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Things I'll miss about London:

My little community in West Kensington! Just came to my coffee shop down the street for some Americano and Wi-Fi and one of my favorite little guys is working right now. He always asks how I am, am I studying hard, where I've been lately, sorry my usual seat isn't available, no the pesto baguette is not included in the 3.50 "toastie and a hot drink deal" but *wink* sure, for you.  We're friends!

It's not just him. It's the Turkish guy at the convenient store who knows me by face as the girl who came in drunk one night and cleaned him out of chocolate. That was nearly a year ago and he still doesn't let me check out with a pack of gum without asking "Are you sure? The Ben& Jerry's is on sale. We have this new box of chocolate-covered marshmallows you could have. You don't want?" I think he knows he's being a jackass but I can't help but laugh because who knows what kind of havoc I wreaked on his chocolate supply that night.

The people at Best Mangal are always pretty happy to see us walk in for a kebab and chips. Lately we've been scoring free sodas with them.

I recognized the guy who works at the Continente cafe on the corner in the station last week and gave him a HUGE smile and waved. I think it took a moment for him to place me but then he had a look of recognition and waved back. Jess was like, Do you know him? A good friend of yours?

Yeah, maybe he is! I'll miss my little friends here. I don't know any of their names but they make me feel like I really live here, this hasn't all been just a dream.  This tiny corner of London has been mine! I'll be sad to leave them.

My boyfriend.

I haven't talked about him much on here so it might come as a surprise to hear about my boyfriend.  He's every girl's dream: affectionate, warm, and caring, with olive skin, dark hair, and beautiful big brown eyes.  He holds my hand, calls me pet names, and wants to spend all of his time with me. He has this way of making everything seem okay, even when I’m at my worst. He's also three feet tall and has at least three speech impediments. His name is Humza and I pick him up from school twice a week.

Some days I think I'm not cut out for nannying anymore. I'm nowhere near as energetic as I used to be. Come on kids, don't you want to just sit here and quietly watch Planet Earth?  Then I remember I'm getting paid to be lively and entertaining so I try to give it my best. 

But then other days they make my job so easy on me.  One afternoon a couple of days ago I was feeling particularly dumpy, and then I  and picked up Humza from school and his big, silly grin on seeing me walk into the courtyard made it all just disappear.  We held hands on the way to the bus stop and he yelped "Muffles! Muffles! Muffles! What are we going to do today!?!!?"  It's the kind of excitement I've only previously experienced with my Jack Russell Terrier.

And it's not just that he's so flipping cute and loves me so much, he truly is such a sweetheart.  His first question when I walk into school is always "Do you have a snack for me?"  I never do. I don’t know why he keeps asking. Then we check his book bag and there is the one that Mummy has packed that he just hasn’t found yet. Today, snack consisted of grapes and blueberries.  Naturally I was hungry, so I'm like Humza, can I have one?  He's like "No!! Okay, you know what, Muffles, yes you may have as many as you want."  Ha!  So sweet.  Whenever he has a friend over to play he tries to give away all of his toys. I wish you could see the tiny bear hugs he gives his friends before they go.  Yesterday he wrote me a "secret message" using one of Aliya's toys.  It was a little scroll of paper that said "I love you Stephanie BFF BFF BFF BFF BFF." Not only touching, but also formal (he usually calls me “Muffles”).  

So this is it: Men peak at age 5. This is as good as it's going to get.  I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

Get me outta here.

That last post felt like cheating since I wrote about the South and this is a blog about London.  I'll make up for it here.

Our flat is LIT-erally (Larnie) falling apart.  It's absurd how much is broken.  At first it was one of those things that gives the place character - just like the throne toilet and the tiny kitchen, the first things to break gave the flat some of it's endearing charm.  Alright, maybe the television requires a cryptic combination of buttons and keystrokes to turn it on, and perhaps Jessica's shelf in the refrigerator has been so overtaken by a glacier of ice that it has absorbed a jar of green pesto.  Maybe have to leave a note on the front door for the parcel-delivery men to call me to let them in because our doorbell has never ever worked.  So what if the oven has stopped working and the washing machine sounds like a rocket ship preparing for blast off during its final spin cycle?  These things are luxuries.

But I'd have to say the final straw was yesterday when I got out of the bath and the shower head broke clear off of the hose.  I had the damn thing stuck precariously on the shower-holder - which is the only way to rig it up there ever since Benjamin effed it all up from being so tall - and when I was getting out I heard a crash-BANG and turned around to see the head, decapitated, lying in the bath, and the hose, naked, spitting out the remains of my shower on the bathroom floor.  AGHHHH!!!!  I heard Jessica make a noise of concern out in  the common room and then was launched into an uncontrollable gigglefit (Larnie).  You get to a point where so much is going wrong that it's just hilarious.

I'm aware we can't really get upset about half of the stuff that has broken because technically it's not even ours, we were just lucky enough to move into a flat that already had many of the amenities.  Like the TV and dvd player - but don't even ask about the weird magic tricks that are required to simply play a dvd.  Or like the vacuum - it, too, has been decapitated, poor thing.  We haven't had a kettle for months because Jess and I invited over some idiot who tried to make soup in it (???).  These are all things that we would normally just replace, but we're all moving out in a month - why bother?

Unfortunately I think our landlord is feeling the same way. We're all moving out in a month, how much effort is he really going to put into a flat which has already paid its last month's rent?  I haven't attempted a shower yet but I'm about to have to in a few hours time.  Jessica has pointed out that I'll be hosing myself down like an animal. Thank you, Jessica.

Southern Pride.

I have a Floridian friend here whose ideas about the South (and those silly southerners) are always cracking me up. The following conversation took place with this friend while discussing how deceivingly small London is:  

 
So what's Little Rock's like? Is it all, like, suburbs?

I don’t know how to describe it. It's a city, and it's the capital, but it's not huge... it has a small town feel. But I mean, it's not tiny either, there’s always a lot going on there. It's like, a small city, I guess.

 (Very nice, Stephanie. Riveting description of the nature of Little Rock. Why can't I ever think of anything better than this when I try to describe my hometown?)     

Like Tallahassee?

Uh, maybe, I'm not sure, it's been awhile since I've been there. 

(As if I remember from when I was 8 passing through on the way to Disney World.) 

How about this: it's not as big as Nashville but parts of it have the same feel, does that help? 

No, it doesn't, I've never been to Nashville.

Memphis? Jackson, Mississippi? Baton Rouge, or anywhere at all in Louisiana?

No, I’ve been all over the country but I’ve never made it to the South. No offense but we kind of try to avoid that area, LOL!

Don’t worry, none taken. We feel the same way about most of Florida.

*ZING!*

She admits that she has been to Atlanta and was baffled because it's a big city, and yet people still had southern accents and drank sweet tea.  That's what made me realize where her odd notions about the south come from: she hears "southern," she thinks "country”.  She associates the entirety of the south with a backwards, small town, Bible-beater, sittin’ on the front porch, Huckleberry Finn kind of existence.  I'm aware that Little Rock is far from cosmopolitan, and while her notions of the south are in some cases terribly inaccurate, in others they are dead-on.  But it's an incomplete picture if we're talking about where I come from.

I’m very proud of my hometown. I’m proud to be an Arkansan. I’m proud to be a southerner. This is why I plan on moving back. My Southern Literature professor said that to really understand the south, you have to leave The South.  I took this suggestion a bit further and figured that if I wanted to understand the United States, maybe I should leave the United States. I'm not sure if I've come any closer to understanding either, but if nothing else, it’s been entertaining to learn about the misconceptions of both from the eyes of the rest of the world.  

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2010

It had been one of those days. 

It had been one of those self-pitying, feel like an idiot, heart hurts from rejection kind of days.

Yes, it was one of those.

But there are different reactions you can have to these. You can either lay in bed all day with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and the Bridget Jones Diary DVD or you can get up and take action against your mood. A few years ago I pulled myself out of one of these funks by visiting a barber and hacking off 11 inches of red locks. Eeek! But if I chose that route this time I might end up like this, and well that just wouldn't help the situation at all.

Instead, I decided to empower myself through some exercise. I've been conned into participating in a half marathon in April with four friends from college. I haven't been running much lately since living in London means that the sky could break apart into a drenching downpour at any moment. The weather is always a great excuse for laziness. But I can't let down my girls and this pity-party provided the perfect opportunity to get serious and kick this training into high gear.

It felt so great to wiggle back into my running gear. The racer-back tops, the flappy shorts, the ankle socks, the sneaks. I love my sneaks. I love Nikes. Definitely getting these before I come back to the US. Kidding!

So I'm feeling like a baller in my running clothes and it's time to get started. A little bit of training research had informed me that I should start with a couple miles every other day until I can do the couple miles without stopping, then increase the weekly mileage by 10% until I get to the point where I can do a long run about once a week. Running two miles without stopping might seem a cinch to some, but definitely not to me. In high school track my races were the 1600m relay and the 3200m relay, so the very most I ever ran in a race was half a mile. There was hardly any need to pace myself. Our ‘pace’ was a ridiculous bolt until your legs felt like jelly and it was all over in less than 2 minutes. Fortunately, I'm aware that this approach is not going to cut it for a half marathon, and I'm giving myself plenty of time to train.

I’ve mapped out some routes and it is two miles from my door to Royal Albert Hall (cool). Once I get going, I remember how great it feels to have my legs pumping so mechanically. Warmth starts to slowly creep into my thighs and my calves, my closed fists and arms punching the air as I use imaginary ski poles to pull myself through the next step. I'm free and I've got my legs to take me anywhere I want to go.

I start to think about where it is I want to go. The last time I was regularly running was last summer before I had a set plan for grad school or getting to London. (Was that really only a year ago?) It's always been hard to push myself without a coach screaming on the sidelines or a teammate in stride with me, so I decide to use the trick I used while running in Little Rock. I would set a goal, a reachable goal while running, and if I could make it to that spot, I would tell myself that I could do anything I wanted. If I ever felt like stopping to walk, I'd think: If I just go a little more, if I make it to that far tree instead of stopping now, I can do anything. I can even move to London. But only if I don't stop until I get to that tree. Might sound silly, but it works. This mantra became about proving to myself that I am capable of anything - of running until the next tree, or moving to London alone – anything.

This is what I'm thinking about when I reach Kensington Gardens last Wednesday. Only about a half mile to go, I've stopped for a breather a couple of times, but I’m feeling very empowered for getting up and taking action against my sour mood.

Flash back to 2008, my first day ever in London, when my mom and I have checked into our hotel at Earl’s Court. Jet-lagged, we ask for advice about zombie-ing around London for the afternoon, and they point us down the street to Kensington Gardens where we take refuge from the city in some stripey green chairs. We had just settled in with relief when a little man with a green box scrambled over, saying, You pay one pound to sit there! You want to sit? One pound! No, thank you, and we buggered off. I never would have thought I'd be living around the corner in two years time. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.

And now it's time for a new declaration, a new mantra to play in my head and keep me going. I want to be a writer, and I think if I uphold my end of the deal while running (don't stop till I get to that tree) then I just might have a chance. That's why I moved here, anyways. I've always piled so much on my plate that I haven't left enough time for reading and thinking and writing. I've lived most of my young adulthood running in so many directions, exactly like a chicken missing its head. I thought I would gain some focus and inspiration if I transported myself to this foreign fantasy land where I love the culture, history and literature. I thought it would come easily here, that I would have no distractions or creative blocks. It was naive reasoning, yes. But I thought it was a theory worth testing.

And now, here I am, and I've finally faced the facts that I'll always be distracted, creativity is never easy, and inspiration isn't something you can sit around waiting to stumble upon. These are all so obvious! I just needed to be plucked out of my natural habitat and see if it all remained true even in the most inspiring of cities - Yup, still the case.

Today is Friday. According to my new running regimen, I should have done my second 2-miler today. Instead, I woke up at 1, convinced myself that my cold might have returned, came to Coffee 4 You for a milkshake and the internet, and have made plans for the night involving wine and beer, despite afore-mentioned cold. Life hasn't changed much since I moved to London but at least I'm being honest with myself: I want to write; I want to run, but maybe not as much as I want to sleep in and drink milkshakes; and I'm capable of anything with a pair of good Nikes and some fresh air.

Back to school.

There are two reactions you can have on your first day of class. One is pure excitement, the other is utter disappointment, and I have had the delight of experiencing both in the past week.

I was happy to finally start class again last week. I'd been basking in my laziness and slight depression following the Maxwell/Gray euro-trip for far too long and it was time to find a little purpose again. Funnily enough this was not my first bout of sloth following a riveting summer adventure. For example, as a kid and then teenager I usually spent the week following summer camp in a state of letdown and boredom, my only productive moments being spent at the computer with a list of Qu!RkY new screennames in hand and the *bing* of instant messages from fellow pre-teen Arkansan Episcopalians. I was a pretty coooooool kid. The aftermath of my summer in Oxford was even worse because Facebook had been invented.

Needless to say, I neglected all of my To Do lists for about 3 weeks after I'd returned from the mainland, and I was pumped to head back to class. Especially because this class is about a subject I'm thinking I'll base my dissertation around: Globalization.

So class begins and I slip into a nerdy state of euphoria just looking through the syllabus - one of our assignments is a book review! And we even have the option of picking a work of fiction! Right on, Dr. Hough. I like a person who recognizes that there is truth in fiction. I'm looking through all of the recommended-but-not-required reading suggestions and I start imagining myself in the library sifting through these theories on globalization and culture and media. Of course this delusional idea of myself as a serious academic doing more than the necessary course-load fades out by the second week of class, but it's a good sign when you find yourself thrilled and that intensely motivated by a mere syllabus.

Also, our professor is fabulous. He's laid back, insanely knowledgeable, open for questions, and has a sense of humor. And it's a small class of only 5 of us. We're a mixture of Media and International Relations students so there's a good balance in the discussion.

Obviously I'm pretty stoked about this class.

Now, have I mentioned that I scheduled myself for 8 straight hours of class in one day? I didn't see any way around it... my Thursday evening class is required and the idea of the globalization elective on Thursday afternoons really tickled my pickle. So the all day Thursday combo will have to do.

Okay, fast forward to this very day when I start my second class. A class that's a requirement is never a good sign. This one is called Topics in Media Communications - vaguest title ever, but the point is that professors teach it in rotation and get to essentially choose what spin they want to take on it.

Well. Let's just say I am not impressed with this spin.

We got no little introduction about an overall objective of this class. She does keep saying that she wants to know what we already know so she can suit the class better to our needs (like this is an algebra class).

She opens up the floor by asking Does anyone here want to eventually have a career in media? Duh. Why else would we be here. What kind? So I'm thinking, if she's serious about tailoring this to our preferences, I might as well make my desires known, and I shout "I'M INTO WRITTEN MEDIA!" And that's about the last we hear about print media for the rest of the class :/ .

We do, however, get an extensive list of house rules. I'm fine with a strict professor - I get it, you're the boss, I'll turn in my assignments (relatively) on time and I'll try not to bust in 10 minutes late. But really, no going to the bathroom except for during the one break? This is a 4 hour class, lady. From 5:30-9:30 in the evening. So I'm going to need coffee, and I'm going to need water, and I'm going to need to tinkle, no doubt about it.

But okay, you're the boss, I'll obey. I am not a fan of pairing the strict-prof act with the I'm-still-young-and-hip-and-will-prove-it thing - please stop flashing your ankle tats and referencing last weekend's mosh pit because those things will not make me think you are one of us - you're limiting our toilet time, remember? If you do not trust me to use my bathroom time wisely, this is a friendship that just will not work.

I'm sorry, I'm really hatin' on the professor here. I don't mean to. I think it's just been a long day, and I was just a tad annoyed by the class. Half the time I just could not get an idea of where we were going with this - we watched several youtube videos, discussed a handout, but it was all still really vague. We'd watch a clip, then she'd open discussion with a totally unrelated question and expect some sort of debate while we're still trying to connect that topic with the video we just watched. Luckily Megan and I were sitting together and able to exchange skeptical eye rolls while I scribbled notes of wtf to her. I guess the main reason I was annoyed was that the professor was acting like this class period was the first time we'd been prompted by gray area topics like censorship and abortion and religious differences. We're grad students, we made it this far, right? I know it's important to be able to debate and understand both sides of an issue in order to develop your beliefs, but this is my 2nd to last semester of my MA, and these were exercises we did in my undergrad. I guess that's my beef.

At the end of class I asked the professor, So. This course title is pretty vague. If you were to rename it yourself, what would you call it? And her answer was How To Be A Bastard, and when my short fake laughter subsided (I'm thinking What...?? What does that have to do with anything?), she changed her answer to Philosophy of Censorship. Well, at least I have an idea now of where this is going.

To end on a positive note, remember how happy I said I was about my class on Globalization?

August.

Oh my goodness gracious I cannot believe it's already halfway through August.

Do you know I've been living in London almost a year now? That's incredible.

Also incredible - My cousin and I just finished a 3 week speedy journey through Western Europe by means of train, backpack, and adrenaline. It was most exciting, educational, inspiring, overwhelming, exhausting, thrilling, and delightful.

There will be posts to come with stories as I have time to digest the past month.. it's kind of blurry right now! I kept a journal and took heaps of photos, but it always takes a little time to sink in.

Nice to be back in London though, but a little weird. Throughout the trip as Blair and I talked about places and people back home I got the idea in my head that we'd both be flying back to the States at the end of our journey. It was strange to remember that my home is in London right now.

After the trip I've decided that I'll be home for good in December. Yes, Mom, I know you already thought that. But honestly, since my Visa doesn't expire till April, I'd been thinking I wanted to get the most out of it and just stick around as long as possible. But I guess traipsing around Europe was the extra little ounce of adventure I needed before "settling down" by moving home (I hate that phrase - like I'm getting married to Little Rock?).

Everyone leaves eventually. It will be nice to be somewhere that my loved ones won't have to move halfway across the world after six months or so. I also look forward to weird things like paying off my debt, having a predictable 9-5, and investing in apartment decorations.

That being said, I enjoyed EVERY LAST BIT of the gypsy lifestyle of the last month! There is something so utterly freeing about living like a snail. And while we were hopping from country to country (so un-snail-like) it was amazing to see the transformation from one place to the next - Bern to Florence?? Venice to Salzburg?? A (relatively) short train ride away, but SO different. That was the neat thing about doing it all so quickly, the comparisons between one place and the next.

I would totally do it again, but next time I'll pick a country or two and really concentrate on one area at a time. But I might be addicted to this whole backpacking idea.

I'll be back with some info about each place, and perhaps some pictures as well.

Ciao,

Steph

The Werefox.

Lately in London it's become surprisingly warm. I know, who knew. Everyone back home is probably thinking how pleasant an English summer is since it can't possibly reach 104F in the blazing sun. But you're wrong, my friends. You are definitely taking your air conditioning for granted. It may not get as hot here, but stuff yourself into your cupboard sized room of your 3rd floor flat on a warm day and you'll probably start growing moss from your limbs like I have.

So what do we do about this predicament? Open the windows, just like we do back home sometimes. But there's something missing here... window screens. So in the day time I can expect a little bumble bee or two ["wasp wearing a stripey jumper" - heard that in an English film recently and can't get over it] and at night, moths, but that's not so bad. I'm not such a prissy gal. It's annoying, yes, but worse things happen than the occasional insect visitors.

Seriously, MUCH worse things. Last weekend I met my classmate Megan in Camden for a pitcher of Pimms & lemonade on a Friday afternoon. Delish. So we're chatting and Megan's like Omg, did you hear about those foxes and the baby twins? And I'm like, What?

So she goes on to tell me about that day's headline about a family whose babies were mauled in the night by a pair of foxes who got in through the open window. WHAT?!?!

I should explain that foxes are the equivalent of raccoons in Arkansas: they are the pests who get in your garbage and tear up your gardens, and you can get a pest control unit to come over and de-fox your yard. Yup.

So I'm appalled by this baby-eating-fox news, and Megan goes into more detail about the article and the parents' response. They're like, Well we're in a very difficult situation here, we either keep our windows closed during the night and simply boil, or we just have to keep a constant eye on the nursery while the babies are sleeping to make sure foxes don't come in. We have no other options. What ever will we do!

She's telling me this and I'm like Wow, that woman's right, what a pickle.

When Megan's like Um, OR they could just get window screens.

Oh yeah, duh. What a novel idea. That way everyone could get a good night's sleep, enjoy a nice breeze, and sleep soundly knowing that their babies are safe from trespassing foxes.

The next day I find myself chatting with George while he sets up the menagerie and I pick up the little fox pendant, not even thinking about my conversation with Megan from the night before. George is like Yeah, I don't think that's going to be such a big seller this weekend. I might need to put those away so we're not accused of being insensitive.

Naturally, I've blanked and ask what he means. He's like What, you didn't hear about the fox who crept through a window and mauled a set of twins?

And at that I let out a burst of giggles- I know, heartless! I wasn't laughing at the incident, I was just shocked that our entire window screen conversation over Pimms had escaped me. But of course, being a totally inappropriate time to laugh, I was deemed a heartless witch and then blamed for the attacks.

Look at her red tail! She turns into a fox at night and hunts children... she's a WEREFOX!

PS, I think the kids are fine, just a little scratched up. So I'm not acccttuuually so heartless. But I am a werefox.

Dr. Doolittle.

I'm working the Backyard Market as usual this past Sunday and am alarmed/ disappointed when I turn and see Rick creeping out from under my stall table.

Let me explain:

Rick is a fellow worker of the market and he has a permanent stall up near the entrance. Working at this market I've met the most interesting characters I ever thought I would meet. Rick is this delinquent and hilarious but kinda pervy guy and he sells army green messenger bags with some screen-printed designs on them, as well as little button-badges and some t-shirts and cartoon prints too. I first met him when I got back from the US and resumed my weekends on Brick Lane. Chelsea introduced me to a fellow she had met in my absence named George (who has since become one of our main cohorts) and from George we met a slew of other interesting folks.

After market it's customary for all the stall owners to go around the corner to a pub called the Pride of Spitalfields. One Sunday evening a group of these ragamuffins went to the Pride where I became acquainted with Rick, a somewhat-one-eyed chap named Vinnie, and an artist called Lewis.

Now that we've been at market for a couple of months Chane has achieved a "permanent" stall (duh duh Daaaahh!) snuggled right in between this Rick and Lewis, up at the front by George. It's a delightful spot to be in because when it's a slow day I get to watch Rick wandering around doing anything other than watch his stall, George might come to a dance for me to the wild tribal music blasting outside, or I can lean over through the curtain and watch Lewis sketch robots underwater.

Seriously, Rick is NEVER at his stall. As Lewis puts it "He kind of walks in, stakes out a spot and starts chatting to whatever bird he can get to listen, and sets up his stall kind of periodically throughout the day." Last week two people approached me wanting to actually buy his stuff and he was literally no where in sight.. I sold it for him and he was overjoyed.

So, back to this Sunday:

I was running a little late so had called George to throw a sheet over my stall so it wouldn't be taken. Then as I'm setting up, I realize I don't have a chair - on a hungover Sunday that might be the worst fate imaginable. I start to scout out the warehouse for an available seat and I remember that I've walked by Rick's stall and it's not set up yet, so he must not be here... muhaha... there are plenty of people milling about so I figure I can sneak back there, grab the chair, and save my feet/tush/sanity from an inevitable torture. Right as I get it out of the stall and I'm rolling backwards towards mine (cause my Sunday stall is a couple aisles back), I hear from behind me, "Are you knickin Rick's chair?" Me: "Nooo... don't tell, ok Lewis?? He's not here yet, and you know he's never even at his stall anyways! He won't even notice, and I'll just DIE if I can't sit down today." Lewis is like "Oh I'm not keeping that secret.. if he doesn't have it, he'll just bitch and moan and complain and that's all I'll hear all day. I can't believe you're knickin' Rick's chair." Ha but he's kind of kidding, so I nervously continue to my stall and rejoice in my success.

Halfway through the day I started to forget that I'd stolen it and drop my guard as I take a break to wander through the market, perusing all the crafts and fashions I do not need to purchase. Then as I turn to face my stall again, there he is!! That sneaky bastard has crawled under my table and snatched it back!!

I was like WHAT are you doing?

Rick: You bloody knicked my chair and I'm getting it back, that's what I'm doing!

Me: But wha- How did- did Lewis tell you??

Rick: No, I went lookin around the whole f%*&in market for it, that's what I did! Can't believe you bloody knicked my chair.

Me: Rick noooo! But I NEED that chair!

Ha I felt like my life would end without that. The hangover was still quite strong. The whole thing was pretty comical though.

Then, So I'm standing there behind my stall (ugggh, my legs!) reading a pamphlet of artists from an exhibition across the street when I realize that someone is standing in front of me. I look up, and, it's my friend Adam! Yayyyyy, someone has come to save me from being depressed about losing my chair!!!

Adam's like "Hey, how's it going. Have you seen George's mouse?" I'm like, "What, George has a mouse?? What on Earth could you be talking about."

I go visit George's stall and, sure enough, there is a little teeny tiny sweet baby mouse behind him, along the ledge... it's a little bit trapped back there, but it's still strange to me that it wasn't running around and trying to escape. It was like it had found George and decided that he would be his mother. George was happy to take on this role. In my subsequent visits I would find George on his Blackberry scouring Google for something like "what to feed a baby mouse that I found and looks kind of sickly." It's true, by the time we left, things weren't looking up for the little mousey.

This being Chelsea's last Sunday in London before heading back stateside, we decided to hang out in the area for awhile because there's nothing like Brick Lane on a Sunday. We saw a Mexican place (rare around these parts) and decided some margaritas might be in store. Except George ordered a Sex on the Beach because he wanted to "ask for sex on the beach." Whatever.

We're sitting there sipping on margs and gnawing on nachos (gnaw-chos, if you will) and this little Conrad-esque pup comes through the open door and settles next to the wall by our table. We're all like, "Ey pup, whatcha doin here?" And I'm doing the Conrad-whistle like it's a universal Jack Russell thing that this one will know. His owner comes in and is trying to whisk him away, but the thing backs right up to George's chair and won't budge - I'm not kidding, won't budge a freaking inch. The ownder has to leave and come back with the dog's leash and literally drag him across the floor and out the door. We're like, George, what are you doing to these animals? He was like a saint or martyr that these sick and depressed animals seek before they can let themselves go comfortably into the next life... it was really pretty weird.

So now George is Dr. Dolittle, and that explains the title of this entry.

I'll go study now.

10 Points for Gryffindor!

Already three weeks into my fourth term - can you believe it? I'm over halfway done with my Masters degree. Outrageous.

A bit of boring catch up:

Right now I'm taking two very business-heavy electives, Managerial Leadership and Human Resource Management. ML is Tuesday and Thursday mornings and requires a lot more out of class work than my previous classes here at Regents and... I won't lie, I kind of like it. I like a challenge.
HRM is on Friday afternoons (what an evil thing to do to a 22 year old American living in London) and it's a little boring, the usual lecture and notes but not quite as participative as my ML class.

For once I'm in the minority in both my classes for being American; the rest of the class is German, Hungarian, Middle Eastern, Thai, Kazak, Turkish... that makes discussion kind of funny sometimes. Also, a lot of the boys seem to be in this program in London mainly to bide their time before going back home to be princes or dukes or whatever they are. They contribute in class discussions, but half the time they're just trying to be cute and goof off.

So I heard this story about Emma Watson, that actress who plays Hermione in the 'Arry Pottah movies, and her first week in class at college in the US: Poor thing's trying to blend in with the other students at her university, but after raising her hand to answer a question in chemistry someone shouts from the back of class "THAT's TEN POINTS FOR GRYFFINDOR!!"

Haha - If you're not familiar with Harry Potter then this is meaningless, but Emma Watson's feelings aside, it struck me as hilarious.

And lately, I'm such a Hermione. I wasn't always the person who would voluntarily speak up in class but for some reason I'm all over it in this Managerial Leadership class. Of course, I started participating more and more throughout my four years at Millsaps and now in grad school I'm usually pretty involved, but it's like I keep accidentally having the right answer at the right time way more often than is cool. Maybe it's because I'm one of the only native English speakers, I don't know... yeah let's just say that.

But it's getting to be pretty embarrassing. I'm just waiting for someone to call me out for being a seriously eager beaver.

That's TEN POINTS for Gryffindor!

Michelle.

I meet so many cool random people all over the place... Here's one of them, Michelle. She sold Chane's stuff at market here in London last year and I met her before I started working for Chane.

Monday I went to go pick up the remaining Chane stock from Michelle in Brick Lane. I took the the tube for about 45 minutes east across pretty much all of London to get to her flat. She lives literally right off of Brick Lane, a part of London heavily populated by Bangladeshi and Indian immigrants and famous for it's curry houses, clothing markets, and artsy hipsters. Spitalfields, probably the most well-known of London markets for up-and-coming artists as well as vintage finds, is right around the corner, as at the Upmarket and Backyard Market, where Michelle and Dave sold Chane's line in fall up until Christmas. Up and Back markets are in an old brewery that's been converted, that's a neat tidbit for you.

Anyways, the first thing that happens when you walk in to a Brit's house is he or she offers you a cup of tea. A "cuppa." I've learned that there is no point in politely declining because she'll probably proceed to put on the kettle anyhow, and then make herself and cup and say "Are you sure?" and you're like "Well, since you've boiled the water..." And that's how it works. So you end up sharing a cuppa tea and chatting for about 20 minutes.

This Michelle used to work in managing accounts for an advertising firm, but recently resigned because she "wanted to do something else." Now she's taking some horticulture classes and volunteering twice a week at Kew Gardens. Larnie, I have a feeling you would like her. I told her about my MA program and my English major and she said that in her experience with the advertising firm, any background in writing and editing would prove to be very useful no matter what kind of field I end up in. We share a pet peeve for little mistakes like your/you're and there/their/they're... which probably appear frequently in this blog, oops. But good to know my degree might be useful.

I asked about her husband, and get this - He's in charge of the international programming schedules for BBC World Radio. Cool huh? Apparently there are entire islands in the pacific that are owned by BBC and are there just to provide transmission to other remote areas... Ha they are only reachable by helicopter, and if you visit, your only choices are to stay for 24 hours or an entire week. No length of time in between. Like, don't miss the 'copter ride back or you're stuck on BBC Island for a whole week. Dang.

Easter.

For Easter Dom had us over to her house for a loooovely spread of ham, sausages, salads, dips, nibbles, and wine and beer. Jessica's friend Dan was in town from California and the three of us went together to Dom's. Even though she moved out of our flat back in November when I moved in, somehow this was the first time either of us had been there. She had several other friends over: a couple guys from Spain (didn't hear much from them); Inga from Lithuania; Maria from Mexico (a fellow Graham& Green employee!); and Mortischa from Poland. [Dominika and Mortischa are friends from Poland... how is that for a duo? They sound threatening, like witches from a Disney animated movie or something. Have I ever mentioned that Dom's last name is Dominik? No kidding. Her name is Dominika Dominik. And her middle name is... drumroll please... JoAnn. Dominika JoAnn Dominik.]

It was a really jolly Easter. We kept wanting to go across the street and carry our little feast on into a picnic, but every 30 minutes there would be a little shower of rain while the sun was still shining so that idea didn't materialize. Once when that happened I shared a little nugget of southern culture: I mentioned that when that happens (rain while the sun's shining) we say "the devil's beatin' his wife." They got a kick out of this.

After a few hours of snacking on grapes and cheese and leek salad and cookies and wine, and sitting around chatting, I pointed out that it reminded me a lot of Thanksgiving. There aren't many holidays when you just sit around enjoying the food and company. No presents, no costumes, and maybe when you're little (or if I'd been home! haha) there would be chocolate bunnies and baskets, but this Easter made me think more about being thankful, really. Usually on Easter I would have donned a white linen dress and headed to St. Mark's, sang the "Christ is risen" hymns that remind Allie and me of the Who-ville Christmas song, then maybe had lunch afterwards with the family and Neena and D-Daddy. But for the past four years I've had to hop in the car and drive back to Jackson on Easter day to be back in time for class Monday. Recently it's been such a squooshed-in holiday. Easter Monday is a bank holiday here (as well as Good Friday) so everyone seemed a lot more relaxed on Sunday because no one had work or class the next day. It was really nice to be able to take advantage of Easter as a holiday for once!

I really miss all of my friends and family. I missed my usual Easter activities like the white dress, the Easter service, the hymns and baptisms and family brunch. But this year, surrounded by new friends from all over the world sharing our particular Easter traditions, I kept thinking about how thankful I am for so many things right now: the opportunities I have here in London, my loving and supportive parents and family, the friendly companions I have made over here so far... So yes, with Easter and the nice spring weather came the notions of rebirth and life and resurrection and all that, but it also signified blessings and thanksgivings. Sappy, I know.

Thanks for everything y'all. I can't wait to come home and give you each a hug in May :).

Xoxo Stephanie

Hussam.

I don't think I've ever written anything about our landlord, Hussam. When I first moved in, he was a force to be feared and for good reason. He was moody, demanding, and never seemed too thrilled about coming over to collect rent. Jess and Jen said that one time shortly before I arrived he came over to collect rent but 2 of the roommates had forgotten to leave it... he was furious and threw the money that they handed him back at their faces, like "Do you think I have time to come down here any time? I have 30 tenants, I want the rent when I say I'm coming to get the rent!"

So you get the picture... not exactly a cuddly old man.

And since I moved in, it seems like we have a new issue that arises every month that we need him to take care of: a broken washing machine, another bed bug spray, a new bed or two, getting the buzzer fixed... I always figured that it's part of the landlord's job to take care of these issues, but we would always get so nervous when he was coming to rent and we had one of these maintenance requests to make!

Rent is always due at the beginning of the month (obviously), so he usually calls in the last week of the preceding month to arrange a date and time to stop by our flat. Like I said, he's usually very interested in picking up his money, so we were really surprised when February 28th rolled around and he hadn't called yet about March's rent. And then March 1st and 2nd passed, and then the entire first week of March... Jose and Trini hadn't been around long enough to quite grasp how unusual it was for Hussam to have not called. Jess was like, "I hope something's not... you know... wrong or something..." I answered, "What, you mean like dead?" ess and Jen were more freaked out than entertained by this little "joke" I had going that Whoops, Hussam had died, and we wouldn't have to pay rent anymore! Haha.. I know it's morbid, but Mom, I figured you at least might think it was funny, too.

Anyways, don't worry... Hussam is alive and well, and finally rolled around to Gunterstone around the 2nd week of March to take our money. And we've noticed that since then he has been so friendly, so helpful and understanding! All of a sudden he's offering to buy us new furniture, to arrange for someone to pick up our new couch from Ikea so we don't have to bother going all the way out there... When he came for April, Jess mentioned that she was going to Canterbury over the weekend, and this spawned a slew of stories about Hussam's days as a student in the 1960s in Canterbury, and the pub he worked at and the people he met there... it was like we had a surrogate great uncle counting quid in front of us instead of an ornery old landlord! Very nice change.

Jess thinks he likes us better now that there aren't any Australians in the house... apparently he didn't like Aussies. I reckon it has to do with the fact that we haven't had such a turnover of roommates recently so he's actually seeing the same faces month after month, but that's just me.

I wish I had a picture of Hussam to post! Maybe when he comes for May's rent I'll snap one... haha, awkward.

Spring!

Spring has sprung in London. It's beautiful. My favorite flowers - daffodils - have popped up all over the place almost over-night. For the most part it is warming up... you still need a jacket if you are going to be outside when the sun sets, and I don't usually leave without my trusty umbrelly, but during the day when it's sunny it is GLORIOUS.

On one of the first very lovely days last month Jessica and I decided to venture to Camden Markets to have a wander and a gander. It's a different world from being there in the winter. The canal is lined with people eating Asian take-away on refurbished motorcycle seats attached to picnic tables and the old horse-stables-turned-vintage-market is definitely more inviting in the warmer weather.

Posing with a lion in Camden (silly.)

With Natasha in Putney. We met back in November when she was working for Graham& Green in Wimbledon with me.

On St. Patrick's Day I met Jessica and Marley at a Scottish pub off of Edgeware Road called the Rob Roy. They had met some of the guys that work there earlier in the week at the St. Patty's parade in central London, and these fellas had suggested we come by on the actual holiday for free pints (holla!). So we had some fish n' chips, couple pints of Guinness, and they even gave us funny holiday hats... awww.

In march, we also had to say goodbye to one of our pals, Benjamin. But before he headed back to Chile we had a small going away party at our flat for him... I say small, but little did we know that he was going to bring almost his entire English class over to our place, haha.

Dom, Veronica, Jess, and me with Benjamin! He's the butt of half of our jokes, we will miss him dearly.

New Room!

Finally, some pics of my new room. It's nice to have a single, I don't feel bad about staying up late to read or waking up early for class.

Mouse house.

I know Aunt Anne will particularly like this story.

This all happened a couple of weeks ago. I was in bed reading and about to fall asleep. Jen and Jess were upstairs asleep and Jose was too; the only girls up were Trini and her friend Ita. As I was about to doze off I heard a high-pitched squealing coming from the living room. Next thing you know, Trini is poking her head in my room like, "Steephhh? We saw a mouse!" I was like Noooooooooo! You've got to be kidding - a mouse? She and Ita showed me where they saw the lil vermin scamper and I ran upstairs to get the other two girls.

If you've seen pictures of the way my flat is set up, then you know that there is a little square cut-out from the kitchen to the living room, so you can be in one room and look into the other. I put on my rain boots (to guard against the mouse!) and naturally went into the kitchen to just stare into the living room through the window... there was no way I was going into that room. Trini and Ita were very brave, pulling furniture away from the walls and poking around in corners. Ita was convinced that since she saw the mouse run under the couch then it must be IN there somewhere. So they lifted the couch on it's side so that the underbelly was exposed. I'll have to admit, it was a pretty disgusting sofa... no telling how long it's lived in that flat... there were slashes on the arms of it, there were cushions missing, and on the underside there were springs and foam cushion busting out all over the place. Looking at it, you might think there was a whole mouse family infestation in the thing. Sooo even when Ita suggested the mouse might have sought sanctuary in it, I was adamantly against this theory because it grossed me out to think of a mouse living in my couch.

We searched and searched, but little mouse was nowhere to be found. Trini and Ita kept absently poking the underside of the couch with a mop and a long umbrella just in case. We were losing hope of finding the durn thing when all of a sudden - because of Trini's prodding - a little brown ball FELL OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF THE SOFA and sprinted behind the fridge. Trini and Ita were blocked in the room by the upturned sofa, so they were stuck dancing around and squealing with the mouse; Jen and I ran out of the kitchen and halfway up the spiral staircase to her room; and when I looked back to the kitchen, Jess had launched herself up in between the cabinets and the windowsill Spiderman-style. It was such stereotypical girl behavior.

So we're all like, What now? Trini said, "A box and some cheese?" Just like the cartoons. They pull out this empty cereal box and you can tell that Jess and I are thinking the same thing... that little box is not gonna work. So we build a better mousetrap (muhaha) using some boxes and stuff lying around the room to restrict the area around the fridge. At the end of the mousetrap is a box for him to run into. From through the kitchen window, Jess's and my job is to trap the lil critter once he's in the box. Believe it or not, the mouse ran straight into the box from behind the fridge once we scared him out - but Jess and I were too slow and he ran back out. This happened two or three times until the guy wised up and started to try to break through our makeshift wall....Trini yelled "Awww, he's cute!" and then trapped him in at the last minute. So then we're all looking at eachother like, well, how are we gonna get him in the box?? After talking it over, Trini and Ita look down and are like Uh oh... I think he's dead. I said No, there's no way, he's faking! If you lift your foot he's run out and we'll have lost him again! But they lifted their feet... and... :( Trini put her hands her throat and said "I think we took his breath away." (Isn't that the sweetest way to say "We crushed him so much he suffocated" that you've ever heard?) She scooped him into his little box casket and wrote R.I.P., Mouse.

But that was only half the battle. The next step was to move the disgusting icky hated couch outside. We could not have this vile thing in our flat any longer. So we start heave-ho-ing it down the stairs and we were doing fine until we came to the doorway from our flat to the stairway. This door is right by the door to our neighbor's place, and we happened to have brand new neighbors that week. We got the sofa STUCK in that threshold and made a ton of noise at about 12:30 am while trying to wedge it out. At one point it seemed reasonable to try to break the sofa apart to get it out... Ita grabbed a hammer and started banging away at the thing and we were like Ahhh Quit it! You don't live here, don't piss off our neighbors!! Haha. Finally we had the bright idea to try going back up the stairs and turning it around, and that worked. Once we made it out of the flat and chunked it on the sidewalk a huge crowd from the Three Kings pub came around the corner. We were all in our PJs and rain boots with this sofa and dead-mouse-box, and the whole drunken Polish crowd (all boys, go figure) came hustling over to see what the deal was.

Luckily that's the only little intruder we've had... we're hoping he came in through an open window or something (spider-mouse maybe?). It definitely made for an adrenaline-filled evening and bonding time with the Chileans but I really could have done without.

xxx

Paree.

So I never told anyone about my Parisian adventure.

Here's the long and short of it:

After spending time in Chartres with Charlotte we took the train to Paris to meet up with her friend Amanda who is living there. That night we went on a pub crawl that started in Monmarte right in front of the Moulin Rouge, classy classy. I spotted a Buffalo Grill (same name and logo as the restaurant where I worked last summer and fall) in the area and that gave me a laugh.

The next morning Charlotte was my little tour guide... we started at one end of the Champs-Elysees at the Arc de Triomphe and walked all the way down to the end, to the Louvre.

I was only there for three days, and they say you could spend an entire week in the Louvre, so we didn't bother going in. A museum that size is daunting, I'd rather go when I actually have a little more time to look around. Plus, Charlotte's been. Surely I'll be back in Paris at some point and go there!

So we continued walking around and made it over the Notre Dame and the Latin Quarter.

We actually ran into a fellow Millsapsian on the way to the Latin Quarter! As we walked by this guy I heard him quietly say, "Charlotte??" He's a couple of years younger than us so he's still at Millsaps but spending a semester in France. He remembered Charlotte from French class. Weird!

We had coffee at this cute cafe next to the Shakespeare& Co. bookstore, where I got an old copy of Brideshead Revisited. Very cool.

Amanda met us up later for dinner and we had a very French meal: appetizer of escargot and then fondue! It was delicious and quite the experience. I've had escargot before, so it wasn't too much of a shocker to be eating snails. But the fondue was different... we had a mini cauldron of oil to cook meat and onions on skewers, and a mini cauldron of cheese for the bread.

Diggin into a snaily. Interesting tools we had to use.

Amanda and me eating fondue!

The next day was BEAUTIFUL weather... still cold, but at least it was sunny and clear skies. I was surprised how much colder it was than London. Wasn't expecting that one. I went to Sacre-Coeur and it was absolutely gorgeous.

Then we went to the Catacombs. Soooo apparently way back when, the cemetaries got to be too full (ew) and they were condemned for sanitation reasons. So what did they do? Dig up everyone's remains and dump them together in a place underground, of course. Later on they decided to arrange the bones in some sort of order so they might be nice to look at and open the place to tourists. Go figure.

Charlotte being silly in the tunnel leading to the Catacombs... (it was NOT this light! so much creepier in real life)

Me in front of some of the remains... eeeee! Did I mention we did this on Valentine's Day? Yeah.

Next we went to see the sweet little miniature Statue of Liberty that the US gave France, and then to the Eiffel Tower. It is soooo pretty at night! Like I said, it was Valentine's Day, so there were beaucoups (see, I know some French) of couples waiting in line to get to the top of the tower.. awww, how romantic.

You can barely see me, but I'm there.

My last day in Paris we went to Musee del'Orangerie (no idea if I spelled that right!) It's close to the Louvre, but much more manageable for just an hour and a half of browsing. It has two rooms of Monet's waterlilies and then other great impressionist pieces downstairs.

Soooo lovely! This one above was my favorite.

After the museum we went to famous Angelina's for lunch and the richest hot chocolate you have ever tasted in your entire life. It was delicious but ooooo boy it was like drinking a melted chocolate bar or something. Then we went to Galeries Lafayette to have a gander and then did a little rummaging through some vintage stores. It was a ridiculously quick trip for such a tremendous city but I'm amazed at how much we managed to see and do. It was looooverly and I hope I get to go back sooooon!

xx

Bonjour.

OH MY I've been a terrible blogger for the past month!

Since I last wrote there are many many things to update on:

Philip Cortese came to London! He's a good friend from Millsaps and is teaching Latin to junior high brats in Jackson right now. He and his middle-aged colleague Patsy came to Bristol for a Latin teachers conference thing and then got to come spend a day in London. We spent most of the day at the British Museum where they educated me on the Greek and Roman antiquities, had dinner along the Thames, and then went for a couple of pints in Covent Garden (sans Patsy). It was really great to see a familiar face and catch up about life back in Mississippi.

And we have two new roommates now. Since Loly moved out in January and Jen Neale had to go home unexpectedly we had 2 spots open in the flat. Loly's two acquaintances from Chile- Josefina (Jose) and Trinidad (Trini) - are the cutest little things. They are my age, 22 and 23. Luckily for everyone Jess and I haven't been doing the "No way, Jose!" thing.

I'll admit it hasn't been the easiest transition. I think that it's not the best idea for 2 friends to move in together because there seems to be kind of a split in the house. At first they had a bad habit of speaking to each other in Spanish a lot in front of us; Loly, Benjamin, and Vale were always really considerate about speaking English so that everyone was included in the conversation, and Veronica absolutely refused to speak Spanish since the whole reason she moved here was to improve her English. But Jess kind of blew up at Trini about it one day (eep! haha) and since then it hasn't been a problem... Not that it was a problem, it just made it harder for us all to get to know one another.

Isn't it funny to think I'm one of the veteran residents of the flat now?

Alright so when I was first planning on moving here last summer I was in contact with a guy in Jackson named Chane about working for him here. He's a screen-print designer and sells his stuff from shops in Jackson and markets in New York. He's been very successful in NY and wanted to expand his sales to London - that's where I come into the picture. He had a couple of people selling for him on the weekends last autumn and apparently it went pretty well. I met up with his friend Dave, one of the guys working for him, a few weeks ago in East London and he walked me around the area where the markets are set up. I've been there before to do some shopping with the girls because it's a really creative area full of both new designers and people selling vintage and thrifty finds. We talked through the basics about having a stall in one of the markets. I've been emailing with Chane back and forth in the past couple of weeks and we're talking about getting started in April. Pretty cool, I'll keep you posted!

Another familiar face came to London in February, too. Chelsea is a friend from Millsaps and she's teaching English in Lille, France. She had a couple of weeks off from work so she decided to come to London for a few days before flying to the states for a visit. We had an absolute blast together. Unfortunately I had to work the first 2 days she was here, but luckily she's a lot like me in her travel style. We both like to have some time alone in a new place to get acclimated and do our own thing... But funnily enough, as she was leaving my place that first morning she ran into Jose and Trini in the tube station and they invited her to come with them to the Tower of London and Tower Bridge (see, they're sweet).

During the weekend that Chelsea was here a friend named Terri was having a fancy dress (aka "costume party") with the theme of USA. Chels was a cowgirl and I was an indian. Not the most original ideas, but those were the best costumes we could come up with in a short amount of time. It was a hilarious party. There were American flags all over the place and my favorite costumes were Dolly Parton and Minnie Mouse.

Hello Dolly!

The next day we made a little trip to Portobello Road and Notting Hill to seek out some vintage-y shopping. We stopped in a little pub for dinner and met a very colorful character. We were talking about festivals back home and I think I was describing Jazz Fest last year. This old-ish man had been sitting next to us reading and drinking, and when we were having this conversation he was at the bar and turned around and said "That sounds like quite a show! Where was that again?" He sat down again and started talking music with us. He bought us each a pint and we started to learn quite a bit about this man: he's a "topper" (drummer) and a music lover and he started recounting stories of hanging with Steve Earle, filling in on drums for The Clash, meeting Bob Dylan in London... when he left to use the bathroom Chelsea was like, "Do you believe this guy? Do you think all that is true?" Who knows, but we decided there's no harm in believing, it makes the story much more fun. He gave me lots of tips about where to catch some good live music in London which was really nice. It's such a huge city, it's hard to figure out where and when the smaller shows are. We crossed the street with him to hear a band that was playing an open mic night and then headed on home. Our friend's name was George Butler.

This was the same day as the Super Bowl - wooooo hooooooooooo! We live around the corner from one of the most popular sports pubs in London so obviously we went there to watch it. Kick off wasn't until 11pm! It was packed and I think there were about 5 Colts fans in the whole place. It was really funny to be watching it here in London. Even if people here don't keep up with American football during the regular season, almost everyone watches the Super Bowl... but it made me wonder if they all actually knew what was going on in the game, haha. As you all know it was a super stupendous game and Chels and I were very proud when the Saints won. It was a nice little taste of Americana which I hadn't felt in awhile.

Looking a little tired aren't we? The game was over around 3am.