Pink.

On the last Friday of every month, we have a dress down day at work. The purpose is twofold: (1) We get to wear more casual clothes, and (2) we have the opportunity to support a charity.

 
This month, our dress down day fell on "Wear it Pink Day," which is Breast Cancer Campaign's biggest fundraiser. So naturally, we've been asked to wear pink.

The problem is I don't own anything pink. Not a single thing.
 

Okay, that's a lie. My Hillsong Kids Team t-shirt is pink. But that's a little too casual for the office...even on a dress down day.
 

I couldn't just not wear pink, though, because I didn't want my office to think that I hated breast cancer awareness. That would be bad. So I went out and bought a simple fitted tee that was only slightly more expensive than a cup of coffee. Not bad.
 

Now, I should probably also mention that I've seen Mean Girls more times than I care to admit. So many times that I can quote it -- not just the memorable quotes, either. If you put that film on mute, I'm fairly confident I could recite the entire script as it played. Which means that, obviously, a slew of Mean Girls references came to mind when I found out we were supposed to wear pink. Especially since when we found out, one of the women in my office was upset because she happened to be wearing pink that day -- two days early. Now, if you're a Mean Girls fan, you probably know where I'm going with this. That's right. It was a Wednesday...
 

 
Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that things would be so much easier if I just had a Damien in my life to lend me a giant pink polo or something. Unfortunately, I don't.
 
Oh well. At least I got to wear jeans to the office.

 
Happy Friday!
  

"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.
 

This isn't The Holiday, I'm not Cameron Diaz, and I'm not in love.

We watched The Holiday a couple of weeks after I got here. In case you've forgotten, that's the one where Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet trade houses for Christmas. In the film, the American (Diaz) falls in love with a Brit (Jude Law), who literally shows up on her doorstep right after she arrives in England. The girls and I laughed about how it should give me great hope for romance here in the UK, as I'm kind of in a similar situation.  

It only took like a day for them to fall in love in the film. Yet, here I am almost 3 months later, and Jude Law has yet to knock on my door. In fact, I haven’t met anyone I’m interested in. Granted, I don't have movie star looks, and that's a chick flick (aka, completely unrealistic), so I suppose I shouldn't have such high expectations. 

But the other night, Sheila (our romance resident expert--the girl's got men lining queuing up to get a chance to go out with her) figured out what was wrong. She was looking through a lot of my pictures and pointed out that the vast majority of the guys I hang out with at home are quite attractive, which is bound to have had some sort of influence on my tastes. I think her exact words were, "Oh my days. All these guys are really fit! No wonder you haven't found anybody here. You're used to a whole different standard!"  

Now, part of the issue is that I'm not Sheila. I'm not (and this is Sheila's term) "a lioness" in that I don't "go hunting" for men. Like, not ever. I doubt I'll ever be that girl. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

But I still liked her theory. And even though it implies extreme shallowness on my part, I plan to use it as my excuse from now on. Because people do ask...all the time. And because it's more fun than, "Oh I just haven't found anyone I'm particularly interested in...not sure why. Maybe because I'm not really looking?"

So this is a shout out to all my Baylor/Pine Cove guy friends. You're the ones featured most prominently in these pictures, so clearly it's all your fault. Thanks for being so attractive that you've ruined me for all these British blokes.  

It makes it much easier to concentrate on my studies.