Getting off to a good start- in one way...

As resolved, I'm posting more frequently. How's twice a day for you? This is a good one though!
I've been in the States since Friday, December 21. In that time I've been reaching out to friends and family in attempts to stay in touch. On Saturday, December 22, an ex reached out to me.
About two months before I moved, my mom introduced me to a 26 year old French guy who was a student at a local HBCU and an employee at our friendly, neighborhood Sprint store. She said he was cute and thought we might have a lot in common. I was mortified at the thought of being setup by my mom, so even though she mentioned him to me several months earlier I'd refused to meet him.
Apparently, she, my aunt, and cousin were all in the store together shopping for phones and he was waiting on them. My cousin noticed his accent and asked where he was from (France via Cameroon). When they discovered that he spoke French, there was bedlam in the store as they exclaimed that I too spoke French and had, in fact, been to France. He was mildly amused, but didn't show more than polite interest until my aunt pulled a photo of me out of her wallet (Who keeps photos of other adults in their wallets unless it's your husband or wife? Why wasn't this guy suspicious of these three wacky women? Who does that? Really?). Upon seeing my photo, he suggested that they bring me by the store to arrange a meeting.
At this notion of a successful setup, my cousin howled with laughter and called me from the back of the store to whisper in hushed tones about how my aunt and mother were trying to set me up with some African at the Sprint store, who "didn't look that bad." Mortified is an understatement for my emotions. I lit into my mom when I got her on the phone afterwards. She denied culpability and shifted blame onto my cousin (who did start it in actuality by being in the man's business) and my aunt. I refused to ever go to that Sprint store again. The subject was dropped for months until my mom broke her phone and we made a run to the store one snowy Saturday morning.
I'd spent the night at my mom's after being out late doing some family bonding. I was wearing dirty clothes (I think I might have even slept in them) and hadn't brushed my teeth (if I recall correctly, we were headed to Walmart to buy toothpaste). Mom says let's just pop into the Sprint store & see what they can do about my phone. We popped in and were greeted by a cute guy who recognized my mom. Apparently he'd waited on her before because anyone who has Sprint know that customer service in not their forte and most problems result in multiple visits to the store. I thought nothing of it & browsed the latest phones. Then, when he went in the back to check on something for her, my mom turned to me and said, "That's the guy Arleen was trying to set you up with." "Well, he is cute," I told her. I still was not interested however, due to my yuck mouth and scraggly appearance. (Although those of you who know me best know that if ever I leave the house that way, I will inevitably meet the hottest guys on the planet who are strangely attracted to my stinky self. Must be the pheromones.)
Mom pulled the death blow when he got back. She declared, "This is my daughter! Remember the last time when I was in here with my sister and my niece and they told you that my daughter spoke French? Well this is her." (Grammar fairy said, "The correct phrasing is 'This is she,' mother." This was however, no time for the Grammar Fairy! I'm busily wished the carpet would engulf my body to take me away from this humiliating situation. Where's Calgon when you need it?) I forced a polite smile and a half wave. He suddenly leaned over the counter, eyebrows raised and said, "Oh, really?" I wanted to die. Then he asked me in French if I spoke French to which I responded yes. He seemed enchanted by my one word reply.
The two finished their transaction as I attempted to melt away.
As we left the store, he gave my mom his card in case she should need any further assistance with her phone situation. Then he told me in French that his number was on the card and that I should call him if I ever wanted to get together for dinner or something. He walked us out of the store. My mom gave me an I-told-you-so look.
When we got to the car I chuckled as I told her what Casanova said. She handed me his card. (Since when is that an ok thing for a mother to do?!?!)
I didn't call him until several weeks later when a friend stood me up for a Les Nubians concert. Stuck with two tickets, I searched for another French speaker who might like to accompany me. Mom suggested him of course, so I called just to see. He was previously engaged, but insisted that he make it up to me by taking me to dinner the following night.
We had a magnificent time. We ate steak, spoke a lot of Franglais, laughed, flirted, and discussed everything from our childhoods to life in France. Then I dropped the bomb on him that I was moving to England in a few months. He was crushed, but excited for me. He insisted that we date until I left. We went out a second time the following weekend. Then he dropped the bomb on me that he was seeing another girl, but liked me more than her. He claimed that he'd love to continue dating me if only I weren't leaving. (Wait a minute buddy, I told you that on date number one. Why are you getting all wishy-washy on me now?) I lamented that life was like that sometimes, and resigned myself to the fact that timing was against us. I didn't call him again, but he called me. Several times in fact. We ended up seeing each other regularly anyway because he would come by my place on his way home from class, or we'd spend an evening on my living room floor with him writing papers and me grading papers. We ate Chinese food, talked politics, held hands. Our non-relationship morphed into a thing. He became my boy toy (26 & in undergrad made me feel like I was robbing the cradle) until I left for England.
Long story short, he called when I got back saying that he missed me & constantly thought of me. He asked to see me. Then, last night, we had a long conversation in which he told me that he married the girl he started dating after me, but wished I been here because he wanted to make a life with me (He included the words "you probably would have been pregnant by now" in his sappy speech. Yikes! Can we at least date exclusively before I'm forced into child bearing please?). Now I know you're thinking, like I was, WTF? Apparently that whole sexy accent thing became an issue as he was not a US citizen and needed and American wife to stay here.
Can we all say disaster averted? That could have quickly spiraled out of control for me had I not moved to England. You all may have been guests at my shotgun wedding and preparing to throw me a baby shower right about now (oh yeah, he took it there too!).
Very hot guy. Into me for all the wrong reasons- again. Now wants me to be his long distance, international mistress in his unhappy marriage. No thanks, buddy! That karma is so bad I might be jacked up from even writing about it!

Slacker

I apologize to those of you who enjoy reading my escapades via my blog. I am a slacker. I've been lazy about writing and my laptop had Internet connection problems until recently. That's no excuse for keeping you in the dark, so my New Year's resolution is to be a better blogger. Happy holidays!

Rant on Racism

I don't typically mind being exploited as the token. In middle and high school I was "The black girl" in all of the school publications. I was also "the black friend" of many of the girls in my class. So what. I'd rather they new about black people than hated and feared black people. Also, it never hurts to be in good with a few rich, white folks. (No offense to my broke, white friends who are reading this- you know I love you for you and not your lack of money! ;) )
All of that aside, I work in a school where I teach NO black students. I am one of three, token, black employees in the entire school and two of us work at the middle school level. This is where my problem arises.
There is a lovely, older, Italian woman who also teaches French amd Spanish here. On several occasions, I've conversed with her in French about my life in the States and the comonality of the fact that her son and I have the same name. Still, after all of these conversations, she believes my name is Gloria.
Gloris is the other black woman who works in the middle school. She is the guidance counselor. She is at least 50 years old. Has short, relaxed hair, does not wear glasses, is darker than me, and is about 5'7". If I have not been clear, let me plainly state that I look nothing like Gloria.
She confuses us because we are black.
I hate her in my heart.
LEARN MY NAME!

Happy Halloween!

"I see dead people." -The 6th Sense
Here I am in the Catacombs with the skulls and bones in Paris last week. I'd never been, but it was awesome- spooky in a fun way! Go if you ever have the chance. It's really macabre, but still amazing. Plus it has lots of educational and historical value! Hope you're having a scary Halloween!

Ill vibe addendum

I talk to my mom the other day and recount the instance of the hell date where my phone gets stolen. She says, "Oh, so that's what happened. I was worried." I ask her to elaborate. She tells me that she called my phone while it was in the custody of psycho date. When it rang, a man answered, she asked for me & he hung up on her. Thinking she misdialed, she called again only to get hung up on- again- immediately. She called back a third time to get my voicemail...
Worried that I'd been kidnapped & some strange man was now answering my cell phone she... did nothing.
I could have been dead mom!
Thanks! Love you too!
Just sharing the insanity that is my life.

I got the ill vibe...

Apparently, this story is funny to those of you who've heard me tell it over the phone. I hope I do it justice via my blog, that's why I almost never posted it. Thanks Dapo for demanding to see it in print!
Lately, my dating mojo has been bad. I'd been seeing a cute cop at first. We met online and went out a few times. We got along well, had tons in common, but then it happened. The death blow...his secret fantasy- incest (the game the whole family can paly!). NEXT!
Continuing my online dating foray, I met a music promoter who was witty and fun online. His profile led me to believe that he was 31 and still boyishly good looking. In real life, he was more like 41 and Pillsbury dough boy looking. Bummer. In an effort not to be shallow, we continued with our first date at a quaint little Moroccan place. At the end of the meal, he shrieked and pointed at the rat running across the floor. Gross! I didn't see the rat he did. He picked the restaurant, not me! Why point out a rat?? On a first date no less? I was ready to head home & call it a night. He wanted to take me to some club he was promoting. I declined and insisted he walk me to the tube. On the way he just so happened to spot another club that he used to promote & asked if I wanted to go there instead. Since it was on the way back to the tube, I agreed. They ask for 2 pounds each at the door & that's when Mr. Smooth tries to work his magic saying that he knows the owner, used to promote the club & they should let us in for free. The owner says he remembers my date & the my date owes him money! I am horrified! The pair have words & take it outside. I try to back away and escape the confrontation. No luck, dude ends his fight to proclaim the club owner drunk & walk me the rest of the way to the tube. Do you believe that he had the nerve to email me a week later saying that he didn't think the date was "an unmitigated disaster" and wanted to know if we could go out again. Buddy, were you on the same date as me? Disaster would be putting it nicely! I emailed him a prompt thanks-but-no-thanks reply. NEXT!
I go to the uber hip club with some teacher friends of mine (Thanks mom for telling me the club's name is also the street name for heroin! Why she knows that & I don't, I can't be sure.) and our table in VIP is right next to Prince's. Don't get excited folks, he's a tiny man & since I'm a tiny woman we couldn't see each other through the crowd. :( Anyway, in another room of the club, far away from Prince, I meet a member of the St. Lucian cricket team. He's cute, chats me up, gets my number. After a few texts, we agree to go out a week later. We meet for drinks with his friends at a bar where he knows the owner. Then we go to a club to dance a bit. He flips out saying that I gave some guy at the club my number. Um, Earth to Psycho! How is that possible? Telepathy? I've been with you all night! He sits down & pouts for 10 minutes until the club closes. I'm ready to say goodbye. He says no, wait! Let's drink & dance some more. I say I'm drunk & can't or else I'll be sick since we didn't do dinner. We walk up the street to get emergency falafel & keep the party going. Hunger saited, it's on to club # 2. Wouldn't you know it, that guy from club # 1 was there. (Damn, I really should have given him my number! He was cute too!) I steered clear of him though & danced all up on my non-dancing date. We had a better time & after 2 more drinks he asked me to go home with him. Screech! What?? Date #1 & you say go home w/me? Oh hell no! I say, "No, that's my friend texting me right now wanting to know what time I'm coming home cause he wants to go to sleep."
"He?," he asks.
I reply, "Yeah, it's my friend Quentin, he's married to another gay friend of mine from home. They let me sleep on their couch whenever I'm in the city late." Outraged, he says, "Gay? You'd rather sleep with a gay than me?"
"Yes."
"Are you gay?"
(Ignoring the fact that that was a dumb question for a myriad of reasons.)"Um...no."
"So then com home with me," he persists.
"No," I maintain.
His club owner friend than agrees to take us home. Quentin texted me asking that I call when I was on my way so that he'd be sure to be awake to let me in (Quentin you are such a sweetheart!!) since it was already after 2am. I had to guy drop me at the tube close to Quentin's and walked the rest of the way to the house while simultaneously searching for my phone to no avail. I just buzzed when I got to the door and luckily Quentin was still awake. I a frantic search through my things for my phone, I had Quentin call it, thinking I'd hear it ring in my bag. Nope. A man answered. It was my date, who then pretended not to be my date. Then he asked why I wanted my phone back. Then he asked who Quentin was- again- and why I was with him and using his phone. Then he said he'd give the phone to his friend. Then he said he'd bring it to me. Then he said he wasn't going to wake up to give it to me. Then he said I couldn't pick it up from him. Then he asked why I was so pressed to get my phone anyway. After this insane 20 minute (I still owe you money for that Quentin! So sorry- again!) long conversation, he agreed to meet me at the bar again the next day at 7pm.
I show up & he's not there. I told his friend the bartender the deal & he offered me a drink while I waited. Old boy called the bar at 7:30 to say he was just leaving his house. The bartender said it would be about 30-40 minutes, because, apparently dude lives close to me (and I live an hour & 15 minutes from there!). He shows up at 9:30 with some lame excuse about buying a laptop. I get my phone, attempt to pay my tab (bartender comped me for having to wait so long for his raggedy friend- thanks dude!), and told homeboy, "I'm out." He said bye & let me leave. On my way to Roger's I get a text from a strange number saying, "meet me at the station." Since it was just a random number, I respond, "Who is this?" I'm sure you can guess that it was my date, who not only deleted his number from my phone, but had been answering it, changing the ring tones & reading my text messages! In 1 hour he sent me 20 texts saying things like, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I'm only human, let me explain. Baby don't be like that. I need to talk to you. I need to see you. Baby, please don't make me cry." After about the first 5, I started ignoring him. He texted me again the next day as if nothing had happened & said he couldn't stop thinking about me. Then he called, twice. Then he called again the next day. Finally, I blocked his number and I haven't been on a date since...
The incident reminds me of the 1996 Busta Rhymes track "Ill Vibe." It goes:
Well anyway, while I was cooling down at Luigi's
I met some Siamese twins from overseas.. Lebanese
Let's begin with the friends from New Orleans
They had a fifth friend- she was straight black-Portuguese
Pretty palm-olive-soaped skin, aloe veralese
She looked like the type of chick you only see in fantasies
The type of chick you would kill for to get between the knees
So, I made time to chill with Miss Portuguese
Would you believe, the bitch tried to steal my fucking house keys
And rob me for my G's
Had to show this crazy broad, I Mastered my Degree's and my PhD's
Got your face on camera; motherfucker say cheese
You better get with your friends quick, before I start to squeeze
Getting caught up in that freaky gold-digger jamborees.

I got the ill dating vibe ya'll! Somebody call Austin Powers! I've lost my mojo!

An apple a day...

...will choke the life out of you!
I've been a PC girl since back in the days of my first Tandy for Christmas in '89. Back then Apples were ok, but PCs required brain power. I used to check out books from the library and spend hours typing codes to create games like snake. Thank you PCs for making me a software designer at 10!
I'm grateful to Bill Gates to improving upon the user friendliness of the Mac operating system. That was the major PC drawback in the '80s. You had to be smarter than the average bear to use it. Now, Windows is something like a phenomenon! Macs, unfortunately, haven't been able to keep pace. I hate that I can't right click! What kind of user friendliness is that? I have to press a key and click the mouse to access those options? That's some crap! What if I'm disabled? I can't use a Mac with one hand. I'll be forced into PC world.
I'm experiencing this Mac rebellion because my new school uses Macs. I now have a Mac book and struggle to do the most mundane of tasks on that difficult to manipulate piece of crap. It takes me hours to do PowerPoint presentations for my classes! They don't even really like to run PowerPoint, they have their own Mac software called Keynote. Macs take away your toolbars at the top of the page and give you little floaty menus that go dim when not in use. You loose windows behind other windows and have to minimize things or toggle back and forth to use more than one program at once. There's no toolbar at the bottom of the screen either to show you which programs are currently running. There's a dock for frequently used programs. A little triangle appears under any program that's open, but the programs don't quit if you close the window. They just stay open in case you change your mind. Running constantly and making it difficult to access things you do want and need. They don't use the control key for anything but decoration. They have a special little apple/butterfly key that does for Macs what control does for PCs. Control controls nothing! Why have it if it doesn't do anything?? Ok, so it does do right clicking, but why not just get a normal mouse you geniuses? They also use the alt key. Who uses that? That's for scary shut down purposes only, not everyday manipulation. Grrr! Can you sense my frustration?
I hate Macs! PC users of the world unite and force this monstrosity of an operating system off the planet! Leave us to the logical, user friendly PC and Windows.
I have to go now and send a love note to Bill Gates.

B-day debrief

Thanks to all of you who sent birthday well wishes! I had a great day! I was up around 9, but stayed in bed until 11 reading. I got up, showered, dressed & went shopping. I bought a new $20 dress and shoes that cost 6 times that. I came home and changed into my fab new outfit & went into London. I made reservations at this swanky Moroccan place. It was awesome! We had our own little room, complete with belly dancer! We had GREAT food. Any of you who visit from the US, be sure & force me to take you there- it was delicious! After dinner, we went outside to smoke the hookah. Post hookah, we headed to a pub for drinks (I'm pictured opening presents there). It was low key, but lots of fun! The perfect way to spend the day!
Another August 25th, well spent!

F.Y.I.

I referred to a (female) student the other day as "having a lot of spunk."
Never do that!
In British English, spunk means sperm.
Just thought you should know...

The First Days of School

Ok, so I've already said that I work in a mansion. That mkes life grand enough. You can't complain when you wake up every day and go to a mansion!
Yesterday was the first day of school. My students were so well behaved it was scary. They all sat down without me telling them to at the beginning of class. They listened when I called out (notice I said called, not yelled) "attention please." They took notes on my PowerPoint presentation without me telling them to do so. I didn't have to yell, not even once, not even a little bit.
At lunch, I hurriedly consulted my mentor to see if they were lulling me into a flase sense of security. He told me that no, that wasn't it, the school just had good kids. Hmmm... Good kids... I couldn't help but regard him with an air of suspicion at the idea, but I accepted his answer and walked away prepared for the worst because after lunch I had 8th grade.
For all of you no educators out there, 8th graders are the equivalents of high school seniors- arrogant, been-there-done-that attitude, top of the heap sense of entitlement, and constant faking of maturity at the most inopportune times. In essence, the joy of any Middle School teacher's life! Eighth graders are the reason that teachers at other grade levels think Middle School teachers are crazy. These kids have more mood swings than Lindsay Lohan on a bender to cure her PMS! You can never tell which way the day will go at that age!
My eighth graders were perhaps, my best class all day. There were about 20 of them and they were calm, quiet, and studious. They were even too timid to laugh at my jokes- and I'm damn funny! I couldn't believe it! I really have died and gone to teacher heaven!
I only had 1 bad class- 8th period. They were a bunch of squirrels! Chatty, a bit off task, lethargic... That's what I'm talking about! That's what I'm used to- kids who are sick of being in school & don't give a shit! Not quite that at this school, but as close as I think I'll ever get. I had one kid who, while I was talking, drew pictures in his notebook, then stopped my lesson by raising his hand and saying, "see. Modern art." He has to be on something! He did it at least twice. He's in my homeroom class too, so I think it was even more than that over the course of the day.
He's my chief squirrel. Today, I emailed his parents because he was late to both my English class, and afternoon homeroom check in yesterday and the nurse caught him playing in the hall today. He is my only problem student, and he's not really even a problem if I ignore him. Most of the kids thanked me for the lesson as they left. I was stunned! Really, I might not ever leave.

I LOVE my job!

I never thought in all my life that I'd say I loved my job, but I do! I'm so happy that I can't contain it! I had to send emails, journal, blog, phone a friend, and tell everyone how happy I am about it!
I work, literally, in a mansion! The grounds are beautiful with lush, green, impeccably manicured gardens! My classroom has a great view of the music building! I have keys to my door! I have a computer that hooks up to an interactive white board complete with stereo sound system! I get my own laptop, in addition to the desktop! My school encourages the use of itunes! As a matter of fact, my team has a shared jazz play list on the network! My bosses want me to call them by their first names! I get all of the coffee and tea I can drink everyday, for free! My largest class has less than 20 students! I can walk to work in 30 minutes! I'm not expected to buy paper, pencils, or any other supplies! My supplies are provided for me! What I don't have, I am allowed to order from a secretary! I have no limit on the amount of copies I can make! I am allowed to take instrumental music lessons during my work day to participate in the faculty band, of which my headmistress is a member! The school pays me $100/night extra to take my students on overnight field trips! The school has already planned a week long field trip for us next month!
I'm not sure if you get how cool my new job is (All of the exclamation points might give it away.), but I really LOVE it! I'm so happy!
Today we worked until noon and the rest of the day was spent lunching with the headmistress, my principal, and my new colleagues. 7 bottles of wine later, the bus dropped us back off at work and the school gave us $60 in gift certificates to the supermarket to welcome us to the community! Then, they gave us a ride home! I love it! I might not ever leave!

Cleanliness is next to...

Hooray! My shower is fixed! Who knew that in England, showers are electric appliances. I didn't really need to call the plumber, I should have called an electrician.
Apparently, my uber long, hair washing extravaganza, blew a fuse in the shower. All the guy did was flip the switch and I had a lovely hot shower again! Hooray!
I'm also rolling my eyes ever so slightly as I could have done that myself. The same day. For much less effort. Since when do electricity and water mix anyway? That ain't right!
Anyway, now I know and knowing is half the battle! I'm off to bathe again- cause I can!

And the shower saga continues...

No one ever came about the shower. I called my landlord & left a message. I called the rental agency. Nothing. Yesterday, with my new roommate in tow, I went to the rental agency only to have them casually ask me, "Did someone fix your shower?" I resisted the urge to scream no and shove his face into my armpit. Instead I smiled and replied. "Not yet."
Considering the fact that I'm not usually big on bathing, you'd think it wouldn't affect me much. However, due to the fact that I must now share a bathtub and the veritable heatwave that we've been experiencing this week (I think it might have been 75 yesterday; they're predicting 78 today, and maybe 80 tomorrow!) I might need a shower. My rule is typically that you need to bathe when you stink.
I'm teetering on the funk borderline after biking home from the tube most days. Do you know how long it takes to run a bath? To long for a funk teeterer! I'm off to Brighton today to share my funk with Roger and Quentin! So I'm leaving my roommate in charge of getting the shower fixed. And the saga continues...

I broke my shower!

I don't know what I did, or how I did it, but I broke my shower. This place was billed as having a "power shower." Not sure what that means, but I arrived to find that the shower was a separate apparatus from the tub faucet. It has it's own temperature control knob, high/low buttons, and on/off control. I took a shower yesterday and washed my hair, which is typically a long, water-runs-cold process. The water here didn't run cold- it ran out! The thing just turned off! Mid-wash! Thankfully the hair was clean and the conditioner was out already, but my body was still soapy! I thought to myself- maybe this happens when I use up all of the hot water. This morning I discovered that no, this was no mere hot water shortage!
It wouldn't turn on no matter what I did.
I turned the temperature control knob...
Nothing.
I switched from high to low and back again...
Nada.
I turned it on and off several times...
No use.
I currently await the arrival of the landlord/maintenance worker...
I did have a lovely bath though!

My native language

So, maybe my career as an English teacher isn't as beneficial as I once thought... Living here, I've come to realize that maybe I don't actually speak English at all. I speak "American." Which, by the way, the British don't consider a language. Yet I assure you that if more of them came to visit us, they'd discover that it isn't really the same at all!
For instance:
The use of the letter "z." Here, they frown upon using this letter in favor of the letter "s." So words like "realise," "socialise," and "organise." All look strange, but are pronounced exactly the same. In addition, this letter is not pronounced as "zee" and rhyming with "see," but as "zed," which rhymes with "dead." That just ruins the alphabet song!
They also overuse the letter "u" and add it unnecessarily to words like "colour," "favour," and "neighbour."
I'm started to integrate little used words like "well," "fit," "proper," "wicked," and "right" into my vocabulary. As in "That bloke is well fit and it would be wicked if he was a right proper dancer!" Translation: "That guy's really hot and it would be great if he was a good dancer!"
Also, what's a lorrie have to do with an 18 wheeler? Doesn't lorrie sound delicate and fragile to you? It does not at all imply the behemoth machine that TRUCK does in American.
Courgette=zucchini (Stupid Brits! Courgette isn't even English, it's French!)
Aubergine=eggplant (Aubergine- there they go with the French again! Lucky thing I do speak that!)
Crisps=potato chips (Huh?)
Chips=fries (OK, I know that one from 'fish and chips,' but seriously!)
Football=soccer (Damn you David Beckham!)
To end my rant, I'd like to know what phonetic rules govern the pronunciation of the words "vitamin" and "Leicester." In vitamin why does the UK use the short "i" twice, yet in the US we have one long "i" and one short "i?" What's the deal? In addition, there are too many vowels for the word "Leicester" to be pronounced "Lester!"
*I do however, concede the pronunciation of the word "aluminium." We Yanks tend to leave out a syllable or so...our bad! Silly former colony!

Eyes Wide Shut

2 weeks into my trip and I'd almost written London off as lame, but then I had a great weekend!
Chris, my former Tango partner, invited me to a masquerade ball on Saturday night. It was hosted by a group of expats living in London called the nomads. We (Chris, his friend Yomi, and I) spent an hour in the costume shop (think Kubrick's final film) picking masks, the guys got capes and ruffly, satin shirts, I got a feather boa. It was hysterical trying on all of the crazy get ups! Afterwards, we headed to the Hoxton Square Bar & Grill (one of the few places in London that serves American style breakfast- i.e. pancakes & fried [not boiled] bacon).
I'd just poured the syrup on my pancakes when this scrawny guy walks in & starts yelling at a couple sitting behind us. He says, "This is who you're cheating on me with? This is who you're leaving me for? You said you were having lunch with Claire! Is that Claire?" At this point, a hush fell over the crowd as we all stopped to stare for a moment in disbelief. Then, as British politeness dictates, we all turned away & pretended not to still be listening. The man continued, "Come outside guy! We can settle this like men! Let's take it outside!" The woman's date never spoke, nor moved. The woman jumped up and screamed, "Why are you doing this? Not here! Not now!" She pushed him out the door as she spoke. They staged whispered on the sidewalk outside. Then the man screamed to the date, who was patiently waiting at the table for the woman to return, "She slept with me last night!" Hilarious!
The waitresses finally told the man that if he did not leave they were calling security. He left...sort of. He really stood outside in the square for 15 minutes waiting for the other guy to come out of the restaurant. He was dead set on the two of them handling things like men. The woman came back inside, got her purse, and left her date sitting there! When the crazy guy saw her leave, he followed. About 20 mins later, the date slipped out the back door. What fun mealtime entertainment!
Later that evening, Yomi texted Chris to say that he saw the woman & Claire on the tube! Ha!
The masquerade ball was lame-ish. It was at #1 Leicester (why this word is pronounced "Lester," I'll never know) Square, which had a superb view of London at night! You could see the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the London Eye! It was lovely! The music was all over the place & people weren't really dancing because the groove switched every other song. One minute you and J. Timberlake were bringing sexy back, the next Luther Vandross was telling you how a thousand kisses from you was never too much, then you'd be dancing on the ceiling with Lionel Ritchie. Crazy! We stayed for quite a while, despite the wacky DJ. There was also this Italian guy who wanted my body, but...well nevermind, he's not important. 3 Red Bull-vodkas later, we ended up at Chinawhite.
Apparently, this apparently is the hip spot to see & be seen in London. I was over it after having to wait at the door for 10 minutes when the bouncers heckled our masks! We did get in however, and the music was better. The bartender was also hotter! *drooling* We shook our groove thing for a bit until this group of girls pulled me over to their corner of the room where we proceeded to dance on the table! So much fun. We screamed introductions over the loud music & they invited me to join them at another club. I said goodbye to Chris & Yomi and headed to Mo*Vida. It was closing by the time we got there, so we danced to about 2 songs, gulped some champagne & left. Crazy!
The ladies wanted McDonald's hash browns (long story), but all of the McDonald's were closed. We decided to take the night bus (always a laugh riot in Europe!) to one of their houses for an after party. We got there, loud & drunk & I lost my feather boa as it slipped off onto the floor of the bus as I stepped off...
We had toast, as our hostess had no hash browns to offer us @ 5:30am, and went to bed.
We spent the next delightful day getting to know one another.
There was Natasha, a 31 year old, Dutch/Guyanese, former Samba dancer, who now works at a bank. Lisa, the 22 year old, South African, model/makeup artist, who starts nursing school in September. Vina, the 30 year old, English woman, who often gets mistaken for being Southeast Asian (her parents are Indian & grew up in Kenya, but she's never been to either place). She is also a makeup artist & best friends with Lisa.
Vina & Natasha met on Thursday at Lisa's fashion show and decided to go out on Saturday night, where they met me! We drank wine, Natasha gave up Samba lessons, we had dinner & lots of laughs! We called it a night at 11pm because some of us had to work in the morning! Thank heaven for lazy days! I'm wiped out!
It was good stuff!
I'm so glad to finally have fun here & enjoy myself!

Here

It took no time at all. Now I'm here. Settling in, trying to adjust to this lame weather and occasionally incomprehensible accents. I've been really homesick. I think it's the clouds and rain that are doing it. I hate that I'm missing summer. The weather here is the spring extended remix. Clouds, rain, sun, clouds, more rain, rain again, then clouds, did I mention rain? It doesn't make for a very warm welcome (excuse the pun) to the country.
My new home will be suburban. I'm staying in the dorms of the local university. It's spartan accommodation- no TV, no Internet. I've spent a fortune at the local Internet cafe! Thus I've had no time to blog. At $2/hr it's too expensive. Shout outs to Roger and Quentin for letting me house sit in their flat, watch their TV & use their Internet in exchange for some sewing and light housekeeping. I feel so comfy here that I don't want to leave! I'm such a slug... Tomorrow is moving day. It was supposed to be today, but the paperwork wasn't ready, so I wait... I found a nice 2 bedroom place which is close to work, shopping, and the tube! It already has a TV & Internet set up. I met with the landlord on Saturday. She's kind and accommodating. She'll also be in Australia when we live in her place...
This entire house hunting thing is bizarre. At home, you get the apartment shoppers guide & choose a few places. Then you go see them, fill out the rental applications & move into whichever place you've chosen. Here you have to hire the equivalent of a real estate agent to find places for you and show you what (s)he found. Then they negotiate with the landlord on your behalf, you do paperwork and whoever give the landlord the best offer gets the place.
I lost a darling little house that way. I wanted the landlord to include bedroom furniture and lower the rent. He said OK, but I was out bid by someone who didn't need furniture. Boo! It's all good though. The new place is nice too!
OK enough blogging for today...I'm supposed to be at the Tower of London or something right now. Sightseeing instead of couch surfing...curse this comfy couch!!!!

I love it when a plan comes together!

Despite my worry wart tendencies, my trip is all working out according to plan!
I sold my car.
I have my passport back (ulcer inducing visa included! [See the last post for the back story on that drama.]).
My plane ticket is all set.
I have a hotel room booked for my house hunting.
Someone from school will meet me at the airport to take me to the hotel & help me house hunt.
I'll already have a cell phone waiting for me.
Friends will soon visit. (Shout out to Mark Lewis!)
Who can ask for anything more?? Now I just have to pack...
That's always the tragic flaw in my plan. I hate packing, ok, hate's too strong. I don't like packing. I'm a notorious over packer. My grandmother, Bessie, always said that it was better to have it, and not need it than to need it, and not have it. I pack as if preparing for nuclear fallout. There's clothing, food, miscellaneous items for diversion and recreation. You name it, it packed it. That's why it takes me forever to do. Not to mention the fact that I'm also a packing procrastinator, so I just started packing yesterday. Not to worry, I'll be done by the time my flight leaves! (Thank God for night flights!)
To add to my packing woes, my job sent me the world's most arbitrary list of things to bring. This list included thing I NEVER would have thought of packing. See excerpts below and my italicized annotations:

• Secure original (official) copies of birth certificates, marriage licenses, and divorce records. Why wouldn't I have these already? I just needed them for my passport, visa, work permit, and just about everything else related to making this move. I'd be a nut not to bring them with me.
• Obtain 10 to 20 passport type photos to be used for formal documentation, membership applications, etc. Is it me, or does the number 20 seem excessive? I feel like 10 was reasonable, but 20? Really? 20?
• Include extra photocopies of passport, certificates, contracts, household inventories, and driver’s licenses in a records binder for convenience. So I need originals AND copies? Must they be in a binder?
• We advise a good comforter/blanket. However, don’t bring flat or fitted sheets since the sizes of the mattresses are different here. So how will a comforter fit if the sheets won't? Don't they sell comforters in the UK?
• Clothes, shoes, etc. (clothes are very expensive here so bring as many as you can from your country of residence.) Isn't this one obvious?
• Bulletin board materials, stickers, and holiday pencils (They don’t have teacher stores here.) So you're saying that the school doesn't provide this either... I thought private schools were better equipped than public schools. This is some crap!
• Bring towels, measuring cups, and large kitchen spoons. Large kitchen spoons? What? And they must not sell towels either, huh?
• Bring photocopies of the last 6 months of bank statements. What am I? Under financial investigation????
• Bring multiple passport photos. Didn't we cover this already? I got it, 20 photos, ok!
• Contact respective consulate/embassies and inquire about customs duties and special restrictions. To avoid customs duty, you may need to bring receipts to prove that your goods are used. If it's used, chances are that I no longer have a receipts. How do you prove something is used? Should I pack dirty things?

What a crazy list! I feel more settled about this whole endeavor now. Excitement is starting to creep in now that my departure date is getting closer and the move is starting to feel real to me. Hey, wow, I'm moving to another country to live and work for 2 years- cool!
Alright, enough with the dilly dallying...back to packing... :(

I hate red tape!!!!!!! (P.S. Happy Birthday Yemi!)

Today I got my Work Permit via FedEx. Hooray!
Thing is, I might have to change my plane ticket because I just finished the online application for my visa (F.Y.I. it's called a "Work permit holder more than 6 months" visa) & there are no appointments available for me at the British Consulate in NY before I leave for me to actually, physically receive it. That means I'm sending my visa app FedEx! According to my calculations it will get back to me on the day I'm scheduled to leave. Yikes!
Um...plan B is...non-existent. Well, secretly, patience is plan B.
I also have been unsuccessful at booking a B&B in Hillingdon as everything is already booked. Yikes again! Who knew the small hamlet of Hillingdon was the summer vacation hot spot in Britain?!?
My former Tango partner, Chris, made my day by telling me that he already has a phone for me. The number should be fourth coming and I'll send it out for everyone to reach me whenever I get it. Hooray!
The red tape of international bureaucracy is ratcheting up my stress level unnecessarily! Grr!

Welcome to 21st century stalking- um, I meant blogging! Now, you- yes you- can easily track my adventures wherever I am via this blog. Luckily for you, I'm self-centred enough to post here and deluded enough to believe you'll want to read it. I'm stateside until July 5th so I'll be easy to reach via phone until then. My email address, will remain the same, so that's my contribution to consistency. Hope you enjoy all that I have to share! Feel free to comment and share your 2 cents with me, as I'll be telling you all of my business!