so far not homeless

It’s only been a week and a half, but in that time we managed to receive an eviction notice (I am sure it has a nicer name), looked at new flats, negotiated a flat, let prospective buyers into our current flat and contemplated how to sell our 10-month old furniture on the UK equivalent of craigslist – gumtree. Nothing says tangible talent like making used Ikea furniture seem like a true find. We’ll throw in a free Allen key!

It all happened so fast, we only had a little time to be super angry. Which is good because I don’t have a lot of extra time these days. Which is especially confounding since I resigned from my job. Which which which. I am now a totally busy Lady Who Lunches. At home. By myself. Shazam.

Is thing on?

So if you’re thinking what I’m thinking, you’re thinking: why would a wealthy foreigner sell his property investment when it currently looks like this from outside and in?

 

Cause he can. BOOM.

In case you have some cash to burn, here she is in all her glory: Check out all our personal belongings!

At this point it feels like ages ago, but let’s mock the week, shall we?

Elise Testone got kicked off American Idol. I know at least one of you voted each week for her. So one person, thank you for the support. We all know Elise will be famous anyway and to her credit, she stayed longer than the inscrutable tween vote should have allowed.

Also, am I officially the last person on earth to discuss that soft porn book that so many women are buying? I haven’t caved yet. I just don’t know if the Kindle is Kinky enough to handle it.

Every time I catch a glimpse of the “American” aisle at the Selfridges food hall, I get nervous that people think these are the main foods that my people miss. When obviously the real answer is Teddy Grahams.

Bryan is such a white person, he insists on going to the farmer’s market under any condition. Have I mentioned how much he loves the farmer’s market before? It’s bizarre. He comes home every Sunday with basically a year’s worth of kale. And refrigerators in central London are roughly the size of a car’s glove compartment. So basically mine is just a kale receptacle now. And Bryan rarely cooks. So it’s implied I will use all the kale. And so of course even though it’s currently the wettest April on record “since records began” (I didn’t even make that phrase up), we had to go to the Farmer’s Market on Sunday. And Bryan asked me three times if we needed kale. Need? That’s not the verb I would choose to describe my feelings towards kale.

I loved recently A.A. Gill’s NYT article for London-bound tourists: My London, and Welcome to It.

…If New York is a wise guy, Paris a coquette, Rome a gigolo and Berlin a wicked uncle, then London is an old lady who mutters and has the second sight. She is slightly deaf, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly.

With more guilt, I realize that London may be a great metropolis, but it’s not very nice to people. We’re not friendly. Not that we’re rude, like the Parisians with their theatrical and frankly risible haughtiness; nor do we have New Yorkers’ shouty impatience. Londoners are just permanently petulant, irritated. I think we wake up taking offense. All those English teacup manners, the exaggerated please and thank yous, are really the muzzle we put on our short tempers. There are, for instance, a dozen inflections of the word sorry. Only one of them means “I’m sorry.”

It’s a love letter if I have ever read one.

Speaking of London, Marissa is sort of new here. I met her through this blog because on the eve of moving here with her husband from New Jersey, she “reached out” (I just made a British person throw up) because she knew how well we would get along. We emailed back and forth a number of times before finally having lunch. Then dinner. Then lunch again. Marissa has a blog and I really (sun heart) her way with words, her ability to make me laugh, her skills with the phone camera and re-living my London beginnings through her. She will say everything is wonderful and she loves it here. And she would be telling the truth. But I know from 2008 that there are hard moments too. And so to Marissa I want to say: It Gets Better. (Like the slogan for those beautiful video testimonials made for gay people but without the deeply moving and critical human rights issue part)

The other night I went to my law firm’s annual “Summer” Party. It’s not summer and it wasn’t warm and I have resigned but I went anyway. And it was great. The theme was Highland Fling which meant everything was Scottish in some form or another. I was in a room with maybe a thousand people and I was one of maybe 5 Americans (less?) and there was haggis on my plate. And then I left at midnight by myself and took in the illuminated view right across and down the Thames from Old Billingsgate: the Shard, Tower Bridge, OXO Tower… And then I walked all the way to Chancery Lane, down the inevitable many side streets, before I could find a cab. And it struck me – in that way that things strike you as really profound and important when you’re drunk and walking in heels like you’re some kind of badass rather than a sloppy ageing Gen Xer – I sometimes know my way around this town. And I love this town.

But I also love America. And so isn’t the USA lucky that My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding just debuted there on TLC! If you are not watching it, you are just hurting yourself.

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10 Comments

Filed under a bunch of boring stuff, food, london, tv, weather

10 responses to “so far not homeless

  1. There is something disturbing about My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding, in a way that the Euro version isn’t.

  2. Jenny

    Grits, Oreos, Lucky Charms and Tabasco. Stellar selection LOL.

  3. Thank you for the shout-out! And I am going to Selfridge’s as SOON as we get back from our trip to the US. I had no idea they had such a bountiful selection. If they have large bottles of Frank’s Red Hot, I might have to physically restrain Chris.

  4. Elizabeth

    Two mothers at Viv’s ballet class were reading paper back versions of Fifty Shades yesterday. Apparently it is now so popular that it is a status symbol. I refuse to read it on the grounds that the excerpts I’ve seen are very badly written. Erotica is one fine. Bad writing is not.

  5. Seriously? That is bananas about your apartment. But like all things you handled it with grace.

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