It's been a while.

Greetings, loved ones.  I’m sure all you members of my vast and diverse readership have been losing sleep since November 3^rd, wondering what glorious adventures I’ve been up to and missing my ever insightful commentary.  Fear not, I have returned.  Rather than write a book about all that has happened since my last post, I will list a series of small updates:

The day before my mom and Erin and Colleen arrived, I took a tumble down the stairs in our apartment.  Elbows and ego still bruised.  But my feet are large and our stairs are small—it was only a matter of time.

There was a white feather in the carton of eggs that I bought.  Ashley and I screamed when we saw it.  She was like, “DO YOU NOT CHECK THE EGGS BEFORE YOU BUY THEM??”  Apparently I missed that grocery-buying lesson.

My Mommy came all the way to London to change the sheets on my bed and help me clean up my room.  She is the best.

Erin brought me Jif.  Rejoice!

I stayed with my mom and Erin and Colleen in their hotel.  I took my first shower in months (not as gross as it sounds—our apartment only has a tub, so we are confined to taking baths).  I also blow-dried my hair for the first time in months.  I should really go buy a hair dryer.

This is Erin’s graceful descent from one of the lions at Trafalgar Square.

Nice socks.

This is Erin and I reenacting a scene from the royal wedding at Westminster Abbey.  Obviously I am Pippa, the more attractive younger sister.

Nice bouquet.

I think we did a good job.

Yesterday was Remembrance Day, 11/11/11.  At 11:00, our office had a 2-minute “moment” of silence.  It was generally well observed, except for this American girl blabbing in the back room (I swear it wasn’t me) (and this girl’s voice is loud and irritating even when everyone else isn’t being silent).  People were kind of rolling their eyes.  Why must there always be someone to perpetuate the stereotype??

Yesterday was also this American guy’s last day at the office (he’s moving back to America!).  We all went out after work for goodbye drinks.  The first place had 2-for-1 cocktails, so I got Moscow Mules in honor of Becca being a general whiz at life.  British Will’s girlfriend met up with us.  Her name is Kate.  They are just too British.

My mom gave me an assignment to go shopping this weekend.  (I need to get a winter coat, hair dryer, etc.)  Thanks, Mom!  Just a heads-up, you might be getting a call from your friends at Capital One!

I can hear Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab” coming from one of our neighbors’ apartments.  …There is almost too much to say about this.

Saturday was eventful.

London has been having some uncommonly beautiful, warm weather these past few days, so on Saturday morning, I decided to go for a nice long run to Victoria Park.  I leave the apartment, lock the door, I’m skipping down our stairs, and…what’s that all on the landing…ugh, it smells like...HOLY CRAP.  It’s crap.  It’s a ton of crap.  There are many large POOPS scattered all over the landing.  Luckily, I was able to stop my momentum just in time and not step in it.  But for the love of God, neighbors, you have crossed a line.

Nevertheless, I managed to enjoy a very lovely day.  After my run, I took the bus to Trafalgar Square (where there was this bizarre Major League Baseball International Roadshow all set up—moon bounce, mini baseball diamond, wiffle ball batting cages, American announcer proclaiming the Good Word of Baseball to heathen British children who have never picked up a bat that wasn’t for cricket or rioting).  From there, I walked down to Westminster and went to Evensong at Westminster Abbey (that’s how you get in FO FREE).  It was really nice to sit and listen to the choir and quiz myself on gothic architecture vocabulary.  I was even sitting on top of the grave of an architect that I knew (not personally)—Robert Adam, who (hold on, let me go find my nerd hat) had a huge influence on the American Federal style (I miss you, Dr. Manca!).  Seriously, what are the chances I’m sitting on a dead architect? I was floored.  (I just went through a whole list of famous people buried at Westminster—I counted 3 architects.  I’d calculate the chances, but I can’t find a definitive number of people buried there—one website said 3,000…but that seems a little high.)

After that, I walked almost all the way home (got on the bus when I finally figured out where I was.)  I got lost a few times, but I actually feel like I now know how places in London relate—which is a strange feeling for me, because I never know where anything is.

I got home and was ready for a nice quiet evening to myself (of course, I had to tune out neighbor-lady throwing yet another profane tantrum) (also, I don't think I mentioned this, but Ashley is in Switzerland!).  I was totally starving, so I decided to make a lasagna.  After a few mishaps, my lasagna finally was in the oven, and I went upstairs to get my computer.  I heard a BANG BANG BANG on a door, but I assumed it must be my neighbors’ door, because there was no reason for anyone to be so aggressively knocking on mine.  I went downstairs and heard it again—BANG BANG BANG, definitely at my door.  I peaked out to see angry neighbor-lady, looking very angry.  She clearly knew I was home, so I cracked the door open.

“…Can I help you?”

“MY FUCKING KIDS JUST SLIPPED ON SPILLED BEER IN THE STAIRWELL.”

I wanted to say, “What a coincidence, I almost slipped on an unusually large deposit of fecal matter in the stairwell this morning!   And I didn’t even come angrily banging on your door, though I’m almost positive that your dog, child, or husband was responsible." Unfortunately, I don't think she would have responded very well to that, so I settled for,

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, it wasn’t you then.”

“No.” I gave her my best never-bang-on-my-door-again face, and closed the door.

Are these people for real?  I guess they keep things interesting around here.  Luckily, my lasagna was unaffected by the ruckus and was quite delicious.  In fact, five of my last eight meals have been lasagna.  The other three were oatmeal.