Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Day 12 in which I eat my weight in (British) pancakes .

Writing blogs in the morning was a better idea. Writing in the morning was a better idea in general. Wales was great. I think it was the kitchen table. I would get up at 7, go straight downstairs and make some sort of hot drink and then spread out at the kitchen table, the morning light coming in the windows, the house totally quiet for at least a half hour till the next person came to join me. It was great. Here, I can wake up that early, but there is nowhere to go. I could sit in the living room, but it doesn't have a table. I could sit at my desk, but if I'm going to be up that early, I can't be in my room or I'll just get back in bed.

As my brother once said (or wrote or something), morning people are sketchy. I'm no morning person, but when I have a reason to be up, I can do it. If I have somewhere to go it's even better. All I need is another room of this house, some sort of kitchen table, and I'd be set. Whine whine whine, blame it on the architecture, but it's true. I still haven't read it (because
someone left it in Philly after I lent it to her over Christmas, coughAlishacough), but Virginia Woolf wrote all about how we need a room of our own in order to write. She's so right.

Today is a very important day. First of all, it's International Women's Day. I celebrated by wearing as many colors as humanly possible, Alisha by adorning as many sparkly accessories as she could. I looked like a cartoon character and she looked like a princess, and no one noticed because this is Oxford. If there was ever a place to dress eccentrically, it's here. I've never seen so many guys pulling off bright red pants and suit jackets before in my life. Or old women with hair dyed crazy colors (like blue and purple and pink). Or girls in bright green, platform, combat boots with skirts. Basically, anyway you've ever wanted to dress can be pulled off in Oxford, England. It's a wonderful place.

The other thing that makes today great is that it's Pancake Day. "
In the UK, Shrove Tuesday is also known as Pancake Day (or Pancake Tuesday to some people) because it is the one day of the year when almost everyone eats a pancake." In other words (as if simpler words were needed), Pancake Day is the day before Lent starts, so I guess whoever decided to make this a day was planning on giving up pancakes for a month. Interesting choice. Can you imagine a life where you eat pancakes so often to warrant giving them up for Lent? (I just looked up the word 'warrant' to make sure it meant what I thought it meant. It does, I don't think I've ever used it before.)

So, tonight we made pancakes. My housemates were sure to inform me before hand that we were making British pancakes, not American ones, which really means crepes, which are indeed French. That sentence could have been written much clearer, but it's funnier this way. Paddy and Rose made the pancakes and we put out tons of toppings like Nutella, peanut butter, chocolate chips, fried apples (my idea), warmed up sugary raspberries (also my idea), nuts, syrup and some other things I'm probably forgetting. OH right, duh, ice cream. My favorite. Needless to say, it was an amazing day overall.

I also decided something today, in the spirit of Women's Day, after meeting an Italian girl.

Alisha- (after the girl left) "All Italian women are so beautiful."

Me- "Yeah, I hate them."

Alisha- "Ha!"

Me- "Wait, I don't like that."

Basically, I decided right then to stop saying that. I say that all the time. Whenever I see a child who can sing really well or play the piano, I say that I hate them for it. Or if someone is naturally good at something that I try super hard to do and fail, I hate them. Girls with perfect bodies I tend to hate as well, also conversationalists, successful authors my age and basically all musicians. What's with all the hate? Hate's such a strong word, it
always hurts, so why use it?

Why should I hate the Italian girl for being beautiful? Her being beautiful does not make me any less so. The fact that there are successful authors my age does not mean I will never be one (just that I'll have plenty of competition). Most girls with perfect bodies work hard for it, so why hate them? Hating them is not going to make me any fitter, I have to do that myself. Hating does not do anything but hurt and radiate out into the air, leaving you and everyone around you (if anyone can stand to be around you) angry. Sure, it's easier to hate (and it leads to the dark side), but it's just not healthy. Can't be good for the air either, all that negative energy. I bet that's really what's effing up the ozone layer. So there you have it. I'm giving up hate for Lent, and forever.

Lessons learned today:

1) I'll be needing a kitchen table if I'm ever to be a writer.

2) Women love pancakes.

3) Hate makes you ugly.

I feel like my lessons learned may be a little off kilter, but whatever. That's what happens when you wait till midnight to write a blog. Goodnight.



DeeRoo said...

You don't have a kitchen table? Where do you all eat?

Tanner said...

Actually, your sentence about Brittish pancakes that are actually French was just perfect.

beth said...

I never knew you hated me all these years.

Maria said...

BETH, be assured, I love you. This could not in any way have been about you.