Countdown to kickoff.

I just clicked onto the Baylor website and saw this: 

I then proceeded to freak out.

That's right, friends! College football kicks off this weekend.

I can't really explain what it is about college football that makes my heart skip a beat. And trust me, I've tried -- especially since moving to London. No one here gets it. No one. This is probably for two main reasons:

1.  It's American football. Not many people follow it. Even fewer understand it. And if you tell anyone you enjoy it, you'll probably hear some form of the phrase, "It's not real football." Except it is, England. And I love it.

2.  There's no such thing as college sports over here. Universities don't really have competitive sports. They might think they do, but really they're about as exciting as watching B team sorority girls slug it out on the intramural field. It's nothing like what we're used to.

(God bless America.)

So that means that while my Facebook and Twitter feeds are buzzing about the games that'll be played this weekend, I'll be holed up in my room, looking up last season's highlights or watching Remember The Titans by myself -- mostly just trying not to bore my housemates with football talk.

It's fine. This isn't my first football season in London.

Last year, I survived almost entirely thanks to ESPN text updates. But it was painful, and I'm not sure it will suffice this year. After all, a girl cannot live on highlights alone. I'm determined to find some website (however shady) that streams the games. Granted, a 6pm kickoff in Texas means I'll be tuning in around midnight, but it's totally worth it.

Especially if it's to watch my Bears.

Happy college football season! May your favorite team win. Unless they're playing against mine.

(Go Baylor.)

  

Wednesday randoms.

As one final goodbye to the Olympics, here are 33 of the best gifs from London 2012.

Last week was our one week of summer. It was boiling. I thought I was going to pass out and die on the Tube. But this morning, the air was crisp and chilly. And there were some leaves on the ground. So I guess it's autumn now.

I saw a couple of Waldos on the train the other day. But here, it's "Where's Wally." Silly Brits.

Yes. I realize this is a creeper shot.

Here's something strange I don't think I've mentioned yet: Occasionally over here you'll see a period ("full stop") used in place of a comma when there are numbers involved. Apparently it's a European thing. It's all very confusing.

I really liked this article on 10 Saturdays to have. I think I'll try to incorporate them into my life soon.

We went to the park the other night, and for the first time since I moved to London, I saw stars! And not just one or two, but a whole sky full! That's a big deal, because I swear stars are my love language. (I realize that doesn't make sense.) I've missed them so. 

This is one of my pet peeves. Seriously people, you don't get a whole seat just for your bag.

Just plain rude.

Sometimes when British-accented people say "I'm artistic," I think they're saying "I'm autistic." Which may or may not cause me to stare confusedly and/or ask potentially offensive and definitely awkward follow-up questions. (Sorry about that, random artistic guy I just met.)

Every so often -- and more and more often lately -- I accidentally spell something the British way, like favour instead of favor, or realise instead of realize. But don't worry. I'm always quick to delete it and correct my mistake.

  

Nectarine muffins.

You know that bit in The Notebook, where Allie says, "Most of the time I have all these thoughts bouncing around in my head, but with a brush in my hand, the world just gets kinda quiet"? That's how I am with baking. I don't care if my world seems like it's falling apart. Give me some dough to tend to, and I'll be okay. 

On the flip side, if I go a couple weeks without baking, I get a little antsy. Which is why I made muffins the other day. Well, that and the fact that the nectarines were about to go bad.

These are the perfect breakfast muffins. Not overly sweet, but still full of flavor. (Confession: I initially typed flavour...oops! These Brits are just too darn influential.) Anywho, let's bake.

Ingredients:

3 cups flour

1 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled

1 cup milk

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 cup (heaping) diced nectarine (about 2 nectarines)

1 1/2 tbsp brown sugar (for topping)

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 400°F (about 200°C). Grease or line muffin tin.

Combine flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl. Stir in the brown sugar, making sure to get the lumps out. Make a well in the center of the mixture.

In another bowl, combine butter and milk. Add the eggs. Pour into the dry ingredients and stir until just combined, being careful not to overmix. Mixture will be lumpy (as all good muffin batter should be).

Gently fold in the diced nectarines.

Spoon batter into the prepared muffin tin. Sprinkle with brown sugar for extra goodness. 

Bake for about 15 minutes (mine were done around 13), or until golden brown. Watch them fairly closely after about 12 minutes -- after all the love and care you've put into these babies, it'd be a shame if they came out too dry! If you're not sure, do the toothpick test.  

Cool on a wire rack before serving.

Notes: I made a half batch, and got 8 muffins (though I did fill the tins up quite a bit), so you can expect to get anywhere from 16-18 from the full recipe. Also, if and when I make these again, I'll add some strawberries. I think that'd take em to the next level of amazingness. 

  

Tentative celebrations.

I'm no longer homeless! 

Well, I suppose I never actually was. Still, the possibility was looming. But we found a house! It's lovely too, and just what we were looking for.

Confession: Despite having moved every year for the past six years, this was my very first time to sign a lease without any sort of parental involvement. My fam didn't even know about the house till after we were told the landlady had accepted our offer. So I was mildly terrified about the whole thing. While we were viewing the property, I just knew the leasing agent was going to see right through me -- that he'd realize I was just a kid (24 is still a kid, right?) and laugh me out of there.

I kept telling myself, "Stay cool. Just act like an adult. Stand up straight, think of clever questions to ask, and don't let on that you have absolutely no idea what you're doing here."

This cartoon sums it up nicely:

But I guess we pulled it off, because we left the leasing agency with a piece of paper that said the property was [tentatively] ours. I practically skipped down the street (again, I'm just a kid). It was all very exciting, and I feel like I can breathe again.

Now we're just waiting to make sure all our references go through before we can be absolutely certain we've got it. So keep those fingers crossed.

Barring some horrible, catastrophic mishap, we'll be moving in at the end of the month.

Hallelujah.
  

We're sorry.

But this blog has been postponed until its author finds a place to live next year, as she now spends every ounce of free time scrolling through countless property websites.

The good news is, she's now unbelievably familiar with all of South West London (at least in map view), including how long it takes to get to Central, links to transport, and walking distances to grocery stores. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Please note: this is a merely an illustration,
not an actual approximation.

So in the meantime, she's got a proposition for ya. Whenever you pass a house with a "for sale" sign, say a little prayer that she gets this whole thing sorted soon.

Because she really really doesn't want to be homeless come September.

We win.

Just a quick shout out to my homeland. Congratulations, America! You won the Olympics! 

China was making me nervous there for a bit, but you pulled through.

Go team go.

"First, you take the graham..."

Last night, myself and the other Americans in the building decided that it was time to share some of our culture with our international friends. So we put on The Sandlot (which most people hadn't seen) and made s'mores (which most people hadn't had). Because, really, that's about as American as it gets. Except for maybe apple pie, but that takes a little more planning.

You may notice that some of the marshmallows in these pictures are pink, which is apparently the norm around here. Weird. But they tasted just the same, so it was fine. And as we lacked a fire, we broiled them in the oven for a few minutes. (Side note: how do you roast your marshmallows? Because I've always been of the light-them-on-fire-and-blow-it-out persuasion, but some of the guys argued that it's essential to turn it slowly and try for that perfectly even brown. Doesn't sound very fun to me.) Thankfully, we weren't lacking graham crackers (which don't exist in England), thanks to my sweet mom. I know she loves me because she sends me things that I can't find here. 

Things like graham crackers. And good peanut butter. 

Anyway, they were super messy, but that's half the fun. And Sandlot was wonderful, as always. That's just one of those films that never gets old. Mostly because of scenes like this:

Love it.