We Moved!

But the place is pretty empty. I have a flat screen TV that was delivered today, and an air mattress that's buried underneath some of our clothes. The air shipment came today so we got the bare essentials to survive for a while, and the sea shipment will probably get here in another week. Woohoo!

I was worried about not having internet, but my flat is close enough to a BTOpenzone hotspot, so I'm paying for access at the moment. Pretty pricey, but still infinitely better than not having access at all, especially when I'm trying to get everything all set up and stuff. What did people do before the internet?!

More to come later, but the place is awesome so far. I've had a guy show me how to use our video entry and alarm system. Too bad we don't have anything nice enough to warrant the alarm system, but it should still be fun. =)

I Did Something Bad...

We had an "issue" with our phone line installation. I had to have a "talk" with the customer representative, and he was stuttering by the end of the conversation.

I feel really bad now. J is still laughing his head off.

Vasomotor Rhinitis

In a recent issue of Men's Health:

"Doctors usually blame congestion, watery eyes, and serious bouts of sneezing on allergies, but unless you recently moved or changed jobs, it's rare to develop allergies in your 20s and 30s. Instead, your symptoms may be the result of vasomotor rhinitis, a condition triggered by nonallergen irritants, such as perfume, smog, and cigarette smoke, that inflame your nasal mucous membranes, says Patricia Wheeler, M.D., an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Louisville. The allergy medicines you're prescribed won't provide relief."

Since I've arrived in London, I've had puffy, watery eyes and a runny nose that's perpetually raw from all the nose-wiping that ensues whenever I leave the flat. It's especially bad whenever I enter the City, and I've started carrying tissues with me everywhere so I don't look like that crusty kid from the third grade that no one wanted to sit next to. And I'm just going to say it: don't look in your tissue after blowing your nose after riding the Tube - you'll end up walking everywhere afterward for fear of getting miner's lung.

I've never had allergies, and this article totally explains the recent congestion troubles. Yes, I use magazines to diagnose my health issues, and I believe everything they write. Don't judge. The inexplicable part - I'm from LA! The land of orange and purple sunsets! Where all free radicals and particulate matter unite to terrorize the local citizenry!

If we were in Asia, I'd totally walk around wearing one of those surgical masks. Normal there, not so normal here. Damn.

Three Outlets, One Phone Jack, Six Recessed Lights, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

Before we move in to our new place, we had to do an inventory of the flat and mark down the state of things before we move in so we could get our deposit back when we move out. It's a pretty simple process back in the US. You usually just fill out a worksheet they hand you and turn it in within a week of moving in, and that's all she wrote.

It's a much more serious business here. For example, the landlord hired an independent inventory person to go over each and every element of the flat.  I met him at the property, and I just wandered around the flat familiarizing myself with the place again (it's almost been a month since I was last there) while he went around speaking into his handheld recorder. He was very thorough; I actually heard him counting the light bulbs in the master bedroom and describing the state of the outlets at one point.

He pointed out that the instruction manuals for all of the appliances were missing, but he assured me that I could probably figure things out if the remodeling crew couldn't provide them. I told him um, yeah, no. Then we got into a surreal conversation about the differences in dishwashers in the US versus the ones in the UK. He seemed fascinated - or maybe he was just being polite and was a great actor. I'm going with the latter option. But in the end, he agreed with me that I probably couldn't figure things out on my own. Luckily, the remodeling crew told me I'd receive them upon move-in.

The whole thing didn't take too long and lasted about an hour and half considering that our flat is new built and unfurnished, and there shouldn't be any issues since everything is brand spanking new. I spotted a couple of things and took pictures just in case he overlooked anything, but we have five days after we receive his report to update it with anything that we should happen to notice once we're moved in. It all sounds pretty fair.

The only thing that kind of sucks is that we have to do an inventory when we move out, and we're responsible for the fee, which costs anywhere from 100-200 GBP. Yikes. Considering the horror stories I've heard about evil landlords and deposit disputes that go on for years (Dickens would be feeling pretty smug right about now - don't know what I'm talking about? Read Bleak House. Great book, but you can tell he hates lawyers), all's well that ends well. Let's hope this ends well.

I'm so excited about moving in, but not so excited about the fact that it's going to take 3 weeks for the internet guy to come and install our broadband. What did we do before Al Gore invented the internet?! Anyway, I'll be decamping to various cafes and libraries in search of free wifi. I've already scoped out a pretty sweet library by the new pad, but I haven't had to lug my laptop around since law school. It seems heavier now for some reason. Or maybe I'm just older and weaker. Maybe.

It's Too Early for Philosophical Questions

I may have mentioned a time or ten that we're moving into our new flat next week so I'm gearing up for the big move and trying to get everything all set up and running before our move. Only thing is, our flat does not exist. Well, physically, it does - it's got the walls, the floors, the roof and everything that you would normally think constitute a pretty nice crash pad. And I don't think we're paying the exorbitant rent to live in a place that doesn't exist but in our wildest dreams.

The Royal Mail and utilities providers beg to differ. I don't get it; haven't they read Descartes?

I don't know much about our flat except that the whole building was pretty much redone. I don't know what it was before, and I never thought to ask, but in order to get water to our flat, we need to answer the following questions:

"If the property has recently been converted, please could you confirm the following details:

• The exact date the property was converted from
• Confirm the number of properties which now exist
• The mailing address and floor number of each property
• The names of each occupier and the date they moved in
• Number of bedrooms in each property
• The number of occupiers in each property
• If any water meters were fitted, their location, serial number and who installed them

If you are also able to provide us with the landlord/owner details, we would be grateful.

I look forward to hearing from you."

Dude, I don't know. If I tried to find out, I'm sure someone would call the cops on me for exhibiting stalkerish behavior.

Basically, no one recognizes our flat as an actual address so I'm kind of stuck as to how to proceed. It's funny, I never thought this would be a problem. When we were preparing to move, I read all about how difficult it is to find a flat since there is no centralized renting agency. We found a flat in two days flat, but I never came across an article entitled, "What to do when your flat doesn't exist, but it does."

My head hurts.

Utilities - For Those Moving to London

We're moving into our new flat on Tuesday of next week, which is a few days later than planned, but J's not too upset about it since that means fewer days on the air mattress until our furniture arrives. In the meantime, I'm trying to get the utilities set up for the new place, but I've become paralyzed by choice.

Back in the US, there's always just been one choice for most utilities, and cable or satellite for TV. Not so much here. I have an option of 2 providers for my water, about 30 for gas and electricity (not necessarily the same for both), and 10 freaking options for phone, broadband and TV. This is insane.

But I've finally narrowed it down using the providers' websites and a few others such as www.moneysavingexpert.com, broadbandchecker.co.uk, and uswitch.com.

Water - Thames Water
Gas & Electricity - EDF (recommended by the landlord, and cheaper than the other recommendation British Gas)
Phone, TV, Broadband - The debate basically came down to BT v. Sky, and we're probably going to go with Sky but that depends on whether the landlord is okay with a satellite being installed. Our flat doesn't have a phone line, and that's why we were considering BT since the cost of installation is pretty high but drops down considerably if you sign up for their services. But then I found out that Sky does installation too --> Bye bye, BT.

Some things to note:
1. Utilities are billed either monthly or quarterly or you can even pay everything up front.

2. The cost of various utilities may come down if you pay the total up front, use direct debiting, and opt for paperless billing.

3. Phone and Broadband - If your flat does not have a phone line installed, BT can install one for ~128 GBP. If you opt for Sky, they can also install a phone line. You need a land line for broadband internet, unless you have cable available in your area (provided by Virgin only).

4. TV - You can opt for Freeview (a box with ~60 channels without a subscription fee), FreeSat (a box with ~250 channels and HD without a subscription fee), or a subscription service i.e. those offered by Sky. You also have to pay a TV license fee of ~130 GBP or you will be fined a hefty amount. They actually have patrollers cruising the streets with special TV detecting equipment. I am not kidding.

5. Water - This is often based on "estimated usage" and you need to get fitted with a water meter if you want to be charged based on actual use. You can compare the costs to figure out whether to get fitted or not - Thames Water installs them for free.

6. Check the meters when you first move into a place so that you're not charged for the previous tenant's use. You'll probably be happy to have someone show them to you, since they're usually not where you thought they'd be.

7. Council tax - This varies by borough, and is assessed by the local council based on the value of the property. The tenant, not the owner, is usually responsible for paying this, and it costs about ~1000 GBP per year.

8. Everything takes longer than it does in the States. I'm thinking I'll be lucky if I got my internet up and running any time in the next two weeks.

A Hair-Raising Experience

London water is hard. Incredibly hard. Which apparently means incredibly bad hair. Not only does it leave your hair looking like steel wool, it also feels like there's some kind of remaining residue. Yuck. People suggest doing a vinegar rinse after a shampoo to get rid of it, but I don't think smelling like a salad is the better alternative. Combined with the constant dampness, it means that I walk around with big curly hair at all times - my asianfro. I'm not one of those fortunate asian chicks who have that pin straight cascade of hair that would make a Pantene Pro-V model blush. Instead, I have wimpy, wavy hair that can't make up its mind as to what it wants to be. The two inch black roots also don't help matters. That's right people, I'm not a natural highlighted brunette.

I needed to do something, anything, and I'm scared of new hair people. New stylists, new colorists, it's all the stuff of nightmares. I had Cole and Tracey at the Byron and Tracey Salon take care of me for so long, I kind of froze with paralysis when I arrived here. I don't know how it worked out in my head, but I decided that box color was better than trying to find a new colorist here. Which is how I ended up with piles of purplish towels and mostly black hair. Note the key use of the word "mostly." J called me Patches for days.

Anyway, J and I were both overdue for a haircut so we went to a nice Japanese salon I found in our soon-to-be neighborhood. It was quite the experience, and J was ecstatic. He got two (count 'em, two!) shampoos, and a massage thrown in at the end along with a laser precise haircut. I ended up with the Rachel, but at least I only have one hair color now. Did I mention that my stylist squeezed the top of my head? Several times? I think he was testing the thickness and springiness of my hair. I think.

Smile, You're on CCTV

I think I mentioned before that the Brits are a wee bit paranoid. In fact, they'd give Howard Hughes a good run for his money, and the dude was loaded.

The paranoia seems to be pretty widespread and permeates day to day life. Want to walk down the street? Be prepared to say cheese for the cameras that could be found about every fifty feet. The good news is that should you get stabbed in the middle of Oxford Street, the police are much more likely to have a good idea of who did it. Yay! Want to take a nice drive through London? Watch out for the yellow speed cameras at every intersection. Fine, forget driving - how 'bout riding in one of the famed London taxis? Heed the warning that you may be filmed while you're a passenger, so no funny stuff unless you want to be one of those stories that the taxi drivers share at their local pub after work, AND they've got video. (By the way, did you know that every taxi driver has to pass a test called "the Knowledge" in order to become a taxi driver? The Knowledge comprises of knowing every single street in London, and they have to pass an oral exam. If you've ever seen a map of London streets, you'd realize that the SATs were a breeze in comparison.)

We even have CCTV at our house! If you should ring the intercom for our flat, we get a very clear video image of you before we decide to let you in. Imagine the possibilities! Blind date? Screen them! The in-laws surprise you with a visit? You're not home! A potential rapist and/or murderer is trying to get in? Don't let them! The possibilities are endless! Incredible, this is even more amazing than Cham-Wow!

Don't worry, the paranoia is not limited to just cameras - they're also very worried about fire. This one's a bit more understandable with London burning down so many times and all, but dude, that was like three hundred years ago. Our kitchen has a fire extinguisher and fire blanket, and most of the flats here have doors everywhere since they slow the spread of fire. Now, I'm not against doors or anything, but I'm getting a bit tired of opening them and they're heavy. They're in my kitchen, they're in the dining room, they're everywhere I don't want them to be. Fire extinguishers are cool, but there's a pair of them every 25 feet or so, which makes me entirely all too aware that the building I'm in could burn to the ground any second.

And the king of all paranoia - the banks. I hate the banks.

You can't open a bank account without proof of UK residency, which is hard to do when you've just moved here. Once you prove you live here with three different kinds of identification and a vial of blood from your oldest living ancestor, they'll send you your bank documents. But not all at once. Oh no, the joy of completing the process in one fell swoop may kill you! First, they'll send you your bank card. Then they'll send you your PIN, which you need to use your card. Then they'll activate your card. But only over the phone. With five security questions that you need to answer. They know more stuff about me than J does.

Then you get to put money in your account. But not too much. They have a secret limit to the amount of cash that you can deposit at once. They won't tell you, no, they're much too clever for that. You can guess, but you will be wrong. If you should attempt to do so, they will quiz you about the source of the money - are you a drug dealer? Do you engage in illegal activities? How do we know that your parents gave you the money? Who are your parents? Where do they bank? How did they get the money? Please trace the money up to the point they came off the presses at the US Mint. Arghhh! And btw, I'm not joking about these questions.

Once you're done with the fiasco of actually getting a bank account and putting money in it, good luck getting it back out. They're like the pimp, and you're their bitch. You hand over your hard earned money, and they "hold on to it for you." Which basically means you'll have to pry it out of their cold dead hands if you should ever actually want to take it out and use it, god forbid. There was a story in the news the other day about a British woman who went to Germany for cancer treatment and needed to pay the clinic a large amount of money, and the bank refused to release the money. She called, her husband called, and her daughters called over a period of five days, but all to no avail. Until the media caught wind of it. Then the bank released the money. WTF? Did I mention that the woman was terminally ill? Nice going, NatWest.

But don't get it twisted, I like it here. Why? Because I like not getting stabbed without the guy who did it getting caught, burning sounds like a painful way to go, and money comes in pretty useful. But maybe they should heed the words of the honorable Judge Alex Kozinski - "Parties are advised to chill."

Cooking in the UK

Since going out every night to the Thai restaurant next door is out of the question, I've tried to do a little light cooking in our corporate flat. It seems a shame not to use the little cooking utensils and graters and whatnot that's so thoughtfully provided for. I even have a colander.  So I try to make dinner when I can despite of having so little counter space that the cutting board takes up all of it. Seriously. And it's just a wee little cutting board.

The funny thing is that I've always been under the impression that in order to "make dinner,", you need to pick out a recipe, buy all the requisite proteins and vegetables and spices and herbs and what have you and proceed to dice, slice and chop the bejesus out of everything until something palatable (hopefully) makes it to the dining table. 

However, if you go to the local grocery by our house, there's more ready-to-cook meals than actual cooking components. There are about three shelves devoted to raw chicken breast and ground beef while there's an entire aisle chock full of ready-to-cook dinners. Want to make chicken parmesan from scratch? Too bad, since the only seasoning that's available is salt. No pepper, just salt. No balsamic vinegar, just salt. That's right, just salt. But if you want to make chicken tikka masala, well, you're in luck since there's five different ready-to-cook kinds just begging you to choose them.

The ready-to-cook meals aren't bad, and they sure do take the work out of cooking, but I feel a bit of a cheat. Cooking is supposed to be a labor of love, isn't it? It's hard to gloat over something you stuck in the oven for six minutes. And it's a programmable oven so I don't even need to figure out the temperature or time. I just punch in what I'm cooking, and the oven takes over. So that's it, I've been rendered superfluous by Marks & Spencer's food hall and a fan-assisted oven.

At least I'm not going to have any ready-to-cook meals at my pity party.

We're Conversatin' (per Lil Wayne)

J and I talk a couple times each day during weekdays to touch base and see what the other one's up to. He asks if I've woken up yet, and I accuse him of not really having a job and demand proof of these so-called billable hours. That kind of stuff.

When we were back in LA, we would talk once in the morning and once in the afternoon. Back then, he would say stuff like, "I'm stuck in traffic on the 405 so I won't be home for another 15 minutes" and "I have to stay late at the office tonight."

Since we've been in London, we don't have phone conversations since it's 4p a minute (15p if I'm on the mobile) and so we email instead. Now he writes stuff like, "It's raining pretty badly, so I'm going to take a taxi home tonight," and "I need to pop over to Zurich for a few hours on Friday for work."

Zurich?! As in Switzerland? For a few hours? Okaaay... that's not weird. Not weird at all at all. Can you tell that I'm not used to this whole other-countries-within-minutes thing?

The Globe, Right Next Door

J surprised me last week by buying a pair of tickets to a sold-out show of Henry VIII at the world renowned Globe Theatre!

I've been reading Shakespeare since the fourth grade, when my mom decided that it was never too early to start reading the classics and getting ready for college. When I wasn't busy reading The Babysitters' Club and Sweet Valley High, I was going to Mr. Esquith's Saturday morning class on Shakespeare's plays with my childhood bestie Grace.

Eenie.

Meenie.

Miney Mo. I win bitches!

The thing I remember most about those Saturday mornings were the bagels and cream cheese that were served during the morning break. Other memorable occasions were those when Mr. Esquith arranged for special guests to visit our class such as Sir Ian McKellan, aka Gandalf, and Miep Gies, the woman who helped hide Anne Frank and her family during the Nazi occupation of Holland. Amazing.

I remember the plays too, of course. Some of my favorites were The Tempest and Twelfth Night. But keep in mind, I was eight years old at the time. So my appreciation has definitely changed and deepened over the years. I've always imagined what the life and times of Shakespeare were like since I was a child, and I had the chance to catch a glimpse last night!

The Globe Theatre is a fifteen minute walk from our current flat, and Shakespeare himself lived in our area near the Globe. Fast forward about four hundred years and change, and we could've been neighbors! The current Globe is a faithful reproduction of the Globe Theatre, which was built in 1599 and demolished in 1644, and the creation of an American director, Sam Wanamaker. It was completed in 1997, and unfortunately Mr. Wanamaker died before construction was completed. But what a treat he left for the rest of us!

The outside of the Globe Theatre. Photo by Ester Inbar.

The stage from the yard's perspective. Photo by Tohma.

View of the theatre. Photo by Tohma.

The theatre is an open air theatre, so you're exposed to all the elements, and those standing in the yard better be prepared for rain, sleet or hail. Luckily, the skies were clear last night, and the rain didn't start until the end of the play. The last play I had watched was a Jane Austen review in Hollywood, and I couldn't help marveling over the fact that I was watching one of Shakespeare's plays in the Globe Theatre. What a difference.

With the seats all filled. And I mean filled. Modern day asses do NOT fit in seats of yore. Photo by Yair Haklai.

The entire play was about 3 hours long, and though it wasn't one of my favorites, the entire experience was unforgettable. Now, I just need to go to Stratford-upon-Avon to get my Shakespeare fix.

Watching the Buildings Go Up and Hearing the Whistles Go Away

London is a city that has a history of rebuilding and improving, and the British are known for being avid home renovators. As a die-hard HGTV fan, I totally get it. Unfortunately, all these improvements mean that there's scaffolding and construction workers everywhere. I mean, everywhere. There's a scaffold in the alleyway behind our corporate house, and I pass by at least two major projects on the way to J's office. We can't move into our flat yet because it's being improved, of course.

Growing up in LA, I got resigned to the fact that construction workers will hoot and holler at you while they posture like cock o' the walk in front of their fellow workers. It doesn't matter that you're wearing Sponge Bob Squarepants pajamas on under your full length puff coat with Uggs or whether you're in a skintight Herve Leger bandage dress. They don't care if you're with your mother or if you've fallen down in an epileptic fit while foaming at the mouth. It's an inevitable fact of every day life, construction workers will leer at you no matter what. In fact, they will even do it hanging out of the driver's side window while they're steering their truck even if doing so means that they will probably not see the stop sign ahead of them and crash into a parked car. Because that is what you do when you're a construction worker in LA.

Not so when you're in London. Mum's the word around here. I've passed by many "builders" around town, and I've never heard so much as a peep out of them. I haven't even heard them talk amongst themselves. It's like a brotherhood that's taken an oath of silence. It's like the Twilight Zone. It's like possibly the bestest thing about moving to London. It's just awesome.

Korean Food, Trafalgar Square and Covent Garden, My Oh My

We had our first tube debacle today! I suppose it's somewhat of a minor miracle we haven't had one thus far considering we're out in the sticks (for London, anyway), and we only have two lines that go where we usually want to go, which is somewhere in the West End. The good news is, I now have faith that I can figure out a route to get where I need to go even if all the lines are shut down at some part or another. As for J, well, he just better stick close to me... But we made it in a piece to Soho, which is known for three things: (1) Chinatown, (2) Porn, and (3) Gay capital of London. Which is why I find it so confusing that J's friend Tom recommended that J go there immediately. Unless he knows something about J that I don't...

Asian people! Eating sushi! Okay, calm down and approach them quietly...  Oh, forget it, take me to your bosom my people! Embrace me as one of your own! Photo by Patrick Scales.

After spending an hour trying to get to Soho when it really should've only taken half that time, we finally ended up at Arang, a Korean restaurant that got pretty good reviews. We ordered a couple different things to test drive the place out, and we were pleasantly surprised. We got the lunch specials for bibimbap, daeji bulgogi, and kimchi chigae. The kimchi was actually pretty good and had had time to ferment properly, but the kicker is: they charge 2 pounds for kimchi! Arghhh! Luckily for us, it came with our lunch specials, but still... that just ain't right. The LA ktown ahjumas would be rolling in their graves if they ever found out. Anyway, this place should do in a pinch, but we're still going to try out a couple more places before settling on a favorite.

Oh fermented cabbage, where have you been all my life? Photo by Jess Lander.

After bloating ourselves with all the sodium and MSG filled goodness that was lunch, we decided to take a walk to Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery. Trafalgar Square is possibly the most famous square in the whole world, and it's easy to see why. The National Gallery is the backdrop, and there are two large fountains with a phallic monument in the center with a Napoleon look-alike perched on top. "Napoleon" is surrounded by four large lions with their tongues lolling out, and there are some pretty random things laying about such as a large ship in a bottle.

It's a man. It's a dolphin. No, it's mighty Fountain Boy! Photo by Mike Peel.

This picture must've been taken when the American Idol finale was on or something, cause this place was packed today.   Photo by Kowarisuki.

The place used to be overrun with pigeons, but it hasn't been since they prohibited feeding the filthy flying rats. The birds here are bold - it's not uncommon to see someone with a pigeon perched on their arm, pecking away at whatever they're holding up when I know they'd rather be pecking your eyes out. But there were lots of tourists, and I've noticed that they really like climbing things. All kinds of things. Trees, benches, national monuments, that kind of thing. Apparently, it makes for a really good photo. Until J and I unwittingly stumble into the frame. Oops.

Aslan is not happy. Not happy at all.

Anyway, we spent an hour or so in the Gallery itself, looking at paintings ranging from 300 AD up to 1900. Needless to say, it's a bit overwhelming. There were lots of Jesus paintings, and the requisite bared boobs and naked cherubs flying about. It's kind of odd when you think about the stuff people used to like to paint back in the day: Jesus, the Virgin Mary, cherubs, demons, naked ladies, middle-aged men, random barn animals not excluding dogs. It kind of reminds you of that game: which of these things do not belong?

We then walked to Covent Garden, which became one of the most important markets in London after the great fire of 1666 when all the other markets burned down. Suckas! It's also the birthplace of Punch and Judy, the great ancestors of the Muppets and Sesame Street. The place was paaacked! Punch and Judy are no longer there, but have been replaced with Banana Republic, the Gap, and Reiss, along with a bunch of other large retailers. Locals and tourists alike thronged the joint, and it was a bit of a nightmare getting in and out of the area. But now it's one more area of London I got to know, and I'm happier for it.

Regent Park and the London Zoo tomorrow!

A London Summer

It's raining. Not like a nice pitter-patter of softly falling rain, but a downright torrential someone get Chicken Little cause the sky is falling downpour that's actually managed to stop the natives in their tracks.

When I got up to shut my windows, I noticed a row of people taking shelter under the overhang of the building across the street. You know it's gnarly rain when people with umbrellas are also taking shelter from the rain since it straight bitch-slapped them up against a wall. That's a London summer day for you.

People at J's office told him that they had been having an unusually nice summer - yeah, right up until we arrived apparently. And the LA Times is warning of a heatwave this weekend when it was still June gloom while we were there. Result: no summer for me this year. Typical. But I'm starting to develop that proverbial British stiff upper lip - about weather anyway; J and I are going to attempt some Korean food this weekend, and I'll cry if they try to charge me for banchan. Why didn't I learn how to make Korean food when I was at home? Oh right, cause I'm a damn soon-to-be-weak-in-the-knees-for kimchi FOOL!

Random Pomp and Circumstance

Despite the nasty weather that was predicted for today, I left the flat this morning since the cleaning service was coming by. Where to go, where to go? Potter's Field down the street? Oxford Street for shopping? Marylebone to check out our new 'hood?

It's not much fun being a solo tourist - it's much funner when there's someone to share your awe and amazement. Since J was at the office, I decided to go somewhere we had already been to - Picadilly and St. James's Park. I packed my new Updike novel in case the weather improved enough so I could read at the park and set off.

Imagine my surprise when I crossed The Mall, and shortly thereafter, a brigade of redcoats on horses came marching after me. There were about 30 horses and riders, and they were being led by a motorcycle calvacade and a solo rider barking out marching orders. I don't know why. I just live here.

Reserve, What Reserve?

Before we came here, I was warned to expect the natives to be a little reserved, standoffish even, in comparison to the general friendliness of Americans. Case in point: Americans invite you to their home if they want to make friends; the English make sure they want you as their friend before inviting you to their home. I think both make equal sense. Anyway, I was told that the English would have to be certifiably crazy before talking to a stranger of their own free will.

So imagine my surprise when a very nice Englishwoman directed me to the delicious jelly beans that M&S carries when she saw that I was hesitating among the many sweets that were available i.e. Percy Pigs, M&S rocky road mini-bites (unbelievably, addictively good) and chocolate covered caramels.

And imagine my absolute shock when two very nice English gentlemen sitting at the table next to ours at Pizza Express in Leadenhall Market advised us that it may be easier to pick up the slices of pizza that we ordered as opposed to trying to eat it with a knife and fork like everyone else. Our table was pretty wobbly and shaking all over the place while we tried to eat our pizza English style, and I think they felt a wee bit sorry for us. We told them that we enjoyed the excitement of wondering whether our water glasses would tip in our pathetic attempts to detach a forkful of cheesy goodness, but J gave up halfway through and went New York style. By the bye, the pizza here is pretty good - I actually prefer it to Domino's or Pizza Hut or any of the pizza chains in the US, the dough is much less doughy.

Oh, and I found a late night cookie delivery service so J and I shared cookies, a brownie, and a jug of milk while watching the last two episodes of "Lost in Austen" last night.

Food, it's what brings people together.

London Bridge is Still Up

Well, there's goes that old schoolyard rhyme - London Bridge is clearly not falling down since I crossed it today to visit J at work. Otherwise, I would've gotten a pretty big surprise - a nasty wet surprise since the Thames is the brownest river I've ever seen.

Anyway, we had lunch at Pret again, and we're both getting used to the whole ready-made food thing they got going here. I don't think we've seen a single place that will make your sandwich the way you like, despite the fact that sandwich shops are like Starbucks here. No surprise there, it's Stuff White People Like #63. Click here to see the full list: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/full-list-of-stuff-white-people-like/.  It's funny - Americans like their food customized as much as the British like their clothes to be bespoke.

Anyway, we made a quick pass through Leadenhall Market, which has a bunch of food stalls and random retail shops including a whole store devoted only to pens. J is completely enamored with the idea that you can find nice shopping arcades in random alleys all through London. He's also completely enamored with the idea that you can have multiple beers during lunch here. J is in luuurve with London.

Oh no...

Pandora doesn't work here.

Hulu doesn't work here.

No Netflix here.

Thank goodness for:

we7

LoveFilm

Now all I need is a good substitute for Hulu or I'm condemned to watching one of my 5 different BBC channels.

Borders Across Borders

We went hunting today for a new bookstore to haunt since that's our favorite past time, and we seemed to recall passing by a massive bookstore on Picadilly the other day so we made our way back there today.

On our way there, I got a bit hungry so we stopped by Pret a Manger for a sandwich. I had some left over, so I asked the guy at the till for a plastic bag. Specifically, a B-A-G, bag. He made me repeat myself, and then corrected my pronunciation - apparently, it's B-A-H-G. Not in America, it ain't. And I did not go to school for as long as I did to have the guy serving me my tuna fish sandwich tell me how to pronounce my English.

Anyway, back to the bookstore. Sorry Borders, but Waterstone's got you over a barrel and spanking it. Hard. The place is five stories, and super spacious. The only odd thing that I noticed were the Sunday trading hours that were posted. Apparently, you could only browse the books from 11:30 to 12 - no purchases allowed. Why? Because the UK enforces Sunday trading laws, which only permits 6 hours of actual trading on Sundays. Whaaa??? It was odd since I was always under the impression that the English weren't particularly religious. Or maybe they are, just about their shopping. Anyway, we got there after noon, so we were permitted to actually buy the books we were looking at. Yay!

Oh yeah, and the other weird thing are the book covers - they're all different than the ones in the States. Not better or worse, just different. Danielle Steele definitely got a UK facelift though - her books look a lot less trashy here. Not that I read Danielle Steele. Seriously, I would not. It does make identifying the books you like a bit more difficult, since I'm accustomed to my favorite authors having a certain look to their covers. Hm. It's a good thing I can read.

Roaming around after the bookshop, we popped into Boots for a quick second so I could buy batteries and film for my camera, and we tried to get a membership card for discounts and deals. The guy patiently explained to us that we need to live in the UK and sweetly asked if we did. Yes. For goodness sakes, yes. I think he kinda felt bad after that cause he spent like 5 minutes explaining the advantages of using our Boots membership card. Dude, get over it.

And then we saw Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben on our way home. Walking home here is definitely a different experience than at MDR.

Natural History Museum aka Pram Central

The worst part of each day is deciding each morning where to go. There's a literal riot of things that we could see or do in London, and making a decision where to spend the day is getting agonizing.

We don't know what J's work schedule will look like, so we're trying to take full advantage of his time off before he starts work on Monday, which means we had a jam-packed schedule for the last week. We finally pooped out on Friday, and basically slept all day to recover from the week's activities. We were up for maybe 5 hours total that day, but it was totally worth it since we woke up fresh and ready to attack yet another London landmark today. Apparently, so did everyone else.

We decided on the Natural History Museum after hemming and hawing for about an hour. After J heard about its dinosaurs, there was no turning back. The museum itself is absolutely beautiful, and it houses some of the most beautiful stuffed birds that I've ever seen. There was even an antique hummingbird display that housed at least 200 hummingbirds shown mid-flight. The thing was about 200 years old, and the hummingbirds weren't even dusty. Other notable birds on display were the bald eagle, snowy owl, ostrich, dodo, and a variety of vultures, just to name a few.

Except it was raining. A lot. And it hurt. Photo by Stephen Tom.

You can't see the dirty brats, but they're there. Like cockroaches. Photo by Sharon.

It's like My Little Pony. Except it's a Dodo. Photo by Drow Male.

We also made our way through the geological exhibit, which showed a variety of rocks, gems and minerals - all of them amazing and awe-inspiring.

Kinda glad I didn't wear my engagement ring. Photo by Andrew Bossi.

And of course, there was the dinosaur exhibit, but I couldn't enjoy it for all the parents with prams ramming them into the back of my legs. I even saw a seven year old sitting in his stroller, kicking his legs furiously, and the parents were completely oblivious to the fact that he was kicking everyone in his path. It would be wrong to kick a seven year old back, right? Even though he was bigger than me?

Come here little children. That's right, right into my sharp dagger-like claws... Photo by Cezary P.

We didn't see all the exhibitions that were on display, but the beauty of actually living in London as opposed to just visiting means that we could always return any time, which I definitely will. I was overstimulated to the point where anything more beautiful or amazing would've hit me like shovel hitting wet cement. I wouldn't have felt a thing.

We decided to walk to the Whole Foods on High Street Kensington afterward, and that would've ordinarily been a nice walk, but for the rain. The gentle drizzle that first greeted us when we left the museum had turned into a full on rain beat down by the time we reached Whole Foods, and J looked like he was taking part in a wet T-shirt contest in his white shirt.

Grocery shopping was pleasant, but the main thing that's driving me nuts is that I can't find Splenda anywhere, including Whole Foods. I've seen it online, but all they have are Splenda tablets. Like medication. That's weird. So we did something bad. We saw some Splenda packets at the restaurant at the Natural History Museum, and we took them. And we took the ones from the table next to us too. What a girl will do for some artificial sweetener...

To Market, To Market

To Borough Market that is. It's an absolutely huge farmer's market that's within walking distance of our current flat, and we decided to give it a go today.

Stuff White People Like - Farmers' markets. Photo by Mike Peel.

It was pretty awesome. I haven't come across anything comparable in the States, and walking around and sampling everything was a ton of fun. Things that J sampled: many, many cheeses, mushroom pate, granola, and chocolate brownies. Unfortunately, we had just had breakfast, so I wasn't quite hungry enough to try any of the delicacies that were put out for sampling.

Photo by Jeremy Keith.

Judging from what I saw, the English are big fans of pork products and cheese. We also saw venison, rabbit, and spring lamb at a lot of butchers' stalls. But for the health conscious, there's an alley labeled "Organic" that houses stalls with organic and/or healthier options. J decided he had some room for an ostrich burger, and we queued up behind 20 people. While we were waiting, I spotted a sign "Warning: High Pickpocketing Risk Area." Apparently, Gavroche and his fellow street urchins also lurk in Borough Market.

Fortunately, the lined moved quickly, and J got to have his ostrich burger with cranberry sauce, grainy mustard, cheese, salad and onions. The verdict: yum. We noticed a sign saying that they used the entire ostrich. As proof, we saw giant ostrich eggs laying about, surrounded by feather dusters made from ostrich feathers. Um, okay, we believe you. Seriously, I'm scared they're going to have wallets made from tanned ostrich gizzards or something like that the next time.

Beef, it's what's for dinner. Leave me the f* alone.

By the way, they also had kangaroo burgers - can they do that? Kangaroos are way too cute for eating, they wear punching gloves and bounce around. No one talks about wanting to eat Manny Pacquiao.

But I'm delicious like lumpia. Photo by Mike Gonzalez.

It only stopped being fun when a huge deluge of people arrived, and it became a little difficult to navigate. We got stuck in a crowd right as we came across a very stinky cheese stall that was smelly enough to topple an elephant over. The wind started to kick up, so we decided to leave with our purchases of beer, raspberries, wild boar pie, and COFFEE!

Coffee and Money - Two Very Important Things

There are many things in my life that wouldn't have happened without coffee and money, for example, law school. I needed to stay awake to stay in the law school where I was paying tuition - see how that works? I needed both then, and I need both now.

The problem now is that I have money (I even got a brand spanking new wallet to accommodate my giant British money), and I'm trying to use some of that money to buy some coffee, but it's a no go at this point. Why? Because the English are PARANOID. Especially about their money. I can't really figure out why since they seem to have no problem forking over millions of pounds to the queen so she can buy ermine coats and fancy teapots and all the other accoutrement that a typical reigning monarch requires. 

In any case, I'm trying to buy groceries online, which is super convenient and relieves me from the necessity of carting 12 giant bottles of Scottish Spring water home on foot.  Never mind the fact that the coffee here is baaad, like so bad that IHOP wouldn't serve it, it's just that I need to have it. The grocery store's website is requiring me to do a separate verification with my bank, which is odd, but I comply. Or at least, I try to comply. Now I'm directed to contact my bank directly.

J takes over, and he explains the problem to the nice lady on the phone, who tells him that he needs to first register the card online in order to use it online. Sure, okay. Apparently, activating the card over the phone only permits you to use the card in person and not online. Why didn't we think of this? Of course you have to activate it multiple times in multiple ways! In fact, I can't think of anything funner than spending all my days playing with the super fun bank people who constantly obliquely accuse you of trying to commit bank fraud. It'd be less of a bother to actually rob the damn bank.

So when J tries to activate the card online, he's informed the account has now been locked.

It's so funny, I could cry.

No Mobile For You!

I pay my bills on time, pay my credit card bill in full each month, and generally try to keep my nose clean. I've never had to pay much attention to those guys on TV dressed up as pirates singing that catchy ditty about how I could check my credit score online - Trans Union, Equifax, and Experian's all got nothing on me. This means that in LA, I could buy a condo or a car, but in the UK, it means diddly. It means I can't even buy a cell phone. Oh, I'm sorry, a moh-byle. For reals.

We walked into Carphone Warehouse on Oxford Street, thinking we were going to be all badass and get a UK mobile when we got the smackdown from the great cell phone gods of England. We have a UK bank account, so we thought we were covered, but we were told that we basically have no credit history in the UK and were therefore ineligible to apply for a monthly plan with any of the major mobile carriers.

Waitasec, whaaaa??? I see little children running around in the streets in LA glued to their baby cell phones, and I've seriously seen a homeless person with a Bluetooth chatting away - and I can't get a mobile in the UK?!

So in the end, we ended up getting a mobile that cost 4 quid, and we're now on a pay as you go plan.  Apparently, we need to "top up" as we go, and we get a bunch of free texts and each call costs 20p. That is so not a Droid smartphone with 500 minutes each month in addition to the free texting, unlimited internet, and magic number calling. AND I have no idea what "topping up" actually entails. I've only heard this phrase used in conjunction with putting gas in your car - and I think the phrase is actually "topping off." This is Lame Ass.

---

After our great mobile let down, we decided to head toward Buckingham Palace, since that's what any right minded person would do after not being able to buy the electronic gadget of their choice. After we fought through the crowds on Oxford Street, we were finally on the path toward the Palace and ended up walking into St. James' Park.

It's not an LA palm tree, but it'll do. Photo by Garry Knight.

St. James' Park is an absolutely beautiful space that was designed by John Nash, and you can find an enormous variety of trees and water fowl in the park.  We saw black swans, geese, and a bunch of others that we couldn't identify, and all of them were bold enough to eat right out of people's hands.

Not a good place to go if you've seen the movie "The Birds." Photo by David Iliff.

 The strangest sight of all was the giant pelicans standing in the middle of the footpath. There are a pair of them, which were presents from the Russians, and they are roughly the size of a seven year old boy. A small crowd had gathered around them, but they didn't mind much and went on scratching at their pelican dandruff.  A bunch of incredibly brilliant parents tried to push their children toward the pelicans so that they could take a picture, but the children very understandably declined to do so.

Um, would YOU get close to that beak? Yeah, didn't think so. Photo by Andy Roberts.

After encountering the pelicans that looked like they ate some radioactive fish or something, we finally came upon Buckingham Palace. It was a bit funny since there are these very ornate gates set in front of the palace, and the tourists were pushing up against it to get a better look at the palace.

I can't see the queen, can you? Crap, let's just look for Waldo.

It reminded me of the days of yore when the peasants would clamor to get a look at the queen in her palace. Not much has changed, has it? Even funnier is that you could now enter the palace and see the dining hall all laid out for a great banquet. Back in the day, the peasantry could enter the manor houses or palaces of the nobility and royalty to watch how their betters eat their dinner. You could probably also watch them take a piss, since they usually had a little pot in the corner of the room reserved for just that purpose. You can't put away a tankard of ale without having to run to the loo. I don't think they still have the corner pot, though. Given the choice, I'd rather watch Jersey Shore.

Celebrity Deathmatch - Who would you rather watch?

Snooki, of course. Photo courtesy of huffingtonpost.com.

King Henry VIII aka Fat Bastard

Tower of London

Talk about surreal. We visited the Tower of London today, which is right across the river from our current flat. We took a quick jaunt across Tower Bridge, which was littered with tourists taking pictures, and it felt more like we were at the Tower of Babel considering how many languages I heard being spoken around me. After a while, I started to miss hearing some of that good ole American English.

Anyway, we were a bit hungry by the time we got to the Tower and the entrance queue was quite long so we decided to take a lunch break. We ate at this French patisserie right outside, and it was really bizarre eating a tuna fish sandwich while sitting outside the Tower of London. Can it get any weirder?

The view goes surprising well with a ham and cheese sandwich too.

And yes it did, when I found myself sitting on a bench eating a strawberry ice cream while being surrounded by the ravens of the Tower right outside of the White Tower.  The White Tower is the original tower that was built by William the Conqueror, and it's the oldest fort of its kind. The ravens of the Tower are rather special, as there is a myth that the Tower would never fall so long as at least six ravens remain in the confines of the Tower. Some bloke had the brilliant idea to clip the ravens' wings so they can't fly off, and as a consolation prize, they're fed biscuits soaked in blood, one egg weekly, and a whole rabbit once a year. Only the English would think that this is a treat. I think it's a bit of a cheat to clip the wings, but the Tower's still standing so I guess the whatever it takes approach is working.

The White Tower, Photo by Bernard Gagnon

We started the day with a tour led by one of the Yeoman Warders, also known as the Beefeaters, but I felt a bit like cattle being herded around so we abandoned our Beefeater and went off on our own. We saw some amazing things, including the armor of many of England's kings, weaponry, and last but not least, the Crown Jewels.

Bye bye, my little Beefeater.

Not to diss the queen, but the pieces were a bit overdone for my taste. Dude, who needs a diamond that's roughly the size of an ostrich egg? And a crown made with velvet doesn't seem very functional in light of London's rainy weather. Water ruins velvet faster than anything - you'd think the queen would've figured it out and replaced it with a more water resistant fabric. Oh, and she's also got a dress made of gold. Impractical? I think so. But then again, she's the queen. Lucky.

There's No Place Like Home...

Or should I say, I have no place to call home? Corporate housing is just that - an impersonal space that offers all the necessities of everyday living without any of those "offensive" personal touches. I'm not complaining, this place is like a freaking palace compared to some of the places we saw yesterday that were charging obscene amounts of money that almost made me cry.

For anyone thinking LA real estate is bad, London is oh so much worse. How much worse, you ask? Well, you can have the grand privilege of paying over $5k US per month for 900 square feet of outdated living. Honest to goodness, I saw a wooden tub. Honestly, who lives here? The queen?! Well, yes, yes she does, along with a bunch of other aristocrats that own a lot of the property around the nice part of London. Thank you very much, Duke of Buckingham!

So J and I set out on our second day of house-hunting today. We crawled all around Marylebone yesterday and viewed a couple of properties and came home disappointed and exhausted. After a 4 hour power nap (hey, we're still trying to recover from jet lag), we resumed the search online and came up with a few properties we wanted to look at in Kensington.

I did a ton of research before we got here, and that's how we narrowed our search down to Kensington and Marylebone, but I figured you could only know for sure after actually visiting the neighborhoods in person. Google Earth can only do so much.

After having explored Marylebone for a day, we were ready to move onto Kensington today. Just in case, we paid another visit to the estate agent in Marylebone and he showed us two(!) amazing spaces that were just too good to be true. I can't describe it here since I don't want to jinx it - but I've got my fingers breath and J is waiting with breath that is bated.

Marylebone Village, Photo by: Stephen McKay

 Anyway, we then moved on to Kensington, and the feeling was all just wrong. We walked into a couple of estate agents and made appointments to view properties later in the afternoon, but after walking about a bit, it just couldn't compare to Marylebone. We ended up sitting on a park bench in Kensington Gardens (Kensington Palace was behind us, and a Spanish band was singing - you can't make these things up), and canceling our viewing appointments.

Kensington High Street, Photo by Thomas Blomberg

So all of our eggs are in one basket, and we're waiting to hear back on our offer.

---

Some English things I did today:

1. Ordered a cheeseburger without cheese at Mark & Spencer's food hall in Kensington - I was told that I couldn't order a hamburger, which wasn't on the menu, but had to order a cheeseburger without cheese. Um, okay.
2. Went grocery shopping at Waitrose, bought their reusable grocery bags, and bagged my own groceries

Dirty Laundry

It's surprising how quickly we generate dirty laundry - I feel like I just did a load before we moved! In any case, I've got a nice pile accumulating in the hamper, and I decided to do a load today before it got to the point of no return.

The only thing is... a single load of laundry takes at least three hours! Three hours, you scoff? That's hogwash! (no pun intended). But that's okay, because I also have a 6 hour and 9 hour wash option! Lucky me! I do have to admit that I'm slightly curious what the machine does exactly for three hours...

The water here is also supposed to be very hard, which can apparently have disastrous effects on your clothes, so I've also purchased my very first bottle of fabric softener. I'm not sure if I believe that it's really going to make my clothes softer without a cuddly teddy bear on it assuring me that it will be so. But I'm operating on the faith principle right now.

Only two more hours to go before I find out if my clothes survived an English washing machine...

London Day 1

We landed! After the longest flight I've been on in a while (11 hours) on the crappiest airline ever (United, I'm talking to you), and a 45 minute ride in our first London taxi, we arrived at our temporary corporate housing.

But before I go on, let me enumerate the many many compelling reasons why one should never ever fly United:

1. They only feed you two meals on an 11 hour flight, and no option to buy additional food.

2. The said meals include a sandwich with cream cheese, a slice of American cheese and a lonely sad piece of turkey on an extremely dry loaf that's incongruously slightly damp on the outside, and a chicken dinner with chunks of chicken (I hope!) floating in an unidentifiable gelatinous brown sauce with orangey rice dotted with sickly green peas.

3. They destroy your luggage and the things within after rummaging through them all - I don't know what my eyebrow pencil did to piss them off, but it was snapped in half! And my canvas bag had 3 large holes ripped into it. United, please teach your security staff what a bomb looks like, and that a Shu Uemura pencil is not it.

4. We almost didn't even get onto our flight since they had a grand total of 3 agents serving 28 kiosks. Needless to say, there was lots of screaming (not on our part) by a lot of angry would-be fliers, and the only reason we got on the plane on time is because a nice agent agreed to help me after I begged him for 5 minutes. This was after we were patiently waiting at our kiosk for 30 minutes for someone to help us.

YOU SUCK HOT BALLS UNITED.

 ---

But onto happier and funner things, our corporate apartment! It's a newly reburbished building in South Bank, and we got a two bedroom/ two bath.


Some things that I expected:

Smallest laundry machine ever that takes 3 hours to wash 4 shirts tops

Switches to turn on every single power outlet

No screens on the windows - I've already battled two large horseflies

Toilets w/ two different flushers - a small one for pee, and a larger one for poo


Things that were unexpected:

We live right by Tower Bridge! We caught a glimpse of it after grocery shopping at Mark & Spencers, and we somehow wandered into Potters Field, which is a nice smallish park right by the Tower Bridge entrance. It felt surreal walking toward the Bridge, like we were walking into a movie set. There were a surprising number of tourists about, considering it was Sunday night, and we heard an unbelievable amount of different languages being spoken around us.

How often the waitstaff say thank you while serving you dinner. They even say thank you while filling your water. Like we're doing them a favor by letting them pour our water. =)

How long it takes for it to get dark. I don't think it was proper night until 9PM.

It hasn't rained yet...