For Dad

So. Before we moved to London, my Dad had a request. He wanted me to describe things. How things were different. How when you walk into a shop it smells different and sounds different.

Well. As the 15 of you know. I haven't done this yet. So today. I'm going to talk about a place I've been to 3 times now. You got it. McDonald's.


OK. That's fine. Noted. I'm not proud that I've been to McDonald's 3 times since we've moved to our new apartment. But I've needed lunch. And we don't have groceries. And sometimes I only have 3GBP - and in this neighborhood - 3GBP gets you lunch at McDonald's.

We're living in a very "smart" neighborhood. You and I would call it "posh," but apparently, people in the know don't say posh anymore - they say smart. If you say posh - you are labeled as middle class (Oh, the humanity!) or American (I'm sure, a fate worse than death).

Sometimes...smart neighborhoods don't like to have things like Wal-Mart or McDonald's tarting up the place. So these stores - if they can ever get into the neighborhood, sort of have to hide who they are. This McDonald's is in a store front. With a tiny M sign hanging down over the sidewalk. Sort of like the kind of signs they used in the 14th century with a bandaged arm or a boot to show that this place was a barber or a boot maker (I'm not making that up. I read it in a book). Big glass windows. The windows are trimmed in wood, smartly painted black. In side, there are (or is it is) no obvious McDonald's paraphernalia. Because you might be able to see it from the street. I had to look for the menu.

There are water colors (maybe acrylics, I'm not an art expert) of the comely streets in our area hanging on the walls. Someone is always mopping. Usually, it's the manager. And she is wearing a black skirt, hose, black shoes, and a black blouse with tiny white polka dots. No Ms anywhere on her either. The workers behind the counter are dressed in McDonald's uniforms. And there are no kids working. Everyone employed there is an adult through and through. Not even early 20s. Which I think is odd.

The weirdest thing though, and this is for Dad, is the smell. I should say: The lack of smell. You know what I'm talking about. Every McDonald's smells the same. You can even smell it in the parking lot. I think it's the fry grease.

They don't have that here. Walking past the entrance on the sidewalk - you can't smell it. Inside the store (I was going to say restaurant, but that made me uncomfortable) you can't smell it. The food basically tastes the same. I would actually venture to say it tastes better. The buns seem fresh, the lettuce isn't wilting, the chicken nuggets had a weird texture, but I think that might be because they don't use liquid chicken.

So we have a McDonald's that doesn't smell like McDonald's. It doesn't smell like anything. You might even think it smells like mopping - but it doesn't. Do they have really excellent ventilation? Or is something more sinister going on here?

I prefer to think it's something sinister. And that's why I've been 3 times. Because I'm trying to figure it out. Solve the mystery for you. Making sure that everything is safe for your arrival. Because you are coming to see me, right? RIGHT? I'm hungry.

Michelangelo's David McDonald

What's this all about?

Well, as you know, I lived in NYC for about 10 years. And while I was there I never once saw anybody get hit by anything. But since I've been in London, let's see...about 2 months and 1 week, I've seen 2 bike and car collisions. TWO! I think that's kind of a lot. Thankfully, both times no one was seriously injured. Yes. Thank you very much.

Granted, today was a bit more of a bike running into a car.

But.

What's going on? Are Londoners bad drivers? Do they not have the ability to see bikes? Are bikers terrible people? Do they deserve to be hit by cars?

From now on, I will only travel by...

Ooooo...you should fill in the blank!!!

Sitting

You all know I am very good at sitting. We're talking Olympic ability to sit. Much like Michael Phelps has been genetically designed to swim (remember the time filler during Summer Olympic Coverage? Spinning image of Michael detailing why he's such a good swimmer. Long arms, short legs, big feet.), I have been genetically designed to sit. A lot. I'm really good at it.

However. My abilities are failing me. I have found a type of sitting that I am not good at. AND...more disturbingly, that I don't want to do anymore.

It's sitting on the floor.

I hate it.

I think my butt is going to die. Excuse me, bum. I guess what you call it doesn't matter much if it's DEAD!

Good News/Bad News

Yesterday we got the keys to our new apartment! We each got a set of four. Three keys out of the four are skeleton keys...yeah...um...people still make locks like that??? Tony said it best, "I feel like a 17th century grounds keeper." Me too, dear husband, me too.

We spent yesterday afternoon in our new place. Checking everything out, making sure nothing was super broken. We also walked around the neighborhood - walked into a few local stores. I told (just about) everybody I saw that we had just moved in. Because I'm trying to make friends. It got us free lattes at the fancy food store - and maybe a friend.

Getting a new apartment is a great way to push through jet lag. Kind of. I'm still tired. And unfocused. Still sick (boo. I thought that once you got away from all the corn and ragweed you were supposed to feel better). But I'm pretty sure my lunch is going to fix everything: coke and reese's pieces. At 5pm.

Now for the bad news...well, not bad really. Just annoying.

Here's what was supposed to happen:

Return to London on Tuesday, pick up keys.
All our stuff delivered to new apartment on Wednesday.
Start our new life totally happy and unpacked on Thursday.

Here's what's happening:

Returned to London on Tuesday, picked up keys.
Our stuff is not being delivered today because of construction on our street.
...As for Thursday...ummm...

Basically, the moving company says it can't bring us our things until...September 10. Not only because of the construction, but also because they failed to apply for a parking permit. And that takes 2 weeks to get. I'm not quite sure how they would have gotten around this bit if they were going to deliver our stuff today. Since, apparently, they only applied for the permit - yesterday.

I am reminded of a gentle warning from Tansasser about how hard it was for Marmina and Mmarc to get their stuff delivered.

Also of interest, our corporate apartment allotment is up tomorrow morning. Officially. Unofficially they (the job) are going to put us up until something can be worked out. But, we're going to start moving our things up to the new place.

So...we might be living in an empty apartment for a couple of weeks. At least it will give me plenty of time to make sure it's all clean and ready.

Some more good news:

We're very happy with our apartment choice. The neighborhood is great. We timed the walk to the train - 2 min 40 sec. And I think we took the long way. And we're pretty sure our apartment is going to be big enough and comfortable enough. All good news. I can't wait to actually live there.

Still, more good news:

My brother got married. I love him. And his new wife. Makes me so happy.

Women Are Dirty

"Women are dirty" Ricky Gervais as Brent on the office. Circa, whenever that show was on.

One of my, no probably my absolute favorite quote from The Office. The one on the BBC. My favorite quote from the one on NBC is from Michael to Oscar, "Is there something less offensive than Mexican that I should be calling you?" Just because that is so offensive on so many levels. Clever.

Anyway.

Back to women being dirty.

I have decided that London is officially dirtier than NYC. Shock. Gasp. Hand to chest.

I know. You probably don't believe me. But listen. (Or read) (Whatever) I LIVE HERE. And you don't!

I'm not talking about trash on the street or in the Tube stations. That's probably better than NYC. What I am talking about is boogers. Now, this is not the first time I've blogged about boogers. Read this.

Every time I come home from being out in the London air and then blow my nose... It's all gray. Or grey. I'm not sure how the spell it here. Probably grey. From soot. Or something like that. There is dirt in my nose!!! A lot of it. Turning boogers everywhere (or at least in my nose) grey. Just from walking around and breathing.

I do not like this.

Isn't this why Charles Dickens wrote Oliver? And other stuff? So that the air would be cleaner?

Gross, right?

"Boogers are dirty"

Things that I Found Odd Today

So. Today was a "flat" hunting day. I say "flat" because I keep calling them apartments, like any normal person would. And...I like quotes. They instantly provide "humor" and I don't have to actually be funny. Don't you agree? Trust me; you agree.

Anyway.

On my way out of The Tube - riding another giant escalator (they have to dig a gazillion meters (I've switched to metric and I know I've just double parenthesis-ed) to reach bedrock here. Industrious Victorians at it again) I saw an travel ad for Germany. This is what it read. And I quote, not funny, just exact,

"Germany. A great place to visit when you have the time to spare."

Am I the only person who thinks that odd? Like Germany is saying, "Oh, don't bother coming if you only have a few days. We know you're busy. You'll get around to it eventually."

What?

The next thing I found odd was a mistake on my part. I saw this headline:

Tory rebels line up to threaten plans on electoral reform

Keep in mind that I've been running around looking at "flats" all day. What I thought the headline read was this:

Toy rebels line up to threaten plans on electrical reform

I thought, "Wow. English people are really passionate about their toys. I bet they make all kinds of hand crafted, beautiful, classic toys to encourage kids to develop their imaginations. Encourage them to play with something not covered in lead paint or battery dependent personal video game consoles. Good for them!!!"

I took 3 scans through the google news site for me to actually see that this headline had nothing to do with fun. Pretty much, the most un-fun thing possible. Everybody knows that Torries are boring.

So maybe this second this isn't odd really. Whatever. Don't get picky. If you want a blog with proper grammar, and correct word usage. Um...I don't even know what blog to send you to.

Excuse me, to which blog I should send you.

Whatever. I need an apartment. Fast. Or...a "flat." STAT.

Exploring

So, yesterday was the first day that I had actual errands to run. And I also had plans to meet Tony for lunch. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, but...I have to write about something, right?

First, I went to the bank and got some money. Pounds and Pounds of it. Then, I went to Vodaphone to "top up"( or was it "top off") my temporary cell phone that a super kind friend of a friend lent me. Next, I got on the bus and took it to Liverpool station and then met Tony for lunch at Ping Pong. Dim Sum place. Pretty good. After that I went to Boots, the drug store, and accidentally bought 3 bottles of shampoo - I thought one of them was conditioner. Whatever. It was white and creamy looking, at least it's moisturizing shampoo. And finally, to the grocery for some milk and orange juice. We prefer our orange juice "without juicy bits" thank you very much.

But as I was walking around I was struck by the thought that I have never stood in this place before. Nothing terribly earth shattering, but to be somewhere completely new is kind of rare, really. Even now, when I've been in London for only 2 weeks - there are places that I know how to get to. That I've been to several times. That I know what aisle the soap is in.

I'm enjoying this part.

There's more I want to tell you. But it requires pictures. And for some reason, they don't want to upload right now. I'll see if a certain someone knows any fancy computer tricks. Then maybe I can finish what I started.