Friday, 23 September 2011

Fancy Lights Up

No, no, let's be clear here. Fancy is not a smoker. That would make me stinky and wrinkly. I paid a lot for these sparkly teeth and I plan on keeping them. What I mean is that I am currently at the total and absolute mercy of the man who means the difference between getting any work done, putting on my make up or letting the Minis have their Elmo hour versus moving to a Fancy Hotel. Yes, that's right. My electrician is here.

And he has me by my Fancy balls.

"So, Frau Fancy, as you can see the Whackashocker is a low voltage Slipashooter. That means this here wire--which is much longer but I bravely sliced through it with your kitchen shears, with no thought to my own health and safety seeing as how important I know this is to you---has become as brittle as your mother-in-law's overbleached hair."

"Okay. Um, sure. And?"

"Without a limber and flexible new Transformerroboticaeroplane you will live for ever in darkness."

Why can't they speak English? Even British English. I might understand something. I feel like he's just showing off now.

"So," he continued, "the process here now is that I have to go look in the truck. Maybe I have a replacement or even a Ohmfusionater to use."

"And if you don't?"

"Well then I'll have to run to the shoppe and get one."

"Okay." Like what else am I going to say here? Oh wait, I think I've got one of those in my jewelry box?

"Uh, well, I'll have to charge you. For the time and all that."

"Okay." As if I have any other options here.

"And congestion charge. But that doesn't have VAT."

What exactly does he expect me to say? That £10 is going to keep me from saying yes to a project that is clearly already cleared £200? I would think it a safe assumption that if I have already agreed to an emergency site visit from a company offering same day service that I am desperate. I need light. I need make up. We need Elmo.

Home ownership. The process by which many skilled labourers enter my home, stick a vise on my proverbial balls and then pull wads of cash out of my nose. At least this one takes a credit card.

Let there be light.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011

Mr. Fancy Forgets

We all know that H works too hard. He goes weeks without sleeping in a proper bed, instead changing into First Class Airline Pajamas every night and getting tucked in by a very gay man with a tight uniform and a thick accent. When he is home, he sets his alarm for midnight to take calls with colleagues in other time zones. He reads exciting novels like "Negotiating With Rich Assholes" for pleasure. Fancy here is constantly putting clean underwear in a taxi and sending it his office.

In other words, he's sort of pushed to the limit. 

And if you needed further proof, here's last night's Fancy Home Ridiculousness. I had my book group last night and even though I couldn't actually choke my way through the entire train wreck of a novel that it was, I was very excited to see the ladies. Right on time, Babysitter #2 walked in. Seeing H sitting there playing with the girls she stopped.

"I am here this evening, right?" she asked, as the Minis took turns whacking their father with a wooden mallet. (Kids toys are something, eh?)

"Oh yes! He doesn't count," I laughed, setting the TV to her favourite channel. 

As if on cue, H stood up and started walking out of the room. "I have a call," he muttered. "Be upstairs."

"You know the drill," I said, picking up my bag. "Either he sends you home or I will. See ya." 

Four hours later I returned. Babysitter #2 was contently sitting on the sofa watching a movie. She grabbed her bag and took off, calling, "See you Friday! They were little angels!"

I found H upstairs playing on his computer. 

"You didn't want to send Babysitter #2 home?"

His jaw fell open. "I forgot." 

Yes, he actually forgot that his children were sleeping in the house and there was a middle-aged woman sitting in our living room watching telly.

Time to rethink this Fancy job, don't you agree?

Then again, feeding my children donkey meat doesn't put me in the best light. Go check out In The Powder Room this week!


Tuesday, 13 September 2011

Fancy Goes Blinds

Fancy here apologizes for her recent silence. There has been a lot going on here at the Fancy home and even with 2 Nannies, a Fancy PA and Amazon, I’ve spent much of the last couple alternating between tears and tears of laughter. Sort of like a deranged mental patient. It’s been so crazy that I called a time out today and spent 4 hours at the spa getting rubbed and scrubbed and oiled and pounded. I feel well enough to speak now.

So what was it that finally threw me over the edge? Curtains. It all comes down to curtains. We've been doing a bit of home decorating. The floorboard skirting, the electrical wiring, the micromanaging, well, that can all be handled with a combination of Fancy authority and booze. But curtains? I’ve come to a new understand.

Curtains versus blinds. That’s always the question, isn’t it? And I now firmly believe that the affinity for one over the other is burned into our souls. It’s like Coke v Pepsi. Crest v Colgate. The colour orange v anything else. You feel one way or the other. No discussion.

And Fancy here is a Blinds person. Hands down.

But I’m also easily persuaded, especially when it comes to things like decorating. I mean, come on, I hired a woman to lay my clothes out before dinner. What makes you think I know the first thing about accent rugs? And they promised me it would be wonderful, that it was the only way to go, that I would be thrilled.

Thrilled they said.

So for the last couple months I’ve been envisioning walking into the living room and seeing light, airy, billowing curtains, practically smelling the sea air. Like walking into a suite at the Delano in South Beach. Every time I go into a room there, all white and light and fresh, I half expect to see God, or at least Morgan Freeman, sitting there waiting for me.

The curtains arrived yesterday.

I did not see God.

“Um, I’m sorry to have to say this, but they need to go. In fact the only workable solution is that they leave no later than tomorrow. I would rather the neighbours watch me cook dinner naked than spend one more minute in this room,” I said as politely as I could the minute our Fancy Designer picked up the line.
You think I’m exaggerating. I thought white. They were yellow. I thought modern. They looked like something my Grandma had. I thought sleek, they were practically touching me from across the room. My house looked like the Sound of Fucking Music in reverse. 

Then I called H. Told him to spend the night in a hotel. That under no circumstances was he to come home before this unmitigated home d├ęcor disaster had been resolved. He was confused, but seriously, it would be better this way. His heart is already under so much strain.

So today the windows are once again bare. I’m sitting naked in my living room, typing and waving at the neighbours. But at least I don’t have to worry about the curtain monsters eating me. Shudder.

Anyhoo, I'll keep you posted. At least I look well rested, sitting here waving at Central London.

p.s. there is now an email link! Because you ask and Fancy delivers. 

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Fancy Remembers: Summer 2011

What the hell? The summer is over? I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. I’m still waiting to wear all the cute summery outfits I bought. I haven’t made a dent in my sunscreen collection and that includes a weekend in the sun. What? Oh, sorry. I need to quickly explain something to my fellow Londoners. Hang on.

The “Sun” is a big yellow thing in the sky. It provides a gravitational force that makes the Earth spin around in a big circle. That much I’m sure you know. But just in case you didn’t realize it, the Sun also provides warmth. Yes, it’s true. Even sunshine. I know, close your mouth. See in some parts of the world, summer is actually when you can wake up everyday knowing that shorts and a tank top will suffice. There are even people who put their winter wardrobes away for 6 months. Totally crazy, right? Anyway, let’s go back and join the others.

Okay, sorry for the interruption. Anyhoo, I’m a bit caught off guard this week. Kate Takes 5 has made “Things I Did This Summer” her Listography for the week. And when I saw that, well I did a bit of a double take. I wasn’t aware that summer had ever arrived. But being plucky like I am, I’ll pull out my calendar and tell you what I did over the last 3 months, although I will continue to violently protest that I did not actually experience this phenomenon called “Summer.”

  • Got married. Okay technically that is a lie. But I found myself a wife, in the form of Fancy PA. Just as you can love all your children, I love both my husband and my wife. Truly. Deeply. I do.
  • Went to CyberMummy. And met some nice ladies. But I’m still looking for Lou the chicken lady. Anyone see a nice looking, albeit somewhat harried, woman covered in feathers calling for her rooster, you let me know.

  • Suffered Bank Holiday Hell. For those who don’t know, that’s an unbelievably popular British past time of watching women suffer while their Nannies enjoy a day off. I know, as disgusting as snacking on goat’s blood. 

  • Taught the Minis to swear like sailors. Let’s be clear, this was not actually my intention. Blame all those bank holidays. But TC is now saying, “Fork” a lot. It’s a satisfying word, isn’t it? The Princess has mastered, “Bucket,” and “Bap!” Unless I clean up my act, I’m expecting full sentences by Christmas. “Roly Sucking Bell!”

  • Said a final farewell to my favourite airline. That’s right. You know the one. Excuse me while I get a tissue to wipe my eyes. I don't even need to link up here. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go back a few posts. Or just consider yourself lucky to have missed it. 

And that’s it, apparently. Looking forward to even worse weather as we edge through Fall. At least I’ll have a new closet soon. At least that's what they are telling me. And that’s definitely something to look forward to. 

Thursday, 1 September 2011

Fancy Returns!

Fancy is back! Oh that was a lovely holiday. I missed those Minis. Yes I did. So much I was forced to drown my sorrows in mojito after mojito, sitting by the pool, reading actual books (as opposed to Where’s Elmo’s Blanket?). It was hard but somehow I did it. And my return, the squeals of happiness, the little arms wrapped about my neck, the children shoving aside my offerings of new toys in favour of the box of chocolate in my luggage, well that was also awesome.

But I know you are all dying to hear how this round of air travel went. Relax, there was no Cheap Ass Air involved. Nope.  Never, I say never again. However, it wasn’t all champagne wishes and caviar dreams. I had some work to do.

Fancy PA packed for you, all we need is your shaving stuff and cologne and toothbrush. Unpack your work overnight bag and give it to her,” I commanded, pulling on my resort wear and grabbing my sun hat.

“Well, okay, but I’m pretty nervous about having my things already packed. Are you sure you have everything? And make sure she puts my liquids somewhere easy to reach when we get to security,” H grumbled.

“Ha ha!,” I cried. “Your bag is getting checked, babe! You can’t carry that on. One carry on, my friend. One.” I cackled, my anticipation of what was to come growing by the second.

“Wait! What airline are we flying?” H cried, looking up at me in alarm.

“Discount Doofus! They had the best times and fare. Don’t worry, you get up to 20kg of checked luggage. You aren’t even 2/3 of the way there!” I exclaimed, silently howling at the look on his face.

“What? Why would you do that to me? Why?” he whinged.

“Because, my darling, sometimes it is good for you. You need to remember that not everyone gets driven to the plane in a limo. You need a refresher on how the other half lives. Like me. When I’m flying with two toddlers and you stick me in cattle call on some dipshit airline. So chop chop. We’re late. Need to get to the airport 3 hours before our flight. No first class check in you know,” I cackled, whistling my way to the door.

It had to be done, no? In the end he was a pretty good sport about it. Even if he did have a moment of shock and disappointment when he realized his tiny little seat didn’t recline. In fact, he was such a brave boy that I bought him a bottle of water.

I’m nice like that. What? Oh, yes. Me, I had some champagne. He made me carry his wallet you see.