The swear blog is back. I mean, myexpatations. If that makes you happy, then I’m glad I finally posted something. But it wasn’t my idea — hell no — thank the hubs for that. After months of hiding under my duvet, covered in chocolate and cookies, he decided enough was enough.
It all started out chill though. A little comment here, “Wow, your hair is so long now.” Another comment there, “Good news, the salons are open again.” I finally took the hint when he said, “You look like Crazy Cat Lady from The Simpsons.” Yep. Got it.
Getting Back to Real-ish Life
So I brushed off the Oreo crumbs and frantically emailed my hairdresser a barrage of questions to make sure anti-rona protocol was being followed. Pierre was beyond helpful in reassuring me everything was safe, so I booked my date with destiny.
I’m pretty sure he was happy to see me when I walked in the salon, rockin’ my 3 PLY surgical mask, but I think he missed the blog more. I guess, I’m flattered?
The conversation went something like this:
Hairdresser: What happened to your blog?
Me: You read my blog? (brain: Then why the fuck haven’t you subscribed?)
Hairdresser’s husband: What blog?
Hairdresser: You know, the swear blog. The one that says fuck a lot.
Me: I’ve been busy? I sorry?
Sorry Not Sorry
I admit, I’ve neglected my responsibility as the giver of snort laughs. But I have a really good reason. Lockdown ruled!!! Yeah, I said it. Now, I know A LOT of shit is still going down around the world — but I’m keeping it real. I loved lockdown. For those of you that had to homeschool your kids, I give you permission to hate on me right now. I don’t have kids, so I have no idea if your lockdown experience was full of the word fun or fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything. But for me, it was…kinda awesome?
I’m crap at being a successful — live your best life — expat. So, when I was “forced” to engage my expat introverted side, nicknamed spaghetti head, I spooned it for 105 days straight.
Lockdown for me meant:
- Not having to speak a language I suck at — brain no hurt now
- Valencia shut the fuck up for five minutes — it’s a VERY noisy city
- Day drinking became normal behavior — finally!
- Not being ashamed for running up and kissing the TV — reading is for fools (except when u read myexpatations.com)
- NOT WEARING A BRA — I’m keeping that one for ever
Hell, I didn’t even have to get out of bed. Just a simple, “Hey boo, I’m hungry,” and hubs would take a break from his daily — how the @#$& do I share my screen meltdown — and make some food. The food sucked, but I didn’t have to leave the bedroom. Life was gooood.
Now, lockdown is over. I think. Not sure though, things are getting pretty weird in Spain again. So it’s time to start going outside.
Gotta Bite the Big One
I don’t wanna, but I gotta go out. Mainly, so I don’t officially turn into Gollum rubbing my Doritos bag and calling it precious. Secondly, it’s time to come face to face with the beast — the social security office. God, kill me now.
It’s almost official. After I register to become autónomo — Spain’s answer to self-harm (I mean self-employed) I will be one step closer to helping expat partner solopreneurs write their own non-snoozy, non-salesy copy. But that’s not launching till September, so nuff said.
For now, the hubs and I are just trying to find a vacation place to rent, where we never have to see, speak to, touch, or hear anybody — a private pool would be nice too.
My Expatations: Being locked up with just the hubs is gonna blow
Reality: hairy legs — good, Netflix — better, no bra — best