Three Down, Three To Go

In the past two weeks I've hit the halfway point of my visa. Legally I must be out of the country in three months--so if you're coming, come in January or February!

In Which Theresa Suffers from Post-Friend Depression

It was fantastic having Esther (a friend from the UofI) and Rich (a Welsh friend who studied abroad at the UofI) visit for Thanksgiving--Rich commented that it "felt like we were in Illinois." To an extent it was true: after 10 minutes' discussion on what we'd missed out on in the past months it was as if we'd seen each other only weeks before. We all spent Spring Break together last year on a massive roadtrip to Florida, so have proven we can coexist peacefully--and it was delightful sharing a room with them and waking up with friends to talk to in the morning and meet up with after work.

In Which Britain Is Annoying

Of course, after Rich left on Saturday last I fell in to a deep Post Friend Depression like I always do, and spent Sunday in bed recuperating (hey, I read an entire book). I got annoyed by Britain last week--all the little things that tick me off just started adding up. To wit:

You can choose to wash your hands with a scalding hot tap or an ice-cold one--why not have just one?

All Christmas tree lights come in circles, not strings. Supposedly it makes it easier to put on trees, says my boss, but I'm not buying it.

There's no chance of a White Christmas--instead it's rainy every other day and it's pitch black at 4.30 p.m.

NO shops are open for more than six hours on Sundays (it's the law), so forget about grocery shopping past 5 p.m. Apparently people don't need to eat or shop!

In Which The Good Side is Mentioned

That said, there are some wonderful things that counterbalance all the oddities and annoyances. Take Christmas tree lights, for instance. Here, they're called "fairy lights." Awww! Also:

It's hilarious to tell someone something they weren't expecting and have them say "Crumbs!" in response

British men are seen as sex symbols, and it's more than okay--even encouraged--for them to be shown half-naked on the television. My flatmates and I love the ads showing naked men to sell perfume (Lacoste) and alcohol (Archer's Schnapps: "It's for the ladies"). Sex sells, and it's about time someone realised women can be appealed to the same way as men!

And while on the subject of European men: they're not afraid to be emasculated the way American men are. They'll drink cranberry-and-vodkas or champagne cocktails, normally seen as "chick drinks," and not care, and they're not afraid to wear pink or jeans that show off their butts. Way to go, guys!

A Word on Thanksgiving

You've probably viewed the Thanksgiving pictures, so I'll say a bit about it now. It was fantastic! We had loads of people there: American, English, Scottish, Welsh, Greek, Chinese, Australian, South African. For many it was their first-ever Thanksgiving, so they adored how we all held hands and said what we were thankful for. The yams went over a treat, and no one had ever had green bean casserole. Nor had any of us had duck and chicken for Thanksgiving (the turkeys were sold out--oh well!).

In Which Theresa Fails At Cooking...Yet Again

The last time I had Thanksgiving in Wales I attempted to make the time-honoured Wise Family recipe my aunt brings to every gathering. Aunt Betty's Pretzel Salad consists of a layer of pretzels on which sits Cool Whip topped with strawberry Jello. It was a dismal failure last time, but I was determined that it work, especially with the assistance of Rich and Esther. Well, all three of us managed to read the directions wrong and mixed a cup of sugar in with the pretzels instead of the whipped cream. Ooops! Add on the fact that Cool Whip isn't sold in this country, thus lacking the proper density to hold the Jello on top, and we ended up with a pink whipped cream/jelly (as they call it here) mix. A few brave souls took huge bites at dinner before gagging. It was an utter and complete disaster! Completely inedible, and believe me, we tried. As my mom pointed out, "I guess you just can't make it out of the U.S."

That said, I triumphed with another family recipe: Aunt Connie's Snicker Salad. Whipped cream, apples, bananas and Snickers, and you have yourself a hit with the locals. So it wasn't all bad.

In fact, Thanksgiving was perfect. Perfect food, old friends (Esther, Rich and Nikos), new friends (Tom and my flatmates), new faces (Brenna's music friends)--all combined for a fantastic evening.

In Which Rich And I Soak Up the Atmosphere

Esther left early on Friday, leaving me and Rich up to our own devices until his departure. We headed to Kensington Gardens (where a squirrel ran up Rich's leg) and walked by Kensington Palace (location of the huge outpouring of flowers after Di's death), then up to Notting Hill. We followed the crowd and were suddenly on Portobello Road during the market. Neither one of us was expecting that! It was fantastic walking along looking at everything, and reinforced why I love London so much: you never know what you're going to run into, because it's all so close.

In Which Theresa Gets Hit On--Unfortunately Not By Girls

So I've been a hit with the lads this week: Monday in a supermarket two scuzzy guys went and bought Bailey's Glides because I had (try them, they're good), and asked me back to their flat to drink them. No thanks. Wednesday I was looking at a map in Piccadilly Tube Station and a loser guy and his friend offered help, both directionally and sexually. Double no thanks! But when I went to London's largest lesbian bar not a single girl hit on me. But I get ahead of myself.

In Which I Go To A Club So Exclusive No One Can Find It

I'd met Raphael (he's German, go figure) at the ball last month, and we finally met up in Soho at a private members-only bar, Milk & Honey so exclusive there's no sign and no address published anywhere. Okay, it worked--I was impressed! Raphael has the typical impressive lifestyle: went to an Ivy League school, has worked in Japan, New York, London, Paris. Jets off to NYC, LA, Germany at a moment's notice (which is why it took so long to meet up), and has even been to Antarctica. I mean, who hasn't, right? Ah, for the Eurotrash lifestyle!

In Which My Lesbian Disguise Didn't Work

After 66 pounds' worth of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, we headed to the "Candy Bar," the largest lesbian bar in London. I was surprised that Raphael wasn't the only guy (apparently others have the same idea), and also surprised that I was the only girl wearing a skirt in the entire place. Where are the lipstick lesbians? I guess I'm too much of a femme, because not a single girl tried to hit on me. Not even with the tiny rainbow rings I have on one of my earrings giving off the gay vibe! Sigh. I drowned my sorrows with loads more drinks at the aptly-named "The Player," (sister to "Milk & Honey," the first bar), and was um, slightly dehydrated on Thursday.

In Which The Carousing Continues

But that didn't stop me from training down to see my good friends Steven & Emma in Croydon, south of London. I swore off the alcohol, meaning I had just one drink, and enjoyed the oh-so-cheap prices one can get outside of London. And the drama when a drunkard was physically removed from the pub by the barworkers and sat outside on steps cursing at the pub until some police officers walked by. You don't see that in Kensington! It was a fun, but short night. I keep trying to get them to come up, but it's amazing the fear that many Brits have of coming into London when they don't know it very well. I guess I'm the same way--Chicago can make me nervous--but that's without the aid of wonderful mass transportation! C'est la vie, I guess.

In Which I Fill My Mind With Fluff--Educational Fluff

It's amazing what can make me homesick: the X Files. Yes, I have strong associations with watching it the past idyllic summer in Champaign and obsessing over it with my roommate Rebecca. And Red Dwarf on Sundays always reminds me of my family's love for the show. I've been watching so much telly (including Bowling For Columbine and Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood For Love last night, and programmes on Mary Shelley and the wonderful miniseries about Charles II tonight) because a.) there's so much on, and b.) I've been addressing Christmas cards, and c.) I have no friends.

In Which Theresa Complains About Her Social Life Yet Again

Yes, it's gotten bad. Brenna's left for a month, Chrissy's moved to Manchester, and Meredith is leaving for good on Friday. Elizabeth's off to Maine for a month on the 17th. Leaving me with the Japanese guys for a joyous month. And it's the season of Christmas parties so all of my other friends are busy busy busy. Thankfully, I went out to dinner with Tom and his South African girlfriend yesterday (how multi-continental!), so I'm not completely devoid of a social life, but it still sucks sometimes.

Compared to my friends back home, I have an incredible life. As my friend Jeremy told me online tonight: you might not be doing anything, but you're not doing anything in London. And I don't just do nothing: yesterday I went to St Mary Abbot's Church to buy cards, then walked up to Notting Hill. And Friday I went to Trafalgar Square to see the Christmas tree given by Norway each year since 1947 in thanks for assistance during WWII. So yeah, I'm filling the time.

But compared to my European friends my life pales: you've already heard about Raphael (oh, and he's skiing in the Alps a few times this winter. "You should go," he said. "You don't understand," I said, "I've only been skiing in Wisconsin." "What better place to learn than the Alps?" he replied.). My friend Callum has, in the past month, gone scuba diving in Egypt's Red Sea, had a weekend in Oslo, and is coming to London this weekend. Oh, and going to Hogmanay in Edinburgh.

That said, on Friday I'm flying to Strasbourg for a weekend with my old French friends from Swansea. And I purchased my Eurostar ticket: I'll be in France December 30--January 4. Probably not Paris for New Year's--we might head to Nice instead!

Okay, my life rocks, actually.

Off to bed (I'm down with a cold),
Theresa