I AM HOME.

I love America.  I love Americans.  I love American accents.  I love the right side of the road.  I love American electrical sockets.  I love Eastern Standard Time. I love peaceful neighbors.  I love the smell of my house. I love my puppy.  And my family.  And NCIS marathons.

A small update.

Remember when you were a kid and you were like, when I grow up, I'm gonna have cookies for dinner.  Welp. I'm having cookies for dinner.  Being an adult might not be such a bad thing after all.


I have lots of British and life events (first time being a golf caddy, first time turning 23, etc) to comment on, but work has been busy (our final deadline is two days before I go home) and I have 2 and a half hours to complete

PRECEPTORSHIP REPORT NUMBER ONE (or TWO as the case may be).

(It's number two as the case may be.)

So unfortunately, I must stop procrastinating.  And do that.  After I get another cookie.  Just wanted to let you all know I am alive and very eagerly looking forward to my return to America in just 8 days.

Microstation fun times.

Umut typed a message in the file so no one would delete his layout test for this floor plan.  I swear I didn't delete anything, but I can't guarantee that Pacman won't eat the floor before Umut opens the file again.

Pacman hungry.

Scary children strike again.

I got heckled by the scary neighborhood children just now.  I was walking into our little apartment complex, coming home from work, not bothering anyone.  I might have been whistling.  I’m wearing red corduroys.  I knew that there were a few kids about fifteen feet behind me—a 13-14 year old-ish girl and maybe two younger boys. 

“Hey, SEXY LADY.”

As I was the only sexy lady around, I figured they were yelling at me.  But I ignored them.

“HEY.  SEXY LADY.”

Ignore.

“SEXY LADY. [insert rude comments in British that were difficult for me to understand]”

I thought about turning around, acting really tall and tough, and being like, “HEY WHAT” in an intimidating way.  But I’m usually not the kind of person who can convincingly pull off that kind of behavior.  And those London youths are definitely tougher and scarier than I am.  I know it.  They know it.  I'd be willing to wager we had some junior representatives of our neighborhood in the August riots.  So I calmly walked into the stairwell and as soon as they couldn’t see me, I ran as fast as I could.  I am now safe in my apartment (which I think finally has heat!).