On your mark, get set...

Here's a fun story from the Tube this morning. 

Right before a train leaves, an announcement will be made. "Please stand clear of the doors. This train is ready to depart." This happens every time any train leaves any platform, and it's always exactly the same.

So imagine my surprise today when this announcement came over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Underground Olympic train races. Please stand clear of the doors, because the race is about to begin. Drivers, take your marks. Get set...go!"

And we were off. Everyone was smiling -- a rare occurrence during rush hour in Central London.

It was a nice little moment during an otherwise mundane commute. 

  

"If a smile like that is single, I'm throwing myself off this train."

Girls, we've all been there. You're alone, and somehow end up stuck in close proximity with a creeper of a guy who seems to be going out of his way to make you feel uncomfortable.

Today was my turn.

Now, I don't really like to be the center of attention. I'd rather just blend in and keep to myself. But apparently my crossed arms, averted gaze, and other please-just-leave-me-alone body language was a little misleading.


Two guys got on the train a couple stops down the line and sat down directly across from me, despite the fact the train was pretty much empty. One had a dog. It kind of lunged at me (in a friendly, non-threatening way), which essentially threw me into the spotlight. So they started talking about me (but not to me) -- things like "Oy, leave that lovely lady alone," etc. It got to the point where they were wondering out loud if I was married, and one of them actually said, "If a smile like that is single, I'm throwing myself off this train." 


And that's how he died.


Kidding. 

Anyway I tried to avoid actually speaking to them the whole time, because I figured that my American accent would just them more to talk about. The whole ordeal was super awkward. 

But something I've noticed is that creepy English men are often far more charming than creepy American men (even if it's just in their word choices), because they say things like, "Afternoon, my darling," or "There's something elegant about that one there," or "You are a gorgeous one, m'dear." 

And while it's true that that can also be super creepy, during the daylight it's not panic-inducing, and it's quite funny because it's so stereotypically British.

So even though I left that train thoroughly embarrassed, I also had to laugh.

Olympic cyclists: blink & you'll miss em.

The cycling came right through Kingston today, so of course we had to go see it. We got there plenty early, and spent an hour or so watching official-looking guys walk up and down the road, telling people to stay on the sidewalk, as the cyclists could be there at any minute. Every so often, a non Olympic cyclist would pedal by, and the crowd would cheer and laugh.

We knew they were close when we saw the helicopter circling overhead. Everyone got really excited.

And then this is what we saw:

  

 

  

We were so close to the athletes. There were two groups (that video is of the first), and they were going crazy fast. It was pretty incredible how close together they all were -- one little mistake would surely cause the whole group to go down.

  

And it did, apparently. About five minutes after they passed us. Crazy.

Also, Chris Froome of Great Britain was lagging way behind (at least, we think that was him). Not sure why. But he got a huge applause when he finally came through.

   

  

Anyway, after they passed by, we booked it to a nearby pub to watch the rest of the race. And even though neither the US nor Great Britain medaled, it was still so fun! Our first Olympic event! And then we came home and gathered round the computer screens to watch other events for about six more hours. (Sidenote: Handball! What the heck?!) 

  

All in all, a great day.

 

Let the games begin.

When I first got here last September, I took this picture:

At that point, the Olympics seemed forever away. But all of the sudden, this has happened:

Zero days. Can you believe it? They're here! The opening ceremony is tonight. And even though I'm not venturing into Central to watch it (tickets for Hyde Park tonight are £60, and that's just not going to happen), I'm excited to be here, nonetheless.

Get excited, world. It's time for London 2012. 

(Oh, and go USA!)

 

Wednesday randoms.

Well, summer has finally hit London, and sunshine abounds! The highs this week have been in the upper 80s (20s and 30s for you Celsius lovers). I know that's nothing compared to the 105+ degree weather back home, but it certainly feels hot.

Say you want to shave some calories off your Starbucks beverage. You'd probably ask for "no whip," right? Well that would get you confused looks here. Instead, you'll be asked whether or not you want "cream." Whipped cream is the homemade stuff that you actually have to whip yourself. The stuff out of the can? That's "squirty cream."

To get the full effect, say it out loud.
But don't pronounce the 't'.

Now that the rain has stopped, I keep looking for excuses to be outside. The past few days, a bunch of us have gotten together to play football (European style), which has reminded me just how out of shape I am. Still, so much fun.

A fellow American and I really wanted to get an American football to throw around, so we went to this giant sports store in town to find one. It was four floors of every piece of sports equipment you could think of, including baseballs and bats, but alas...no pigskins. It worked out okay, though, because his brother is visiting, and he brought one. Since no one (and I mean no one) from here has ever thrown one, my sloppy spiral might actually look good for once!

The most frustrating thing about job searching is the fact that you don't often hear back if you're unsuccessful. And I guess I kind of understand. Companies get hundreds of applicants. But the not knowing just means you sit there waiting, indefinitely. It can be very frustrating. I'd so much rather get an outright rejection, even in the form of a mass email. And I'm not the only one...

Just to clarify, that's hyperbolic language.
I promise she didn't mean it.

Hannah showed me this months ago. I still laugh out loud.

Imagine you're sitting in your room trying to get some work done, and all of the sudden, you hear this blaring from your flatmate's speakers. You may or may not almost fall out of your chair laughing, like I did...after a brief moment of pure horror, of course.

And finally, since today is July 25, I want to wish you a happy Christmas in July! Take some time to celebrate with these boys.

Enjoy your Wednesday.

Olympics, round two.

I was 8 years old when my family went to the Olympics in Atlanta. My memories are a bit fuzzy, but a few stand out: getting to see the women's gymnastics (that was the year the US won gold), playing in the Centennial Olympic Park fountains, the debut of Dippin' Dots (it was supposed to be the ice cream of the future, remember?), and going to see the torch as it made its way to the stadium.

That was in 1996.

Who would have thought that 16 years later, I'd get the chance to do Olympics, round two?

Ladies and gentlemen, get excited for London 2012.

I know I am.
  

Stress baking (& chocolate chip cookies).

I had a minor emotional breakdown this evening.

Our lease ends in September. It's almost August. So my flatmate and I were discussing our plans, when we realized something: we don't really have any.

Sure, we'd both like to stay in London. But as of right now, neither of us have jobs or a place to live. And both of those are pretty much non negotiable. The thing is, until we've got jobs lined up, we can't be sure we can afford rent. But regardless of whether or not we've made other housing arrangements, we're out in just over a month. It's kid of terrifying.

As we talked through it, I could hear the panic begin to creep into my voice. I took a deep breath. It was 9:00 at night, which meant there was nothing we could do about our situation right then, but it felt like if we didn't answer all the questions right then, our worlds would crumble.

Have you ever been there? That place between feeling this desperate need to do something -- anything -- but also being kind of helpless? I'm a pretty action oriented person. I don't like to sit around and worry. I like to do. But sometimes that's just not an option.

It's times like these that I typically do one of two things: cry or bake.

I didn't want to cry, so I made these instead.

Chocolate chip cookies

[Disclaimer: Those of you who've known me for a while are probably familiar with the fact that my dad is the undisputed king of chocolate chip cookies. I'm sorry to tell you that this is not his recipe. But it's still pretty darn good.]

 Ingredients:

1/2 cup (1 stick or 113 g) butter, softened

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1 3/4 cup flour

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar, packed

1 egg

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla

chocolate chips (amount varies according to how chocolatey you like your cookies)

chopped pecans (optional - I think these are essential accents, though I've been told they're "interruptions")

Directions:

First off, apologies for the lack of pictures. Just imagine some really lovely chocolate chip cookies (like these). Then imagine how amazing your kitchen would smell like if you made them. The smell alone should be enough to make you want to try this recipe. If it's not, I'm not sure there's anything I can do or say to persuade you otherwise. 

This is really difficult. Are you ready?

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 C). Make sure your butter is softened. 

Combine all ingredients (sans chocolate chips and pecans) and mix. 

Fold in chocolate chips and pecans. Form into balls (of whatever size you prefer) and bake for 10 minutes, or until the bottoms are golden brown.

Place on a cooling rack and stare longingly at them till your need to eat one is greater than your fear of being burned by molten chocolate chips. Or until they're just warm enough. Then, enjoy.

That's all, folks.

  

Wednesday randoms.

The other day, I was asked how to make a particular sweet treat, which meant that, for the first time in my life (though hopefully not the last!), I got to give directions that started with, "Bake a whole cake." How fun is that?

You know those red solo cups that you see everywhere in the States? When I first moved here, I had a conversation with my flatmates about them. They were wondering if they were as prolific as TV made them seem. I told them yes. Of course. They're everywhere...especially in college. Well guess what, guys. They've made it to London...

Who knew these were such a big deal?

This was a pretty interesting read. I knew those parakeets I saw at Richmond Park weren't just somebody's escaped pets!

I've been applying for jobs like crazy lately. It's not the most enjoyable thing ever, but I actually don't mind it as much as most. I actually like cover letters. Editing and tailoring information to fit a specific audience is what I like to do (and what I hope to do), so it doesn't bother me. What bothers me is the waiting game. It can be tough to be patient.

I used to hate broccoli, so I never dreamed that something like this would have such a negative impact on my life. But it does.

One awesome thing about working with kids is it pretty much requires that you buy art supplies and get your craft on. I'm loving it. There's something incredibly therapeutic about coloring.

Good news! It looks like we might actually get some summery weather next week! And it's about time. So cross your fingers for us.
 

Procrastination and productivity.

My dissertation is about identity construction on Facebook.

Now, I won't bore you with all the theory or literature, or even the basic premise behind the topic. Suffice it to say that I have been (and will continue to be) spending way too many hours looking through profile pictures and status updates. And seeing as how that's how a lot people of people spend their down time (because that's essentially what Facebook is all about, after all), it sounds like a pretty sweet deal, right?

Well, sure.

Except for one little thing.

Facebook was made for procrastination. It keeps you distracted from the all the things you actually should be doing. It kills productivity. That's why I don't let myself check it during the time I've allotted for real work. But now, I can't do that. Now, my work requires me to use it. It's basically a "can't work with it, can't work without it" situation.  

So that's a dilemma.

In order for me to get anything done on my dissertation, I've got to get on Facebook. And if I get on Facebook, inevitably I'll find myself staring at a little red notification demanding my attention. And if I've got a notification, I have to click on it. And if I click on it, I get sucked into something that's not remotely related to my dissertation, which was the only reason I got on in the first place. This happens pretty much every time I try to get something done. It's a vicious cycle.

Wish me luck.

 

I haven't been sick, I've been ill. (And why that distinction matters.)

I've got a cold.

This is pretty unusual, as my immune system is typically pretty rockin. (Thanks for sending me to preschool and exposing me to germs at a young age, mom!) But alas, it's failed me this week.

"I'm sniffling and I’m not really awake…and I'm taking Echinacea and vitamin C, and sleeping practically twenty-four hours a day.

And I have a temperature. And I think I’m contagious..."

Which brings me to an important point: Here in the UK, there's a difference between "sick" and "ill."

Back home, they're pretty much interchangeable. Actually, I'd say we use the term "sick" more often than "ill." It doesn't matter if you had the flu, bronchitis, or a sinus infection. When someone asks why you missed work or practice or that birthday party, you respond with, "I was sick."

But you don't want to to do that here. Because here, to be sick means to throw up. So if you say you were sick yesterday, people will interpret that as something a little more dramatic than just a case of the sniffles. What you want to say is "ill." 

So don't worry, the past few days I haven't been sick. I've just been ill.

But I'm making the most of it. Since I don't exactly feel like going anywhere at the moment, I've gotten some writing done, watched a couple of feel good movies, and have busted out my crayons and gotten my craft on (one of the perks of working with kids).

Plus, I'm pretty sure I've perfected the art of shooting crumpled tissues from my bed to the bin.

Silver lining.

 

Drinking ages and driver's licenses.

As you may know, the legal drinking age in the States is 21, but you've still got to bring your ID with you if you want to purchase alcohol...even decades later. For example:

But here in the UK, not only is the drinking age lower (18), but if you're trying to buy alcohol, they also only require you to show an ID if you look under 25.

Which is probably why my sweet flatmate (someday you'll appreciate your youthful looks, m'dear!) gets really excited when she doesn't get carded.

Now, I don't really drink. But I do cook. And I've got quite a few recipes that require wine and whatnot. So the other day, when I wanted to make some pasta, I popped over to Tesco to grab some white wine. A friend of mine was with me, so we both got carded. 

We're both 24, which is well over the legal age, so it shouldn't be a problem, right? Well...

See, both of us are from the States. So both of us used our driver's licenses as ID. I was expecting this to throw them off. Last time I had to show my ID, the lady spent a loooooong time staring at it, before pointing at the issue date with a puzzled expression. No, love. 2008 is the year I got the license, not the year I was born. That'd make me 4 years old.

Anyway, she went first, and showed the lady her Arkansas license. After taking off her glasses to look more like the picture of herself, it was deemed acceptable. Then it was my turn. I gave her my New Mexico license, and could tell right away that this was going to be a problem.

"They're different..." she said suspiciously. 

"Yes, I'm from a different state," I said. And my friend tried to help out, chiming in with, "Every state has a different license."

The woman shook her head. So I offered to show her my bank card, since it had my name on it too. She took it and looked at it. "Do you have anything else?" 

"Uhhhh...." I fumbled for my university ID, which not only had my name, but also my picture.

She sat there for a few minutes, comparing the three cards, and throwing me sideways glances, before she finally gave in. And we got our white wine.

Whew.

And just as an aside: If I were an underage drinker trying to fool someone into letting me buy alcohol, so I could party it up and get wasted (or whatever those crazy kids do these days), I don't think I'd be buying a single bottle of dry white wine.

But that's just me.

 

Wednesday randoms.

This week, I learned an important lesson. The quickest way to NOT hate the rain (even if it hasn't stopped in weeks) is to go outside and play in it.

We saw this ad in the underground. Now, I'm quite familiar with Mexican food, so my first thought was, "Oh no. Those white gloves were a bad decision." Obviously.

This made me laugh a lot.

Speaking of "a lot," my friend recently reminded me of this hilarious blog post on that phrase. Being that I too am a huge grammar snob (I swear, text speak kills my soul), I can so relate.

After 10 months of living abroad, I finally saw my first Baylor shirt in London! After a brief (but enthusiastic, on my part) chat, it was quite obvious that the guy knew nothing about my fair alma mater. But I gave him a smile, a "Go Bears!" and a assured him he'd made an excellent choice before dashing off to catch my train.

Remember when I said I hated those forks with only 3 tines? Well, my friend took it upon herself to make me feel better about the whole situation.

And I found this video really clever. I wonder what my 12-year-old self would have to say to me now...

Enjoy your Wednesday!

Oh deer.

First things first: apologies for the cheesy title. I just couldn't help myself. 

Remember when I told you about Richmond Park? I said I'd like to visit it again. Well, it took me almost five months, but I finally made it back. And even though one of my housemates pointed out that it could be a dangerous decision, I'm glad I did.

The largest of the Royal Parks, it also happens to be the biggest enclosed space in London. Its 2360 acres are home to a wide variety of flora and fauna, but it's most famous residents are probably the deer. Oh, and the reason it exists in the first place is because Charles I didn't want to get the plague.

Fun stuff.

Anyway, the last time I visited was in February. While I definitely enjoyed myself, it was still winter, so everything (well, except for the deer) was kind of dead. This time was different. Sure, the skies were still grey. But this time, everything was green! And there were flowers! It was lovely.

It's crazy how just stepping through the gates seems to take you straight out of the city. It's so quiet and peaceful, and with all the wildlife, you don't really feel like you're in London anymore.

(But you are.)

There's so much to see, and we only made it through about a fifth of the park. But since it's only a 5 minute bus ride from where I live, I plan to go back and do some more exploring soon.

Who knows? Maybe there will even be sunshine.

Third time's a charm.

  

Red London buses.

Apart from catching the school bus when I was in junior high, I've never really used public transportation. Not consistently, anyway. 

Where I'm from, it doesn't really exist. And even if it did, it just wouldn't be all that practical. The cities aren't huge, and there aren't really traffic jams. Things are so spread out. So everyone drives themselves everywhere.

But here, I depend on public transportation. It's all I've got. Especially the buses (shout out to the 131!) So when I saw this little card, I couldn't help but smile.

So even though I seriously miss being able to drive, I guess if I have to be car-less, it's a good thing there's a bus stop right in front of my building. 

Thanks, red London buses. Don't know what I'd do without you. 

 

Chocolate chip cookie pie.

I woke up this morning to rain. More rain. And I decided I've had enough. I wanted sunshine. But since I can't just part the clouds or conjure up some blue skies, I did the next best thing. 

I made a pie. 

If you've never made a pie, they might seem a little intimidating. But this one? Not in the least. There's no lattice crust, no blind baking, no worrying that it won't set up and you'll be stuck with a runny, sticky mess. None of that. This is probably the simplest pie I've made (well, except for the chocolate pies that just require pudding and Cool Whip). 

You can totally do this. And you should.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie

(thanks to this site)

Ingredients:

Crust:

1 1/2 cups crushed graham cracker crumbs (about 9 sheets, or one wrapped package)

1/3 cup sugar (I used just under that)

6 tbsp (85 grams) butter, melted

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon (optional, but why not?)

Filling:

2 eggs

1/2 cup flour

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup brown sugar, packed

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks, or 170 grams) butter, softened

1 cup chocolate chips

1/2 cup chopped pecans

Directions:

Crust:

Crush graham crackers into crumbs. A food processor works great, but since they don't exactly travel well, I left mine back home in New Mexico. But the good news is that you can definitely make due with a zip lock bag and a rolling pin. Awesome.

Combine graham cracker crumbs, sugar, cinnamon and butter. Mix until well combined. Press into a pie pan. Refrigerate for an hour. (You can also use this crust for berry pies and cheesecakes, but you should bake it for about 10 minutes for those types of desserts. For this pie, we want one that's unbaked, so just chill it.)

Filling:

Preheat oven to 325 (160ish C) degrees. 

Beat eggs until well blended and fluffy. Add flour, sugar and brown sugar. Beat well. Add butter (it helps if you cut it into cubes), and beat until smooth.

Stir in chocolate chips and nuts.

Spoon into unbaked pie crust. Use a knife or spoon to even out the top.

Place pie on a cookie sheet (it's easier to handle), and bake for 35 minutes. The original recipe calls for 55 minutes, but mine was done long before that. So I'd say check it after half an hour or so. It should be golden brown, and a knife should come out clean after inserted into the center. 

And that's it! See what I mean? Super simple.

This pie is best served warm, and preferably with ice cream. Chocolate syrup is also a great addition.

Enjoy!

  

Happy America Day!

Happy birthday, America. I'm bummed that the thousands of miles in between us this 4th of July will mean that I won't get to see any fireworks. But don't worry. I'm still celebrating you.

Here's how:

And a fellow American here in London is having a little Independence Day bash.
So that's fun.

Happy 4th of July! And if you happen to be celebrating in the States, light a sparkler for me.

(Please and thank you.)

To market, to market.

We decided to check out the markets at Camden today. The Northern line was half closed, so that made things a little interesting, especially since we had a limited amount of time to explore before church. But we made the best of it, sprinting through the Underground like true Londoners.

And once we finally made it to the markets, it was all worth it.

Such a fun little area! Great food, quirky shops, and the best people watching. 

I'll definitely have to go back soon.