Picture Perfect....

Hi all!

I've gotten a lot of emails about posting pictures for everyone to see...and I would love to....and I have taken a whole bunch!!!

However, even though I have a whole bunch of pictures in my camera, the little cord that connects my camera to my computer is somewhere in the Atlantic right now!

Although, it is allegedly closer to me than to all of you. My worldly goods are scheduled to arrive in port this week!!! Then it'll take about a week for Customs to clear everything, once that happens, I promise to have the packers rip that box open first and I will start uploading as soon as possible!!

Hello Madonna...May I please borrow some sugar?

So I had a bit of a crisis situation during the first of this week.

I think I might need to jump back a few steps first at this point though...

I think I better just enlighten you on the trails and tribulations of finding a flat here in London...and then actually getting a lease contract signed. A point of interest here is that letting a flat in the UK is akin to nothing less than actually buying the property instead of renting it. My letting agent (flat finding mercenary) deals with the landlord's letting agent (flat Nazi). Once we have agreed that I would like to spend ridiculous amounts of money on the ridiculously small amount of space that the landlord has decided a person can actually live in (kind of like an inmate can live in a 6x6 cell)...then the real fun begins. I have to contact my bank in the US and get them to fax a credit reference letter to the letting agent.

Sounds easy right?

WRONG!!

First, the letter has to have way more information than the standard letter that Wachovia has on file in which they just fill in little blank. So the powers that be had to actually clear it with their boss that they could release so much info about their client....um I'm asking you to release it, so what's the big deal? It’s at this point that all kinds of Dilbert cartoon strips run through my mind as the actual workings of the Wachovia offices. Also, Wachovia is not an international bank, so they don't fax a lot of things internationally, so I had to walk the girl in the office through this...not once...not twice....not 3 times....but 4 fun filled times did I talk Cindy through dialing internationally...it disturbs me that someone incapable of dialing a phone can handle my money....bizarre. Once the bank references get sorted out, then on to the 'Past References of Inhabitance'. Yeah - that’s not even me being smart - that is what it said on one of the forms. Anyway, this entails me going back for about 5 years to my past landlords and getting their stamp of approval that I didn't destroy their places. Now I do admit that with my slight penchant for not letting the grass grow under my feet...to put it nicely...was a layer of complexity that most people don't have, but I had no problems and was able to get all 4 of my last landlords to send off glowing letters of reference. Then comes the credit check....since having a credit score over 800 in the US was a nice little feather in my cap back home...it was a bit of a shock to be told that it was worthless here. I am a creditless as a broke college kid here! So I had to get reference letters from my employer saying that they did in fact employ me and what my salary was. I also had to show proof of my bank account here in the UK - empty though it is - to show that I had "intent" to make rental payments. Not sure how an account that has been opened for less than 48 hours and has a 0 balance shows intent to pay, but I'll play along...

So once all of that info is compiled, it is then given to the landlord (king of said property) to review, at which time, he or she then gives a yes or no (the king grants domicile to his peasants).

Alrighty then...this is what it takes to get a flat in London...just keep that in the back of your mind.

So, now let’s circle back to the crisis situation...

Monday afternoon, I get a call from the letting agent of the landlord who's flat I was suppose to move into next weekend...yeah - did you pick up on the past tense reference...that wasn't a mistake.

Let me first just say that I have had a nagging feeling about this new flat since the moment I blurted, "I'll take it!" Besides the obvious issues - crazy expensive, small space, etc. - I have just not felt good about this decision. Which most of you know that I am a firm liner when it comes to decision making. I decide one way or another and that’s it...it may not be the right decision sometimes, but no matter, I've decided upon the path and the path I shall follow - we just see where it leads after I jump. But my instincts are usually rather good - some of you can chuckle here because you know that my track record is not quite 100%. But in all fairness, I haven't been down the wrong path too much...in my adult life that is at least - we all make mistakes in our crazy youth though - don't knock me for that. It is odd though that the young are prone to make bad decisions...odd only for the fact that youth apparently knows everything...hmmm...but I digress here and I'm starting to feel old - bad things both, so back to the flat saga.

Anyway, I've had a nagging feeling, and so, I have made sure - just in case - that I have kept up with the property notices for the past week or so. I'm not saying I'm psychic or anything, sometimes psycho...but most definitely not psychic...just burned a bit...so what better way to pass the time until the other shoe drops than to make sure you have a plan B.

So the letting agent starts off with, "I'm not sure how to tell you this, Tiffany."

Yeah - those aren't happy words that leave me with a warm and fuzzy feeling....

"The landlord has decided to sell the building."

Huh?!? What?!!? She didn't know she was going to sell the building last week when she agreed to rent it?!?!

AAAHAHAHAHAH!!!

No worries though - I knew something like this might happen....

So the letting agent was very apologetic, almost too apologetic if you catch my drift...but neither here nor there...must move on to activate Plan B.

So I move a few meetings around and begin making some calls...budget planning for 2008 was no longer a priority...I mean really people, my shoes, purses and red fish light were homeless!!

I decide on a new letting agent. Rebecca seemed very knowledgeable, knew her properties off the top of her head, had a good sense of humor and most importantly....was available that night to show me a new place.

6:30 Rebecca and I plan to meet up at the flat.

Not sure why I decided that Monday night should be the night I try taking the bus instead of the tube - that was a poor decision on my part....

At 6:40 after hailing a cab to make up for running so late from the bus when I got off at the wrong stop I show up. Yes - I had called Rebecca to tell her I was running a bit late...it's ok if she assumed the tube was delayed right? I just kind of didn't correct her on that one.

This si how I knew I made the right decision for my new letting agent though - as she is taking me through the place, we go into the bathroom and she says, "Do you want to check the shower pressure?"

Music to my ears!! Mom, if you're reading this - you know I just had a smile on my face!!

For everyone else's enlightenment though, I try to take pleasure in the little things...good perogies, the fresh smell of Tide detergent...and a good shower. My love for a good shower has even made me get a showerhead for the guest bathroom in my parents’ house...a shower head that I might add my dad even said had great pressure! Apparently that must be the side I get it from.

Anyway, the flat was in a nice area, a bit of a hike from the tube station - but beggars can't be choosers - and it needed a little attention...nothing a little fresh paint wouldn't fix....and maybe some Glade air fresheners - there was a funky smell in that place.

But again, going on instinct, it just didn't feel right. So Rebecca asks me my thoughts and I told here what I liked and what I didn't/ She then says she has another place she wants to show me. She said the landlord was asking $395/week ($1700/mo), but she had a conversation with him earlier that day and he said he would accept $350/wk ($1500/mo) which was what the other place I was supposed to get was.

She then tells me she has a showing at 7:15 with another client and asks if she can just call me when that’s done and show me the place later in the evening. I appreciate a good salesperson!! I tell her that great, just give me a call. Then she tells me that the other place is not far from where I'm staying now in Notting Hill and she can just give me a ride home, and then pick me up when she's done with the other people.

Letting agent - where have you been all of my stay in London?!?!

So - and it gets even better - we leave the flat and she points to her car - a BWM 325i!!! She's me - she's me in a parallel universe where I am a letting agent in London!!

On the way back to my place, we chit chat and she gives me all kinds of great anecdotes about London and her job, etc.

Fast forward to her picking me back up...you really only missed her dropping me off and me grabbing dinner...

Off we go to the new place...

We walk in and I knew....I just knew!!! The landlord just finished remodeling it, so is in the process of buying ALL new furnishings, and even agreed to buy a sofa bed instead of a sofa...now I can have visitors again!! It gets even better, though....more space, my own patio, a huge bathroom, washer/dryer (of course), a full size fridge/freezer (did I tell you that was rare here? All the fridges are like the size of the kind we had in college) and there is a door to the living room, so with the addition of a sofa bed, I'm back to having a guest room when I get out of town visitors...and the biggest plus of all....a walk in closet!!! Space, space and more space!!!! I am in heaven here!!!

So we talk some more, finalize the details, she thinks she can save me all the trouble of the reference checks if the other letting agent will just send her all of the information she got on me (which she agreed to do the next day when I called because she still feels bad that the deal fell through).

Then Rebecca takes me for a drive through my new neighborhood. Now I do admit, that it is one of the nicer areas in London, very quiet, posh, a lot of "row mansions" row houses that have been bought in blocks, gutted and made into one mega house for the wealthy ones that can afford to do that kind of thing.

As we drive around, I notice something strange...."Um, Rebecca, Is that man with a machine gun?"

My heart sunk a bit here, my first thought was, "Oh man - is there a prison here? Am I going to end up on some crazy prison break news show?"

"Oh, yes!" Rebecca laughs," But completely not what you're thinking."

How did she know? Was the look of imminent tears on my face?

"Those are the armed guards for Tony Blair. That's his house. He has 24/7 armed protection. That should make you feel quite safe. Nothing ever happens around this area. All the security and extra cameras (I'll tell you about the city cameras another time)."

"Oh," I reply, "I suppose he might not want to come to my house warming party though."

"No," laughs Rebecca, "But Madonna might, she lives on the same block and I'm sure she's always up for a party!"

So there you have it, that’s the story of how my new neighbors (like 3 blocks away) are Tony and the Material Girl.

Needless to say, I was right, Rebecca is a great letting agent and all things are running smoothly now. Fingers crossed, I will be in the new place on the 1st of February!!

Always eat dessert first....

OK, it was with mixed feelings (a mix of annoyance and frustration with a healthy dash of embarrassment) that I decided to share this next little adventure...and that is saying something since most of you know that I am the first to laugh at my own stupid antics first...yeah, but this one is a bit of a hit to the ego.....so without further delay, here is why I will begin to always eat dessert before my meal....

So Friday night, the infamous words of, "Hey, lets just go out for one drink. Really, just one drink since its been a long week for everyone and we're all exhausted."

So, always being up for meeting some new people, I agreed...I mean really, it was only one drink, right?

So we all go to this place called The Couch. By 'we all' I mean Trish and Josh, my two new friends who are also both new to London. Trish is from Cork, Ireland and has been here about 6 months, and Josh is from the Seattle office and has been here about 6 weeks. I thought I made friends pretty easily, but Josh makes me look like a backwards Jr. Higher! I think he knows half the London population already! Anyway, he and Trish and I meet up with Tova, G (his real name is much longer, but none of us can pronounce it, so he's just G) and Liz...for one drink.

Now 'The Couch' is quite the little hang out. Completely packed elbow to elbow at 6:30 on Friday. We find a place at the bar and place our orders and I start to look around...it was my first time there. I look over and see a couch (fyi, the place has random couches around, hence the name), but this couch has two little tables in front, by tables, I mean 1 ft squares of wood - like little side tables but next to each other. The reserved sign say, 'These two tables are reserved for 15-20 people' No joke!! 15-20 people? Little people? Who are these 15-20 people that can fit around a 2 ft square space? The only thought that comes to mind is when my sister once told me about a little girl in one of here elementary classes a few years ago that had 20 little imaginary friends that fit into her pocket. Where these those little people? That might explain the space...or lack there of...that someone felt would accommodate 15-20 people.

But nonetheless, everyone seemed to respect the sign and no one was sitting on the couch or around the two little tables.

So after lurking for a bit, we all get a table (a normal sized table) and start to de-stress for the week. We were there about an hour, then Tova and G decided that after going out every single night for the week, that they needed to actually get some rest, so they left. Then Liz decided she had better hit the road as well since she had to be up early the next morning to clean out a storage shed she had with her ex-boyfriend. Apparently the breakup was amicable, and they were still friends and didn't have a problem sharing the storage shed. However, now he had a new girlfriend and she seemed to think that the sharing of the storage shed was an unnecessary link with his ex, so poor Liz got kicked out of the shed. Even she admitted that that seemed a new low for a breakup...getting kicked out of a storage shed.

That said, Josh and Trish and I were left to figure out plans for the rest of the night. We decided that we were hungry and that since 'The Couch' had gotten even more packed, we wanted to go out some place that was a bit quieter.

So off we went to meander through the streets of London to find something tasty for dinner. After ruling out Chinese, Indian, Japanese, Italian and French, we decided to go to Ed's...its a big crazy 60s diner that serves burgers and fries in American style with Buddy Holly playing in the background. On our way there, though, we came across Patisserie Valarie. It was this incredible little bakery that had these absolutely incredible desserts in the window. Trish decided at that point that she needed to have dessert. So, since it was only a block away from Ed's, we would go there first, then come back and have a great dessert at Valarie's....Trish didn't really have to twist Josh and I's arms on that little deal....

So off we go to Eds....at first, everything was fine...the place was packed, so the 3 of us take seats at the counter and place our orders. We were having a great time, chatting it up and laughing away the night.

At one point, this guy sits down next to Trish...the seating arrangement is a bit crucial at this point, so I'll explain, we are at the counter, Josh in the middle, Trish on his left, I was on the right, so this guy sits in the stool on the other side of Trish. Since we were kind of on the curve of the counter, Josh was sitting at the corner of the curve, meaning Trish and I were tilted a little towards each other, and the new guy was at an even sharper angle, so here was kind of facing me a bit.

So now that you have the picture.....

There we are, eating our hot dogs and fries and just telling each other random stories, and this guy kind of laughs here and there with us. Not that he was eavesdropping or anything, but he was sitting right next to us and we were probably a little loud, so no big deal.

Anyway, he keeps laughing and whenever he looks up a bit, he kind of looks at me and smiles. So after one of our stories, he starts laughing and looks up and I say, "Bet you didn't think you would be getting free entertainment with your dinner, tonight."

To set the mental image a bit...he had a great smile, dark hair, dark complexion, like maybe he had a bit of Greek in his blood or something, maybe 6 ft tall, had on a suit, and had a great sense of humor.

He sort of laughed again, and then Josh and Trish realize he was listening and we keep talking and just sort of bring him into the conversation. I will admit at this point, I kind of though the guy was flirting with me, but to be honest, I'm not really good at the flirty thing, but I seemed to be doing OK this time...or so I thought...

So we talk for another 30 minutes or so and then start to head out. We say our goodbyes to the stranger - we hadn't exchanged names or anything - and we walk out the door.

Once we get out the door, I say, "See, now that's the kind of guy I could see myself with."

Josh says, "That's too funny, I was totally thinking he was the type of guy you might like!"

Trish says, "You should have given him your number."

"Please, first, I couldn't just give a random stranger my number. Second, I can't even remember my number!" I say.

Josh and Trish then proceed to tell me to go back in and get his number. "What's the worst that could happen? You'll never see him again!" was Trish's argument.

So I start to walk back in..."WAIT! Give me you're backpack!" Says Josh.

Did I forget to mention that? Yeah, so I had a backpack with me that day. I usually don't carry it with me, but I knew I would be bringing my laptop home that night, and I didn't have my briefcase here yet - somehow that got packed in my sea shipment and is somewhere in the Atlantic right now. Also, since it wasn't too cold out, I had my jacket in the backpack as well, so basically, I looked like a kid going off to school with this stuffed backpack on. Nothing says fun and flirty like a stuffed backpack weighing you down!

Anyway, I hand off the backpack to Josh and in I go...the whole time thinking, 'Why am I doing this? I hate asking guys out! This is so not me! I am 30 years old and I can't believe I'm trying to pick up some random stranger from a diner!"

So I get back in there and he is standing up to leave and turns around and sees me. Oh man....Oh man...he sees me!!

Do or die here Veder......

"Um, hi....look, I'm not really to good at picking up guys, but I was wondering, if you're interested, would you maybe like to grab a drink or dinner sometime?" Oh man...was that me? Was that my mouth speaking those words?

"Um, well, yes, I might," he says....and here it comes...."but I don't think its going to turn out the way you think."

huh? what does that mean? I didn't think he would say yes, so I would I have thought about the outcome that quick?!?! Then it strikes me...he must already have a girlfriend!!

"Oh," I say, "Are you already seeing somebody?"

"No, um...ah...I'm gay."

WHAT?!?!?! GAY!??!!? Seriously?!!? Are you kidding me?!!? How does this stuff happen to me?!!?!? What happened to my gaydar!?!?! Did it get damaged in the move across the pond?!?!!? What the..!?!?

Uh oh...now its getting a little awkward since I'm not replying...better say something....

anything at this point would be fine......

Veder - move your lips!!!!!

"Oh, that's OK, I just moved here, so I need to make friends."

yeah - nice - pathetic...great recovery there girl....

"Well, great then, let me get your number then." he says.

Thankfully in a burst of realization, I remembered my cell number. So I give it to him and he puts it in his phone and sends me a text with his name and number.

Turns out his name was Sarkis - I was right - there was greek in his blood...too bad I didn't pick up any other obvious clues!!

"Well, give me a ring and we'll meet up again. Sorry its not what you were thinking, though."

Why does he keep apologizing?

I plaster a smile on my face...."Great! Talk to you soon." I say and basically bolt out of there.

I zero in on my targets....my two partners in crime that will now be the victims of my wrath....

"Um...hello...I know my gaydar isn't perfect - but yours should have been going off!" I say this to Josh...did I mention he was gay?

"What?!?! No way!! He's not gay!"

"Well, then I don't know why he would have said it if he wasn't!! Any hetero guy would have said he already had a girlfriend - not that he was gay! Who lies about that?!?!" I ask.

"Wow, I totally didn't get that vibe." says Josh incredulously.

"Yeah," agrees Trish, "totally didn't get that at all!"

"But at least you did it!! Good for you! That takes courage! So what happened?"

"Well, there was no nice way of getting out of it," I say, "Not like I could have said, 'Oh, well then, have a nice life.' So I gave him my number." But its at this point that I realize, I think I might have transposed the last 2 numbers of my phone number!

"Well, then you never have to talk to him then." agrees my two voices of reason.

So off we head to Valarie's to drown my sorrow in chocolate and tea....

For the rest of the night here and there out of no where we each randomly burst out, "I can't believe he was gay!!" We randomly review the entire conversation from the diner and can not pick up, in hindsight, anything that would have given a clue that he was gay. Josh still doesn't think he was gay, but then we can't figure out why he would say it?

Yes, we had a great laugh over out exquisite desserts...mostly at my expense...and continued to talk the rest of the evening away.

At one point, Trish blurts out, "Um, maybe we should have known. I mean, we are in Soho on a Friday night and all. Plus, maybe that should give us a clue."

As Josh and I turn to look at what she's pointing at, we realize its a wedding cake topper with 2 guys in tuxes holding hands.

Oh man.....

So now we have a running joke amongst our little crew. Whenever we see a guy that is obviously gay, the both of them look at me, do the motion of taking off a backpack and nod their head in the guys direction.

Yeah...next time, I will be eating dessert first and checking out the wedding cake toppers at the counter.

Random things I've learned in London thus far…

1 - The word random is not used over here. Instead, everything is bizarre…..girl riding the tube in a prom dress at 3 in the afternoon on a Tuesday…bizarre.

2 - They actually get pay their wait staff taxi drivers, and bartenders normal wages, so tipping is not necessary…bizarre concept.

3 - Riding the tube in the morning commute is akin to herding cattle in Calcutta at high noon on a hot July day.

4 - If there is a strange smell emanating from someone close to you on the tube, be grateful…it could be worse…and will be at some point.

5 - Cocktail sauce is not cocktail sauce here - its mayonnaise and catchup mixed together…that’s it, nothing else…

6 - They are in the process of airing their most updated episodes of Lost….its only on season 2 here right now.

7 - Even when you're on a one way street, just look both way when you cross the street, don't try to pretend like you have the whole driving on the road the wrong way thing down pat….just look both ways, its just better.

8 - In the UK, they sell liquor at Ikea

9 - They say the phrase, "If I'm to tell the truth" quite a bit here. Its basically the equivalent of the phrase 'truth be told'. However, every time I hear it, "If I'm to tell the truth…" I just want to say, "Yes, you are to tell the truth, was that a statement or a question, either way the answer is the same - Yes, you are to tell the truth....you're mother would be ashamed you even asked it like it was an option..."

10 - Fish and Chips is like its own food group over here

11 - Everyday will be a bad hair day here. It might start out as a good hair day, but by the time you walk through the rain a bit to the tube and the wind whips through the tube station, then you head back out into the misty rain to finish your commute to work, just accept that as long as its not sticking straight up, then its a good hair day.

12 - Do not make eye contact with anyone on the streets, the tube, the doorways…anywhere…chances are that they want to sell you something, give you a flyier of some sort or convert you to some minor religion that only they and 3 other people practice.

13 - Employment law here is not to be reckoned with - in last nights paper, there was a story of a gent that sued his employer in the high courts because he was asked to do "Skivvy" work. The work peaked my interest and I read further…skivvy work entails doing such things for your employer as picking up dry cleaning, buying an anniversary gift for their spouse, taking their dog to the vet...you know, things that any hungry grad would do in the states in order to get ahead....its all illegal over here....bizarre.

14 - Anything can be pureed and made into soup here….carrot and coriander….need I say more?

15 - A gallon of anything in the UK had more liquid than a gallon of something in the US. No , the use of had was not a mistake…I could only find litres...thanks to Wikipedia I found out why…"The Imperial gallon is no longer legal, in the UK, for trade or public administration purposes, but it is used colloquially."

16 - They do not use the same recipe for Oreos in the UK as they do for Oreos in the US. Same goes for Starburst, Skittles and KitKats.

17 - Water is served here still or sparkling and if you forget to ask, they just bring tap water…which is still water, but not still bottled water, and there is an after taste to it…and not in a good way…its like their passive aggressive form of punishment for forgetting to order water correctly.

18 - They still measure weight here in stones. 1 stone is equal to 14 pounds.

19 - It gets dark here around 4pm at night in the winter, but then in the summer, it stays light until about 10pm…well, actually, it gets dark at 16:00 in the winter and not until 22:00 in the summer….they all use military time around here.

20 - When you see a mouse running around the tracks while waiting for the tube, you are reminded of the movie 'Ratatouille' but then you immediately realize that they are n where as cute, clean or talkative and you just move a step further back on the platform.

Thanks Mastercard...

Monthly rent for the new flat in London...£1516.17 on debit card

New shoes from Clarks.....£43.92 on Mastercard

Cup of tea...£2 on debit card

Price of walking around and exploring the neighborhood where my new London flat is located while wearing new (very cute) shoes that don't pinch my feet and leisurely sipping my Earl Grey....priceless.

My shoes may now be homeless....

OK, so I had grandiose dreams of living large in London...apparently I will be living modestly medium sized with little to no room to breathe and will be paying dearly to do it. Somehow the concept of space did not make it across the pond. I spent this weekend on a furtive search for a flat to call my own. The key term here being elusive.

Unlike in the states where apartments are a dime a dozen, here in London, finding a flat is like having a day with no rain - rare and beautiful when it actually happens.

So I have been searching high and low, north and south, east and west. Finally, I found an agent - no one does any property dealings on their own, they all hire agents to do it - that allegedly had a few properties to show me. I also - against all odds - found a guy that was boycotting the use of letting agents and had a place "a few" tube stops north to show me.

Friday afternoon, I line up 3 places to see on Saturday morning with Natalie, whose phone voice, I feel was a form of false advertising as she mistakenly sounded not only like someone that cared about her job but also like someone that knew what her job was. We arranged to see two places that were 2 bedrooms and a 3rd place that was a one bedroom. We arrange to meet at her office at 9:30 in the morning. She mentioned that she had an 11am appointment as well, so assuming that she kept to some form of scheduling, and she would need some prep time. I assume we will be done around 10:45ish. I arranged to meet Phil - the letting agent boycotter at 11:15.

Yes, I know what they say about people that assume....

So, like a good little flat hunter, I show up to the letting office at 9:30 on the dot. Natalie is just taking her coat off and setting her things down. OK, my thought, she knows I'm here for 9:30, she's got it all arranged, maybe she was just running late - happens to all of us - no biggie.

Apparently at the tender age of early 24, Natalie has developed some sort of deterioration of her memory...and I would later find out her other faculties such as common sense, logic and good taste.

Anywho....Natalie proceeds to ask which properties I was going to see? Um, excuse me? I wasn't sure of the exact places (since I wasn't the letting agent) but I described the photos I had seen of the places and the prices and then she seemed to remember. Then she picks up the phone...at 9:30am...and proceeds to call people to arrange to show the properties...in 15 minutes!!! I'm sitting there in my little chair thinking to myself, 'now when I was a kid, my mother wouldn't let us use the phone in the morning until after 9 am, she said it was rude to call people before that. Honestly, I agree with her and I still go my that rule for the most part to this day. I think it might be rude to call people at 9:30 and tell them you're coming over in 15 minutes...that is worse than calling them before 9am...and on a Saturday!!!

But I sat there and kept my mouth shut...

Surprise, one of the people wasn't up yet, and didn't want to let anyone in until noon. Natalie looks at me and asks if that's alright? Did she forget she had an appointment at 11? I told her no, I had another appointment.

She was not making a good impression here!!

So off we go to see 2 places...it is now 9:50.

She couldn't find the keys to one of the flats, so it took her a while to search through all the keys in the lock box. While I was standing there waiting for her, I happened to look in the key lock box, and to my surprise, there were a lot of skeleton keys hanging there!!! Um? Hello, when I said I was looking to stay in the range of 1200-1500, I meant for rent, not the year 1500!!!! Skeleton keys!?!? Are you kidding me?!!?

Then off we hop into her little car and off we go to start seeing my flats...my potential homes...my future home sweet home.

I really only had a few requirements for flats, and I was pretty specific with Natalie about them, 1 - must have a washer and dryer, 2 - must not be ground floor, 3 - must be close to either the Piccadilly or Central tube lines.

On the ride over, Natalie violated about 10 various US traffic laws, some of which I have to assume might be internationally recognized...like going through the red light and such. She has cranked the heat up to Sauna setting in the little car and I am starting to wilt. Mind you, it was about 6 degrees Celsius out which is about 40 Fahrenheit - no need for the sweat lodge conditions. She has also proceeded to tell me that she doesn't like the US, so she can understand why I would want to move to the UK, however, she's never been to the US...real reliable intel there Natalie. And we are also driving for what seems like a few minutes longer than infinity. But never fear, Natalie has assured me that this is in a very posh area, I'd be lucky to get this place. The little extra time that it might takes is a small price to pay for living in such a great area.

But the extra tube fare is not a small price...

Time check...10:12...anyone that knows me knows that I am to the point of being anal about being on time. My plan was to leave Natalie's office by 10:30. So now I am a bit perturbed that she might make me late for my next appointment. You know I am barely contained at this point, but I still have a smile on and am being rather pleasant and talkative. I mean really, what do you expect me to do? Call her out? I need a place to live!! I am outwardly sweet as honey to this freak.

And then we arrive at flat #1

Stats on the first place: 1 - Bonus - its a gated community 2 - walk to the Piccadilly line - not an option - like 2 miles 3 - walk to the Central line - 10 minutes - totally doable - 1 requirement down. 4 - There is a washer and dryer - great - they appear to be so old and a few pieces potentially missing that I question the machine's reliability - not great. 5 - The flat had a lot of space, very open floor plan, nice bathroom - points there 6 - Almost no closet space - where will my shoes alone fit?!!? 7 - last, oh but certainly not least - it is on the ground floor - Houston we have a problem..."Oh, but that's not a problem," says Natalie, "There are bars on the windows and doors, they just slide back and forth so you can hide them and not even know they're there." Um, there are so many things wrong with that statement, I don't know where to begin!! If it's a posh area - why do you need the bars? Hello, its a gated community and you still need bars on the windows? Not a problem, Natalie?!?! Have you smoked some crack this morning and forgotten what the purpose of bars on windows is? Let me refresh your memory - there are 2 purposes for bars on windows, 1 - to keep the inmates in, 2 - to keep the thieves out. I do not want to feel like an inmate while sitting in my living room praying that the thieves will be deterred!!

Next please!!!

I think Natalie senses at this point that we may not be seeing eye to eye on our definition of livable spaces...

Time check...10:27...I am getting antsy at this point. If she causes me to be late, I will be so ticked!

In hopes of at least peaking my interest, Natalie drives a few blocks and shows me the outside of the place that we can't see because she didn't bother to pre-arrange viewings.

Now I do recognize that I sound, shall we say, a bit bitter, sarcastic and slightly enraged with the whole situation, abut I do assure you that I was nice for a bit longer, I kept my irritation well hidden and I just kept my mouth shut - since I didn't have anything nice to say, I felt that was the best option....

Stats on flat 2... 1 - Ground floor - again....but at least no bars on the windows, not sure if that's good or bad though, but the area looked nice 2 - "Natalie, did this one have a washer and dryer?" "Oh, I can't remember, I think it has a washer, I'll have to check about the dryer, though." AAHHHH 3 - "Natalie, this seems a bit further out than the other one, is it still close to the Central line?" "Oh, no this is really close to the Hammersmith line. You can just switch tubes and you're fine." Um, OK, anyone that knows anything about the London tubes knows that you absolutely do not just switch lines on weekday morning!! This is tantamount to driving to New York from Jersey via Philly! Makes no sense takes you out of your way and wastes loads of time. Natalie, there is a reason I had these things down as required...not a nice to have. That was my only thought as we did a u-turn and drove away.

"How did you like it? Want to come back later today and have a look?" asks Natalie. "Well, since it isn't centrally located, its on the ground floor and it might not have a dryer, I'll take a pass." "Oh, right, right, you did say you didn't want a ground floor." responds Natalie. My thought - um, yeah - that's not the only thing you were supposed to pick up on from that statement, but whatever....

Time check 10:35. I'm going to be late...is it rude to call someone about a viewing while you're still in the car with a letting agent?

We drive in silence to the 3rd place. Now Natalie proceeds to tell me that she is just driving around a bit so I can get a feel for the area, don't I like all the parks and the greens? Yes I do, but are those council flats over there? Council flats are the UK equivalent to Section 8. Natalie informs me that they are former council flats and they are rents to anyone now. Yes, I am sure that's the case - they are rented to anyone - this is evident by the abandoned rubbish laying about, the clothes hanging from every balcony, the children wondering aimlessly about and the teenagers milling about on the corners...yes, I'm sure that anyone can rent them....I don't even care how snobbish that sounds - this is my future home - I don't want to share the neighborhood with thugs that require bars on windows to be kept out of places they don't belong!!

3 wrong turns and a near miss of running over a pedestrian later, I kindly inquire as to whether this flat we are to be looking at is pretty close by? "Yes, I think its just around the corner"

"What's rent on this one again?" I ask. "I think around 295 a week." FYI, rent around here is calculated by the week, even though it is paid by the month. Its a throw back "back in the day" when rent was paid by the week, but apparently no one has felt the need to change the practice...like anytime over the past 40 years or so. So when a place it advertised for £325 p.c.w - that's per calendar week - it really means you have to take 325 times by 52 (weeks in the year) then divide by 12(months). So £325p.c.w really means £1408 per month. Yeah - I just roll my eyes, too. "Its a great flat for that price." Says Natalie. My thought - yeah - I don't really want to bargain on my safety and security....

Time check - 10:50. I am so late!!! From here office its like a 10 minute walk to the tube, then I need to switch tubes - so its like 30 minutes total - I'm already going to be 10 minutes late and we haven't even gotten to this place yet!!

"Do you have an appointment at 11, Natalie?" I casually inquire. "Oh, I'm sure I do, but they can wait a bit."

That does it....I wouldn't want that done to me and I wouldn't want to do it some else. I don't do business that casually and I don't want to do business with someone that does. She obviously does not work on commission!!!

"Um, you know what, I'm not really getting a great feel about the area, and you can't find the place, so lets just call it a day."

"Oh, well, I'm sure the place is just around here somewhere."

"That's OK, I think I've seen enough for the day."

"Alright then, if you're sure. I do have a few others I could show you later today or Monday if you like," She adds.

Is she serious?!? I think its glaringly obvious we are not seeing eye to eye on the subject of my future home sweet home....

"Actually, if you don't mind just dropping me off at the tube station, that would be great. I'll let you know about the other places, though. Let me see how my day goes."

"OK," she replies faintly. I don't even care what she thinks of me at this point, and the least she can do is drop me off and save me a 10 minute walk. I mean really - she's the one that made me late in the first place!!

Again she makes a few driving maneuvers that make even the speeder in me a bit nervous and skids to a halt in front of the station. As I say a hasty goodbye, she thrusts her card at me. I grab it and head into the station at a run.

I'm sure that somewhere in this city, Natalie is telling her mates about the crazy little American that didn't say much and didn't see much and ran from her car. That's just fine by me. She can think what she wants. I will sleep peacefully in my 2nd floor flat sans barred windows and know that I made the right decision to run.

Time check 11:01...Calling Phillip now to apologize profusely for being late and not giving him a lot of notice that I will be late. We had arranged that I would call him when I got to the tube stop and he would give me directions from there. It was a short walk and he said they were easy directions. Some alarm bells went off - like why can't you give me the address before, but I sometimes think I am too distrusting, and I talked to him for a good 10 minutes on the phone, so I had kind of decided that he was a decent guy so I brushed off the directions thing as reading to much into it.

Anyway, I call and apologize. He takes it in stride though. He seems very relaxed and assures me that he lives a few blocks away from the rental, so whenever I get to the station, just give him a call. He knew what station I was currently at and said I should be there in 20 minutes at the most.

35 minutes later....

I arrive at the tube station. Hmmmm...I think I don't want to be on the tube this much everyday. He knew I was new to the area and he was really open about telling me that it took him about 20 minutes to get to central London in the mornings. 20 minutes by horse? Because its definitely not 20 minutes by tube. It was so far out that even my monthly tube card didn't work since I was so far out of Central London - they calculate trips by zones. Zone 1 and 2 are central London. Phillip's place is in zone 4!!!!

So I give him a call once I get out of the station and he informs me that he is right around the corner just visiting with a mate and he'll came right over and we can walk together.

Phillip shows up clutching a leather bound journal to his chest like it contains the secrets of the universe. He is wearing a coat that is about 6 times too big for him. He looks to be maybe 110 pound soaking wet and the coat could be worn by Heavy D and all his boys! His hair is all slicked back and his teeth protrude a bit. He reminds me of a weasel at first glance.

My thoughts....He better only look like a weasel and not act like one or we are going to have issues. Although, he was pretty small, I could take him out if I had to.

And off we go....

It was a good 10 minute walk and he was a very pleasant guy. I think maybe he doesn't get out much and was maybe happy to have someone to listen to him. He told me all about the area. The neighbors, his business, his other 3 properties, his philosophy on life, etc...

Also - interesting fact, Clive Owen, the actor - his house was only a mile a way from the flat I looked at. Sadly, that would have been the biggest selling point.

Long story short here, as my fingers are probably as tired as your eyes are after reading this - it was a very nice place…sort of...it had potential. He had just bought it a week before and it needed some work, he explained everything he wanted to do with it, all the changes he intended to make, etc. He seemed sincere about it as well, but in all honesty, I've been there before with a landlord and I'm not falling for that again - live and learn. Also, he just kept talking and talking...I was there for almost an hour!! The place wasn't that big!! It took like 10 minutes to go through it! The rest of the time he was just chatting away.

It was a nice place though, and had it been closer to the city, I would have considered it, but I had to give it a thumbs down for location and extra expense for the tube fares.

Time check....12:52. Yes, I double checked my clock, too! I couldn't believe it!!

At this point, I think I started to unravel. I did so well with the time difference all week, but I wasn't sleeping too well. Added to that, Natalie had virtually eliminated any tolerance level I had previously. Finally, I was hungry - and I am not really pleasant when I get really hungry.

I had to get out of there and get home. I was suddenly just absolutely exhausted! Like a switch had been turned off in me and it was everything I could do just to keep functioning.

Thankfully, Phillip and I wrapped it up rather quickly after that and he walked me back to the tube station. That was really nice of him and he said he just wanted to make sure I got back safely. Honestly, I think he just wanted to keep talking.

35 minutes later....I got back to my tube station, walked back to my temporary home and hit the sack.

I will resume my flat hunting activities on Monday now as I need a mental break and I need to reassess my requirements. I think I will begin looking closer into the city - like walking distance to work. I believe I will be foregoing the 2 bedroom and looking at 1 bedroom now. I discovered a lovely thing here called council tax. Council tax is really the equivalent of property tax in the US, with a twist. If someone owns a rental property, the taxes are to be paid to the council by the renters, not the property owners. In theory, it makes total sense, and I honestly don't have a problem with it, but the calculation is off of square footage, so to have an extra 100 square ft for a 2nd bedroom is not only a higher rent rent, but additional council taxes. So while I would love to have all of my London visitors in their own guest bedroom, I think I'll just crash on the couch and give up my bed for the weary travelers. You can thank the council for it:)

Schlemiel, schlimazel, hasenpfeffer incorporated!

Is is wrong that when I walk down the streets that the theme song from 'Laverne and Shirley' plays through my head? Sometimes it changes though and it's the 'That Girl' theme...sometimes I wear a hat and I think that's what flips the switch between the two.

Needless to say, though, I am absolutely loving London!! I'm not sure if it's that I'm just so out of my element that I am seeing so much more than I used to or what. Though, I suppose speeding to work did make me miss a few things on the commute...

Anyway, I am settling into London life rather well thus far. I've only gotten on the wrong bus once. Yesterday though, there were "Severe Delays" on the tube line...I maybe should have guessed this when the line to walk down the steps into the station was out the side walk...but down the stairs I went....and back up I came 10 minutes later...round trip - 42 stairs. I'll take any victory I can these days, so I was quite impressed with myself that I was able to figure out which way I needed to go - the whole cars on the wrong side of the street is completely throwing off my sense of direction - and hopped on the right bus!! Yes, to most this wouldn't be a huge victory, but like I said, I take my good moments where I can.

I've been working for 4 days now and have really only - i think - made some minor errors. Surprisingly, there are quite a few Americans in the office. This has been quite a comfort, for the most part. However, there is this one guy who, thankfully is not in my dept - But we met whilst (I'm trying to add that one to the vocabulary...) I was in the New Starter (new hire) class and he doesn't seem to want to leave me alone...and not in a good way! No mom - don't get your hopes up - totally not dating material!! He is a complete idiot with an attitude that seems to say, "England is lucky to get me" Hmm...interesting, because I am happy England didn't shut down its boarders after taking in someone like him!! Yeah, and he smells bad, too.

Besides smelly guy, though, I've met some really nice people at work - patient people - that seem to take my confused looks in stride and translate here and there as needed. For instance, a couple people were taking about meeting up for dinner this weekend and going to Ping Pong. Ping Pong? What kind of fun is that on a Saturday night?!!? I politely declined saying that I wasn't really into the game - they looked at me like I had grown a third eye! Then the one burst out laughing. "Oh no, never thought of that," he says, "Ping Pong is a bar!!" Whoops, my mistake. How could you never think of that?!?! I can't be the first one to make that mistake though - US or UK citizens alike would get that one confused!!

There there is the whole bathroom situation....So over here they seem to be a bit less restricted in their water closet needs. Most places that you see have both symbols on the door!! The little guy and the little girl!! I held it for like an hour the other night at a restaurant just trying to figure it out!! I sat there and watched guys go in, girls go in, guys come out, girls come out. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. As thoughts of the Allie McBeal episodes ran through my head, off I went to check the whole deal out. So basically, the way the set up seems to run around here is that you walk through the doors with both symbols into the main room which has the sinks for everyone's use. The from there the actual toilets are in separate rooms for women and men. This was a pleasant surprise given what I thought I was getting into.

So now starts the flat hunt. Its much different over here than back in the states. For instance not every place has a washer and dryer...no biggie, same in the states right? WRONG! Some places have a washer but no dryer!! I asked someone about this and they said it costs too much in electricity, so most people just have a washer, then they hang their clothes all over the place to dry them. Yeah...I don't think so!!!! There are some aspects of this country that I am adapting to rather quickly, however, I will not give up my fresh dried laundry!! Towels smell when they don't get dryer right!! I don't care how long I live here, mark my words, I will not be hanging my clothes all over the house on wash day!!

Alright, off to watch the tellie...I don't even know if I spelled that right, but that's what they call the television here, and I must say, I am getting rather addicted to a few shows here. I love Absolutely Fabulous, which I did like when I was in the states, too, but I just like it better now that I'm here. And let me not forget to mention the news here!! I love it! They could be talking about WW3 and it would go something like, "Whilst there are some gents that feel they didn't have choice, they fired a bit on the other blokes and there was a small bit of bombing of the atomic sort, all seems well as the sounds are dying down now." Mind you, this is all said with an English accent and with the ever present sense of whatever that seems to be the norm here.

Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore...

Well, I've landed safely in my new world. After an uneventful plane ride...well, uneventful with the exception of the 18 mo. old devil child in the seat next to me...but let's not go there..my bags and I arrived safely, no delays and no turbulence so I'll count my blessings for the small things.

Of course, as always, craziness finds me quickly, so my first experience with getting to know my new countrymen happened rather quickly...I was still at the airport.

Totally not my fault, but the driver for the car I hired did not appear to be there waiting for me as prearranged. I looked up and down the entire receiving line of greeters, drivers, family, friends, and airport personal that seem to line the cattle shoot like exit of the customs area. No worries, I can handle this..I had foresight to copy the company number down on the email receipt just in case something like this happened. However, the pay phone did not seem to understand the numbers I was dialing, nor the refund policy when the connection isn't made...£2 and no call later, I wondered around a bit more trying to spot my name on the many signs waving about.

No luck...then I spot them...I thought they were security guards or something, they were wearing bright reflective vests and lounging on one of the airport trolleys. So I approach them..."Aye Luv, you look a bit out of sorts" Luv? I had an ex that used to call me that, but apparently I'll need to get used to complete strangers saying it around here...frequently...So I explain to the both of them that I can't seem to use the phone (which I was loath to admit at 30 years old) and that I can't seem to find my driver.

Well, they both start talking at once, to each other, about what could be wrong, what could be done, and how to go about it. Then they look at me....'I think we've got her more turned around than before' one says to the other. My mistake - they had been talking to me! "Let's just see about this...leaving a pretty lass like you waiting."

The one - I've determined now that he is Scottish, the other English, picks up his cell and dials the number I've written down. And proceeds to explain the situation to the operator, starting with, "Well here now lass, this is Gatwick security and we've got a lost driver." With that he turns to me, winks and says, "She doesn't need to know we're not security." Hmmm.... After a few moments, I hear, "He's here is he? Well, we're here and we don't see him."

With that English looks at my name from the email and darts off into the crowd like a hound hunting his fox in search of the elusive driver. "Well, now tell him I'm standing across from the information desk waiting a white paper," I hear. When I turn back to look at Scotch, he has now stepped up onto the seat of his trolley and is fervently waving my email paper in the air. Oh man....of course everyone is now looking....this is my welcome to London...

"Found him...Found him!!!" I hear from across the corridor. Lovely, it's getting better now!! "Found him!" yells English as he half drags the poor driver across the room. "He was all the way over by the wall! Can you just believe that! How was the poor dear to see him at all?" English says to Scotch.

Well, this ought to be a fun ride home, I think to myself as the poor driver nails me with what might possibly be the saddest look I've ever seen!

I thank my would be saviors and off I go. Behind me I hear Scotch say to English, "Aye' now that's an American lass I don't mind helping. No airs to her, so nice, she'll do just fine here." "Yes, that and she will," replies English.

Hmmm...well, that put a little smile on me.

That said, Wambie (no idea if that is spelled correctly, but we'll just go with phonetically), the driver and I head out on our way.

Turns out Wambie is quite the talker! Once he knew I was new to London, he proceeded to fill me in on everything he though I needed to know for my new life in London. Turns out Wambie is from Somalia and has lived in London for about 9 years. He's driven a taxi for 8 of those years, and in the last 9 months, recently bought his own cab and is now a contracted driver....what can I say, people seem to open up to me.

Anyway, I've gotten settled into the new flat in Notting Hill rather nicely. It took a bit of trail and error getting used to a few of the new appliances...the heaters are all in Celsius, so that took a bit of trail and error...sweat and goosebumps.

I've had dinner out and later learned that I grossly over tipped the waiter...explaining the huge smile on his face when I told him to keep the change.

I've done my grocery shopping and learned a few things I never knew...for instance, I never knew that milk that comes in a box from off the non-refrigerated shelf could taste so incredibly different from milk that comes in the carton...and not different in a good way.

Well, off to bed I go...it's almost 10pm here, which is 5pm back in the states. I think I've gotten used to the time difference rather quickly - thankfully. No naps yesterday and up at 7am this morning has forced me into the new patterns quickly, so hopefully there won't be any excessive yawning at the office tomorrow.