Rant

When I first started my new job here in Dallas, everyone I work with thought I was about 19. In fact, it took until perhaps my fifth week for someone to ask how old I was, and that was only because we went for Happy Hour after work and they wondered if I was old enough to legally drink! It turns out that I’m not even the youngest person in our company. But I get it, I look young.

However, it’s one thing to be ID’d wherever you go, but for people (doormen, bouncers, barmaids etc) to actually utter surprise out loud when I hand over my driver’s license is a bit much. ‘Oh wow, you are actually old enough to come in!’ Yes I am, so lower your eyebrows, step aside and point me towards the bar please. I went out for dinner and drinks for a friend’s birthday this summer in London, and of the ten or so people I was with, I was the only one stopped at the door and asked for ID (and then again at the bar, I might add).

People say, ‘you’ll appreciate that when you’re older’ which is really neither here nor there. I don’t like looking like a 17 year old now. I don’t care about what may happen when I’m 40 and get mistaken for 35. Right now I am nearly 23 and look like I’m young enough to still be in school. People mistake me for someone applying for university, not someone who’s been there, done that, got the t-shirt and, wait for it, the degree! When I worked in Hamleys over the summer, I was asked by so many people if I was working there to save up for uni that I was tempted to add ‘BA Hons’ to my name badge.

I’ve had a bit of trouble with my ID since being in the US. The first time was when I was in Albuquerque. I went for lunch with Josh and Gaby, another Brit we met out there, and ordered a Corona. The waiter asked for my (fake) ID which I’d had made to say 1988, instead of ’89, so I could pretend to be 21 and buy alcohol (the more I read over this blog, the more I sound like I have a drinking problem). So I handed over my license and he asked where the date of birth was. I pointed it out and said, ‘12^th May 1989…. ERR… No sorry, I mean 1988.’ He smiled and handed it back, no problem. Woohoo! What made it even funnier was that Josh handed over his real license, which said November ’87, and the guy took it away for his manger to verify for legitimacy! Hehehe.

When I went to Tennessee with my friend Emma, I was again using my fake ID. The doorman of the first bar we tried to get into took one look at my license and said, ‘You can’t come in. There’s no such thing as an international driving permit.’

‘Of course there is,’ I responded. ‘You’re holding one in your hand.’ (Lesson: cheekiness will get you nowhere)

He told me to step away from the door, and that he would not cause me any trouble as long as I didn’t try to get back into his bar. Feeling a bit worried that our adventurous weekend in Nashville was going to turn into a sober disaster, we tried the next bar. The man on the door took my ID and looked at it for a time. I’m standing there thinking, ‘ohmygod ohmygod, please don’t know it’s fake, please don’t turn me away,’ when he hands it back and says, ‘nice picture. Have a good night’ and lets us in. *HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF*

Last week, I ordered a beer (seriously mum, I promise I am not an alcoholic) and like always, was asked for ID. The waitress was confused by its foreignness and took it to her manager. I was then told it would not be accepted and that company policy was only to accept US government approved identification. I was a bit pissed off because 1) I’d been there before and not had a problem, and nowhere else had seen it as a problem before either; and 2) how ridiculous is that rule? What if I was on holiday, and wasn’t planning on getting a Texas driving license soon? What are foreigners who want a beer supposed to do? If that was the case everywhere in the country then America would have a lot less tourism, let me tell you. Anyway, I asked if next time I should bring my passport instead.

‘Yes, that would be fine’ she replied.

‘It’s a British passport’ I added.

‘Oh... No, that won’t be ok.’

Seriously?! A passport is a document, issued by a national government, which certifies, for the purpose of international travel, the identity and nationality of its holder. Passports are the most widely accepted form of identification anywhere in the world. It has been officially authorized by my government to recognize and accept me as a citizen of the UK, and some waitress in a wing bar is telling me it’s not good enough? No, this is not OK! I calmly told her that a passport allowed me to enter her country, and therefore has been approved by her precious government, so technically is US government certified.

Yeah, maybe I do look like a teenager. But I got my beer. Win.

Hockey

On Sunday I went to a Dallas Stars NHL (National Hockey League) game with Ian and his friend Ross (and Ross’ baby Liam too, if we’re getting technical about the guest list). I’d never been to a hockey game before, I guess Albuquerque either doesn’t have a team or I was never aware of one if it does. (OK I just googled ‘NHL New Mexico’ and it came up with a list of National Historic Landmarks so I think that pretty much confirms the lack of ice hockey in NM!) So anyway, I’d never been to a hockey game, and in fact my only knowledge of ice hockey comes from watching Mighty Ducks when I was younger, so I was very excited for a new experience. And I really enjoyed myself!

Granted, some of my excitement stemmed not so much from the sport, but from the fact that we watched the game from a private box, which belongs to Ross’ company. That was pretty cool. We got to go through the Platinum entrance, we were in our own room, we had comfy seats and weren’t just one of the crowd – we made our own crowd! We got a great view of the rink (?) - not sure if that’s correct NHL terminology but let’s go with it – and were about mid-level height so could see enough of the game without relying heavily on the big screens.

I think one of the reasons I enjoyed the game so much is that it’s much more fast-paced than most sports. American football is slow to the point of watching paint dry (yes maybe you did just run the length of the field, but why are you now stopping for a ten minute coffee break while some random men run out onto the pitch with a tape measure?); baseball - yawnsville; golf – even worse; real football is definitely more fast paced than the Yank version but the pitch is so huge that it still feels slow, as most of the action takes place in the middle and no-one cares about that part, just get inside the damn box and score already. It may just be that I have a very short attention span but hockey suited me very nicely. The rink (still unsure about this) was small enough that everything that happened seems to be full of action and excitement; the game isn’t separated in two but in threes, so you have two opportunities to get the beers in, between periods (official hockey vocab – they couldn’t exactly call it a game of three halves could they?!); and the scoring system was simple enough for my small brain i.e. one goal equals one point. This may sound like a stupid point to some people but in American football, basketball, rugby etc, there are all kinds of ways to score a differing amount of points depending on your techniques. I like it simple.

The arena where we saw the game is also a basketball court for the Dallas Mavericks. It switches between basketball court and ice hockey rink and apparently takes 8 hours to go from one to the other.

The Stars unfortunately lost 4-2 to the LA Kings but I think I’ve found a sport I actually enjoy watching!

Hate That I Love You

No this isn’t a bare-all relationship blog. At least not about my relationship with Josh. No, this about the other love in my life: FOOD. And oh my, am I an addict.

I don’t really hate that I love food. It’s actually a passion of mine (yes, eating can be considered a passion, and not just of the fat and lonely!)  I love to cook, I love reading recipe books, I appreciate good food and I have a (very) healthy appetite. The thing I do hate is how much I’ve been craving ‘bad’ food since I’ve been in the States.

‘Bad’ food, by which I mean something that is deep-fried, very salty, contain little to no nutrients and most often smothered in cheese, is addictive. It must be. I genuinely can’t remember craving crap food when I lived in England. The last time I had a burger or chips (fries to my American audience!) was probably in November after a night out. Sober Alice + fast food is very uncommon. It’s not a snobbery thing, I love KFC and McDonalds as much as anyone. I just don’t need it, I don’t crave it, and therefore rarely had it. I like cooking so convenience food is not as appealing as something I can prepare at home myself, with all the tasty ingredients I chose at the shop.

Or so I thought.

I can count on two hands (maybe with a few toes to count on too) how many times I have cooked since I’ve been out here. Eating out, even just grabbing a takeaway on your way home, is a way of life here. Dallas has the most restaurants per capita than any other US city, with a large number of these restaurants being Mexican. And here was my downfall. I love Mexican food, and it is soooo bad for you! (The stuff I like is anyway) Tortilla chips and salsa; chicken chimichangas (deep fried burritos); enchiladas covered in sour cream sauce – it’s dangerous! Even one of their most famous dishes just sounds unhealthy from its name – refried beans, because frying once just wasn’t enough.

I made the mistake of sampling some of the lunch menus of restaurants close to where I work, most being Mexican. Now every single day all I want for lunch is something that comes wrapped in a tortilla, and preferably has a generous dollop of guacamole on top. I crave unhealthy food, I want to melt cheese on everything, or put down my fork and use chips as my spoon.

Every Tuesday night, I go for hot wings and fried pickles (literally slices of gherkin, covered in batter and deep fried) – delicious but so so bad for you. I eat out about five times a week, and let me tell you, I have not once chosen the salad option on the lunch menu. I have even started putting sugar in my coffee for God’s sake!

I can understand why there is a weight problem in America. Portion sizes in restaurants are huge as a way to make customers feel they are getting value for money. And a lot of the time, it tastes so good that you keep eating way past the point of necessity, hence the massive daily calorie intake consumed nationwide!

One saving grace is that my apartment building has a gym for residents. Looks like I’m going to have to become a regular!