NAMIBIAAAAAA!

That's me going on a long and winding vacation in the neighboring nation with my Viking, not some sort of unintelligently constructed war cry or anything (for a war cry one kind of should go with a classic like Geronimo, right?).

This is an illustration of how involved I have been in the planning, where my packing activities are currently, and exactly how much I know about where I'm going. Oh well. Diving in. 

Love ya'll and see you in June for the Extranjera goes to Europe to hang out with her mom, to golf and obsess about golf with her dad and brothers, and to drink plenty of coffee and wine with everyone else who will admit to knowing her.

So it'll be a while.

Miss me.

Please.

Can you move up from accidentally buying maternity wear?

Some might say I should just pay more attention. Concentrate more. Steer away from the departments I have no business in. Focus. Look at the bigger picture. Weigh the situation.

To avoid these things.

But I say "What the hell. Go ahead and call this progress":

I was looking for a neon sign. The 2010 edition.

Lately, I have been 'forced' to do quite a bit of shopping for some new clothes. There's that inadvertent weight loss and no one likes a scary lady in a tent, neh? So I've been shopping my little heart out.  I know, mine is a hard and tiring life, but it's all mine and well, yes, someone has to do it. Otherwise, what will happen to the global economy? How will the finances of nations fare? Without my contribution? Especially, if I don't walk out of a shop with at least one pair of highly weather-inappropriate and uncomfortable shoes, at least a couple of belts (say it loud, say it proud: "I think if I belt this shirt it will be even cooler"), and the odd, yet very cool and edgy t-shirt. And jeans. Shouldn't forget the jeans. Who will then keep the globe going, I ask you?

People who work all day long and pay taxes? Pshaw. You may say that, but you don't really think that. Do you, Husband?

(I can hear him roll his eyes and scream ever so slightly when he reads this. He sometimes does that in the vicinity of this here blog, but pay him no mind. He'll soon be on vacation.)

All I said was "how safe, just black and white," and then he totally decided to ignore me. 

But shopping here is getting harder and harder. The winter ("Ha haa" I say in best Nelson-from-the-Simpsons-style as I weather the 'cold' weather...) is approaching. The things to own right now, at least according to all of the shopkeepers, seem to be big and woolly dark-colored sweaters, black and grey turtlenecks, navy scarves, black leather boots, dark wash denims, black pants, and really any dark things made out of flannel and wool. To be worn on top of other items made out of flannel and wool. Black and grey and navy and dark purple everything. Layered. one layer on top of another, onto infinity, it seems.

And I always was a gal for bright colors and big prints. Light, billowy fabrics. Just wearing that one shirt, instead of an undershirt, a shirt, a vest and a sweater. And I may have also mentioned my obsession fascination with bold horizontal stripes? Yes? I believe I have have.

So what do I do afloat on the sea of dark flannel and woolly things, also known as Woolworths?

I home in on a beacon. A splash of bright turquoise shining, nay, glowing in a wintery world made up of black and grey. I set my course. There is no stopping me. I rush over. I extend my hand and lunge.
I grab the lightness of the fabric. I hold the fabric to my cheek (as one does in broad daylight in a department store). I drink in its simple design and cut. I rush to the fitting room and gaze at my turquoise reflection in the mirror.

I think of summer and feel my heart growing lighter.

I wear the shirt three days in a row, before I see this:

AGE 11-12
HEIGHT 152-155cm
BUST 72cm

The tag on the shirt tells me that I am wearing children's clothing. Which I presumably bought at the children's department. Without noticing.

I hate you winter fashion.

When things fall apart (not by Chinua Achebe, although that was a very good book indeed)

Once again, I seem to be here to spew some venom into the world. Yes, you read that right - VENOM. By which I mean someone out there was unable to read my mind and decipher the exact meaning of this piece of professional communication from my side:

 ".... Uhm. Stuff. You know. Pretty and shit. Vintage. Yah. Get it?.."

and has now therefore deserved my uninterrupted (at least until the coffee's done) spewing ability.

What the hell is she talking about? Snakes on a Plane again? What's with this reading snakes' minds all about? 

Oh, I know! She must be making an obscure reference to that one Harry Potter with the hissing serpent in it, whose thoughts Harry Potter, or was it that red-haired boy, could read, thus making an insightful commentary on the sliminess of it all, whilst drawing a parallel to the UK election? Right? That must be it!

Yeah. Right. That totally must be it. Sheesh...

What would you, as an English speaker or not, take with you intellectually if I told you that someone out there has been kind enough to donate a marketing space for our charitable organization and that we are looking for 'vintage-y' items, cool/cute decorative items, expensive items that would be better off sold to raise money for the community than donated directly to the community, to sell at this marketing space?

Would you package up your old underwear and your paint-stained, torn t-shirts and cart them over to my house? Would you give me a 'decorative item' with (very!) explicit sexual imagery on it to be sold at this family friendly space? Would you drop off tons of things with huge company logos plastered all over them? Would you toss some dirty glassware in a bag and expect it to stay whole in a cardboard box underneath a ton of toys covered in a mixture of what very well might be feces, snot and some red-ish sand?

Would you?

Would you do that to me? Personally to me? And then on top of it all, would you give me un-constructive criticism helpful advice on how to run this specific sale?

Would you dare?

You wouldn't. Because you are an intelligent human being. And you wouldn't even be thinking of me, you would be thinking of the people you would be doing this for. You would be light years from the school of thought that can only be summed up with "they should just be grateful with whatever I can give them, even if it means not cleaning any of it, with a twist of one man's trash is another man's treasure especially if the other man is filthy poor and should just be happy with my already gnawed to oblivion leftovers, since they can still be used for soup or sucked on."

You would still assume everyone is worthy of respect and has dignity, right? You wouldn't be one of the  expat wives/ ladies who lunch who are very vocal about "doing charity" because watching television and going to the gym just don't get the same wow-effect from the friends back home.

You wouldn't be cheap. And you wouldn't get venom spewed at you in digital form.

So no. No parallels to the UK election. I have bigger fish to fry this weekend. By which I mean broken glasses to be tossed, that costume 'jewelry' to be untangled, parallel-universe vintage-y clothes to be washed and ironed, and those trash bags to be carted somewhere far, far away where the smell of the used and moldy 'vintage-y' clothing can never, ever reach my nostrils again.

Also, I have a migraine. So there's that to be nursed too. With coffee, wine and venom. The trio of the gods.

Fancy meeting you here my old friend migraine! How did you find me again? Oh I know, you probably heard of me from our mutual acquaintance, Stress, right?

Think of me this weekend, and put some good karma into the universe to cancel out my bitchy. Please!