The Return of the Littlest Loon!

It's been just over a year since I managed to get my niece to take 10 minutes out of her busy schedule of pretending to be a cat and hiding Playdough under the sofa to sit down and answer a series of questions about her life. I published her bizarre little ramblings in a blog post, which was (inevitably) heavily focussed on unicorns and princesses.

Now Lauren is six years old and I couldn't help wondering just how much her answers to those questions had changed over the course of a year. I mean, sure, her favourite colour is no longer pink, she's cast aside Sleeping Beauty in favour of Princess Jasmine and you'll never catch her performing the once beloved 'Cutie Patootie' dance. But how much has that adorable little weirdo really changed in the last thelve months?

To answer that question I spent last Saturday afternoon delving into the mind of a teeny tiny loon again as she sat on my bed, munching her way through a packet of digestive biscuits. (When I got into bed that night there were crumbs everywhere!)

And here's what she had to say. Everything I said is in purple and Lauren's words of wisdom are in green.

Ok, you ready?

Yeah.

What makes you happy?

Having fun!

What kind of fun?

Umm...going to the park and going to the trips in school.

What makes you sad?

When people are mean to me in school.

What makes you laugh?

Telling me jokes and me being silly.

If you could do anything today what would you do?

*Long interval of biscuit munching*

Umm...go to Disneyland!

How old are you?

*Gives me a dirty look as if I am the worst auntie in the world for even daring to ask this*

Six!

How old am I?

*Shrugs*

Have a guess.

Thirty two?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Ump,,,,,nothing.

Nothing? What are you going to do all day?

Stay in the house and be lazy. And I'm not going to have a boyfriend either. I'm going to stay on my own and be lazy.

All on your own?

Well...some kids.

You're going to have some kids?

Yeah. But I'm not going to have anything in my house except a bed.

But you don't want a boyfriend. Children need a mammy and a daddy.

*munch munch munch*
....I'm going to be an auntie then. 

Ok.

I don't want kids. No! I don't want my own. But I want a grand-kid. I don't want my own kids. 

You don't?

No! ...How old are you?

Twenty four.

...Ok. What's the next question?

Who's your best friend?

Tommy. No, actually Tommy isn't my best friend. He's my boyfriend.

So who's your best friend?

Rex and Max.

I haven't heard of them before. Are they in your school?

No. *whispers* They're in the caravan.

What's your favourite animal?

Rainbow Dash.

What's your favourite song?

Bad Romance!

What's your favourite food?

Umm...broccoli?

Where is your favourite place to go?

Disneyland!

What are you really good at?

Maths.

What are you not very good at?

Nothing!

You're good at everything?

*giggles like a crazy person* 
I'm not good at making people! 

What do you want for your birthday?

A real friend Rainbow Dash pony! 

What did you do today?

Umm...played a game. I was in the caravan and then I played a game and then I came to Nanna's house and I played a game again and then I'm going home and I'm going to play a game agaaaiiin!!

Those were all the questions. Do you have anything to add?

I want to stick my tongue out!  

And there you have it!
You know, part of me wonders what a trained professional would make of some of that...

A Trip to London Part 1: I Take on the US Embassy

In the midst of my stress-ridden daily routine of filling in online paperwork, making my endless way through lists that never seem to get any shorter, staring into my wardrobe for hours on end without ever coming to any kind of conclusion on what needs to be stuffed into the case that I have yet to purchase, and countless other anxiety-inducing preparations for my trip next month, let me tell you about my trip to the US Embassy in London.

Perhaps it will distract me from the cruel blow of waking up this morning to find we were out of Nutella.

In a world where tourists need to be screened by the DHS before they can hop on a plane to Disneyworld, it probably goes without saying that I needed a visa for my trip to the USA next month. Applying for a J-1 visa was (in my case at least) a long, convoluted and slightly terrifying experience. It involved excessive amounts of paperwork, bizarre security questions (“Are you planning on entering the country to become a prostitute?” “Are you a drug smuggler?” “Do you plan on becoming a drug smuggler in the near future?” and so on), an array of important reference numbers, passwords and memorable information (all of which seemed to disappear as soon as I needed them) and, of course, a hugely unflattering visa photograph that makes me look like I actually could be a prostitute and/or drug smuggler. And, when all of that was done, I still had to head up to London for a face to face interview.

Naturally my mother wouldn't hear of her fully-grown adult daughter heading into the city alone so she tagged along too.

Our first issue was trying to find the embassy. As if I wasn't already hampered enough by my non-existent sense of direction and complete inability to read street maps, my phone died as soon as we stepped off the tube so Google wasn't around to save us. As it happens, there’s a big square where all the embassies are and, once we found the square, it was simply a case of working out which one was the American embassy.

“Do you think they’ll have a flag outside?” My mother asked as we aimlessly wandered around the square.

“There’s a star spangled banner on the moon. I’m pretty sure there’ll be one outside the US embassy.”

Looking back, I’m still not entirely sure how it took so long to work out which one was the right building. The US embassy was about the size of four or five of the others, with an enormous eagle on top along with what was probably the most gigantic flag I've ever seen in my life. 

There was a lot of queueing involved to get into the embassy. Queueing to get my forms checked, queuing to have my bags searched, queueing to explain to the security guy that the suspicious electronic device in my bag was my rape alarm (“because a girl can’t be too careful”), queueing to get my fingerprints taken, and, finally, queueing for the actual interview.

The interview itself was actually the quickest part of the whole experience.

“What do you plan on doing in the USA?”

“I’m going to be teaching arts and crafts at a summer camp in Maine.”

“Ok. Well, I’m going to approve your visa!”

It was as simple as that.

Obviously it was a lot more upbeat and enjoyable because the interviewer was American and therefore wonderfully friendly and happy. In fact, I got so caught up in the moment that I told her to “have a nice day”. I hope she didn’t think I was being facetious…

And so trauma of my visa application was over (apart from the ordeal of trying to get hold of it a few weeks later when the embassy released it to a mystical courier service whose location is so well hidden it might as well be protected by a magic spell that makes it invisible to muggles. But that's a story for a different day). And so, with my appointment at the embassy behind me and a full day in London ahead of us, we set off to explore.

But first we had to deal with her crippling fear of the tube...

The Job Hunt

Once upon a time I worked in a Call Centre. Customers swore at me and made me cry and I was gulping down Kalms as if they were Skittles on a daily basis. But I look back at that time in my life with a kind of wonder. Back then I had a monthly income. True, I also had no self-esteem and a great many nights where I woke up screaming about PPI, but I had money for YSL make up and Cosmopolitans and an endless amount of shoes. Three years later I have a BA, a great gaping hole in my bank balance and no job on the horizon.

I knew the job market wasn't great, but I didn't think a girl with my qualifications and infectious laugh (scrap that, it’s more of a cackle) would be finding it so difficult. I haven’t limited my options. I’ve applied for waitressing, admin, retail, secretarial…true I didn't apply for the grave-digging job my friend went for, but you have to draw the line somewhere. But, if nothing else, I've come away from my various failed interviews with experience…and something to write about.

The first interview I went to was for a sales position for a high end beauty brand. I sent off my CV, highlighting my sales experience and beauty channel on Youtube (I knew they’d want a girl who knew her way around an eyeshadow palette). A few weeks later, joy of joys, I was invited to an interview. At this point I genuinely thought it was in the bag so long as I could get my hair to lie flat on the day of the interview.

But when I rounded the corner of the department store on the day of my interview, I couldn't believe what I saw. Over a hundred girls were queueing up outside the door, all dressed in black. Either there’d been a tragedy in the shoe department or we had all showed up for the same interview. I joined the queue, prayed my feet would last in my new shoes, and looked around in despair at the hordes of girls. Faces all around with kohl eyes, red lips and hair that was lying flat. That day I queued for 2 hours and 15 minutes for my interview. Soon the queue was wrapped right the way around the side of the shop. On at least four occasions people approached me to ask if the shop was doing a giveaway.

But eventually it was my turn. It was worryingly similar to the kind of quizzes you get in magazines for teen girls. I kid you not when I say that at the end the interviewer added up a score to see if I’d passed or not. I did. I’d be called back for a follow up interview…some time between April and June. After wasting an entire morning and getting blisters on my feet, all I had was a vague promise that, some time in the future (no one knew when) I could come back to try and impress them all over again. My nine year old nephew runs his loom-band business better than that!

Then there was the job I attempted to apply for in the new coffee shop in town. The manager didn't look pleased when I turned up.

“I have got a job going, but, to be honest, I really need someone older who has experience and isn't going to just work here for six weeks and then quit. I don’t want people wasting my time. I’ve had enough people wasting my time.”

“Oh…well I know I look young,” (10:1 he thought I was in secondary school) “But I’m a lot older than I look and I…”

“Yeah, but I need someone who knows how to run the place. I've had people in here who can’t even turn the coffee machine on. If you haven’t got experience don’t even bother. I won’t even read the CV.”

“Actually, I've worked in a coffee shop before. I know how everything works and…”

“Yeah, but the thing is I've already hired and fired seven people. I just don’t want people wasting my time.”

“Ok…so do you have an application form or…?”

“No.”

I'm not entirely sure whether that counts as a failed interview or whether it’s just an indication of how strange some people in Port Talbot can be.

Then there are issues with my qualifications. Because, what they don’t tell you when you’re revising for your GCSEs is that it’s possible to look too smart in a CV.

“I know you got an A in Maths, but we do everything on the calculator here anyway so it won’t do you any favours.”

“I’ve seen your qualifications. But this job isn’t rocket science, you know.”

And so the job hunt continues and my treasured student life seems all the more fabulous by comparison. Instant noodles and mouldy bedrooms beat this job hunting malarkey any day. 

Another Little Loon

So I’m nearing the end of a 4 and half hour train journey up to North Wales to visit one of my best friends, Beth. I do not enjoy trains. Public transport is, after all, where society’s loons congregate. Like the lady across the carriage who stared intently at me for 20 minutes. And the old woman who stood in the middle of the aisle, shouting about everyone and everything and refused to take her seat because she was convinced the conductor was ‘up to something’.

So I thought it would help make time go by a little faster (and keep me from having to make eye contact with anyone) if I caught up on some blogging. Despite the fact that my life has become boring and meaningless since I left uni, it’s surprisingly hard to find the time to sit down and type up a blog. 

If you read The Littlest Loon then you'll get the idea behind this post. This time the spotlight falls on my nine year old nephew, Ellis, who was born an old man and, in recent months, has taken to informing me that I'm embarrassingly uncool (gone are the days when my knowledge of Disney films and extensive fancy dress collection made me a legend in his eyes).

A few weeks ago I asked him a series of questions to see what kinds of bizarre ideas lurk in that little brain of his. There are some very odd answers. Everything I said is in red and Ellis' ramblings are in blue. 

What makes you the most happy?

Having someone to play with.

What’s your favourite food?

Meat.

What advice would you give to mammy and daddy?

You’re awesome.

If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?

Not go to school.

You’re not in school now and you’re visible.

...Still not go to school.

What’s your favourite thing about Lauren?

Pause

She's cute?

What’s your least favourite thing about Lauren?

She annoying.

What are the best at?

Building things.

How would you describe your Auntie Aimee?

She’s amazing! (Emphasis added)

What’s your favourite memory?

When I went to Disneyland?

What part?

When I went to Sea World.

What was your favourite holiday?

When I went to Greece for the last time. 

If you could go anywhere where would you go?

Texas.

Why?

Because it’s awesome.

If you had a million pound what would you do?

…..

Mulling it over?

…..

A million pound. What would you do?

Go to Route 66 and buy the Lego Movie video game…because that’s the best game you can get and you can get a better chance of not having a glitch if you buy it in California.

…Ok.

What’s your favourite time of the year?

Summer.

Why?

Because it’s the season that people umm…go on strike. And you can go down the beach a lot.

Do you have a girlfriend?

No.

Do you want a girlfriend?

No.

Why?
Because I don’t.

What five words best describe you?

That’s too hard for me. I can’t.

What’s the hardest thing about being a kid?

You have to do more…you have a lot of problems because you have lots of bullies.

What’s the best thing about being a kid?

That if a ship is sinking, children get off first.

If you could have one super power, what super power would you have?

Oooh. I can’t think...Telekinese.

Telekinesis?

Yeah.

What do you want for Christmas this year?

Mmm. Disney Infinity 2.0 if I don’t get it… if it isn’t….no. No, not that. The Lego Movie video game. That’s the main one.

And now that I've shared the weird and wonderful musings of a nine year old loon, I have to return to my train journey of doom...making a concious effort not to accidentally glance over in the direction of the woman I'm pretty sure is still staring at me. 

The Littlest Loon: Like me, but Smaller and Louder.

My four year old niece, Lauren, is a loon. When her older brother first laid eyes on her he said, "Welcome to this world" as if she was an alien rather than a newborn. At the time we thought nothing of it, but looking back he may have been on to something. At two months months old she started to growl at us. She has only very recently grown out of it.

"...my little diva..."

Cupcake Mumma has a cute little interview with her daughter on her blog called 43 Questions for Midge and I thought I'd steal the idea to try out with Lauren. Unfortunately, I knew my little diva wouldn't have the attention span or patience to sit through forty three questions so I cut it down a little.

When I turned up at my brother's house yesterday afternoon, Lauren answered the door in an Anna dress, high-heeled Snow White shoes, fairy wings, and a face full of make-up. Her left eye was covered in purple eyeshadow and the right eye was plastered with pink eyeshadow. I'm not entirely sure if she was trying to set a new trend with that one. Then she began dancing and referring to herself as Strawberry Girl. It was a while before I could sit her down to answer my questions, but the answers were...interesting.

The following is what happens when you ask a four year old loon questions about herself. Everything I say is in orange, Lauren's answers are in purple and side remarks from Ellis (he couldn't help himself) are in green.

What makes you happy?

....

What makes you happy?

....I'm thinking....

Oh, ok. Take your time.

...Playing with Ellis on Infinity.

What makes you sad?

When Ellis shouts at me when I want to play infinity.

That's a lie!

What makes you laugh?

Bursting balloons.

If you could do anything today what would you do?

Oooh. Anything? If I bought an Elsa doll like my Rapunzel doll with long hair and not any plaits. Elsa one...umm...with the dress.

How old are you?

Four.

How old am I?

*Shrugs*

Have a guess.

...Thirteen?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Princess.

Who is your best friend?

Tommy.

What is you favourite animal?

Oooh. Unicorn!

*Sigh*

What is your favourite song?

You know.

Let it go?

No.

Cutie Patootie?

No. 

Underpuppy?

No.

Gangnam Style?

No! Wreck it Ralph! *Laughs hysterically*

What is your favourite food?

Chocolate.

Where is your favourite place to go?

Neverland.

What are you really good at?

You know. Balancing.

What are you not very good at?

Jumping.

What do you want for your birthday?

The Elsa doll like my Rapunzel one.

What did you do today?

Play princesses.

If you were invisible for a day what would you do?

Umm...go in front of them?

"...a four year old loon..."

So there you have it. It's like a window into the mind of a deranged person. When the questions were over, she looked at me and said, "Now I'm going to follow you wherever you go because I love you. I will follow you. Forever. You can't walk away from me."

"So...kind of like a stalker then?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Ok. Great."

But I want to leave you with this anecdote. Lauren went into my brother's room one morning, woke him up, leaned in close to his face and said, "Mam Morgan is going to die in one hundred sleeps." How creepy is that? We have it marked on the calendar. Just in case.