What Happens When U Can’t Spoon Lockdown? 

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.

 

Hair during lockdown

How many questions is too many?

 

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.

 

Food during lockdown

Hubs version of breakfast in bed.

 

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

 

2020-07-23T09:41:46+02:00 July 22nd, 2020|Expat Life|0 Comments

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