Come to our party or we'll look dumb standing on our own.

HEY YOU!

Are you a blogger? Do you Tweet? Can you get to London without paying a people-trafficker £15,000 for a passport?

Are you 33% sociable and/or quivering wreck, 33% funny and/or morose, 33% benevolently and/or...no, just benevolently, crazy, and 1% neurotic (this is pretty much essential)?*

Then please consider this your invitation to our party....also known as:


The Great Blog/Twit Party of 2009!
(We so need a better name.)


THE HOSTS: Jaywalker (@Belgianwaffling) and yours truly, Pochyemu (@pochyemu)

THE VENUE: The Jolly Gardeners, 214 Garratt Lane, Wandsworth, SW18 4EA

THE DATE & TIME: Saturday 21 November 2009 @ 19:00

THE PRICE: £25 per person - includes bubbly (to toast ourselves for not bottling it on the train on the way over), freely flowing red & white wine, a selection of canapés, and perhaps even a kiss from me once that wine goes to my head (lucky you!).

Hand your monies over to the nice people behind the bar when you get there.

THE PLACE TO REST YOUR HEAD: If you are travelling to London from continental Europe, the northenmost tip of Scotland, or backwater USA, you get bonus points and everyone is guaranteed to like you more than the kids that just came from, say, Wembley. However, we also understand that you'll need a place to stay.

If you need accommodation, we recommend you stay here: Holiday Inn Express Wandsworth-Battersea. It's pretty cheap and only about 1.5mi from the pub.


AND FINALLY, you'll be wanting to know who you'll be getting sloshed with, right?:


THE GUEST LIST: **

1. Fountain Pen Sue (@fountainpensue)
2. Justme (@amjustme)
3. Titian Red (@titianred)
4. Nicola Texeira (@nicky_t)
5. Adrian Lightly (@fourstar)
6. Dee GF (@deegf)
7. Jos Bell (@Jos21)
8. The City Road (@thecityroad)
9. Carrie B. (@mrslard)
10. M Squared (@m2comms)
11. Natasha (@floreatmagdalen)
12. Jojo Moyes (@jojomoyes)
13. Kirstie H. (@kirstieh)
14. Sue Llewellyn (@suellewellyn)
15. Helena (@nice_n_tidy)
16. India Knight (@indiaknight)
17. Clare Stevens (@clareHR)
18. Marie Antoinette (@Ringeroses)
19. Tracey Douglas (@honeymoon1)
20. Antonia Cornwell
21. Sarah Brown
22. Trish Deseine (@trishdeseine)
23. Louise Brooker (@edwynUK)
24. Brigid Coady (@beecee)
25. Rosalyn Palmer (@rosalynpalmer)
26. Barbara Rathbone (@BarbaraRathbone)
27. Meg (_megster)
28. Nene La Beet (@labeet)
29. Beth Pinkerton (@misspinks)
30. Eva Chapman (@evitchka)
31. Helen Brocklebank (@mrstrefusis)
32. Sali Hughes (@salihughes)
33. Liberty London Girl (@libertylndngirl)
34. Mr London Street
35. So Susie (@sosusie)
36. Boo (@beccamcj77)
37. Danielle Henderson (@alaskadanielle)
38. Smack Crumple Bang (@dougiehouser)
39. The Perfect Red (@victoriark)
40. Lucy (WithaY)
41. Deililly (@deililly)
42. Andrea Gibb (@gibbzer)
43. Sarah Churchwell (@sarahchurchwell)

*Does that even add up to 100%? I don't do maths. Anyway, you get the idea.

**We've reached our 45 reserved places! I KNOW! However, if you are super uber desperate to come to the Best Party of the Year (reserve title), please let us know in the comment box and we'll do our best to get you on the bandwagon.

For those already listed, please let me know if I've missed out any of your info..

Hey Kidz! There are many CAPS! up in hurr.

It's been what? Three months?

I don't even know where to start, to be honest. What did I ever used to talk about? Let's look back through some old posts....mmmm....well, we've got some posts about Rob (let's call him the Faux Chef from now on, shall we? Why 'Faux Chef? Dear god, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN MEAT BREAD?!)...erm, more posts about Faux Chef...Toby...Toby...DISASTER!...MELTDOWN!...Faux Chef...DOOM AND BLOODY GLOOOOOM!

I know.

So I went away.

I went away because I had nothing to say. Things were HARD and DIFFICULT and if I thought about HARD and DIFFICULT things any more than I already was, let alone putting them down on, uh, paper(?), and putting them up for the whole internet to see, I would just shrivel up and POOF! Combust. Into a pile of dirty despair in the corner of the room, a pile of dirty despair which would just SIT THERE AND SIT THERE because the Faux Chef NEVER DOES ANY....ah...you see? I still got it!

Basically, the Faux Chef and I were going through Is This The End of the Road? type things. Things that were 'ow'-y and chest-glassy (def: 'chest-glassy'...a word that describes that burning sensation in your chest when things are very very bad indeed. A feeling that can only be described as an elephant sitting on your chest, rubbing it's arse slowly back and forth, grinding little shards of glass in right into your heart), and if I wrote about them I felt I would end up writing things that I didn't mean and were too personal, all because I just needed to GET THEM OUT. But, no matter how wonderful the therapy of blogging is usually, there are some times when you shouldn't GET IT ALL OUT. Because, sometimes, (I can't believe I'm about to say this) self-censorship is the right things to do.

Things are still very often HARD and DIFFICULT (like this morning! oh my GOD this MORNING! This morning with the shouting! And the bellowing! And the ROWING about MONEY! And this is when I'd like to live on a commune and wear hemp duds and shoes made of leaves and sticks because MONEY is a MOTHERFUCKER when you don't have it...and the BEST most WONDERFUL thing in the world when you do), and might even yet be The End of the Road. But not right this second.

But in the time I was away from this domain, I was doing other things too (besides rowing). I was, hmm, let's think...oh! I was Twittering, and...actually, let's be frank, in the last three months I've mostly just been Twittering. Because Twitter is the new crack. It sucks you in with it's little 140 character hits and if you start and meet wonderful, amazing people like I have, you are done. You might as well march right down to your GP, stick out your hand, and say "See this palm? I would like a Blackberry or an iPhone stitched to it. Because I Twitter THAT MUCH." And I do. I do Twitter that much. I Twitter so much that it is embarrassing and I have to hide in the toilet and do it so Faux Chef doesn't roll his eyes at me as I tap away. Hide in the toilet or go down the road behind the bins and do it. Because that's where all the other Twitterers hide from their partners to be able to Twitter in peace.

But besides Twittering, I did do other things.

I graduated, for a start. 6 years and mumblemumbletensofthousandsofdollars later, I did it. I graduated the SHIT out of that university. I graduated SO HARD. I also got a £50 prize for gaining the top score in my graduating year for my dissertation, which had the catchy title of "Why have attempts by the Estonian government to protect and promote national identity exacerbated existing tensions between the ethnic-Estonian population and the Russophone minority". I know! It was a riot to write, I tell you. Listen, I've got an electronic copy you can read, let me just forward...hey! Where are you going?! Anyway, I got a 78% (which in the English system is pretty fucking awesome because they don't believe in scoring any higher than 80% usually. No, I don't know why. And if you asked them, they wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer I'm sure), and I was chuffed.

To celebrate my graduation, my family came over from the states. 'My family' being my parents, my brother, and my grandparents. We had an amazing time.









And then I had graduation party. With tequila.



And we found out that the Faux Chef is not what you'd call a natural when holding babies (the words 'Stiff' and 'Help' and 'Please, why are you making me do this?' come to mind...).



After all of that July happiness, life has returned to the normality of working and preparing to go back to uni. In, like, lessthantwoweeksohmygodIamSOnotready.

But! I am back! And I guess the moral of the story is that there is no moral to the story but I am quite happy to be back here amongst you all.

Coming soon, to a blog near you!

Hello, friends. I know, it's been an awfully long time. Expateek's even had to chase me up! I will return, no doubt about that. Except I really can't at the moment because things are just so shit around here, there's nothing much to write about beyond that. And now look, I've taken my one bit of writeable info and I've just gone and written it! And now there is nothing more to write! Oh well, swings and roundabouts, I guess. The moral of the story is, I will return so all ya'll huddled around the screen waiting with bated breath - go get yourselves a nice cup of tea, and then wait a little longer for me. Because I will come back, when things are less shit and more writeable.

Uh huh That's Right!

Watch out, UCL - here I come!

Summer Nights and Summer Days

A few weeks ago, I decided to fly home and surprise my family with a visit for my brother's high school graduation and 18th birthday. So, I found a last minute ticket at an incredibly low price, and I went.

And boy were they surprised.

I'll upload the video soon, but basically I walked in through the back door, ran through the house and into the kitchen where my brother's graduation open house was taking place, greeted everyone with a "Sorry I'm late! Traffic was bad!" and then watched 30 jaws hit the floor.

It was BRILLIANT!

Despite a ten hour journey (7.5 hour flight to Detroit and then a two hour car journey home with a stop for some lunch) and jetlag, along with not having had a shower or changed clothes since 5am UK time, we got down to having a party to celebrate my brother's achievement.



(My brother, Martin, and his cake. He is 6'5", so it had to be a very big cake)



(My mom and her progeny)



(In America, even in Weight Watcher's households, we have buffets composed entirely of fried things, meat, and cheese for graduation open houses. And it is good. Real good.)

My brother is a math and science genius (no, really - he got straight A's in subjects like physics and calculus and ADVANCED calculus, etcetc) but due to issues with the multiple anxiety, social, and autism-spectrum disorders that he suffers from, things were a bit touch and go this year with his grades in subjects like English, and he had to work really hard to ensure he would graduate.


But he did it.


(The Fam)


And I tell you, it was so good to be home.



(My parents have been restoring this house for nearly 20 years. Room by room. It is exquisite inside. This photo is from early Spring. Continuity fail)



(One my mother's many gardens. She's very good, and is a certified Master Gardener)



(The fattest cat in the world, with the cutest Estonian name: Siim)



(My favourite room in the house, the library)



(Willa)


(Photos of some of my favourite bits of home. All photos taken by my lovely mother, who is very upset because I won't give her my blog address. That's what she told half the town anyway. "Danielle's got a blog and she won't let me read it!" I told her I had to cut her off at the Facebook stalking.)

Change is Hard. No, I mean REALLY hard.

So, I guess it's been awhile, huh??

First and foremost, I must thank the Recessionista (www.recessionistasister.blogspot.com) for her kind gifting of my first award! Ever!



And it has a swear word in it and everything! Fucking brilliant! Also, can I just say, the Recessionista is your one stop shop for everything frugal and money-saving. I don't know where she finds the amazing free offers and vouchers that she does, but I know we owe her a thank you for it! I also understand I am supposed to pass on the award, and I totally will. Once my ILD (Inherent Laziness Disorder) wears off.


As has been alluded to by myself on Twitter and so on, I have decided to take it upon myself to, you know, stop neglecting myself. Coincidentally, Belgian Waffle (belgianwaffling.blogspot.com IREALLYMUSTLEARNTOLINKOHMYGODILOOKLIKESUCHANIDIOT) has brought up this topic today as well, over at her marvellous blog whichwealladoreamen, so it is obviously on everyone's mind as the weather gets warmer and sunnier and we are all forced to LET GO of our comforting, enveloping lumpy cardigans and begin bearing (shock!) our arms (!) and (horror!) our legs (!). I myself am not immune from Seasonal Womanly Body Image Disorder and I decided a few weeks ago, after a month solid of sitting at a desk revising for exams and drowning my sorrows in mountains of fags and litres of coffee with little to no exercise EVER during that time, that I really must Get It Together in the Body Department.

I have always, ALWAYS, since time almost-immemorial hated EVERYTHING about how I look. Having big blue eyes was my only saving grace, or so it seemed, all throughout childhood and adolescence when I was always chubbier than everyone in my classes, my friends, and often a lot of their parents. I had frizzy hair, big glasses and braces, and thus, when an adult found themselves in a position where they had to compliment me on how I look, they would always say something like, "Your eyes a beautiful!", or, "I would kill to have big blue eyes like that". I remember being about 14 when my best childhood friend's mom (who I also called Mom, as we were that close) gave me a similar compliment. I asked her why everyone always said nice things about my eyes when there was more to my body than that, and she said something like, "Well, you could afford to lose a bit of weight, couldn't you?".

During most of school and all of high school, I was on my school's swim team. In my final year, I was a tricaptain. I was a second or third string swimmer, which meant I never placed in the top three (I honestly never cared to. I loved swimming but not THAT much) and my coach used me mainly to gain extra points in distance races. I was always heavier than the other girls on the team, despite three-hour daily practices and races every weekend. So I was a power swimmer, not a speed swimmer. I was the funny captain, not the awesomely good swimmer. The younger girls like me because I liked to have a laugh and I didn't take anything too seriously. But I always knew I was the fat girl on the team.

A few years ago, my mom (who was the same size as me) joined Weight Watchers. She lost over 40 pounds, became a Leader, and has been a real inspiration to a lot of people in our family, who have now joined the programme as well. She never pressured or hinted at me to join, nor criticised what I was eating. This wasn't always true, and a lot of my insecurities around food now are rooted in experiences with my mom and food as a child. I realize now that my mom's controlling and criticizing of what I ate as a kid was directly related to how she felt about herself (she was always slim until she had kids, and as her father is a narcissist she always felt her worth in the family was to be the pretty one). Once she resolved her issues with food and her weight, she was able to be positive to me about how I look and what I eat, making me feel a little more easy about it. But despite my own mother telling me I am pretty or worthy or normal, I refuse quietly to believe it.

As of late, however, I have grown sick of the internal dialogue within myself which says, "You are fat. You are ugly. Why would anyone want to be with you? You're lucky Rob puts up with it, others probably wouldn't. You better hope he doesn't leave you, because no one else would want you. Look at you. You have no control, no self respect. You are disgusting." I am sick of that voice and I would like it just to fuck off, please. I feel like I'm ready to love myself. I'm ready to be in photographs with my friends. I'm ready to go to clubs and not be the big friend who looks dreadfully uncomfortable in her skin. I want to be able to love myself for my talents, my achievements at getting through uni and having taught myself several languages and for being a good friend, instead of hating myself for not being able to wear skinny jeans. And for that reason, I joined Weight Watchers last week (they don't know I'm writing this, so they're not paying my bills or anything, OBVIOUSLY).

I have six stone to lose, according to the programme and my own goals. That's about, what, 80lbs? It will probably take two years, and I haven't even gotten through one week. But I'm definitely going to try. I've been trying to boost my exercises as well as sticking to my Points and the programme, and so, yesterday, Toby and I took the first hike we'd done in awhile. And I felt good.






(Toby only drinks Evian on our hikes, really. What? Don't look at me like that!)


I still haven't taken a photo of myself, because I'm not feeling THAT good yet, but here is a video of Toby and me attempting to enjoy a light, healthy, Weight Watchers approved picnic on our walk:



(We discovered that neither of us like green beans as much as we thought. Toby also discarded his piece of carrot, only to eat it on the way back through to the car. After it had probably been licked by every dog that walked by. Gross.)

My very own Cake Wreck episode.

So, today was my BIL's birthday. We planned to make him a cake, as we are skint. Problem was, we couldn't think what type of cake to do. Rob spoke to him, telling him his birthday gift was 'in the oven'. BIL, who has recently begun weekly drum lessons, joked "How did you get a drum kit in the oven?". And thus, DRUM KIT CAKE FIASCO WAS BORN.



First step was to find a cake to copy. This was the model we decided to go for:

First step was to assemble the ingredients.

Unfortunately, Rob had already purchased pink and brown fondant, as we had planned to make a baby cake in honour of the fact that BIL goes on about his new kid all the time. Therefore, DRUM KIT CAKE FIASCO would need to be a pink and brown drum kit. Don't worry, it gets worse. Luckily, the demon dog was there to help by liberally sprinkling hair into the cake batter. And look, doesn't the kitchen look halfway decent? Where's all the jun...





...Oh. There it is (and this was what it looked like AFTER cleaning for two hours. Hence the lack of crusted on layers of food and debris):





First step was to prepare the batter. If your batter looks like sick, UR DOIN IT WRONG:





If you need to make a round DRUM KIT CAKE FIASCO, you'll need a round baking tin. If you do not have a round baking tin, use a saucepan:





It'll turn out OK, though very difficult to get out:





We sliced a bit of the cake off the top, to have a taste. 'Why does this DRUM KIT CAKE FIASCO taste like Chinese hot sauce?' I asked. 'I dunno', said Rob, 'I can't figure it out. THIS IS WHY:





After slicing the cake and covering it in poisonous home-made buttercream, the decorating began. Little sugar bunnies, the opiate of the masses:







Rob began the delicate process of assembling his DRUM KIT CAKE FIASCO. By this time, I had lost interest completely. So, full and bloated with sugar, I retired to the sofa. All I could hear from the kitchen was swearing. I came in to see this:





...Now, before we go on, shall we just remind ourselves what the cake was supposed to look like? Look, a nice, masculine cake for a 34 year old man, right?

Well then, won't BIL be surprised tomorrow when we turn up at his door with this??:










Hippo Bird Day, Michael!!