American woman! Mama let me be…
How did I get here?
This is a question I have been asking myself a lot, as of late. Usually in the dead of night when I am wrestling a squirming octopus back to sleep, with sick encrusted in my hair, right after stepping directly in a cold damp puddle of rebellion wee. Doodle is wearing hot skates on thin ice at the moment, let me tell you. It is also a question I usually find myself pondering when I catch myself being utterly proud of something hugely mundane. ( I reached dizzy heights this morning while doing 6 separate jobs at the same time. Are you ready? I was applying mascara, while holding the baby, while calming the dog down after a particularly terrifying spider attack, (No matter how many times his tongue gets bitten he still insists on eating them. When I drove to Bradford to choose a poodle, the breeder advised if I chose him, I could have him half price. While all the other poodles pranced and danced about, he was sitting IN his food bowl covered in gloop. Serves me right. ) As well as doing all of that, I was also brushing my teeth, flushing the loo and blinking hard to keep my lenses from falling out after a particularly harsh twat on the nose off my 8 month old boxer in training. Now. That. Is. Multi-tasking! Can you understand why I was proud? Surely I should get some sort of award for that? Unless anyone can beat me?)
So how did I get here?
I always wanted to be American. I blamed my parents from the moment I first watched Clueless, and Saved by the bell, and Licence to drive (Oh my god I fancied Cory Haim! I also wanted to change my name to Mercedes.) for having the audacity to conceive and birth me in bloody England. Name one cool show set in England back then? And don’t you dare say Grange Hill.
I used to surreptitiously send out messages to the universe, begging to make me American. ‘Just swap me with someone else! I wont tell anyone!’ At the age of 5, my parents moved me to Spain. (Maybe they misheard me? Ammeerriiccaaa.) Erm, wrong continent.
I wanted a cool accent, I was hardly going to get that in Spain. I wanted to say words like what-ever and As if! Not words like Que? And No comprendo. I wanted to live adjacent to Walt Disney World, not Hipersol. For a while, there was a bit of excitement when a rumour spread that Walt was opening up a Spanish Disney Land right near us. I thought this was a sign from the universe. The universe was telling me I needed to be near a Disney park. My parents disagreed. Turns out they built Disneyland Paris not long after, and we never moved to Florida. They didn’t even think of my needs at all. So selfish.
The further up my tweens I crawled, the more I desperately needed to be American. Please universe, please let me wake up American in the morning. ‘Please! Please! Ill wash up for a month!! I want to go to high school and be homecoming queen, and graduate, and wear a cap with a tassle. I want to sing songs like Cool rider while dancing my way out of school. I do not want to be English in a foreign country and have idiotic Spanish boys drawing willies on the back of my school shirt while I am being egged on my last day of school. ‘Please god, let me wake up American and cool. Instead of English and chubby. I want to go to college and join a sorority like kappa eye used to be thinna (or something quite similar.) I want to experience a keg party and chill out with my homeys.. Please! Please universe please!’
The universe never answered my calls (when the face don’t wanna know, talk to the hand!) So I was forced to do some leg work of my own. Whenever I was out drinking with my best buddy , we used to act American. We thought we were so clever. We thought It would make us so cool. And so interesting. We would adopt, quite possibly the most insulting (to any real American) accents you have ever heard, and we would lie through our pearly white fake American teeth. I used to say I was from Ohio. I have no idea why. Ohio just sounded cool. And I could say it and still sound kind of American. Where as, if I said California, I just sounded like I had a speech impediment. (While we are on the subject, have you ever tried saying sugar puffs in an American accent? Its impossible! Go on! Try it.)
And then finally! I had a real life chance to make my (American) dream come true! After years of dreaming of living in the land of the free bird, next door to Walt Disney world, I was lucky enough to be accepted on to the WDW International programme in 1999. What a fantastic year that was. The best year of my life without a doubt. But, alas, even after 12 months of searching hard, I couldn’t find any man willing to marry me so I could stay. And believe me I tried. (I also had visions of that film with that big nosed actor in it…Green card, I think it was called, (not the other one where his daughter says she’s his girlfriend and then falls in love in Barbados.) and I didn’t fancy having to undergo an intensive examination.) so I was sent packing back to Spain. Mierda! Bollockso! (But forever more I will always point with two fingers and can not walk past Japanese tourists without asking them if they would like me to take their picture…… brainwashed? Moi?)
Anyway moving on swiftly, I recently noticed a girl called Mckenna has started following me on twitter. I have no idea why. (May be something to do with my anti Beiber tweets.) Upon closer inspection, (after trying to work out why a teeny bopper was following someone who couldn’t clench her lady parts any more.) I noticed her avatar, and was hit with the biggest attack of the green eyed monster since my best friend won a free El Big Macco meal in 1998. (That was a big deal back then.) Mckenna is tanned. (Or tan, as she would probably say.) She has flowing brown, thick, quite clearly, healthy out doorsy type, American locks. (Like mine used to look when I lived in Spain, before post traumatic birth syndrome hit and all my hair fell out and, thank you mother nature, began growing back in tufts. (This is not funny! I look like Albert Einstein!) Mckenna is clearly still quite young, (As oppose to approaching 40 like me. (In 9 years time, but its there, bobbing around in front of me like a poo in the bath.) And most rubbing my nose in it annoying? She is clearly, as happy as a pig in shit, as get this! She is wearing a Kappa Sig t-shirt.
So I ask again how did I get here?
I was meant to be living the dream, and shouting things like FREEDOM! And munching on chips and grits and visiting Dennys for mashed potato at 2am. (How awesome is that?) Not living in a 2 bedroom flat in Eccles and fighting a battle with O2 over a 20% increase in VAT. (Have you had that text yet? My head nearly popped off!) I am meant to be that girl. I am meant to be that girl that is eternally 19, tanned (or tan as she would probably say) and wearing a kannota fit maclothesa bigmama t-shirt.
That bitch stole my life.
I wonder if she ever wanted to be English?
Oh bum. She isn’t following me anymore.