the size of my pores. The problem isn't really that I have terrible acne at this juncture. It's that I have enormous pores and I pick at them and then I get acne. Isn't there something you can put on your face to close your pores? An astringent or something? I know nothing about skin care. I used to put that stuff on my face until I saw a dermatologist who said that was a bad idea, but at this point I just want my pores to close dammit.

Really.

Where my celebrity body at?

T minus 371 days

But who's counting?