New Years Eve

Lookee here, I finally have internet connection!!

My New Years Resolutions for 2009-
1. Lose 20 lbs by March 20th (Australia)
2. Date at least one white guy (2008 was the year for black guys!)
3. Do not talk to Travis James (ever. For no reason. At all.)
4. Get a bigger flat (bachelorette pad, yo)
5. Do one random good deed every two weeks
6. Treat myself once per month

A very persuasive essay for a Monday morning

After extensive research and conducting a poll of millions between the ages of 18-49, I have concluded that everyone in England knows someone who knows Chris Martin, lead singer of Coldplay. Everyone. And if not, then everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows Chris Martin. For example, you know me, and I know someone who knows Chris Martin. In fact, I know three people who each know someone who knows him. An ex boyfriend of mine's brother went to school with him (and the rest of the band, but that is much less exciting), a roommate's ex girlfriend knows the manager, and (by far a better connection than the others) a girl I work with DATED him. Like before he married Gwyneth. Which is BADASS, Annie. And a man on BBC3 went to school with Mr. Martin, so whoever knows that guy, knows someone who knows him. In conclusion, it is evident by the arguements that I have just made, along with the compelling examples given, that everyone in the UK somehow knows Chris Martin. Of Coldplay.

Riverside Esporta

The path down which I walk to work every morning is designed to test every one of my fears. On this path I have encountered giant spiders in even bigger webs, rabid dogs, shady characters, darkness, and slugs eating dog poo. Spiky branches catch on my clothing as I tread lightly by, attempting to miss the slimy creatures lazing on the path in front of me. Not everyone is as careful as me, so the poor disgusting things are massacred over the pavement, their guts strewn about by stray shoes and fast peddling bicycles. It's a gruesome scene, really. And the smell... the smell is something awful. It's the smell of rot.

And please tell me HOW I manage to take 90 minutes to get to work, when at any other time of day it would only take 15?

Everything I thought about last night

I think that watching the video for Pearl Jam's 'Even Flow' is the closest I've ever come to a religious experience. There is too much hair there for it to be anything less.

Of course, Obama's 2008 candidate acceptance speech was a close second. But it couldn't quite beat out all that 90's flannel and waist length hair.

I don't know why, but I think if I ever met Lil' Wayne, he would set me on fire or something. It sounds silly, but I think he'd kill me. It is for this reason, and despite my love of his music, that he comes third on my list of fears, below 1) failure and 2) water I can't see me feet in, and above 4) spiders.

I had a dream last night I was with Shawn in East London. We didn't have any money, and after we dropped Kim off at the station, he turned into Julian Thomas, and we watched five people get stabbed and tried to run away so we wouldn't be next. We ended up in the fields behind my house in Suprise Valley in Boise. Who knew those fields are so close to East London.

Notting Hill Carnival

Life is like the Notting Hill Carnival. You walk around for a good hour and a half frustratedly wondering why you are there, you almost die in a gang fight by the plantain stall, and suprisingly, you enjoy it much more afterards, and spend the next two hours dancing to reggae music with chubby women in sparkly bikinis. I hope my life continues down that path.

Honestly.

Sometimes I wish I was watching my life from outside, not living it. I want to be detached.

This Temporary Life

Since the manager at Sainsbury's asked for my number, I've developed this irrational fear of men asking me out. I'm a really friendly person, and I think my innocent small talk is mistaken for feelings more often than not. Is that how lonely this city is, that a smile makes people fall head over heels? So now I feel uncomfortable talking to the men in my gym too long, which is a shame because they are so nice. But I'd hate if they ruined what we have by asking for my number. I don't need a reason to hate going to work. I don't dance with men too long at clubs, which is part claustrophobia and part not wanting them to get too familiar, and I could treat the men I do know a bit better. I get asked out too often. I feel so selfish complaining about that, because I know there were times in my life (most of my life, quite honestly) I would have given my right arm for the attention I'm recieving now (though of course, getting rid of my right arm would ironically hinder the male attention I seeked). I'm not an unfriendly person though. That's one thing I love about home, is most people are friendly and happy like me. Well outwardly happy, but no matter. I think my environment is to blame. Damn cold, polite, unfriendly London.

A man came into my gym today and signed up for a month. He was over six feet tall, black and had muscles upon muscles upon muscles. I'm nervous right now just thinking about him! What a scary man- and of course, he asked me my name, where I live (WHERE I LIVE?!) and touched my arm when I gave him a cup to get water from. He made me and Kristina so nervous, and of course he liked me. FUCK. Excuse my language, but seriously. As if I wasn't scared enough for my life locking up my work alone at night in a remote alleyway in London.

Home, James.

Jesus Christ, I am SO excited to be home on Monday. I have only 4 more hours of work until I can go home and start packing, take a nap and be ready for my last night out dancing for two weeks! Better make it a good one! Then tomorrow I might see X, but I also might not, because he's SO unreliable! Finish packing tomorrow, and stay up late with a Jen, Tim, and Laura party, which Dean might attend as well, but as he is not one of the original three, I can't add his name to the title of the party.
And then I'm off! Off on a very long flight to LAX, a long layover, and finally my flight home. First thing to be done? I have a hair appointment at 3pm. I am very excited about this hair appointment, because I'm quite sick of my roots making me look like I'm prematurely greying and badly covering it up. Because this is not the case. Au contrare, mon frere.
I feel like people are going to forget me while I'm gone. Especially clients at SD. Two weeks is too long to be gone, I won't learn the new patients, and the old ones will get to know the other girls more than me! I don't like that! And I know we will hire someone new in the speed centre next week, so I no doubt won't be close to him/her because I wasn't here when he'she started. I could've just said 'they' there, but thought I'd be a little more grammerly correct. I do not think that 'grammerly' is a real word, nor proper grammer.
The mysterious cuts on my left arm are healing, some better than others, but the one on the bottom of my arm keeps getting caught on things and the scab keeps coming off, and its a bit itchy too, which doesn't help matters. Put a bandaid on it today to try to solve the problem but it keeps coming off... not very effective. Last Friday night I saw Sex and the City with Jen Party and had a few Strongbows, then at her hostel I had a few more... resulting in me getting a minor concussion from falling off the back of the couch twice (the second time right after someone had picked me up!) and me waking up with awful cuts on my arm. Goes to show, I dont drink that much often, so it affects me terribly!
I know I won't end up packing tonight, I'll fall asleep instead.....

Skin.

Sometimes I wonder why a life as great as this one was wasted on someone like me. I'm prone to depression, and no matter what I'm doing and where I am I always want more. I've got a beautiful family, great friends, enough money to get by, three passports, all my limbs, talent in a few of the artsy areas, a job, I'm living in London.... all I've ever wanted was someone to hold me and tell me they love me and everything will be alright. And I got that. I know in my heart I had the person who would do that for me. But I didn't want him. I've always treated nice guys badly. It's awful, they don't deserve it, I'm sure they could make me happy if I gave them the chance. But instead, I play with them, knowing I want a certain guy, the only one I've really wanted for years.
Someone asked me if I wanted to talk today. Well rather, he said if I needed to talk, I could talk to him. What a fantastic person. I feel that is one of the first times anyone had asked me that since I moved to England. The English don't seem to have emotions. Whereas regretfully, mine are pretty transparent. So to be asked if I wanted to talk was a big thing. But I could never do it. I wouldn't want to waste James' time with talk of me. There is one way I've changed since I moved here- I've realized my own insignificance.
Every time I'm upset, sad or angry, it has to do with people. People here, people home- trying to make everyone happy at once, people sabotaging my good efforts, and ruining things between me and people I care about. People are cold, and cruel. I want to move to an island somewhere and lose contact with everyone I know. I couldn't do it to my mum, but I think it'd be good for me. Perhaps when I get back from the states I'll at least start by attempting to find a studio flat- I want my own space, to helpt control my own destiny. In January I have two months I could go to Jamaica and be poor. That sounds wonderful right now.

Trying to love my job.

I've come to the conclusion that every single woman in Chiswick has a baby. Every single one. I actually believe it's a requirement to live here. They all have really expensive prams, and about a third of the women are American women who married rich, which I think really says something about our culture. That reminds me, I got my 'Idaho? No, Udaho!' shirt last night, and I am going to wear it to work tomorrow. SO excited!!

I also have gotten to the point where I can't walk through Chiswick on my lunch break without seeing a client from the gym. So i'm like a celebrity, except instead of acting in movies, I answer phones. Yeah.

There is a garbage man in Chiswick who makes my day better, every day. He looks like the singer Mika, and every day he wears the same outfit- bright green pants, a yellow tshirt with some 80s icon on it, thick framed yellow sunglasses, and huge headphones. And this Mika guy dances whilest picking up rubbish. He dances constantly! He changes the garbarge bags, picks things off the floor, wheels his cart around... and dances. He's the poster boy for enjoying your job. He's completely oblivious that he's somewhat of a tourist attraction here in Chiswick. It almost makes me want to pick up rubbish, it seems like I'd enjoy that more than my job. After all, he loves it! He's so damn cool.

Damn, I almost got Olympic rower Peter Reed all to myself. He is SO yummy, just wanted to come in to row without his shirt on, in which case I'd go in and pretend to do laundry for an hour or so =D but we close in 20 minutes, so he went home. Damn. Gosh I'm weird!

I've been fighting off a migrane since I got up this morning, which is why I'm more negative than usual today. But now (well, in 20 minutes) I'm going to meet my good friend Kiwi Jen Party (yes, she has three names) to tell her all the secret and exciting things I've been up to. You know, like being an international spy and such. 007.5 yeah. And she's going to tell me about Ascot, and about going to Fabrik this weekend. 15 minutes.

18 days until I go home.

Too chubby to be indie.

Me and skinny jeans just won't ever be friends.
I'd have to become anor-sex-ic to be indie.
I think if you get all your cool indie bands from your cool indie friends, instead of finding them yourself, you kind of arent indie, though you may look it.
I can't/won't do edgy things with my hair, because then I'd have to deal with it.
Being scared to be edgy is most definately not indie.
I think I'll just have to keep lusting after indie chicks, as it seems too much pressure to become one. Damn.
You're so indie-rock it's almost an art.

Happy Father's Day, Daddy

Today was Father's Day. Everywhere were daughters and dads, walking holding hands, at the pubs, with presents, laughing, talking, smiling. I didn't think much of it until I saw a girl of nine with a big scratch on her leg. She had obviously had a nasty fall, and her father was carrying her, you could tell she was trying so hard not to cry. It was heartbreaking and beautiful, and made me wish I was at home with my dad today so much. He's done so much for me, and I want him so badly to be here with me right now. Don't tell him, but I miss him SO much.

I love you Daddy!

Superheroes collide

I wore my Batman tshirt to work today. I sat on the way home on the bus, and a guy with a Superman hat got on and sat down right next to me.
IT WAS EPIC.

Diva?

I just got yelled at by a celebrity! Vanessa Redgrave, of Titanic, Camelot, and many other famous movies, came into the gym for her session, and read the sign I have at my desk that says 'We will be closing at 7pm on Friday 13th June.' She asked 'Are you closing forever?' and when I explained that no, we just are closing early because we are having a party for an intern, she had a go at me because the sign didn't use proper English! It should be 'We will be closing early at 7pm on Friday 13th June'. That's all well and good, and I agree with her that the sign is incorrect, but she didn't need to YELL at me in front of like three people! Very uncomfortable. I'm not even going to change the damn sign. Because I'm THAT badass.

Um, no.

I was out with a guy who, after hours of intellectual political conversation, informed me that I look about fourteen years old. Um, no. And then he didn't understand how that was an insult. First of all, he's twenty seven. Calling a girl he's out with HAS to be an insult, unless... he's into that kind of thing. Awful. He MEANT to say that I have a baby face, which I have been getting a lot lately, as everyone around me seems to be at least four years older than me, and because those people like to point out how much younger I am. Maybe he was just mad that I argued against his hero, Obama, for about an hour and a half. Not that I'm for McCain, either. I think I'm just still sore that Hillary lost, which apparently means I'm a lesbian feminist, according to this guy, who, thanks to Giorgie showing up at our pub, I know is named Paul, and not 'lambourghini guy'. I told him he was a bit sexist considering how intelligent he seemed to be, and he laughed. I had a good time, I must admit, and I do love the car. I think he felt bad about the pre-teen comment because he sent one of those cute awkward over-eager 'i had a great time and can't wait to see you again' texts I used to send after dates in high school. I'm really not as judgemental as I think I come across in this blog. Or perhaps I am, because now I'm even judging myself... I'm so complicated.

Usher in '08

I believe Usher can get anyone to do anything. His newest hit, 'Love in this Club', is about basically screwing 'on the couch, on the table, on the bar, on the floor'... and in the bathroom of some sweaty, dirty club. And he doesn't care who's watching. Honestly, its a pretty disgusting concept. On the floor? That sounds sticky, smelly, unhygenic, and with all the feet movin' around down there... crowded. I think for any girl with some level of self esteem, love on the floor of a club would be a resounding 'NO'. But Usher makes it sound so good, about halfway through the song I find myself thinking, well if they clean the floor of that club every night, then it can't be THAT dirty... and the couch might be comfortable... so I declare that dear Usher should run for Prez this year. Because if he can get girls to discrace themselves in public 1.5 minutes into a song... then he can do ANYTHING. Vote Usher in '08. He'll make love in your club, America.

My hate/love relationship with Rascal Flatts

I have not written in my blog for awhile. I have not written in it for 18 days. Not that it matters, honestly I don't believe that anyone actually reads it. And if they did, they would have given up after the long absence of my thoughts and voice which has occurred in the last 18 long, and uninteresting days. The reason, my non-existent and imaginary Internet friends, that I have not written in my blog for over two weeks is that I am depressed. Depressed and homesick. Depressed and homesick and stressed. And it turns out that when I am feeling depressed and homesick and stressed, I cannot blog. Nor can I exercise, as I tried in vain to explain to a man who, at 27 years of age and wisdom (and with a notable lack of exposure to Ritalin), cannot sit through a movie, and who's palms get sweaty at the thought of a day without a workout. Nope, all I can do in this stupor of unreasonable unhappiness, it seems, is listen to country music. Those of you who know me (which is none of you, as nobody is reading this blog anyhow) know that if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is country music. Oysters are a close second, but that is beside the point. So there is a bit of cruel irony, I find, that in the depths of my despair, however unfounded and silly that despair may be, my greatest comfort is the twang of a banjo, and a song about country fried chicken, or something equally as vomit-inducing. Rascal Flatts and Taylor Swift are this moment's muses, and it sickens me. Perhaps this love of redneck music is merely a not-well-thought-out substitution for all the things I miss about the USofA. Maybe its my rebound sex, satisfying but not doing any good in the long run. Also I have stopped eating. I mean, not entirely stopped, but definitely cut down, for no good reason but to feel hungry. Which isn't good for my health or frame of mind, but is damn good for my WW results. My only immediate hope is that the pole dancing classes I start in June will give me an outlet, and that I can figure out what the hell is wrong with me, so I can stop crying to Faith Hill and start enjoying things again. After all, I'm in London. I'm making money, I'm making friends, going to clubs, and have knocked off a good 10lbs thanks to anor-sexy-a, so I should be set to blog.

OHMYGODILOVEYOURTA'OO!

I was thinking that I could add a couple stars to the star on my wrist, eventually. Right now, when people ask me what it means, it is kind of awkward, I usually tell them nothing, because telling someone you just met that your tattoo is a reminder of an awful time you went through and that you never want to get yourself there again, it's a bit heavier than I'm sure they were expecting. 'I dunno, I like stars?' So I thought I could get two more, one representing England, one Australia, and one the USA. My heritages, and my place of birth. My three passports. The places I belong. I don't know, we'll see, but I think its a pretty gosh dang good idea. REPRESENT

Love

Post Secret

Indecision

My very worst personality trait is my need for approval and acceptance. It makes me ridiculously indecisive when I need to make decisions that affect others. Today I was sent to buy cake for everyone. It took me a total of 30 minutes in the store and 3 phone calls to work to actually buy the stuff. On top of that, I had a mini panic attack and felt sick the entire way back. Not a good day. I just don't want to be responsible if they don't like it! Oh well, stress is over now. The worst bit was that I had to walk by Mrs Smith, the homeless lady who lives in the area, with a bag full of chocolate cake, sponge cake, brownies and shortbread biscuits. Talk about guilt!

On a much much brighter note..

I found out that my mum is going to come over for my birthday in October!! She'll be here for a week, and we will go to the destination(s) of my choice!! Now THAT is something to look forward to! I'll not have seen my mum for 9 months at that point. All I have to do is get it off work, and start to think about where I want to go!

Burnout

I have to work another 6 day week next week. This is my 6th week in a row doing that. Which means in the month and a half I've worked at Sport Dimensions, I've gotten only 6 days off. Half the days off that everyone else has gotten. I've worked more than the boss. I have an awful feeling that I will burn out next week. I hope I don't, but I do think I will.

I got annoyed with my roommate last night. He's fantastic, but he has this way of arguing that makes you feel completely ridiculous for disagreeing with him. He doesn't let you talk, and he raises his voice as if your opinions are the most stupid ones he's ever heard. I don't think he means to be like that, but I just gave up. Oh and I was hungry. I was going to reward my hard work with chinese takeout, but he made a comment that I must live on chinese takeaway. Which I don't. He's probably seen me with it once since he got back from Miami. Anyway, I couldn't very well have my nice night in with that and Grey's Anatomy now, can I? I wouldn't eat it in front of him, and I couldn't very well eat in my room, because that is rank. So I didn't eat at all. Maybe I'll treat myself next week.

As you can tell Friday the 2nd has started with me not in the best of moods... come to think of it May itself hasn't started off in the best way. I need a day off! Thank goodness there is a bank holiday this Monday- it will be my first two-day weekend in ages and ages!

Yum

I love getting cash from hot black sprinters with tattoos. Don't drink that haterade!

I'm super stressed out at work

Blah blah blah blah blah I promise I'll write a supercool one tonight... or tomorrow night... no probably tonight................................ I'm sad because Jamie Keen goes back to Scotland today =(

Mike Birbiglia

Did it come up in your google alerts? If it did, let me tell you you need to do a London show. Because I live here now, and not in Arizona, or wherever you are going next. PS I love you.

Everyone else ignore this post, yeah?

I've been told..

that everyone has a secret that would break your heart if you knew. I disagreed for about a week, I couldn't think of any secrets I had at all! Such a transparent person... but I've finally come to the conclusion that I could break a couple hearts with my secrets. So yay! Kind of. I now wish I hadn't thought about it, and that I didn't think I had any.

Be back in 10...

I walked down Fulham Road around midday on Saturday, and came across a closed clothing store with a sign out front that said 'Gone for prayer, be back in 10 minutes' and was taken aback! Probably because I couldn't imagine seeing something like that ANYWHERE in Boise, Idaho! I wouldn't think someone would close their store to go home to pray, even if they were Muslim (which they probably were, right? Don't they pray 3 times per day or something??). I've walked past that store a few times since then, and the same sign was up. The most interesting part was that the other signs on the door to the shop were advertising a giant closing down sale (everything must go, etc). Can anyone guess WHY the shop is closing down? Perhaps, just maybe, its because the store is never open!

Just My Luck

Today I wore a skirt, no tights. I did this so Annie or one of the physios could look at my knee, as I really don't wear shorts... so the day I wear a skirt, and no tights, of course is the day it decides to rain. And hail. And of course this starts when I'm out in it! Yes, I got stuck in a massive hailstorm, one that turned my poor umbrella inside out and got my entire bottom half completely soaking wet!! As cold and wet as I was, it was a scene out of 'Singing in the Rain'- I was dancing, avoiding puzzles, and listening to my ipod with a huge smile on my face. A little silly perhaps, a little odd, but this, my friends, is why I came to London. Vive la pluie!

Ew.

I had to clean the bathroom yesterday. Sam asked me to. Because he cleaned the living room. If he had given me a choice, I MUCH would have preferred to clean the living room. The black hole of bacteria that is our bathroom is NOT my fault- rather, it is probably more due to drunken men missing the toilet and then not bothering to wash their hands? Just a guess. But I did it, I washed EVERYTHING, it smells like apples in there now. I'm thorougly grossed out and not doing it next time if I can help it! Then I cleaned my room, and I can walk around in there now! (I mean kind of, it's basically a closet!) So I'm pretty chuffed with myself.

Sam and Kate made a roast dinner last night! It was just so... civilized! It was fantastic! I need to have real meals more often!

I Love London

I miss my family, and a few of my good friends, I miss my car, my home, and my dog. I get lonely sometimes, but I do think moving to London was the best decision I've ever made. I love the lifestyle here, and there is so much to do and see! I used to get a 'dreading' feeling about a lot of the things I did at home, and I realized yesterday that I haven't had that feeling in awhile! There is not too much to worry about; I'm just happy to be here!

Getting home shouldn't be this exciting

So last night,

The 9pm guy actually left without me making him leave, perhaps it was because after I wrote to mum, I walked on the treadmill for 5 minutes (burned 50 cals!) and played hearts on the computer instead of bothering him. When I went to close up, it was pouring rain, and I put my closed purse on the concrete for a moment, because I have to jump up to get the gate down, and there is no way I can do that with anything in my hands! I don't think that's when everything got wet, I think that was just from the rain, perhaps getting through the zipper area?

Anyway, so I sat down at the bus stop, was making sure everything was working, and playing with my poor phone! When this bigger black guy (Byron) came and sat down next to me and said 'can I talk to you a minute?' I asked him if he had a bus to catch and he said no, he just wanted to get to know me. He asked if I wanted to come have a drink with him and his mates, to which I said no thanks, and when asked why I told him I was going home I had to work in the morning. At this point his friend came up and started talking to me, guessed I was Australian and generally invading personal space. Thank goodness a guy who didnt know them or anything appeared at the bus stop, so they couldn't gang up on me or anything wtihout being noticed. Byron asked me for my number (he was actually quite cute, if i had met him in a bar it'd have been a maybe) but i said no, he said he was looking for a nice girl at the moment because he's single (nice girl? Doubt it!) so I said 'So you're soliciting girlfriends at bus stops?' Turns out soliciting was too big a word for him, so he and his friend gave up and left.

THEN the guy who stopped them from taking me away started telling me i should get on his bus as it was unsafe to stay here alone.. apart from a few 'we should go out for drinks' comments which I cunningly diverted, he was pretty much harmless. I told him I'd wait for my bus, as it wouldn't be far behind.

So on the 391 to Fulham, an Irish man in the very back started yelling Irish songs. There was a guy around where I was, in the front, who was looking in the Irish man's general direction, and started getting abuse! 'Don't you f-ing look at me, I'm just too f-ing Irish for ya, cant take an Irish man, can ya? Too many of you lot in f-ing london (he was some sort of ethnic.. )' etc. The bus driver didnt do anything! And because I couldn't stop laughing and smiling and the abused guy was looking at me, he was doing the same, and getting more abuse! I suppose if I were a bus driver I would be iffy about doing anything, because i wouldn't want to get in a fight... anyway, so I walked home, and everything was much cleaner than when I left that morning! That could only mean one thing- Sams' home.

Staying until 9.

There is a guy who comes into the gym after 8pm every day. We close at 9pm. And every time he arrives, I know the evening is going to drag out just that much more. Because this guy is going to work out. He is going to work out until I physically throw him out by his camo singlet. I give him all the warning signs, the gestures- I turn off the music at 8:45, I come up and close the windows and the balcony door, turn off the TV, wait around impatiently.. I come back upstairs after I've done all my other duties with my coat on, but he refuses to put down those weights until the clock hits 9:01. Which would be fine, but then I have to wait for him to go into the locker room and mess about for a bit. How irritating!!

There's a great guy who comes here every day (was really impressed today when I said 'Hi, Greg!' and remembered his name) who has graduated from a theatre academy, he's doing a play called 'New Boy' which is here in Chiswick, if it does well it might make West End! So he wanted to make sure I was coming, and I said of course, and he told me to bring all of my friends. Hhahahahahaha!! I don't really have friends yet, Greg. Thanks though!

And finally, my mum sent me a package from Victoria's Secret, the surprise arrived today! FANTASTIC!!!! Made my day! =D

I really want something to eat... oh dear.
Time to start irritating the guy who won't leave!!

Pros and Cons of selling my left arm for a ticket to see Michael Jackson in concert

Pros
1. My left arm is used significantly less than my right arm, and won't be missed as much as that or either leg.
2. I would be fullfilling my destiny to go to an MJ concert- I went to his concert in the womb!
3. I would be able to check one objective off my 'List of things to do before I'm 30'
4. It would take a good 20lbs off my weight and I will take up less space on busy tube trains
5. MJ music can make me happy no matter what happens!

Cons
1. It would probably be much more difficult to get a date with one arm
2. Multitasking would be a challenge
3. I wouldn't be able to shake the hands of left handed people

As you can see, the pros outweigh the cons. I HAVE to go to that concert!

Rubbing elbows with Oscar winners

We have so many famous people at my new work! The best of which is the actress Vanessa Redgrave, who is training to get fit for a play she's doing in the West End, at 71! She has something like three Oscars, she has the triple crown of acting, she was the voice of the old woman in Titanic, and best of all, her daughter is one of the lead roles, Julia MacNamara, in my favorite show ever, Nip/Tuck!! So now I'm starstruck, and I can only hope Loely Richardson accompanies her mum on one of her visits!!

A post about the weather!!

It is the most beautiful day outside! It's over 63 degrees and sunny!! At home I would be out at Camelsback, Pollo Rey or Lucky 13, driving around with the windows down, oh man I love summer in Boise. Though I don't want to go back to live in Boise, I hope I can come home for the summer in the next couple years. Just two months or so then come back to real life here!

GOD its beautiful!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Je peut parler un peu de francais

Au jourd'hui, j'ai eu ma premier jour a mon job. La fille qui aide moi est francais. Elle est tres belle, mais un peu rude, peut etre parce que elle est francais! J'ai vu une film s'appelle "Les Choristes" ca nuit. Les garcons a une ecole pour les mauvais garcons devent une choriste avec ses prefect! J'ai aussie mange une baguette, des pate, et des fromage Brie! Ca c'est un nuit tres francais, je pense! Et maintenant, je veut parler le francais seule. Tout les temps! J'ai faire demain, donc je besoin de dormis! Bonne nuit, mes amis!

Oxfoooooooooord!

OXFORD WON!!

I am such a big fan of the Oxford rowing team, I practically BLEED navy blue and... white? I don't really know, I decided to go for Oxford about 3 minutes before the race started, and it was mostly due to the large number of Cambridge supporters surrounding me. I'm such the rebel! =D

I got to Putney Bridge around 14:00, which was fantastic because I got to stand in the pouring rain by myself for an hour waiting for my friends! We were right by the beginning, and there was a huge screen across the way that showed us the rest of the race, after our 30 seconds of seeing the crew was over. I happened to stand next to some Americans (I thought it was quite random, but apparently most of the Oxford crew team is American, they are actually recruited for this! Another reason I went for Oxford) and talked to them until Ness got there. We went off to find some cider (I know I said I'd have a dry day, but the weather was just too miserable to deal with!) and came back to our spot, where we stood for another loooooong hour and a half for a 15 minute race, 30 seconds of it seen in person. I managed to turn the England song (En-ga-land, En-ga-land, En-ga-land, En-ga-land, En-ga-land, En-ga-laaaaaaaand) into the Oxford song (Ox-ford, Ox-ford, Ox-ford, Ox-ford, Ox-ford, Ox-fooooooooord) much to the distain and displeasure of everyone around me! After the race it was a mad rush to the nearest loo, in a pub where I contemplated going into the mens, pleaded with the girls in front of me to hurry, and almost cried. I had a moment where I was sure I wouldn't make it, but Nessa pushed me on, and I was triumphant!! I can't believe I just wrote an entire paragraph about my bathroom adventures!

We had a celebratory Chop Chop dinner, and I spent the rest of the evening watching Law and Order, CSI, and "Crimes that shocked the World" about the Australian Backpacker Killer. Good fun!

OH and I got the job!! Probably the most exciting news of the day, sadly overshadowed by my need to go to the loo after the boat race! I start Monday, and I soon will be able to stop worrying about money!!!!!

I should have been in bed an hour ago!

So, I stopped writing in this because I thought it was just a way Mum could nag me and worry about me. But then I missed writing in it, and besides, Samantha wants me to continue =D
So I'm BACK! In black.

I've been waiting to see if I got a job as a receptionist at a (wait for it) fitness and physical rehabilitation centre! I know, I thought it was funny too. But even though I'm not the most avid runner in the world, Dad and Jason have exerted enough energy on those "fitness" things that I feel I have plenty of experience in the area. I went in yesterday for an hour, happened to have a migrane and wasn't myself. So since then, I've been worrying and worrying that they wouldnt hire me based on my glazy-eyed look and inability to remember anyone's names. It's Jim. No, Tim. No... I have no idea. He called today (correction: he was supposed to call this morning, but when he didn't, I called him, then he called BACK) and said the staff liked me and he thought I'd do a good job there, but he wanted to wait one more day to find out more in depth what the girl who will be in charge of me, Jolanda, thought about me. So, I shouldn't be worried, but it's hard, because I hate waiting! I'd rather just have the job! So we'll see.

Rent is ridiculously high this month, Sam says it covers all the bills and we should be set until June or July. I told him Good, because if it carries on like this I won't be able to afford to live here! And it'd be a shame to have to move out. I'm getting quite worried about everything, but if I get this job, at least the assurance that I will have money at the end of the month will ease my fears.

Tonight was a fab night! I went with the Kiwis to Blue Elephant, a thai restaurant in Fulham. THE coolest thing ever, you walk in and they check your coat (for free!), you are greeted by ten bow-ing Thai women (you wonder if they have to be thai to work there, or if they just have to be of any Asian descent because they know most of us can't tell the difference? Or if absolutely anyone (say, me?) could work there!) and taken through the jungle, past the waterfall, over the bridge with the koi underneath, to your table. Then your personal space is wonderfully invaded by a boy placing your serviette on your lap, and they leave you to decide on drinks. Jen and I split a bottle of wine, some of the other girls had glasses of white wine. The problem turned out to be that all of our waitstaff assumed that all six of us were sharing the wine, and that we all needed our glasses refilled without being asked first if we wanted more. So our bottle of wine topped up and refilled others' glasses four times! Which normally wouldn't have beena big deal, except it was a VERY expensive mistake. It happened SO many times! My migrane started to come back. Thai food is also very spicy. If you know anything about me, you'll know that I can't handle spice. None. Nada. Nein. NONE. So finding something I would eat was pretty much a nightmare. And on top of that, it was outrageously expensive! Needless to say, as I crossed that bridge with the koi underneath, I was thinking I'd never come back to Blue Elephant. But then, as we left, each of us was handed a small bouquet of lillies! At least, I think that's what they were; in any case, purple flowers. And in that instant, all was forgiven. I'd go there and suffer spicy food, guard my wine, and spend my money, just to get that flower.

Off we went to the Elk, an unofficial "Canadian Bar" filled with Aussies, as is every where you go in London. I scored one kiss, three times mistaken for a Canadian, and a robot dance. I think we looked pretty intimidating, because not too many guys actually came up to dance in our circle, though lots of them were watching and looking at us. Except Robot guy. He came in the middle of our circle and did the best, nerdiest robot dance I've ever seen! I appreciated him, because he made me feel much better about my dance moves, or lack thereof. There were load of fit guys (as I said, they were Aussies. Aussies are generally pretty fit. And obnoxious. Nobody's perfect) but we went to the Slug and Lettuce anyway, because I was with kiwis, and kiwis love a good Aussie bar.

Of course, I feel insanely uncomfortable in walkabouts and other Ozbars, because I was not blessed to be an Aussie. I may have the passport, but my accent says otherwise. That, and I don't know the music. They listen to rock, Sweet Child of Mine being one of the only I know, but they dont really listen- they YELL along with it. Screw dancing, these Southern Hemisphere-ites only love to yell and point upwards in passionate emphasis. And if you don't know what you're yelling, no matter how passionately you are pointing, you look silly. And finally, the girl to guy ratio was much too even for my liking. MUCH too much estrogen. So, in conclusion, I'm not an Aussie bar type of girl. I only scored one Canadian mistaken identity, and no kisses.

Being mistaken for a Canadian always comes with mixed emotions for me. There's the initial joy that this person thought you were cool, fun and smart enough to be a Canadian. For over here, if you're American you're a Bush-loving, cousin-marrying, Bible-bashing American. If you're Canadian, you're just damn cool. Ay? Yeah. Anyway, after the joy subsides, it's replaced with the awkward feeling that you will have to disappoint this fine person by telling them you are American. Honestly, I always see a look of disappointment in them, like they died a little inside or something. And the final feeling is guilt. Guilt about two things- guilt that I could have let this person happily go on thinking I'm Canadian and noone would have been the wiser (because how are they really going to know- they haven't been to Canada! NOBODY goes to Canada! =D ) and guilt that I shouldn't feel guilt in being American. I should be proud of it. I should wave my flag high, declare that despite what they think, I love King (oops, President) Bush, almost as much as I love Jesus, and that gay marriage is a sin. Oops, sorry, the American-ism got to my brain for a moment. Laura's back now.

So that was my evening. I slowly trudged home in my heels, hoping the arches of my feet didn't break with pain, and when I got home I took about 20 pictures of myself. There is one consistency when I drink- I always take pictures of myself. At some obscene time in the morning I decide I look AMAZING and must capture this moment in time. And then I forget to delete them, so when people ask to look at my pics from the night out, I am forced to explain why there are so many pictures of me with this glazed smile on my face, followed by pictures in the same pose, but with a scowl that makes my jaw look very square, which I had decided was my "sexy" look for the night. And I wonder why I'm single.

Off to the boat races tomorrow. The first doesn't start until 5:15pm (oops, 17:15) which I think is silly because I'm convinced they wont be able to see where they are going after dark! But apparently it's quite the day out! My friends want a repeat of Waitangi Day (Kiwi holiday, basically where we started drinking at 7am and spent the vast majority of the day searching for toilets) but I think I'd like to enjoy this event without alcohol. I know it's a novel idea, it's a bit new and scary for some, but it's comforting and reminds me of home. =)

Oh, the sun.

The sun is just too bright today! I'm sitting in my room at 15:30 (3:30, but I'm trying to familiarize myself with 24hour time, I can't count how many times I've gotten confused or upset because 18:00 really just seems too late to get off work) in my pajamas and surfing facebook. Last week my temp agency called every day except one, just so I could tell them AGAIN that I would not be available all week. But this week, not yet. Ironic, and awful for my bank account. So I have spent the day washing dishes that aren't mine and catching up on my laundry and my Australian soaps. And of course, wishing it was Saturday morning, because I'll be on my way to Dublin! I need something green to wear. Hmm.
There is a chinese restaurant here in good ole' Fulham, called Chop Chop, which I frequent, to the point that I'm friendly with one of the waitstaff. He's a nice guy, smiles to himself whenever I come in, probably thinks oh here's the crazy American girl who gets the same thing every single time she comes in... but I have good reason! It costs L3.30 to get a meal (sweet and sour chicken chow mein) big enough for lunch AND dinner! I can't find the "pound" sign, so it will be represented always with "L". Just a little side note. I feel awful carrying on about chinese food. I swear he will know my name by the time I'm through!
God damn the sun. I'm quite homesick today, and unsure about what I'm doing. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

Welcome,

..to my account of life far from home, armed only with a collection of passports and a rapidly depleting savings account. I've been in England for almost two months now, and it's finally doing a bit of raining. I've found it odd that until now, more or less everywhere I've been has been sunny and even dry! NOT what I came here for! Carrying around my umbrella for weeks, hoping in vain for a chance to use it. Finally it's pouring! Even better, I'm safely watching the rain from my nice warm little flat, complete with chocolate and Australian soap operas, but disappointingly lacking in a kettle. Apparently my housemate Sam doesn't like tea, but that's impossible- he's English! When I figure out where to go to do it, I'm investing in an electric kettle. After spending five days in Louth, Yorkshire, living on no less than five cups of tea a day, I'm finding it difficult to go without!

I miss Misty, she came to spend the week with me. We had so much fun up in Louth, and sightseeing in London, sneaking into Westminster and taking pictures in places we shouldn't. I'm sad now that I might not see her for a good two years!

This is my first post! Have a fantastic afternoon, from number 21 Hartismere =D