Sauntering Vaguely Downward

My five questions came from manue7a.

1. What does Humuhumu mean?
   It’s short for “humuhumunukunukuapua’a, which is the name of the Hawai’ian state fish. It’s a trigger fish. It is very beautiful but also quite aggressive. When I was a child, my dad and I managed to catch one when we were idly fishing at the beach, and we brought it home to put in our aquarium. Eventually we worked out that it was the reason our other, smaller fish were disappearing (duh), so we took it back and released it.
   
   And now it’s my daughter’s online pseudonym. I hadn’t remembered that story when I chose the pseudonym.
   
   
2. Where are your parents from?
   New Jersey and Manila.
   
   
3. In which European country would you like to live, if any?
   Well, I live in the UK and have become a naturalised Brit. Despite the total idiocy that is Brexit, I still rather like it here. I will contemplate moving if, and only if, things get so terrible that I am actively persecuted as a non-native citizen, and if that persecution extends to my children. I speak sufficient Spanish to get by there, and I do love Spain. I’d probably find it difficult in other non-English-speaking countries as a facility with languages is not, regrettably, amongst my talents. I would put the effort in if it was needed, though.
   
   
4. Do you have a favorite painting?
   Huh, interesting. On reflection, no, I don’t. Magritte was my favourite artist for quite a long time.
   
   
5. What music did you listen to as a teen?
   My favourite bands were The Cure, Nine Inch Nails and...Metallica.

Comment below with, e.g. “Yes please”, and I will ask you five questions.

I have only just gotten round to opening the post after returning from our holiday and, to my shame, am not yet finished unpacking. However, amongst the arrivals through our letterbox during our absence was a package from a certain susandennis containing two bottles of stripper juice (original entry on DW/LJ)


[Stripper juice + 3 splat balls + Susan Dennis' business card with her address & phone number unnecessarily blurred out because she is the least paranoid person ever]

Thank you for replenishing my supply!

Me holding an empty bottle of Warm Vanilla Sugar body lotion by Bath & Body Works.

(susandennis, how’s that for a clickbait title?)

One day over a decade ago, I had a conversation with the bloke. We were in the early stages of our relationship. He asked me about my preference in scents, and I thought perhaps he was angling for gifting tips. Probably he was.

Anyway, I started telling him how much I liked the smell of cocoa butter, and was just about to grab the bottle pictured above (they’ve changed the label in the interim, but it’s the same stuff) to show him. Before I could, he blurted, “Cocoa butter always makes me think of strippers.”

I’d been just about to tell him how cocoa butter took me back to my childhood in Honolulu: the smell of the buses and the changing rooms at the beach. So it rather threw me suddenly to be told it reminded him of something, er, quite so adult in nature. I was grumpy for about a week. Then I decided, what the hell, let’s roll with it. And thus the term “stripper juice” was born, to describe the scent I like best.

My favourite incarnation of this scent is Bath & Body Works’ Warm Vanilla Sugar body lotion. The problem with this: There are no Bath & Body Works in the UK. Sure, you can buy other cocoa butter-style lotions here. The Body Shop sells an acceptable body butter. But it pales in comparison to Warm Vanilla Sugar, which makes me smell like a cookie all day long.

For the past fourteen years, I have managed always to plan my trips back to the USA sufficiently close together to replenish my supply of Warm Vanilla Sugar. There is always a place in my suitcase for three to six bottles of it, depending on how far into the future I estimate my next trip will be.

I bought three bottles on my most recent trip to the States, late last year, in the belief that I would be returning this summer. That trip got cancelled, and I now have no trip to the USA planned for the rest of 2018, and indeed, am unsure about 2019 as my parents have said they’re coming here.

So it was with great sadness that I extracted the last drops from my ultimate bottle of Warm Vanilla Sugar this morning. There are not very many things I’ve clung to from the land of my birth, and deliberately bring to the UK even though I know it’s pure sentiment driving me to it. (Double Stuf Oreos. Industrial-sized bottles of painkillers. Victoria’s Secret bras - although I can get those here now.) This is one of the last to go. No longer will I be able to say, "Honey, did you pack my stripper juice?" when heading off on a trip (not to the USA).

Stripper juice, I bid you adieu. You will be missed.

Here is a sampling of amusing exchanges I've had recently with people who have tried and failed to identify where I'm from based on my accent.

Anecdote 1
I'm in a taxi late in the evening, going home. The driver is Brummie. I've told him that I've been in London for the day for work. He asks me how long I've lived in the Midlands. "Almost six years," I reply. "It doesn't feel like that long since I was living in London."

Him: "Yeah, you still sound like a Londoner."
Me: “I do, don’t I.”

I chuckled over this internally for a good hour after I got home.

Anecdote 2
I'm in a taxi, going home after an evening out with some lady friends.

Taxi driver: “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
Me: “Er, the bad news?”
Him: “You lost Eurovision.”
Me: “...Did we?”
Him: “Yes, I’m afraid Australia finished last in the popular vote.”
Me: “What a shame.”

I never did find out what the good news was.

And the one that takes the cake, my friends:

Anecdote 3
I’m speaking to someone to whom I’ve just been introduced.

Him: “Your president is very handsome.”
Me: “WHAT”
Him: “Justin Trudeau! He’s very handsome.”
Me: “OH THANK GOODNESS”