The Logic of the Homeless Dude...

So this homeless dude got on the bus yesterday.
I knew he was homeless because he smelled of alcohol and seemed to have difficulty keeping his eyes open.
Normally the bus drivers don't let people on if they're really smashed, but this guy was borderline and had his pass ready so he got away with it. He started talking to the man sitting behind him; they were both Eskimos and most of them are cousins here so they are always pretty pally with each other.
Anyway, Homeless Dude was telling his "cousin" about how he was nice and warm the previous night because he was dressed in lots of layers. I particularly enjoyed his observation that went like this "You have to dress for Winter; well I do- I'm homeless!"
He also made the profound comment "I'm almost 50 now; I can't work any more..."
Going on that logic I only have 5 more years of slaving away at the office before I can retire, but if my retirement home is to be the Great Alaskan Outdoors I'd rather continue with my career such as it is, thank you.......
Also going on that logic, it sounds very much like Homeless Dude actually CHOSE to be homeless???!!!!
I mean I really DO like my home comforts, and although it is true that alcohol always seems to be in plentiful supply for the homeless people I've seen, there does seem to be a serious lack of hot water, soap, internet and nice hot cups of tea, so I think I'll stick with my job....

I am now 20% more eccentric.......

I am British and therefore eccentric, if the stereotype is anything to go by.
Actually, maybe I am a little eccentric, but that's good as far as I'm concerned; we all know how boring our little blue planet would be if we were all the same.
The dictionary definition of eccentric is "unconventional and slightly strange" and I'm completely ok with that. I feel that life is just too damn short to worry too much about conforming to society and what a bunch of complete strangers think of me. As long as my loved ones love me back and are not overly disappointed with me, that's all I could wish for.
To this end, I wear brightly coloured tights, flowers in my hair  and FAR too much colourful makeup for a woman my age (if you are to pay any attention to "fashionistas and style experts"- which I don't). I wear these things on a daily basis, be it to work in my little office, or to the local supermarket, or just at home when nobody is looking except the dogs.
I read that dogs cannot see the same colours as people anyway, and they do not judge anyone unless there are no biscuits forthcoming, whereupon they judge very harshly.
Last weekend I outdid myself. I had seen a lovely Pony dress in Hot Topic and was instantly attracted to the pretty colours and style, and was just waiting for the "Hot Cash" promotion. I knew that if my size dress was still in stock on that date, then it was indeed waiting patiently for me and I should buy it immediately or risk the wrath of the Shopping Gods, and you NEVER want to risk that. Ignore these signs at your peril, for if you do, you will never find a bargain again, simple as that.
So upon entering the shop and not seeing MY Pony dress you can imagine how I felt; those tiny stirrings of panic that maybe I waited too long and my bluff had indeed been called. I asked in a plaintive voice where the Pony dresses were, only to have the assistant find them hidden behind something else that wasn't half as pretty. Maybe they hid them so as not to blind customers with their beauty, or maybe it was just another of those constant stock rotations that shops do all the time to try and force you into buying stuff the very moment you first lay eyes on it, so as not to lose it.
I almost thought I had lost this particular dress; my relief was short lived when the assistant informed me that the only sizes left were large and extra small; I had been banking on a small, but decided to take the chance of experiencing the poorly lit changing room with the VERY unkind mirror and try my luck with the extra small. To my joy I got into it and even got the zip up without having to do emergency rib removal, and the sun shone down on me and my dress, and all was right with the world........
I wore my Pony dress to work yesterday, but the hideous Alaskan weather meant that it was more of a Pony skirt as I had to wear thick black woolly tights and black cardigan with it, but the addition of some glitter and a pink hair flower more than made up for that. I was invincible and most definitely 20% cooler all day. I honestly felt like nothing bad could happen to me in my beautiful Pony dress; ie if I crossed paths with a moose on the way to the bus stop I would simply have undone my enormous Parka and showed my dress, and the moose would have bowed its great head and simply walked away without trying to stomp on me even a tiny bit.
And that's the great thing about being free to express yourself; it gives you confidence, and the more confidence you have, the more free you are. So go to it, people, and wear whatever YOU like, not whatever society tells you to like. Go on, try it, you'll feel at least 20% better I guarantee it. And if you are wondering why I keep writing 20%; it's a Pony thing.
I am 45 years old, and I am making the best of it.
The tragedy is that the upload thingy isn't cooperating for some reason; maybe it doesn't feel the same way about the pony dress as I do. I'll try and upload a photo later......

Maternal Rage...and Other Things...

I realize I have not written an entry for a while....nothing major has happened, just random stuff.
There have been no scary moose encounters, no mad people on the bus, no homeless people admiring my clothes, although to be fair my clothes are currently very hard to spot on my daily commute, hidden as they are under the Biggest Parka In The World.
We had a small Christmas Brunch at work, which was very pleasant. There was delicious food, presents and lots of hugs from two small girls who belong to a co-worker. These two are small, smiley, pretty, and were bedecked in pretty party dresses with flowers in their curly hair; they remind me of my own two when they were that age. Ours was a very girly household, and Husband Number One would often come home from work to find us all wearing multiple bows in our hair, or cries of "daddy, can you help me to plait my Barbie's hair?". Sadly he never learned how to.
 I also got introduced to the (giant) family of a co-worker. I mean giant as in they are all over 6 feet tall, husband, wife and five kids; at four feet eleven inches tall myself, I felt like a Borrower throughout the whole conversation. (For those who don't know what Borrowers are, they are tiny people who live secretly in the walls of a house and borrow items from the family that live there, and they first appeared in a book by Mary Norton in the fifties.) Anyway, it turns out that one of these lofty daughters had spent much of the Summer getting the same bus as me, although I had never noticed her as she is perfectly normal and charming, and therefore has no entertainment value as far as me and my Blog goes.
Next was Christmas itself of course. Christmas Eve involved Step-Daughter and her Boyfriend, presents, games, Batman impressions and lots of alcohol. When they had left, Perfect Husband excused himself, stating that he was "going to go upstairs for a while, I may have a little vomiting to do..." so I stayed downstairs with Tiny Dog and watched "A Christmas Movie" which was playing on a loop. They do this every year and I had never managed to watch the whole thing, so I gave it my best shot. Naturally I fell asleep, and when I went upstairs at 1:30am (Christmas Day, woo-hoo!!) Perfect Husband was still lying on the bathroom floor. I enquired as to his health, but he assured me he was perfectly fine and would "just lie here for a little bit longer" so I left him to it and went to bed. Needless to say he did not die of alcohol poisoning or choking on partially digested snacks mixed with wine and shots, although he did indeed have more than a slight headache on Christmas Day, and moved at a noticeably slower pace than normal....
Christmas and New Year was pleasant; food, presents, drink, movies, all those good things, and I even managed to do my fitness dvd so that I could feel all virtuous whilst eating chocolate. ( I have also bought a new one for the sake of a little variety; I am currently fast becoming Queen of Hip-Hop, and I'm pretty sure that nobody can "Dig and Snake" like Yours Truly....) I also managed to work my way through almost the entire series of Harry Potter films, although I have the last two to go, so don't tell me what happens.
I made no New Year's Resolutions, I never do, although I have been very consistent with wearing my Body Shop shimmer sparkle on a daily basis, which is basically very fine sparkly powder, a bit like fairy dust that you spray wherever you wish. I am very pleased to announce that my phone at work is now all sparkly.
Also, it's been pretty quiet at work so I have introduced two of my co-workers to the delights of the zoocam, which are webcams that are set up in various zoos and animal sanctuaries around the world, and they are both now cooing over live footage of baby pandas....well, I had to do something to make up for forcing them to watch the video to Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball".....
So, you may ask, that covers "Other Things" now what of this Maternal Rage? Well I shall tell you, dear Reader.
Fabulous Daughter Number One's Idiot Boyfriend broke up with her two days ago, leaving her sad and hurting. I am currently considering having him Publicly Flogged, or at least Tarred and Feathered, but as either of those things will lead to my arrest I shall have to console myself with random outbursts of outrage, plus seizing the opportunity to call him an Idiot and announce that he has Stupid Hair.
OF COURSE this happens to a lot of people, OF COURSE she will get over him, OF COURSE she will either find someone who deserves to call himself her boyfriend, or at least be happy on her own, but for now she is hurting, and so am I.
I actually live on an entirely different continent to my daughters, through exceptionally poor decision-making on my own part, but that doesn't mean I feel any less of a mother. I monitor their lives through a combination of Social Media, Phone calls, Skyping plus a Network of Spies, and I am most likely just as involved in their day as any other parent, more so than some.
But it doesn't matter what the physical distance is if you love someone. The simple truth is, if they are hurting, then so are you. Just as when we found out that she needed glasses from the age of seven, and I felt terribly guilty for giving her stupid faulty genes that meant she had less than perfect eyesight and implored the teachers to beat without mercy any children they heard teasing her, just as when she got the letter stating that she hadn't got a place at the school of her dreams and I rang the local education authority and harassed them until they checked and double- checked (yup- clerical error; turns out she HAD been given a place after all but some illiterate employee had pressed the wrong button on the computer), just as she missed her offer of accommodation at University through her own silly mistake and I called her and tried my best to give her the confidence and reassurance to find her own accommodation (of course she managed to do so, she's a smart cookie, that one), just as she has had to navigate her way through many other sad and painful situations, I have tried my very best to give her love and reassurance. I may not always be able to fix everything, but at least I can cry with her, drink wine with her, hate the entire world with her (just for a short while) and when she is on an even keel again, smile with her.
That's my job as a Mother, one which I can do from anywhere. I can also think evil thoughts about Idiot Boyfriend from anywhere, but I shall refrain because I am soooo much better than that. Just know this, Idiot: if you are on foot one day and a car races through a puddle and splashes you from head to foot, it may just be because I have wished for it to be so.....

For Eli...

This is a difficult one to write. Difficult for many reasons which will more than likely become apparent, but I will continue.
Perfect Husband has an uncle called Bob- I know, brilliant isn't it? Bob really IS his uncle!! Bob and Perfect Husband are only 3 years apart in age and grew up together like brothers. Although Bob now lives in Arizona and they don't see each other much, they are still close. Me and Perfect Husband had a holiday early this year and went to Las Vegas, then drove to Phoenix to stay with Bob and his partner, Eli. As Perfect Husband had never met Eli and I had never met both of them, we didn't really know what to expect, but we had an amazing holiday.
Eli is from South Africa, and we hit it off straight away; weirdly enough British people seem to have more in common with South Africans than with Americans.....something no doubt to do with the old British Empire etc. So while Perfect Husband and Bob reminisced about the old days, me and Eli sat by the pool and talked long into the night about ex-boyfriends, shoes, sequins, and the merits of being bitchy and a little bit devious and how much fun that could be. Eli told me how in love with his dog he was; as he had no children his dog, a large and incredibly ugly although at the same time very sweet Boxer, was his one love in the world, besides Bob of course, and Eli's mother. Eli was a promising opera singer and upon hearing this I immediately requested that he sing to me which he obligingly did, filling the hot night air with the rich tones of his deep voice, singing to me in Italian and making me clap my hands with delight. During those few short days Eli and myself became BFFs, so much so that Perfect Husband actually began to feel jealous, despite me reminding him that as Eli was in a gay relationship with his own uncle his fears really had no basis in fact!!
At the end of our holiday we all hugged and thanked Bob and Eli for such a fab time and discussed our plans to move to Arizona-oh the shopping trips we would take! The bargains me and Eli could hunt for! The bars he would take us to! The good times we would all have! I had seen a green leather jacket but had not seen the point in buying it because it's always so bloody cold here, so Eli had promised that when we moved there the first thing he would do was to take me straight to that shop so we could buy that jacket "it was MADE for you" he said.

Eli was killed on Tuesday evening, on that very same motorbike he had taken me on for a ride around their neighbourhood.

I don't know the exact circumstances of the accident, nor do I need to; it won't bring him back.

I found out that something was amiss on Wednesday morning when Bob changed his Facebook profile picture to one of him and Eli together in their motorbike gear. I commented that they looked like trouble and thought no more of it. Soon however comments like "so sorry Bob" and "you are in our thoughts" started joining my flippant jokey comment, and I watched with a growing sense of dread. I messaged people, rang and texted; desperately trying to find out what was going on, until finally Bob himself replied and confirmed my fears: that Eli had been killed and Bob was at an utter loss. I looked down at my shaking hands through a veil of tears that dripped on to my desk. I shook my head when a co-worker asked if I was ok, and went to the toilet where I spent the next few minutes crying, looking at texts Eli had sent me, washing my face, crying again, feeling as if I was going to throw up, trying to make sense of the situation, trying so hard to compose myself so I could go back to my desk and get on with my job, but failing miserably.

Since then I have written a post on Facebook which was a nod to Eli and the impact he had on me in the short time we spent together during that holiday. It got several "likes" and oddly enough, some were from friends of mine who had no idea who Eli was, and I find this strangely comforting. I believe people are basically good, despite the odd monster here and there, and people DO care about each other. When they see something sad, they will reach out to each other, either physically or virtually, and offer comfort, love and understanding. People that know me but didn't know Eli still share a sadness that he died suddenly and tragically, leaving many with a sense of loss and hurt that they can't see past, and everyone can understand that, because everyone has lost someone at some point in their lives, and we all know how raw and painful and confusing that feels.

So I thought I would share this with you. We all have that connection; love and loss, and that searing pain that goes alongside it. We all feel for each other, we all share, and this is where our comfort and our peace is to be found.

This is me and Eli on a scorching hot day in June, and this is how I remember him. This large man with huge muscles, tight t shirts and a booming voice, a man who knew a bargain when he saw one, who loved his man, who was looking forward to taking his mother shopping when she came over for Christmas, who made such hilarious bitchy comments about people who had crossed him, and who told me that to his ears the sweetest sound in the world was the sound of his dog snoring.

So goodbye Eli, thank you for those few days, and the next time I see a green leather jacket, I'm just going to buy it anyway, even if I have to wear it under my parka until the Summer.

Murderers at the bus stop! It must be Monday again....

Ok so it's Monday again...after a weekend where it snowed constantly, to the point that every time the dogs needed to be let out for a pee we had to clear a space for them in which to do it!! Whiny dog's pretty much ok in the snow; she's taller and has plenty of body fat and a thicker coat, but poor Bindi the rescue Chihuahua does NOT cope well in freezing temperatures and snow up to her shoulders. She has a large wardrobe of padded coats of assorted thickness (mostly pink) but even with one of these on she has learnt to do her business as fast as possible and head back into the warmth of the house.
Needless to say I was not looking forward to this morning's journey into work, and sure enough it was -17c and pretty bracing. The snow on the roads had been cleared which makes life a little easier, but elsewhere the show was at the top of my snow boots.
As I approached the bus stop I could hear loud voices and see that there were 3 men standing there. Something about their manner and the way they were swaying ever so slightly told me they were all drunk, so I turned down my music so I could hear their conversation. I figured it would be pretty interesting, and it was.
The main speaker was telling the other two how he was going to go to Bear View that night and cause some trouble. Here's how that conversation went:
Drunk Number 1: Yep, tonight I'm going to Bear View and I'm gonna cause mayhem, oh yeah I'm gonna cause some trouble. I'm gonna whack someone. Somebody's gonna get whacked.
Drunk Number 2: Can I help?
Drunk Number 1: No. You just watch and laugh. If someone says to you "Hey what are you laughing at?" and then I whack him, you can say "That's what I was laughing at"
Comedy genius, there.
Then Drunk Number 1 proceeded to say how he was the nicest man in the room and how we're all on this planet and in this life together, but if you get on his blacklist that's it-you're gonna get whacked.
You might think I was a bit scared and intimidated by this, especially as this is America where people shoot each other randomly on a regular basis, but the truth is, I wasn't.
I'm four feet eleven inches tall and with my pink children-sized snow boots and my full length parka with the hood up so only my eyes were showing, they probably thought I was waiting for a school bus and therefore not worth bothering with. Actually, the state they were in, drunk and all, they probably thought I was twins or even a small group of school children.....
I figured the bus driver wouldn't let them on the bus anyway, but didn't get the chance to find out as they ambled off together, still talking about their plans for the evening.
I have to say I personally wouldn't plan on drinking so early in the day (except Christmas Day when it's perfectly acceptable to start on the alcohol as soon as you're awake) but in view of the fact that the sun doesn't rise here until after 10am in the middle of Winter I can understand it; the dark and cold can really get to you. I usually cure my Winter Blues by purchasing something incredibly sparkly off the internet; it's amazing how a bit of glitter and glamour can perk oneself up.....
So, back to what Drunk Number 1 was saying: I actually agree with the "We're all in it together part" we're all sharing the same planet, we're all part of the same Earth family and should respect each other and treat each other, and our fab little planet with care and love; however, I don't agree with the whacking people part.
So I would say that you have to be fairly careful which parts of a drunk's philosophy on life you choose to follow.
All in all it was an interesting start to my week, and I also sat near someone on the bus who I think may be actual Santa......

The Elephant Man is back........!!

Yays!! The Elephant Man is back on the bus!
Actually to be more precise, Elephant Man is actually Elephant Man Lady. I know this because I have actually seen under that voluminous hood, one day in the Summer when she was only wearing two coats instead of her usual four, and the hood was down.
Elephant Man Lady is another regular on the bus, although I hadn't seen her for a while, so I was pleased to see her again. It's reassuring to see the usual characters; you could say we are like a sort of large dysfunctional family now. A family of mutants and oddbods who mutter to ourselves and sometimes each other, and shuffle onto and off the bus in our giant snowboots and thick coats, trying not to knock each other over on the way.
Elephant Man Lady sits on the bus in her four coats, pulls that voluminous hood right over her entire face and shoves her phone underneath it. Maybe she is secretly reading saucy texts or 50 Shades of Grey or something and doesn't want any of her fellow commuters to see. She normally spreads herself and her bags across two seats, probably in a "keep away" kind of fashion, but I sat next to her the other day just to see if anything would happen. It didn't, although I got the feeling there was a certain amount of bristling annoyance under the hood caused by me invading her personal space.
Today there was a new person on the bus whom I shall call Yoga Man. Yoga Man looks a bit like Robert Carlyle the Scottish actor, and was dressed in the way of the person who would like to cycle to work but remembers that this is Alaska and therefore Freezing At All Times (except for about 9 days in the Summer when the snow finally disappears and the mosquitoes appear in herds) and so they put their bicycle onto the front of the bus, ride most of the way to work on the bus, then cycle the last 100 yards or so, arriving at work pink cheeked and out of breath, to the admiration of their coworkers who presumably think they have cycled the entire way.
Yoga Man had trousers with lots of zips on, drawn in at the bottom with shiny, light-reflective cycle clips. He had the usual huge backpack with drink bottle attached, which seems to be the norm here- although not for me of course, I carry my Harrods Union Jack bag to work proudly.
Several minutes into this morning's bus journey, Yoga Man earned his new name by suddenly beginning a series of increasingly strenuous arm exercises. He started off by clenching and unclenching his fists, looking very much like a baby trying to wave. He then moved on to clasping his hands together and making a lot of weird undulating arm movements which I'm sure I've seen in the video to Madonna's Vogue. Just when I felt he was going to hit someone, he stopped, piled on a few extra items of warm clothing and got off the bus with his bike. Ah, I thought, so he was merely warming up his muscles for the bike ride, although I couldn't understand why he'd only warmed up his arm muscles and not his legs. I soon found out.
As I got off the bus at the next stop and was waiting on the corner for the lights to change he almost ran me down as he whizzed past me on what looked like a push bike but sounded like a moped- no leg muscles needed!! Kinda reminds me of the time I was in the bike shop in Anchorage getting a new tyre for the pink child's bike Eskimo husband had bought me at a garage sale (size was perfect and colour matched my nail polish!) and I overheard a man asking the sales assistant how much it would cost to have an engine fitted on to a bicycle because "my wife doesn't like to pedal"........!! Way to go, America!! However, as that sounds like I'm being a bit negative I will finish with a quote from the original Elephant Man himself: "I sometimes think my head is so large because it is so full of dreams....."

Oh no, now what do I do?

Oh no, it happened.
After surviving Thanksgiving; four scrumptious days off work, eating and drinking nice things that Perfect Husband concocted and put in front of me, a spot of shopping in the sales (Body Shop you complete me...) and a trip to the cinema to see the second in the series of the Hunger Games films (v.excellent, although it almost undid me for a while; first I felt tearful, then I felt sick, then back to tears again, and also most envious of her fabulous dresses- who knew Lenny Kravitz was so adept at designing clothes?) then alas, it was all over and work beckoned.
I don't mind being at work; it's a pleasant little office and the one colleague who really does my head in is on holiday until tomorrow so even better, I just hate the getting out of my nice cosy bed part.
The temperature was a ferocious -15c this morning, and my walk to the bus stop in the dark was not made any better by the fact that I saw that moose and her two (now huge) babies again yesterday, just around the corner from our house.
Thankfully this morning they were nowhere to be seen so I yet live, which is always a good thing.
So there's me getting on the bus feeling all smug that I hadn't got frostbite or a hoofprint on my forehead, when a voice said "Oh I still haven't given you that shirt"....... and there she was, buried under several layers of hats, coats, gloves and carrying a huge stick. One of my crazy lady acquaintances, whom I now know goes by the name of Shirley.
Shirley befriended me on the bus one day, and I chatted back out of politeness, because I don't like to be rude, although really that just encouraged her more. She was telling me about her earrings and I remarked that they were nice (I once had an English teacher who was so old and lined she resembled a used teabag; she was tiny but ferocious, a bit like an old version of myself, and she loathed the word 'nice' because of its mediocrity in the face of so many better and more descriptive words-I still feel a sense of guilt when I describe something as merely "nice") and before I could stop her, she pulled them out of her ears and gave them to me! Sweet and generous gesture though this was....ick! No thanks. Previously she had mentioned that she had a shirt for me and she just knew it was perfect and I'd love it because it had my flag on, and she made me take her phone number so I could call her and we could meet up so she could give me the shirt. Needless to say I didn't quite get around to making that call, so today she wrote down her name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to me.
Now what do I do? It's too bloody cold to walk to work so I am on that bus regardless, and it's only a matter of time before I see her again.
Maybe I should just take my chance with that moose........