Casey returns to London...for a third Thanksgiving in the UK

What a fun week it was with my dear, ol' friend, Casey! She's been to London plenty o' times before, of course, even living here for half a year for work. Lucky thing, too, as I'm geographically so challenged that her sense of direction was priceless throughout the week, as was her good luck on the work front! Interestingly enough, this would be the third Turkey Day in London for both of us.

Casey arrived on Tuesday afternoon, where I met her at the Colliwood tube station. We hoofed it back the few blocks to my flat and got her a bit settled in, as a GNO (Girls' Night Out, of course) awaited us that evening -- which would surely require some energy.

After popping into the Berry Shoppe (er, Sainsbury's) and then to M&S, we decided on a light lunch and picked up some cheese, crackers, and lil' meats plus some red wine. After having a little picnic in my front room, Casey took a quick catnap and prepped for the evening, where we first met up with Steve at the Tup before bussing on over to Suburban in Wimbledon for GNO with Kerry-Ann, Mel, and Cheryl-Ann.

As is always the case, both the conversation and drinks flowed freely for GNO. I'm oh-so-lucky to know these girls; they're just so sweet and fun! After a bit at Suburban, we decided to move our night to someplace a tiny bit quieter, where we could better engage in conversation. Next stop? The Terrace, a quick walk 'round the corner.

The Terrace is a pretty cocktail lounge-y place, with -- you guessed it -- a terrace that overlooks the High Street. There were some drinks on special but I won't even repeat the names -- yikes! However, we skipped those in lieu of the infamous Pimms and lemonade...which we had to send back twice. (The first: they used seltzer rather than lemonade; The second: there was no booze in the drinks; The third: ahh...perfection. Yum!)

After our English-y drink, Kerry-Ann picked up a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to celebrate her new job. Hooray, Kerry-Ann! Talk about good news! She'd arrived in London about two weeks before me, and well understands the frustration of not having a job. Thus, I was particularly pleased to hear about her accomplishment. Rock on, girl!

Some other highlights of the week...

Casey and I stopped at the V&A to see the fashion wing collection, and smiled over the period dresses and threads of the day. ("I could see myself wearing that. A-lines are always a good shape...")

We had a faux-Mexican dinner at Wahaca in Covent Garden (yes, it's purposely a bad spelling of Oaxaca, which bugs me). Meh...definitely not the good "dirty Mexican" (as Casey called it) that I enjoy. In fact, to quote Casey's Facebook status update we'd "had a Mexican Thanksgiving this year that wasn't up to Andrea's standards, I will give her that for so many years in the south!" I'll probably not be back 'round and instead will try some of the other places that the ex-pats suggested.

Another slight dining disappointment was the Thai place we tried on Friday afternoon, Busaba Eathai, in Soho. Now, I'm no Thai food expert, but I was looking forward to my favorite pad si ew dish. However, the one on the menu was seafood-loaded -- ick. "I'd like the pad si ew, please, but without seafood, take out the prawn, squid, and scallop, and add beef." This is a simple request; I've done it before without hassle. Nope, not this time. They refused to accommodate. To add insult to injury, the manager later came over and said, "I heard you were upset that we wouldn't substitute. That's because the chef has made the recipe to go with the seafood as-is."
"That's fine," I replied, "I just simply won't return." At this point, I almost wanted to stick my tongue out at him like a five-year-old, but I'm proud to say I held back...much to Casey's relief, I'm sure. Really, though, if you're not coming over to my table to make me happy, don't bother coming over at all. And if a chef can't substitute seafood for beef in such a simple dish, he's not much of a chef in my book. Meh.

Casey and I met up with her very fun London co-worker, Annette, one evening. Annette is actually Irish; she works in the London office. We crossed the bridge and walked down to the Horniman at Hays, which was awfully quaint and a "proper pub," as the English folks would say. When Casey advised she'd have a cider, Annette looked at her strangely and said, "You do realise that's a knackers drink..?" Ah, yet another new term. Apparently, that's akin to a drink in a brown bag, something typically assigned to those less fortunate...(winks)

We also picked up tickets to see the Swingin' 60s London photography exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery, From Beatles to Bowie, which was absolutely phenom. Of course, neither Casey nor I knew all of the artists that were highlighted.
"Who's Cliff Richard? Was he a big back deal then?" I asked Casey.
"I've no idea, but I do know that the ex's grandmother absolutely loved his Christmas album..."
We also realised that afternoon that Casey and I both have a thing for English boys...though we may well be rather alone in that generalisation. ("It's just you and me on that, sister!" hehe)

Afterward, we went to the infamous Lamb and Flag in Soho, one of the oldest pubs in London, for a quick drink and a break on our lil' worn-out tootsies, particularly after our successful quest through the bookshops in Charing Cross on the hunt for the impossible-to-find Middleditch book, The London Mapguide. Hooray! I got it! It's a great book, and shows the tube lines, the bus lines, and points of interest, including good ol' pubs and restaurants, plus museums and the like...sorta like a mini A-Zed.

One evening, we wandered up to my fave haunt, Gordon's wine bar, where we sat outside in the chilly night air, talking about everything from careers, to boys, to cities and moves. What a lovely evening. We then moved up the way, after meeting up with Steve, to The Coal Hole. What an interesting place. Casey thought of it as a bit of an "old man's pub," so we hung outside for a bit, trying to decide our next move...In the middle of our debate of next stops, we realised that some guy was stealthily snapping our pic. Um...ok, that was a bit odd. I just chalked it up to the fact that we're oh-so-celeb looking that he just had to capture the image. (winks) I almost wonder if his pics came out better than mine, which is surely the case. Even with a point-and-click camera, I'm rubbish at taking non-fuzzy photos. Sigh...We all have our crosses to bear, I suppose.

We moved up to The International for a proper Pimms and lemonade (no need to send 'em back this time!), where Steve and I witnessed some crazy drunk girl outside, yelling at the bouncer. The weird thing? The boyfriend half-heartedly tried to hold her back, but wouldn't remove her from the scene. How very odd. "Whew," I told Steve, "I can guarantee you'd never see me like that." It's never attractive to be the drunk girl...I wish more young ladettes would realise this. Indeed.

Casey and I did quite a bit of window shopping during her visit. It only served to remind me just how much I want a job. ("Ugh -- Look at how cute those shoes are! I have to find a job...stat!") We walked down Regent and Oxford Streets, stopping at pricey department stores like Selfridges and boutique-y shops which displayed items that I can only right now dream of affording.

Sadly, the weather wasn't as pleasant as one would've hoped for an out-of-towner's visit. Sunday, for example, was not only bitterly cold and windy, but with a near-torrential downpour. Good times. Nonetheless, we trudged on and walked down 'round Casey's old 'hood, through Butler's Wharf and the picturesque Shad Thames, which is as old world London as one can get.

We endured the rain for as long as we could until, looking like little drowned rats, we hailed a cab to drive us across my Tower Bridge to Gordon's for Sunday roast. As we exited the cab, the driver said, "Good for you girls, braving this weather. Well done!" (giggle)

We had a yummy roast dinner in the dark cave-like room at Gordon's, the table tilted so much that we feared our gravy would wind up dripping down the table into Casey's lap. Good times.

It was such a fun time, spent with one of my oldest and dearest hometown friends. My flat seemed so boring and empty upon Casey's departure. Now all I can do is open the invite to everyone else..! Anyone want a free place to stay in Londres? (winks)

Next up? My family visit for Christmas. I'm oh-so-excited, I can barely contain myself. We've already scheduled Handel's Messiah at St. Martin in the Fields and a few other ideas. If anyone has suggestions for must-dos during Christmas week in London, let me know!

As a p.s., it seems that Casey was a bit of luck on the job front. I have my first contract job, beginning January 5 with the NHS. How perfect! Although just a two-month gig, I'm so excited for the challenge at hand and the cool folks with whom I'll be working. Hooray!

So...a ladybug gets onto the tube...(no, it's not a joke)

It never ceases to amaze me how different America and England truly are. I mean, I get it that there are McDonald's and Starbucks here, and that one can shop in a Gap or even dine on Nando's legendary, Portuguese, flame-grilled, peri-peri chicken (which inevitably makes me want to yell out for "The Amazing Nandoooo!" I've no idea why...). But yet even with all of these, our countries do differ in oh-so-many ways.

Let's look at the newspapers...This evening, I picked up The Sun, which I already do realise isn't exactly the most serious media outlets. However, there's an entire page-6 spread on last night's X Factor show. (Gasp! The twins were knocked off by the judges!) A more serious article two pages later focused on flood-ravaged Workington, where the headline "Looters target washed-up cars" was accompanied by an image of a stripped Audi (buh-bye hubcaps and wheels) with the caption, Looted...stranded Audi stripped by lowlife thieves. It's the "lowlife thieves" thing that cracks me up. Gotta love the manners here, and the absolute disgust for criminal acts. And I'm not even going to go into the space taken up for random celebrity news and gossip within the first few pages of the paper. (Wait -- Posh Beckham bought her boys yoghurt in Hollywood whilst sporting a new curly 'do?!? Oh, my goodness! Turn to page 8 -- stat! Gotta get the story!)

Newspapers aside, there are some things that, while I don't necessarily understand them, I just adore. Let's take some of the fun names here...Whilst walking to the Berry Shoppe (that's Sainsbury's, by the way -- Steve just makes fun of the way I pronounce it) the other morning, I paused to enjoy the River Wandle. As I watched the babbling stream below the bridge, I noticed a sign with a map of the area: Pickle Ditch. Now one must pause for a moment to reflect on this interesting name: Were there really once oodles of pickles thrown into the ravine below the bridge? Did ancient explorers find empty jars of pickles in the river, tossed in by careless passers-by post-purchase from the Berry Shoppe? Or was it just an evolution of a proper name from years gone by? Meh, whatever it is, I like it...And it reminds me of the just-'round-the-corner tradition of hiding the German pickle (or Weihnachtsgurke) in the Christmas tree for an extra treat to the one who finds it...which turns out to be an urban legend, it seems.

One of the more...um...head-scratching that I've seen yet thus far: Last Sunday morning, I'd run down to get a newspaper from the corner store and saw this interesting ladybug walking toward the tube. Not quite sure why anyone would be dressed like this on a Sunday morning at 10 a.m., particularly as Halloween was three weeks ago, but um...ok. To each her bug-y own, I s'pose...I only wish I'd been better able to capture the expression on the guy at the right. Classic. (giggle)

Last weekend's activities...soon to be updated for this one's

Ah, at the risk of sounding like oh-so-many blogger folks out there, I have sadly fallen behind in my postings. I suspect it's because I've been working so hard during the weekdays to find a job, that all else has taken a bit of backseat until the weekend. Let's recap...

We started the weekend with a Friday dinner at Rehab...um, the restaurant here in the Wood 'Hood (not to be confused with Therapy in Charlotte). Whilst munching on calzones and drinking some red wine, Steve got a text from Nic that she and Clint were on their way down for dinner, too. Following their arrival, we all four chatted in the front lounge. Moments later, in walk Ruth and Tree. Then Greg. Then Kerry-Ann. It became a nice little gathering and we found ourselves laughing and sharing stories in the back private room. Bonus: After the jazz-y/blues singer finished his set, he joined our little party. Interesting touch for the evening...good times.

Steve's mom hopped into London on Saturday for an afternoon of laughs with her son. The day before, I'd sent Steve an e-mail list of about two dozen field trips that I'd like to do as a bouncing off point for what we could plan for his mom (e.g. touring Number 1 London/Apsley House, the Old Operating Theatre museum, the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, in which staff offer torches for gloomy corners and Gallery 2 holds Minnie, the head of a mummy -- y'know, the creepy and macabre that I love oh-so-much). We figured we'd see what his mom would care to do and make a day of it.

On Saturday morning, Steve and I drove to Maz and John's and, after a short discussion with his mom, we decided that it'd be nice to hop up to Little Venice in Maida Vale and then ride up the canal to the London zoo. (Note: Little Venice does not guarantee fabulous Italian restaurants in the same way that Little Italy in Manhattan does; rather, it's known for its canals. However, Steve was quick to try to allay my disappointment, saying, "Well, I'm sure there are Italian restaurants there...")

We trained/tubed it on out to Maida Vale and, as we exited the tube, we found ourselves in the midst of incredibly high gusts of wind and a rather heavy drizzle. Taking shelter in a familiar Cust pub, Gordon Ramsay's Warrington, for a lovely bite of lunch (I've never seen a burger plated so fancily!), we rethought our original agenda. Instead, we opted to go to the National Science Museum, where we'd be dry and warm inside.

We walked down museum row, past the V&A and the National History Museum, pausing to peek at the ice skaters on the seasonal rink outside the History Museum. ("What's a Zamboni?" asked Steve...Yeah, there are Yank terms that they don't understand, either. Somehow, that makes me feel a bit better.)

As we wandered through the museum's exhibits, learning about turn-of-the-century industrial machinery, DNA, human emotions, ships, technology and more, we exchanged silly remarks that set us into high giggles. Three and a half hours later, we'd completed just three of the five floors, yet were rather beat. We walked past Maz's place of employment, the Royal Marsden Hospital, and escaped the wet weather in a charming little pub on a quiet street, The Crown. It was cosy and had a large skylight in the dining room that would've surely been beautiful in sunny weather.

One quick drink later, we were back to walking the streets, and strolling down King's Road, window shopping and sharing tales. Steve's mom mentioned that during the 60's, this was a popular "swinging London" area. It was very cool and positively filled with fab shoe shops. ("Now I have to find a job quickly; I want to buy those shoes! Think I should mention that in the next interview?")

We finished the evening back at Maz and John's, eating baked ziti, and watching the movie Ratatouille (aww, too cute). It was a nice, quiet Saturday night in, and was just what I'd needed.

Up next? Um...I guess what I did six days ago...(winks) In the meantime, I'll be cleaning and prepping for Casey's arrival on Tuesday. Hooray!

How many days does one get to celebrate one’s birthday? Apparently, in London it’s a week.

Last Monday was Steve’s birthday. As I’d mentioned in a previous post, I find it a rather odd custom here in London that folks tend to organise their own birthday gatherings, but meh...whatever. The morning of his birthday, Steve sent out a reminder e-mail to all, advising that he’d be at the Tup at 7 for those who wanted to wish him a happy birthday.

After meeting with yet another recruiter that morning, I hoofed it up to Camden Market to a really fun store, Oddballs, to try to find a gift for Steve. Oddballs sells all sorts of wacky-fun things like juggling balls, unicycles, and diabolos. If you’ve never seen someone working a diabolo, take a peek. It’s pretty cool. When we’d gone there a few weeks ago, there was a guy playing with one in the store. It’s kind of like the yo-yo's awesome cousin. Anywho, Steve had noted that he could use some new juggling balls, which I picked up (along with a kazoo...that no one seemed to recall how to play). Good times.

We met at the Tup that evening, and Landlord Dan was up there in addition to the ol’ gang. Dan bought Steve a yard of ale (which, I was told equates to about three-plus pints) and we all followed Steve outside to cheer him on and watch him pound down this ridiculous amount of beer. Now, I’m not sure if it was the pressure of it all or the fact that people don’t exactly chug-a-lug in England, but I think Steve wound up wearing more ale than drinking it. His shirt was positively soaked, so as we went inside to have some birthday cake, he put on Greg’s sweater, which Greg had so generously offered.

Thursday night was Guy Fawkes Night, celebrated with fireworks and fun. It must be noted here that the people had been setting off fireworks all week long. Every time I heard one go off, I’d cringe a little, convinced it was gunshots...then I realised I'm in London, not Charlotte. (hehe) I think Star was with me on that one, as she kept tweaking with each loud bang. It was kinda cool, however, to see fireworks each night from my windows. You can sort of make out the fireworks in the distance in this pic, taken from my bedroom window. There were several shows to see, and Steve came over that night for a birthday dinner of steak au poivre, and we dined whilst watching the Dave channel and listening to the skyrockets outside – very cool.

On Friday night, I joined Steve’s family to celebrate his birthday. We started at The Alexandra pub in Wimbledon, then moved to dinner at Suk Saran, with its fabulous Thai food, then back to The Alexandra for a quick post-dinner drink together. (You may recall that The Alexandra was included in the Wimbledon ghost walk blog post a few weeks ago...Hooray for haunted pubs!) After returning back to our Colliers Wood ‘hood, Steve and I popped into the Tup for one last celebratory birthday drink with the other locals. (winks)

Was Steve’s birthday over then? Oh, of course not! We still had another day to go (at minimum!).

The gang met on Saturday afternoon at The Alexandra in Clapham to watch England vs. Australia in rugby. Now this is one sport with our lil’ reserved English folks don’t hold back. Whether it was shouts from across the room (“C’mon, England!!”) , exchanged stats across tables (“Did you know Jonny Wilkinson Wilkinson overtook Neil Jenkins' world test record of 1090 points last March?”), or chants of “Swing low, sweet chariot...”, they were all out in force. Best game quote goes to Chris, re: Jonny Wilkinson, rugby superstar, who was all over the field (I believe Steve even used “omnipotent”), as he said, “Those other 14 players are just superfluous!” Love it...hehe...

Following the 9-18 England loss (sigh), we wound up with great real estate in a downstairs area of the pub, watching the Wales vs. The All Blacks (South Africa). Hungry, yet not wanting to give up our area, we grabbed bites in shifts from the hole in the wall next door. As the place began to crowd in anticipation of the much-publicised David and Goliath fight, we decided to leave and return back to the Wood 'hood, where we watched the fight at South African Anton’s before calling it a night.

Good times: I returned home to find that Star had as much of a party as Steve, tearing into the garbage and making a well-distributed mess through my flat - yet again. Sigh...My kingdom for a proper trash container. Perhaps that's what I'll add to my next birthday wish list..? (winks)

Halloween weekend in London...from a Yank's POV

Our story begins just days before Halloween, my favorite of favorite holidays...

I was bummed to find out that I didn't get the job that I wanted (for which I'd interviewed early in the week), but figure that all things happen for a reason. That may just not be the right fit for me. Another one will come along, though let's surely hope soon!

To cheer me up, Steve Mafia invited me up to The Tup to join him, South African Anton and Canadian Rob for a drink and the Arsenal/Liverpool game. Anton was already in the spooky Halloween spirit and had morphed into a ghoul during the game. Yay! The holiday was truly upon us...

What better way to celebrate in an old, haunted city like London than to go on a haunted ghost walk? A special walk was scheduled through Wimbledon on Friday, just up the street from my lil' Colliers Wood. Steve said he'd be up for it, so we made plans to meet up at The Prince of Wales pub, which is just across from the tube station and bus stops, as Steve was coming straight from work. They were rather decked out in Halloween decor, and I could feel myself smiling and getting more excited at the prospect of hearing ghostly tales in a few moments' time...

The tour itself was just o.k. It was guided by an American woman wearing a pointy witch hat. Sigh. Somehow, a ghost tour in London just isn't the same when an American is telling the tales. Heck, I felt as though I were home -- and that's not really the point of it, is it?

She led us through various streets of Wimbledon, pausing here and there to point out locations (pubs, homes, construction sites) and to provide us with the spooky stories of the ghostly spirits that haunt them.

One, for example, was The Alexandra, a large pub with a wine bar ("Smart Alex") attached in the back. Apparently, the building is haunted by a screaming child that yells out for her mummy. Indeed. That would be an awful haunting to a girl like me...Yikes.

The highlight of the tour was our stop at St. Mary's Church. As we muddled across half-buried tombstones in the churchyard to get a better look at the estate home nearby, we could smell the wonderfully autumn scent of burning leaves and a creepy male figure leaning against a rake in the firelight. "Wow," I thought, "they really went all out on props for this tour." Um...No. It was actually a caretaker...just standing quite still. He was something out of a Dickensian novel and added to the eerie feel of the evening perfectly. (Not sure you can make him out in the pic, but...meh, it was worth a shot.)

After an hour and a half of trolling around with this large group of 50 or 60 ghost hunters, Steve and I were both hit with a horrible case of ADD and quietly escaped the rest of the tour in lieu of a quiet bite of Italian dinner in Wimbledon Village. Shh...They'll never know we left, we thought, as we scrambled down the footpath in the opposite direction of the tour. (winks)

Saturday was my day of days, Halloween. Hooray! Ghouls! Ghosts! Goblins and witches! Ah, how I love it. Steve took me to his sister's and brother-in-law's house (Maz and John) where a group of us could celebrate John's birthday and watch the Arsenal/Tottenham game. Oh, how interesting this game could've been, as I was pulling for Arsenal (if only because I went to a game once, courtesy of Julian) and Steve was pulling for his Spurs. I'm pleased to report that an argument did not ensue...though Arsenal pulled it off, 3-nil.

John and Maz had carved a pumpkin days before and all in the room seemed to question when I'd noted, "No, no -- it's a pumpkin before it's carved, but a jack-o'-lantern after." Let's not go up against an American when it comes to Halloween, particularly this one!

Maz was the hostess-with-the-mostest, making a tasty lunch of roast pig and crackling and John entertained us by passing around the game controls to the group in order to play match-ups of Street Fighter. Hehe...Good times. Now, if you've never had, nor heard of, crackling -- I never had heard of it until last week -- it is the tastiest thing on earth. It's basically the crunchy, chewy skin...or fat...or something. Regardless, it's awesome. Maz served the roast pork with her own homemade applesauce. Oh, the recipes I have yet to learn!

We returned home so that I could take Star out and get ready for the evening. Later on, Steve and I met at the tube station and we continued John's birthday festivities with the group at the Leather Bottle in Earlsfield. What a lovely time! Added to the fact that I was able to break out some of my ol' goth gear of yore (jewelry, black velvet shawl, etc.), it seemed everyone was in the spirit. The pub had lots of Halloween decorations and even the pub staff were in costume, some even wearing those spooky contact lenses that made them look like wolves or vampires...or the undead. All of us 'round the table laughed and smiled all evening long. (As a side note, one of John's longtime friends was there with his girlfriend -- another girl named Andrea. She and I were the only ones that were dressed Halloween-y. Must be something about the name..?)

At one point, I was outside, and when I turned 'round, I saw a guy in a kilt. Hmm. Now there's a pickle. Is he really just Scottish or is he just dressed up for the holiday? Figuring the former, as most folks aren't really into the costume thing here, I wanted to snap a stealthy pic. Steve joined me outside a few moments later and I instructed him to stand in line of the kilt-wearer so I could take a pic. "It's too classic not to," I reasoned. Yeah... Then Steve simply took the bull by the horns and just asked the guy if we could take his pic. Um. O.k. That works, too, I guess. We even were able to get a pic of us snapped in return whilst outside, enjoying the relatively warm October-nearly-November air.

Back inside the pub, everyone was all smiles, munching on crisps and enjoying their pints. John seemed to full-well enjoy his birthday gathering, and Maz was the hostess-with-the-mostest, having made us lunch that afternoon and then arranging the pub outing for her hubby. Anywho, one can easily tell how happy they are as they donned Frankenstein masks in celebration of the holiday. Aww, aren't they a cute couple of monsters?

After leaving the Leather Bottle, Steve, Tree, and I hopped down to pick up some Chinese take away, which we brought back to Tree's house before calling it a night. Interesting: They don't have egg rolls here, just spring rolls. I think I've yet to see egg rolls on any Chinese menu. The spring rolls are good, but have an earthy taste (no, not quite like dirt). I can't place the spice used, but it's oh-so-familiar...

...Which brings me to tonight's dinner. One of the most fantabulous traditions that this country has is that of its Sunday roasts. Whether eaten in a pub with friends or cooked at home and enjoyed, roasts are the quintessential Sunday meal. Now, it must be said that I fully adore Sunday dinners. I suspect it's a throwback to my own upbringing, as Sunday dinner was always special and time for the family to gather 'round the table.

In keeping with my familial traditions and also adopting those of my borrowed country's, I made a roast this evening. I'd picked up the smallest chunk of beef sirloin I could find, as I worried that Star and I would be eating it until Christmas otherwise. The recipe from my Nintendo DS's "Cooking Guide" game was easy enough: just salt the lil' guy and stick 'im in the oven. Admittedly, I cheated on the Yorkshire puddings and used frozen ones, as I don't have my cupcake tins here, and am not really up for buying moulds. (Note: I do know how to make them! Really!)

I figured I'd need a veggie to go along with my dinner, so I hopped to the convenience store next door to pick up something. There, outside, were the longest, craziest string beans I'd ever seen. Seriously. These puppies were like, a foot and a half long. Meh, as , Ithis experience is all about trying something new picked them up, half afraid they'd be some Asian pepper or otherwise. They were tasty...not quite as crunchy as the string beans with which I'm familiar, but good nonetheless. I love trying new stuff...and I love seeing new stuff. This move has already proven that there's so much more for me to learn. It's actually a really cool feeling. Yay!

Up next..? Steve's birthday gathering. Another tradition here that confuses me a bit is that of arranging your own birthday party. That is, if it's your birthday, you're expected to choose the location, date, time, and handle the invites to those who you wish to attend. I guess we're similar in going out like that, but it does seem a bit more formal and organized here. Now the question remains of a gift...sigh...and I am the worst gifter ev-ah...unlike my brother, who can always pick the perfect gift. Wish I could get a quick trans-Atlantic lesson from him right now...(winks)

Things I DO understand and things I DON'T understand here...

Now, of course I'm still working hard to find a job. It's been interesting, to say the least. Sigh. However, one has to take some time out to enjoy this fabulous city and all it has to offer...just a bit...From interviewing to my wanderings around the city, I'm learning that there are things I get...and not so much.

I went out for a GNO (that's Girls' Night Out) with KerryAnne and Mel-Jen. (Her name is Mel, but she is absolutely-creepily-spookily the same as Jen of Ben-and-Jen fame, that I've renamed her Mel-Jen. They have the same mannerisms, behaviours and, although I know full-well that Mel-Jen has a posh English accent and Jen does not, they speak the same way, same tone or something. It's really odd...)

Anywho, back to the story. Mel-Jen suggests we meet down at Suburban in Wimbledon, a simple ten-minute bus ride from my 'hood, which is having "2 4 1" drinks on this particular GNO night. Rock on. Now...while I'm well-versed on cocktail-speak, I figured 2 4 1 (and yes, that's how they write it) drinks would mean that if you order one, it's just half-priced. Um...no. That means, in fact, that if you order a martini, they give you two. Yikes. We started out well enough, but I think each of us had a tiny bit too much by the end of the evening. Whew. Mental note: find a drink that we all like and actually engage properly in 2 4 1. Sigh. Chalk up 1: Something I didn't know.

Moving on...Steve Mafia and I went out on Friday evening. I had suggested we go down to a Halloween-themed Asylum Hill, which sounded nice and spooky (my fave!). He accepted and, in response, noted that it would take us 32 minutes on the train, 9 minutes to walk, leaving 4 minutes to purchase our tickets. Cool-o. Um...until we realized that neither of us knew where we were going. With such accurate and precise times given, I was sure that he had mapped out the way. And he thought that since it was my idea, I had mapped out the way. No worries, we figured, we'll just pop into a pub or something. He led me down to Hoxton Square, and we had a happy drink (or two) at Apprentice. It was super-cute, in a funky little area of London. I was shocked at one of the sights, however: There, on the corner of this picturesque little square was an odd triangular object. Steve explained to me that it was where men could urinate. "Like, right here on the street?!" I asked incredulously. I had to snap a picture (whilst he pretended not to know me). Thank goodness that no one was using it at the time. Crikey. Number 2: Another thing I didn't know.

After our drinks, we tubed it on back to the 'hood. As we went up the escalator, we heard a familiar voice. There was Tree (short for Trina, but not Katrina, thank you!), saying hi. (As a side note, I'm not sure if that's how she spells it, but it can hardly be spelled "Tri"...that would be weird...hehe) Ah, finally: something I do know: seeing familiar faces. Yay!

Tree had just returned from seeing Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at the theatre. Upon leaving the tube station, we hopped over to the Tup for a quick drink together. Good times...

Steve Mafia took Star and I to Richmond on Sunday for a pleasant morning walk through the park. This place is huge -- and incredibly beautiful. There were herds of deer (No, Star, you can't chase them! It's illegal!) that seemed hardly to even care about the people and puppies wandering around them. The views were amazing, and the whole place was well...just so natural. I know, I know, that sounds ridiculous, it being a park and all. But it's one of those parks where they allow ferns and brush to grow wild...and it adds to the fabulousness of the place. I'm proud to report that Star handled herself very well, running off the leash, and having a field day sniffing wood. I, myself, didn't realize that wooden logs were so astounding, but...Meh. I noted that I'd wished Star would be that interested in a stick and would play a game of fetch. "She wouldn't?" asked Steve.
"Nah, I think she'd just look at me like I was an idiot. I've always wanted to get a ChuckIt for her, but I don't think she'd play along."
Steve, mimicking Star's would-be reaction: "'Why'd you throw that away? You're going to have to go get that, you know!'" Hehe...Good times.
One of the more interesting sights in the park was a parade of folks on horseback dressed in costume. You may notice Scooby Doo riding the horse in the pic. There's something awfully funny to me about a dog riding a horse, and I can't quite put my finger on why...Number 3: Something I do get - wandering around on a beautiful autumn morning through an amazing, fab park. (Not like anyone would actually believe that, but really...it's true...)

Let's keep on the roll of things I do get and move on to my Monday, where I had a meeting with a recruiter. Julian texted and invited me to meet him for lunch afterward near Holborn, where we could do a bit of wandering around one of my favorite areas of London, Lincoln's Inn Field, where barristers (not to be confused with baristas) live and work in buildings that seem so proper English. I love it.

I agreed and set out to walk up there from my appointment to Holborn, checking my A-Zed every few blocks to ensure that I was on track. I am horrible with maps. I think I don't have that section of my brain...or perhaps I lost the brain cells with one too many pub visits...I don't know.

In any case, as I wandered past Blackfriars, I came to a corner with a building that was boarded up on the ground floor. Looking up to get a better check of the pretty windows on the second floor (that's the third floor to us Yanks, of course), I giggled: There was spray paint on the windows, a la the movie Sid and Nancy, where Sid Vicious comes into the London flat and starts spray painting anarchy signs on the walls. Yup -- this building must've housed Sid the Squatter, too. In one window was written "No war," in the other, how classic: an anarchy symbol...Made me chuckle. I'm not sure if that falls into the category of what I do understand (i.e. I've seen the movie) or what I don't understand (i.e. I'm not pro-anarchy), but meh...

Last for now is another one of those terms that I absolutely missed on first glance...I was at my beloved Tup, enjoying the great back patio for which it's famous (ok, near famous?) and saw two signs on one side of the patio: One with "Barbie scrum" (scrum is a rugby term, of course) and the other with "Party and Barbie zones - no charge." What the..? I hear the word Barbie and automatically think of the doll. And that just didn't really make sense to me. A party and Barbie zone? Is that an area for wild blondes? Added to that was the sign on the opposite side of the patio, "Barbie zone hooker," which truly added creepy images to my mind. No, no, Steve Mafia had to explain..."It's barbie, as in barbeque," he corrected. Oh. Whew. I was near wondering what type of anarchistic place I'd moved to! Winks.

Yeah, it's really not...I absolutely love this place, and truly feel as though I made the right decision moving here and trying this life! Yay! Now off to watch the Arsenal game...