Goodbye 27....ye shall be missed.

27 years and 362 days. I think.

Freakishly corresponding with my first day of employment is my birthday and the last hurrah of my 27th year. I know many of you had to hear about the angst of turning 27. That fabled year of adulthood. As this new adult, I was going to drink wine out of wine glasses with no exceptions, have cocktail parties, matching undergarments, splurge on lovely sheets, always carry my handbag with me to the ladies room, and live less like a student generally. Well, I'm proud to say that most of that came to pass. I have a gorgeous gold duvet that I absolutely heart. Just last week, when we were down to our last unbroken wine glass, I refused point-blank to drink red wine out of lowball glass (for all your 12 year olds out there, yes, that's what it's called, I looked it up!). I even stood firm when someone resorted to calling me 'boughie'--which if you know me, you know that I aspire to the boho life. But still, I would not drink from his cup. I had one cocktail party (loose term) which ended in the RA showing up (geez, what other 27 year old could say that!?)...not my finest hour, but I was a charming hostess re-filling chip bowls and grinding frozen strawberries for delicious daiquiris. I now have a dishwasher and a fancy set of cutting knives (what's his is mine, right?) and find that my life is pretty far from my student qualms. So, all in all, 27 was a lovely year with amazing peeps and hijinks and one of those numbers that just feels so cool to say. Turns out I don't care for even numbers very much. HELLO 28!

P.S. I may spend the weekend coming up with the meaning of 28 for my life. I am sure many of you wait with bated breath.

My Last Day of Unemployment

So, today is my last day of freedom before I start my new job at Kings College London as an Event Coordinator in their Conference and Vacation Bureau. And last night I was getting giddy thinking of all the things I could do to encapsulate freedom, laziness and summer into one delightful day of no responsibility. About 4 am, I am woken up to the sound of steady rain. Curses! This morning, Paul eats his cereal and watches the news and comes upstairs to tell me that we're expecting rainfall all day. Double curses! Looks like I get 1 out of 3 of my delightful day. Laziness. And while I'm enjoying this, having a late cup of tea, reading up on the Harry Potter parties (trying to make an informed decision on which to attend), and painting my eyes as black as they will go (an homage to my wizarded friend and his world), I notice a leak in the hall. A long strip of leak. Thrice with the curses! After speaking to the rental agency man who incidentally referred to Iranians, Iraqis and the Portugese as Mesopotamia peoples, being advised to use 'primitive' methods (i.e., lay down pots) and learning that in England, roof shingles are piles, I finally have a chance to finish my cup of tea. And it's cold. Not enough curses! Accio a new day! Or magic me some chocolate and beloved friends...

P.S. If you were queasy at the Blair Witch Project, maybe you should skip my hand-held camera technique!

I am a nerd, ask me how:

The Book of Lost Things-John Connolly
Just finished this book! It was fascinating, although sometimes the 'morals' became a bit too anvil-shaped. But a wonderfully imaginative book that reminds you how much you have always loved stories...although, be forewarned, the book is not as thick as you think! The last 100 pages are 'Notes'--which sounds like a good thing, but actually made me miss out on the impact of the book's climactic scene, thinking there was WAY more story to go! If you're a nerd like me, you'll know what I'm talking about!
Passion-Jude Morgan
Have only read the first couple pages and I'm already excited. It's a book written by a man about strong, passionate women that seems really empathetic and real--rather than clueless and condescending! Already a treat. Anyway, sounds like a romance novel, but follows the lives of the women that inspired some of the most well-known Romantic poets, Shelley, Byron, etc. Can't wait til it gets juicy.
French Lieutenant's Woman-John Fowles
Yes, I've never gotten around to reading this classic. But here I am, my 27th year sighing its last and reading this pseudo-Victorian book. Anyway, it's hinted at a lot of heated tragic business, but not just there yet. Again, enjoying the way women are fleshed out.
My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time-Liz Jensen
Okay. By far the most entertaining book I have read in a while. And by entertaining, I mean lively, conversational and clever! The heroine is just too much and you love her to bits. Might be too much for those of us who like our books to be mildly stimulating. (p.s. Aimos, you need to read it!)
The God of Small Things-Arundhati Roy
Just read the first paragraph. Syntactically, a thing of beauty all throughout. Warning though, this will haunt you. Gorgeous but haunting.

London in July

So we've all heard of monsoon season and even the valley has had the occasional summer thunderstorm. However. Pause. [Setting the scene] This last Tuesday, July 3rd, I am on the phone with a bakery in Los Angeles discussing square tiered versus round tiered. It's about 5pm London time and while on the phone, I'm standing by the window just watching that giant black cloud on the horizon. Anyway, just as I'm about to tell the woman on the phone my unique position of ordering wedding cake from 5000 miles away, the sky lets loose this fat burst of thunder, like a cosmic whoopee cushion. There's a moment of embarassed silence on the line. I finally say, sorry about that, we're having a thunderstorm. Obviously, she blurts out, 'Where are you?!' Where am I, indeed. The wilds of Fulham where this mad maelstorm explodes over our heads and besides flashes of lighting that are soooo clear you can count the zigs before they zag, nickel-sized clumps of hail start pelting the windows. I'm running around closing windows and marvelling at the fury of it all. Marvel turns into awestruck as it continues for longer than a few minutes (we're used to short bursts of weather this pond-side) which in turn, becomes fear. I am dialing my old man's office line and for effect, I open the window and have to shout over the storm, leaving an atmospheric (bah dah bum) message on his voicemail. Me, hysteria, and the elements! He calls back and totally doesn't belive me. Thinks it's the Californian in me that's nervous of a widdle wheather. And so, like any self-respecting independent woman, I bust out the webcam and run from window to window, documenting the demented whims of the Fulham sky. Anyway, so here we go. Remember, this is July 3.

That's taken from our 'lounge' window and is Ryecroft Street. Look at the twee little cars! And the sheets of hail.

The garden behind our building (belongs to the ground floor flat..we're the attic flat)...even the resident pigeon had to flee.

From the hallway window, the Wandsworth Bridge Road....

My favorite, as two firetrucks go screaming and splashing by, as if at this damp point, anything could even spark to flame!

By the way, this is only after a 20 minute storm...look at the pretty mailbox and the

girl taking photos on the corner, in shorts!

And just to give you a thrill, double decker action to the deux...I think buses had to pull over

during the storm, because none came through during and yet after, backed up deckers.