I declare this week a fail.

You know how they say "beware the Ides of March"? Someone should have said something about the ides of February this week. It seems as though everything I've touched this week has spoiled in some way, and staying positive has been rather trying.

I started the week by picking a massive fight with The Irishman about Life Priorities. Without going into specifics, I acted like a prat and he told me so. So I cried and didn't talk to him for 18 hours. Yes, prat.

The biggest fail of all was learning that our the house we put an offer on is being viewed seriously by a few other couples. One of those couples is taking a builder in with them to cost up doing a lot of renovations that could be done to the house before making an offer. It's a cruel blow, because, while this house has a lot of amazing potential, it is potential that The Irishman and I both dreamed about saving up for and doing slowly. So it feels pretty sad to think that some people with deep pockets might just be able to pay more for something we really want. It left me feeling powerless and depressed. But there is still hope, I suppose; we are still the only people who have actually made an offer on the house at this point.

But a close second was that same day, my anti-Valentines plans were completely dashed. At the end of last year, I spent a good hour scouring the National Theatre website for cheap tickets to see One Man Two Guvnors before James Corden left the cast. I finally found some for Wednesday February 15th, and The Irishman and I planned to use the tickets as an excuse for a night out – just not on Valentines. Until he looked at the tickets and realized they were for the 2:30pm matinee show, not the 7:30pm show. So I requested an emergency half day off from work and felt like a total fool.

Add to all that a pretty bad blunder at work and the fact that I haven't exercised at all since last Tuesday, and by yesterday I felt a little bit useless. But the upside is I've turned it all around in some way... I think. I made up with The Irishman, and feel like we are stronger than ever in our house search and life goals. I've reframed my expectations of the house, and made peace with the fact we may not get it. And our impromptu skive from work was actually really lovely; cocktails at The American Bar at The Savoy and dinner at Spuntino were perfectly timed instead of rushed before / after the show.

I wish I had a way to prevent weeks like this from getting the better of me, but sometimes, especially recently, I've felt like I drag myself across the Friday finish line just to sleep it off on the weekend. I do wonder whether being more consistent with running it would make a difference in my mood and how I handle stress (YES) but also how to make it easier to get out from under the dark clouds and onto the road to run. Running wouldn't have fixed someone else having more money to buy the house I want to buy, nor the fact that I booked tickets to a matinee show rather than an evening show, but it might have helped me laugh it off that little bit quicker.

PS This post is also dedicated to my lady friend who I ALSO had words with this week but whom is still  in my corner and who I'm lucky enough to have my back through all of this LIFE STUFF. 

2011 resolutions recap 1 month in

So tomorrow is the end of January which means I'm one month into my New Years resolutions. I thought it might be good to do a self-assessment to see where I'm at.

1. Lose weight
Surprisingly, I'm doing okay here! I've definitely slimmed down this month through cutting out alcohol, sugar, eating primarily from the veg box and getting back into running. I will say that the veg box eating is really satisfying from both epicurean and achievement aspects. I mean, I definitely feel good because my nutrition is better but also it is bloody hard to figure out what kind of tasty treats one can whip up from a load of cabbage, carrots, onions, leeks, and kale... sometimes with a random squash thrown in for good measure. The Irishman and I have definitely expanded our cooking repertoire and I think we are both pleased about the results. Let me say that kale chips are by far one of the most amazing things I've ever eaten. Please try them out for yourself!

So yes, I've lost about 9lbs this month and I've hit my wall. It's going to be really hard to get the rest of the weight off - I'm going to have to work harder at running as I'm only really managing to get 2-3 runs in a week at this point and I still haven't gotten myself to a yoga class. So February will be about fulfilling the rest of my goals from a health point of view. Also, I've reintroduced alcohol and meat... so I'm going to have to work hard to also make sure I don't go backwards now that I'm allowed to go out and have some wine.

2. Be better with money
Argh, this one, not so good. I was doing pretty well for most of the month and then I had my friend here for a week and I found myself in the sales. Yikes! I didn't get much, but I did buy things on sale that I didn't ever intend to like new cushions for the sofa, a book on typography, a Breton top that I'd wanted forever... and then spent a tad bit more than I thought I would on some things I knew I had to get like some saucy lingerie for my friend's bridal shower. Sigh. So February means a renewed discipline and commitment to frugal living.

3. Be more creative
So yay, I went to screenprinting classes! I am keeping my sketchbook up to date. I battened down the hatches and wrote my last submission to my parent company's Under 30 Essay competition, despite hating the prompt and being frustrated at not having received feedback on my last 2 submissions. I think I'm off to a good start, but I do think that this one will also be difficult to maintain; as ever, I have a philosophical internal struggle on the purpose of art for me - am I an artist? what role does it play in my life? what purpose does my artistic output serve? I think that maybe this year will be a bit of trying to understand how to reconcile this argument.

How are your resolutions going? Or should I not ask? Keep the faith, guys!

City Cat and Country Cat

Editor's note: I started this post on Tuesday and am only now finishing it and posting it. Apologies for the delay in weekend reporting!

This past weekend, the Irishman and I spent an enjoyable Sunday in Salisbury where some of his uni friends as well as friends of theirs who have become our friends as well. They, and we, and another uni friend who lives in Portsmouth spent the day bouncing babies and eating a lovely Sunday roast in front of a rather large fire in an old country pub while drinking entirely too much wine. When it came time for us to bundle up and head to the train for our return to London, I had one of those moments of desperation that equates, roughly, with "what am I doing with my life". Why am I busting my butt to earn a decent wage to afford my centrally located shoebox apartment? Why am I risking breaking my ankle tottering around in shoe-boots on ice in order to look fashion-fierce in an industry focused on image? Why am I always worried about things that, when the weekend comes, always seem so inconsequential? WHY DON'T I HAVE A DOG?!

Sometimes when I come back from being a Country Cat, hanging out in a small village and enjoying the simple pleasures of food, friends, and family, I start to think about whether I may be approaching the time when I need to make the life changes that scare me the most: moving out of the city, rethinking my career, essentially settling down. Those decisions feel like such a failure to someone like me who has spent most of my adult life stomping through the windy corridors of big international cities with reckless abandon. To admit to myself that I might not want to live like that anymore is absolutely terrifying - it's what I know and [I thought] I love. But maybe it's not enough anymore?

Mom-Mom said something particularly interesting to me about all of this nonsense over the summer; she asked me, and I quote: "when are you going to stop running around wasting time and settle down and start living your life?" She of course was referencing getting married and having babies and at the time, I told her that I was in fact living my life and that I liked it at the moment thankyouverymuch. But recently I had an epiphany and it dawned on me just what she was asking me and I realized that I don't really have the answer. Because saying to myself that having the right Chanel nail polish isn't actually living is a pretty big statement and blows a big hole in the identity I've fashioned for myself up to now. Going further and asking myself what I'm building and creating and making with my life right now, besides a very fashionable collection of insensible footwear, deepens the hole and makes me question whether I'm a City Cat after all.

Yikes. How deep! Weekend afternoons in the country aren't supposed to be so thought-provoking! But to be honest, it's probably been a long time coming. I'm rapidly approaching 30 (deep breath, exhale) and I suppose all people start to review their current life-states at that point. So I'm going to roll with it, and see where it leads me. I'm not sure whether it will be outside of the M25, but I suspect it may lead to more cooking, more moderation, and more realistic expectations of who and what I want to be.

But hopefully still some gorgeously in-sensible shoes.



Carvela Ganges

Don't worry, I'm still alive!

If one of the most fundamental things about blogging is consistency, clearly I am not exactly delivering. Life has been so crazy since we went to Madrid, and during the little downtime I've had I've found myself just wanting to spend time with The Irishman and relax. But I recognize I've been neglecting you guys here on Bloody Brill, so here's a glimpse of my life currently and some of the little joys I've been able to fit in over the last few weeks:

Work
I told you all I'm now working on an exciting new project that involves shopping (woot!) - but what I didn't tell you, and didn't really understand myself until recently, is that I'm working on it in addition to all of my other projects. So it's been a gruelling schedule of getting to work for 8am and going-going-going-nonstop until 8pm when I leave for home absolutely shattered and flop on the couch for Masterchef Professional. Last week the poor Irishman said to me that he felt like he hadn't seen me all week and was really looking forward to spending a nice relaxing weekend together... and I had to work all day Saturday. Sigh. There is hopefully an end in sight, and that is when I get back from...

USA!
The Irishman and I are flying off to America on Thursday for my annual pilgrimage. We're going for 2.5 weeks and visiting my brother in Baltimore, my bestie in Washington DC, my other bestie in Cincinnati, The Irishman's Irish bestie in Columbus, mah peeps in NYC, and finally my family in NJ for Thanksgiving. I'm frantically trying to run around London to acquire the necessary imports and gifts, including but not limited to Cadbury advent calendars, mulled wine spice mix, and artisanal ales. I personally cannot wait to go - I feel like I haven't seen my friends and family for so long and I just need a break and the kind of pampering and feeding that only a mother can provide.

Food
Speaking of food, The Irishman and I held our first dinner party last Saturday evening. Well, I say WE but all of the credit goes to The Irishman as he slaved over the stove and oven while I was chained to my laptop in the office. His menu of pheasant, pumpkin mash, curly kale, with a starter of prawns in Pernod and dessert of homemade chilli chocolate ice cream and chocolate fondant was a huge success, and we're very pleased that we were able to entertain in our, ah, shall we say, COZY (read: small) flat. My punishment for working all day and leaving him to do the prep was I had to wash all of the dishes - and that pretty much meant all of the dishes and cooking utensils we own. It was an effort with an hangover on Sunday morning. I did get to do my own cheffing though; we had half of a pumpkin left from the mash, which The Irishman cooked for me according to this helpful recipe so I could bake Pumpkin Chocolate Chip cookies. YUM. They are the essence of fall, and so easy and delicious, and it was really comfort food for me. I love them so much that I'm going to share the recipe for them:

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies (courtesy of Mom)

Preheat the oven to 375°F / 200°C

Combine:
1 c pumpkin puree (Libbys, or make your own!)
1 c sugar
1/2 c butter
1 tbsp grated orange peel

Add in:
2 c flour
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt

Mix in:
1/2 c chocolate chips

Place on baking sheets in quarter-size balls and bake 8-10 minutes until lightly brown on the edges. They should be dense, chewy, and delicious!

Fall, etc
All this time that my life has been on overdrive, the autumn season has been in full swing. My cycle ride to work is down streets of vibrantly colored trees, and the window in my bathroom looks out on a flaming orange tree across the street. With the time change last week, it's properly dark now by 5:30pm and though the weather has been unseasonably warm, there is still a nip in the air laden with the scent of decomposing leaves and vegetation. My uniform is my tweedy jacket and wine colored silk scarf, adorned with a poppy and sometimes my new brown cloche, so I look quite cozy cycling around town. Last night was Bonfire Night and I was surrounded by the sound of fireworks into the wee hours. It's like the official kick-off of the winter season, and The Irishman and I are off to Battersea Park for the fireworks display this evening. Despite all of my stress and exhaustion, it's these little events marking the passage of time and season that reassure me that I'm still alive even if there are days when I feel like falling over dead. Even if the weather is chilly, these things give me a warm glow.

Weekend in review

The Irishman and I spent this past weekend rediscovering our apartment. Despite our love of travel and exploring new places, perhaps the one downside is that upon returning home there is many times a sense of "where am I" and possibly more disturbing - "where's my ." The Irishman and I have both been all over Europe this autumn and we both had the sense that our flat is hiding key things (me, some shoes, The Irishman, some gadgets) and cleverly disguising them under a layer of dustbunnies. So we devoted Sunday to uncovering our stuff and deep cleaning in the process.

It was boring. Really boring. Not only because it was bookended by running (which was hard) and folding laundry (not hard but tedious), but because frankly weekends away in other cities or spent exploring the nooks and crannies of London are much more agreeable than the tasks you HAVE to do in order to live a civilised existence. We of course did nice things this weekend - we did a big green market shop and I got some gourds to decorate with, and we bought our annual poppies, and we caught up on both Mad Men and True Blood episodes. But I couldn't help feeling a little jealous of all of the people sitting at the sidewalk cafes in Islington, enjoying coffee and cake and the brief sunlight, while I lugged cleaning supplies back from Sainsburys to scour my tub.

It just goes to show you: expat life is, well, life after all, and has just as many boring ordinary bits as life in your home country. Bah.

A la mode

So! This past week was London Fashion Week, ending today, running simultaneously alongside the London Design Festival - basically meaning the entire city (well, at least East London) has been overrun with people wearing fantastic outfits in chic locations looking at beautiful things. I'll be attending a few London Design Festival events, including Tent London and the AppLounge and Hel Yes!, a Finnish pop-up restaurant. I've also already dragged The Irishman down to Trafalgar Square to check out the Outrace robots painting with light. Here's a photo I snapped over the weekend of the robots arms:

As for fashion, well - I'm not on trend (OT) enough to go to the shows but let me tell you it is fall and therefore the shops are all crammed chockablocka with A/W collections. Capes, sweaters, trousers, boots ... I'm totally overwhelmed with excitement and am lusting after quite a lot of items. I recently was awarded a small bonus from work and have some cash with which to treat myself, and I'm tempted nearly daily to blow it on the high street in Uniqlo or French Connection (just look at this cape!). But instead I've decided to invest in something wonderful, and I've found an out-of-season bag from Vivienne Westwood in a classic shape that I have been dreaming about for a week now.



Swoon.

In other fashion news though, I've been spotting a totally retro 90s fashion icon making a big return here in London: the Doc Marten 8-hole boot.



On my bike ride in, I noticed no less than four girls wearing them. Thing is, they're like fashion now - we're not talking about grunge girls, more fashionistas. Seeing these ladies wearing them confidently as a fashion statement made me really wish I still had my trusty old 8-holes, though I'd had them for so long and wore them so far down that they were actually a health hazard in any sort of inclement weather. I remember sliding around the streets of NYC in them and nearly biting the pavement far too many times - and THAT is why I don't even try to go to any sort of Fashion Week events.

A recap of the first week of fall

Monday: I bought new tights at M&S - 3 for £8, not bad. I started the habit of throwing my tights out every spring when the weather is firmly warm, so that when it is time to re-embrace covered legs I'm not dredging up holey, pilled, and stretched out hosiery. The plus side is that the feeling of new tights is glorious.

Tuesday: I wore a wool jacket and scarf. Enough said.

Wednesday: It was so dark when my yoga class ended that I needed to put my bike lights on for the ride home.

Thursday: It was so cold that night that I wished for the heavier duvet.

Friday: It is officially no longer rosé season, and I opted for red wine at the pub.

Saturday: I went to Liberty to find that the Christmas shop is now open on the top floor, but the Irishman deemed it too early for us to visit.

Sunday: I switched my wardrobe over, putting summer clothes in storage and welcoming my winter dresses back into rotatio

Some big news that explains my lack of posting...

Hi friends, long time no chatter. I apologize for that, but I think my excuse is pretty good:

I moved in with The Irishman.

[cue squealing]

I've never lived with a partner before (or boyfriend, as one would say in the US), and, while I've no doubt that The Irishman is the loveliest man I've ever met, I like to think of myself as the quintessential SINGLE INDEPENDENT LADY and therefore have no need for a man, let alone to cohabitate with one. I've been having mini panic attacks for the last month. DCKatastrophe gave me a stern talking to a few weeks ago, though, and lovingly sent me her well-worn copy of "The Good Girl's Guide to Living in Sin" so I could prepare myself.

And prepare I did. When I finally made the decision to take the plunge, The Irishman and I saw a few apartments in our price range and winced at how gross they were. We decided to be responsible and I moved into his apartment, a bigger than normal 1-bed flat near Highbury. I was month-to-month at my old flat so I scheduled the move for this past Saturday, 31 July. Arsenal, however, had other plans; Premiership football kicked off on Saturday, and parking regulations meant we wouldn't be able to park infront of the apartment to unload a car or van. So at very short notice, I had to fast-forward my plans and have everything packed and ready to go on Friday night. Nevermind that I had 2 straight 12-hour days at work last week with clients in from out of town. Yeesh. I was super bummed because I had been looking forward to one last Friday night on my own, with my roomies, eating mac-n-cheese from the box on the sofa while drunk after a night at the pub, watching bad tv and laughing.

Again, its not that I objected to moving in with The Irishman, or even didn't want to, but I really grieved for the things I would lose - my freedom being one, and my lovely roommates being another. I was living in a share with a couple and another roomie for a year and they were awesome. We really felt like a little family and somehow our house seemed to absorb everyone into quiet corners so many days we would all be home and I would feel like I was home alone for hours. They put up with my knitting and my parents visits, and I contributed occasional homemade chocolate chip cookies. If you ever wanted to chill out in the garden with some rose, my roommates (at least one of them) were game. Luckily for me, The Irishman's place (sorry, OUR place) is only 10 minutes up the road from my old share, still in leafy Islington, so I can still see them all.

So yeah. The move is done and we spent all weekend trying to find places to put STUFF. You've read it here first people - The Irishman has a lot of shoes. Not as many as me, but a lot more than you'd think! And between us, there are more electronic gadget chargers, extension cords, cables, etc, etc. It's mind-boggling. We only had two minor tiffs during the whole process, which is pretty good overall. We're off to IKEA on Thursday, though, for the requisite flat-pack furniture shopping trip, so expect an update on that tally then. Last night I got a bit stroppy as we both sort of lapsed into our independent-person selves: we spent 2 hours on the sofa watching the same program but absorbed into our own worlds. It sort of hit me that this is it, and its up to us to decide how we want to live – together. Scary. Yet ever so exciting.

A hot and crazy summer

You know when life is just crazy, and there is so much going on that you want a vacation just so you don't have anyplace else to go? Yeah, that's me! This summer has been hot and heavy, with my weekends just as scheduled as my workdays. Last weekend my parents stopped by on their way to France, so Saturday evening the Irishman and I snuck in a quick date by going to ClerkFeast - an open air urban picnic that was part of the London Festival of Architecture. Held in an old, unused gas station, it was a big buffet of lovely food donated by restaurants like Hix Oysters, The Modern Pantry, and St John's. We drank English wine from Chapel Down, which was a revelation it was so good, and sat on blanket on the carport and watched the sun go down. It was magical.



And a good thing too because I then spent all day Sunday with my parents. Somehow I got a severe sunburn after sitting in my garden for all of an hour, which was unpleasant, but I was actually okay with it because it meant that I'm not dreaming the amazing summer we're having here. After a nice roast at The Albion, we went up on the London Eye, which I've never done and am pleased I did but I think once was enough for me. I had a bit of vertigo at the tippy top and every time the Irishman and my dad leaned over to look at something I got a bit freaked out. Amazing views though.



My parents left for France on Wednesday, so after meeting them on Monday and Tuesday nights I was happy to return to my yoga class. I haven't actually stretched like that in so long and I left on my bike resolving to renew my personal vow of making my Wednesday yoga class a priority. Speaking of bikes, I've been riding my new steed for a few weeks now. Meet Diana Ross!



Diana Ross was my friend Rose's bike. When she left London about two months ago to return to New Zealand, I took custody of her and have been getting to know her and her quirks. She is a true ladies bike, with a very low cross bar, so I don't have to throw my leg over the back and embarrass myself in a skirt. She only has 3 speeds - flat, little hill, big hill - and basically she's just really cute! I'm enjoying riding her around town.

I'm sitting here writing all of this with a lovely skinned knee and the remnants of hangover, thanks to this year's 2nd annual 4th of July kickball game (held a week late due to scheduling difficulties). It was violent match, much like the World Cup Final I've just been watching, and yet again the Colonies were creamed by the Commonwealth. I just don't get it. Anyway, I have to go get some first aid cream so I don't have yet another scar. At least the World Cup is over - I can't take this much sport. Especially when I lose!

Blast from the Past

It's been quite a while since I've written a Week in Review post. When I first moved to London, it seemed like every week was full of new and exciting events to report; but I quickly established a routine and found that there wasn't much for me to write about that was different from the past week.

This week, however, so many events took place that didn't require a full post, but do merit mention. So here we go - the resurrection of the Week in Review!

Monday: the usual, working late. Sigh. But I did find out that my good friend Jon is almost certainly moving to Paris this fall so I get to start planning a long Parisian weekend with him and his lovely girlfriend Alix, full of wine, cheese, and philosophical discussions about life and love. Mais oui!

Tuesday: the usual, part 2, working late. I then sent an email with incorrect information to my boss's boss's boss who used it in a call with my company's CEO. When I discovered my mistake, I sent an email of apology and correction and sat back to wait for my sacking. Instead, I received a really nice email telling me it was okay and that I really deserved my upcoming 2 week holiday. Phew.

Wednesday: I woke up relieved only to find out that Teddy Kennedy passed away. What a sad way to start the day. I really loved Teddy Kennedy, and found him to be an inspirational man. He was, in my estimation, the most human of the Kennedy brothers; he lived a full life, full of triumph and tragedy, rather than dying young and elevated to cultural and political icons. Whether you hated or admired him as a man or politician, you can't deny the indelible mark he left on the American social landscape.

Wednesday I also had an epic journey out to a suburb of London to visit my client's office. To make a long story short, I had to walk from the train station to their HQ (30 minutes - good thing I wasn't wearing heels) and during the walk I sliced my finger open on my broken umbrella. How awful. It ended up okay, though, and I even made it back to London in time for my yoga class.

Thursday: The Irishman's birthday! We had a lovely lovely meal at a restaurant in my neighborhood, Fig. It was our first time there and it was delicious. We'll definitely go back.

Friday: Ugh. Worked really late. Treated myself to a delicious curry and True Blood to make up for it.

And now, it's Bank Holiday Weekend! Saturday Morning Kitchen is back, and I'm spending the weekend packing and preparing for my upcoming holiday. Hurrah!

All of the things going on in London while I haven't been blogging.

I recognize that I haven't really updated Bloody Brilliant with anything about London in a while. I thought about all of the things that have happened since my last post, and it's been a lot! So here is a little "Month in Review" for July.

Amwell Village Fete




One of my favorite things about London, and England, really, is the village fete. Sort of like a town fair, the village fete is a really great gathering of people and businesses in a community. Village fetes happen all over London, in various little neighborhoods and corners of the city. They also take place out in villages throughout England. Earlier in July, a small hidden gem of a neighborhood along my new walk to work, Amwell Village, hosted a fete and it was absolutely charming. The theme was Through the Looking Glass, and there were costumed players and Madhatter Tea Party tables along the road. My friends Rose and Emily had a stand at the fete selling their crafts and emptying their closets, so I wandered down with the Irishman to say hi.

Pierogies



The Irishman and I have been cooking a lot, and few weekends ago we went chef-crazy and made our own raviolis that turned out a lot more like pierogies. We used a Jamie Oliver recipe for roasted red onion, Maris Piper potato, and balsamic vinegar raviolis; I wasn't really thinking straight until I took the first bite, but the texture and filling made them more like raviolis. The Irishman, despite the influx of Polish workers into Ireland and the UK, has never had pierogies, so it was not only educational to make but to eat as well. We had to improvise, as you can see...



The Notting Hill Traveler's Bookshop

A few weeks ago I was in Notting Hill looking for a different bookshop – a cookbook shop called Books for Cooks – when I stumbled on the famous Travel Bookshop from the movie Notting Hill. A lot of other Americans found it too (obviously).



Karma Kab

Finally, someone at work hired the most excellent Karma Kab to transfer people to an event. It is a fabulous, glittery, fake-flower-ful mode of transportation. People were giddy when it pulled up outside, complete with Hawaiian kab driver, and we all posed for pictures with it. Two days later, I saw it cruising on the streets of London! I really want a ride in it soon... hint hint.

Weeks 7 + 8: Nesting

Again there has been too much going on for proper weekly posts, but I think I deserve a break considering I just moved into my new flat and have been occupied solely with decorating, organizing, unpacking, yelling at the landlord, etc.

315 Upper Street pretty much rocks. Of course, as with any apartment, there are annoying/disappointg little things that escaped notice during the first viewing. For example, the bathroom was designed by men, for men. The mirror is on the left hand side of the sink. The sink has hot and cold faucets, but not stopper to fill the basin and mix. There is no toilet paper holder (men are FINE with keeping the roll on the back chamber), and absolutely NO storage. No medicine chest, no shelves, nothing. Thankfully the former tenants sold us a lot of household goods, including an IKEA cd shelf that was used for bathroom product storage. Obviously two girls have a lot more personal hygiene products, and therefore the tall skinny shelving unit is woefully inadequate.

Another weird thing about the apartment is that EVERY ROOM has a door. One wants a door on the bathroom and the bedrooms, but the kitchen and the lounge (living room) have them too. Being the handy, crafty girl and daughter-of-my-father that I am, I attempted to take the doors off the lounge and kitchen, but they have weird gear chains in the middle of the doors. Phil of course told me how to remove those, but they are full of grease and one set is painted over. So they are now functioning as drying racks for les sheets.

Oh, the sheets. THE SHEETS. They are worth every pence. Sliding beneath my duvet and snuggling against my four medium/firm goose down pillows every night is an absolute joy. Unfortunately, the hubbub and commotion of Upper Street makes falling (and staying) asleep difficult, but I'm slowly adjusting.

An apartment wouldn't be an apartment without landlord issues. We moved in to find mold still in the bathroom, a vent fan that didn't work, a communal hallway light that did not turn on, and a hideously large sofa that took up the entire living room. One phone call fixed all of these problems, except the sofa. The sofa, it turns out, was purchased expressly for us and was to stay in this apartment unless we paid a £90 restocking fee to the store. Several heated exchages resulted in no change from the landlord, so Big Blue is here to stay. Creative interior design and organization fixed the space problem, and a large khaki sheet from IKEA will hopefully solve the BLUE problem. GRRRR. Is it so wrong to want a well-designed home?!

Despite these niggling details (and more - like why do we not have a deadlbolt lock on the door to the apt? why does this place collect more dust than Utah during a drought? why does the weight fall out of my shade every time I open my bedroom window?), I love 315. It is a cozy place, and its slowly becoming more and more a home every day.

Weeks 5 + 6: Blur

Last weekend was ridiculous and I didn't have a chance to write a proper Week in Review, and this week was more of the same so we'll just wrap the two weeks into one post and call it a fortnight (I think that's what a fortnight is...?).

Last week and this week at work were crazy; clients signed off on tons of new work, and it is good to be busy and crazy again. Work is also getting more comfortable, as I establish relationships with various people who are integral to getting work done in the office. I can ask them to review work, for opinion, and have general conversations about client work much more confidently, so I feel much more at ease in this new work environment.

Besides this positive development at work, nothing much more is going on beyond preparing to move into my new apartment, which happens first thing Wednesday morning. In addition to my posh bed linens, I've also picked up posh organic cotton towels from the same store and an Apple Airport wireless internet router. The plan is that everything else will come from IKEA, where I will go and charge up a storm next Saturday on my brand-new British Pound Sterling currency credit card. Hopefully, they will also have a delivery service that will pick up my purchases and take them to my flat for me, otherwise it looks like Ashley and I will be tackling the tube laden down with modern Swedish furniture and home goods!

London weather has been good for a while; despite spots of rain here and there, the sun has been out and its been warm for quite a spell. Watch me jinx it and the rest of the week it will pour. But one can't quite help getting excited about the weather; when it's sunny, the city takes on a vibrancy and energy that I've never seen anywhere else before. Maybe because the rain makes everyone introspective, moody, quiet, and sullen, the sun has the opposite effect of bringing smiles to faces and springs to steps. Whatever it is, I love London in the sun; after two weekends of wonderful weather, I never want it to stop!

Week 4: A blur

Well! I can't believe I'm sitting here writing this again - it feels like I wrote last week's "Week in Review" just yesterday. It was a short week this week - we had Monday off here, for Bank Holiday, and work was pretty intense Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Friday I spent in Amsterdam with my client on a whirlwind, one-day trip for sixteen hours, and then all of a sudden it was the weekend again. It was kind of like being back in New York - getting to work early, working late, running, repeat. I'm grateful for the uptick in work, because at least I have something to keep me occupied until I move into my apartment on June 18.

Speaking of June 18, I spent this weekend doing a lot of recon for my new home. After sleeping in on Saturday and doing my run, I headed into town and saw Sex in the City the Movie with Ashley in my new neighborhood (review to come). After the movie, we ate at a nice Indian place half a block from our new place and checked out a few pubs in the 'hood. Angel Islington is a pretty happening neighborhood, and there is no shortage of good restaurants and pubs to help us do some damage.

Sunday, after sleeping on Ashley's host's couch (as per usual), Ashley and I ventured east to Spitalfield's market and the Columbia Road flower market. Spitalfield's was disappointing, because we were looking for vegetables to cook with, but the Columbia Road flower market was great. Lots of flower sellers yelling about 2 lavender plants for a fiver and selling flats of impatiens for £1. The shops along Columbia Road were also fun - lots of good antique and design-y houseware places. Ashley and I did a lot of window-shopping and planning for our apartment's decor - planters with red geraniums for our balcony, herbs for our kitchen, and cool things to put on our walls and shelves.

Since we didn't get vegetables ("veg") from farmers, we had to go to the next-best-place - Sainsburys. Note to self: do not do a big shopping trip on Sunday, because so is everyone else in Angel Islington. After about 25 minutes in line, Ashley and I went back to her flat and cooked traditional Sunday roast. Who knew it took 20 min per pound to cook a chicken... and that said chicken was weighed in kilograms. Despite that little hiccup, the chicken came out awesome and the sides (the "veg") were good too. Another note to self: when roasting fennel, set timer, and do not forget that the fennel is in the oven while your friend cracks you up at the dinner table and you allow the fennel to burn to a crisp. Sigh.

Week 3: Freebird

So! Happy Memorial Day to all of you jerks in the US who enjoyed a gloriously sunny three-day weekend. We had a three-day weekend too, you know, but it was rainy – so rainy, infact, that I removed "New York" from my iGoogle Weather.com application. Seeing the cute little yellow suns next to New York contrasted with the boring clouds next to London each day was making me a little feisty.

Anyway, this weekend was my first official Bank Holiday weekend. I guess I technically had a bank holiday weekend my first weekend in London, but I had just landed and was staying at Le Travelodge of King's Cross so I don't really count that. I spent my weekend with friends (see next post), doing regular things like shopping and chatting and getting coffee, so it was relaxing and quite reassuring. I didn't leave town like many people I know, but it was good to spend a weekend in a familiar mode of waking up late, meeting up with people who know me well, and just ambling through the day with no particular plans. It was quite New York in that way, and that made it comfortable.

Adding to my comfort is a thought I had this week, that the flipside of people I know back in the States continuing in their lives without me is that I am also continuing in my life without them. I realized on the train one night that any restrictions I felt in New York have been completely relaxed; like I was wearing a very tight dress and suddenly had the laces undone, I feel like I can breathe deeply on my own for the first time in a very long time. Maybe it's because my new cell phone only has ten numbers in it, and 5 of them are British. Maybe it's because I email people, I instant message them, I even call them, but there is nothing forcing me to see them, to make plans with them – there are no obligations. Obviously I miss everyone I left in the US, but never in my life have I been so truly free to do whatever I want, whenever I want. There are no social plans for me to bail on, no one expecting me to spend time with them because I haven't seen them in two weeks, no one telling me they're pissed at me for not getting back to them about that thing they sent me three weeks ago and it got lost in the inbox of one of my three email addresses because it just wasn't as important as the other 15 things that got lost in my inbox that day.

Breathing is really quite nice. (It's very British to say something is "Quite nice", especially when referring to food - "Pizza Express is quite nice"). It allows your brain to function on a completely different level. I feel much more attentive to the world, I see more, I notice more, I think more complete thoughts. I spend the afternoon at the Victoria & Albert Museum today, and filled four pages of my Moleskin with ideas about culture, art & design, and various other topics for papers I may or may not write. I sketched things, I wandered, and I was completely content. Without restrictions on time, behavior, or actions, creativity seems much more readily available to me. I'm so excited by the possibilities it holds.

You know when someone tells you something, and you know it's important, but you don't quite "get it"? Jane, the therapist I was seeing in New York, told me a lot of those somethings, and one of them is finally sinking in: she tried to stress to me that I need to live with myself at the center of my own universe - not self-centered, but starting out with me in the center and working out from there. I never quite understood what she meant, but I finally do. Being in London, truly on my own for the very first time in a long time and ready for the challenge, has given me a rare opportunity to put myself first in every part of my life. I feel completely in control of myself, and it's a wonderful feeling.

Yes there are ties that bind, but I highly suggest everyone loosen them now and again.

Week in Review 2: Reality Sets In

Well! Refreshed from a full night's sleep and Dr Stuart's Detox tea, I woke up this AM to a sunny sky and renewed (enough) optimism. So let's deconstruct this past week and objectively understand what's what, what's up and what's down.

Good news is, Ashley and I got our dream apartment. With the help of her very generous host and luck that no one else snapped it up while we were debating its affordability, we are soon-to-be the proud lease holders of a sweet two-bedroom flat on Upper Street in Angel Islington. For those of you who don't know London, Angel is a really fun, hip area with tons of bars and shops and restaurants. Not as trendy/gritty as Shoreditch and Hoxton (that's like the Williamsburg of London); this is like the West Village of London. I can walk to work (WOOT) and we have a JULIETTE BALCONY (double WOOT). Downside? It's not available until June 18. So, the countdown begins – exactly 30 days until I move out of Weehauken and into walking distance of the City. Let's hope that I can maintain my sanity that long.

So, yesterday's homesickness... pretty brutal. I ended up going BACK to Ashley's apartment to hear an American accent and get Thai noodle soup which is probably as comfort-food-y as I'm going to get here. Afterwards, Ashley's host let us watch High Noon with him, which also made me feel better because a) nothing is more American than a Western, b) I feel like Poppi loved that movie, c) sitting on a couch hugging a pillow was about all I had the energy for, d) Grace Kelly was a badass in that movie!

But seriously. I think the homesickness stemmed from the fact that two weeks have gone by here, and it's really, truly, hitting me that I am here, permanently. Obviously not for the rest of my life, but I've moved here. The initial excitement of arriving, starting work, exploring, getting my Oyster card, buying real Dairy Milk with Nuts and Raisins, etc, is fading and revealing the fact that I've chosen a completely new and different direction in which to take my life. I met a friend of a friend on Saturday night, an American guy who has lived here for six years, and somehow, meeting him – the typical New York Jew – in London, it made me realize that this is, well, REAL. I have a return ticket to the States, for Christmas, and that's it. I have to somehow figure out how to merge my old life into this new life, where it's of course going to be different, but that will be the challenge and hopefully the fun. Unfortunately, right now it just feels like none of that can truly happen until June 18. So what have I been doing while biding my time? Drinking. Clearly, Danielle has not changed THAT much.

Compounding this homesickness is the slow realization that life is still going on for everyone I know back home. When people go on vacation, they drop out of life as they know it, have deeply personal and hopefully enlightening experiences, and then return, changed, relaxed, edified, etc, to their normal, day-to-day lives. Their friends and relatives greet them, want to hear their tales, see their pictures, but in the end that window of individual experience closes and people are still the same and life continues as it always did. That's not the case here. I'm not on vacation. People want to see my pictures and read my blog posts to find stuff out, but I'm not coming back – my day-to-day life in the US doesn't exist anymore and people aren't waiting for me. Life for everyone in New York is continuing at its normally rapid clip, and I'm not a part of it. If I thought of every birthday party, every girls night, every band, every impromptu gathering that I have and will continue to miss, I will vomit. Humans are inherent selfish beings and consider themselves the centers of their little individual universes; my particular universe has just been ripped in two, and the one without me in the middle is looking a lot more exciting at the moment.

Let's be completely straight here, though; this situation is all of my own doing. I asked for this. OK, maybe I didn't ask for London initially, but I'm so happy I ended up here instead of Paris, and the point is that I asked for the opportunity to live abroad. It's up to me now to take advantage of living abroad to the fullest. So in the end, yes I can whine and complain and have my temper tantrums and hissy fits, but this is, of all times, one where I've made my bed (with a DUVET and without a boxspring) and now I not only have to lay in it, but I have to sleep in it – permanently. And if it hurts, well Princess Danielle, figure out where the pea is and take it out.

Week in Review: real estate can kiss it

So, one week down… countless more to go.

I can't believe I've been here a week! So far I've survived four days at work, fucked up my commute once, seen three apartments that freak me out, and drank at least ten pints (not all at once, but last night sure saw at least half of the total).

Everyone here has been super welcoming and warm. I have to give a huge shoutout to my new boss Rachel who is so cool that she Facebooked me (woot!) and might even be reading this. We all know a boss can make or break your life, basically, and from the get go Rachel has been pretty much everything you can ask for in a manager - from tulips on my desk to celebrate my arrival and our Dutch client to enlightening me on the intricate web of gossip in our office - and it's a breath of fresh air.

People have been asking me how the first week has been, what's easy, what's hard, etc. What is easiest is work - going there each day and doing my job. Thank god I transferred within my company; it really is just like it was in New York and all of the things I'm responsible for here I was responsible for there. Work is actually a bit easier here, partially because of Rachel (see above) and also because for once I'm actually doing my job description - nothing above or below - and it feels right. Le sigh, actually knowing what the fuck your role is! How civilized!

So if work is easiest, what is hardest? This is a tough one to answer. I had this question posed to me last night at the pub, and it took me a while to answer it (no, not because of the WIFEBEATER in my hand). Clearly, a lot of things are different here. I do a lot of "okay, how does this faucet/door handle/pedestrian traffic pattern/bus system work" mental gymnastics. The accent is actually kind of annoying, especially when you can't understand a goddamned thing someone says to you. But I think probably the hardest thing is the simplest - living out of suitcases, not knowing where I'm going to live. My host people are very nice, extremely welcoming, and genuinely interested in helping me out and getting me settled. But I had such a freaking hard time getting everything INTO my three suitcases that I'm not unpacking them until it's for good. So for now I'm living in a house in London's equivalent of Weehawken with an hour-long commute to work, and desperately trying to find a place of my own. As Kat said to me, my adventure won't start until I'm moved into a place and all settled; for now, I'm in a holding pattern like the planes stacked up over Heathrow (how fitting for me, now that I'm working on an aviation brand!).

In order to expedite this apartment/life settling, I made the right decision and called up a friend and former college roommate, Ashley, who arrived in London a few weeks before me for graduate school at the London Film School. She and I are going to join forces in the apartment search, and already it's looking up. 2 is better than 1 in real estate, and we are seeing better places for less money in much better locations than we both saw on our respective own. I have a really good feeling about an apartment in the heart of Angel/Islington's Upper Street, which is pretty much like living in the middle of Park Slope, on Monday morning. I don't want to jinx it, but we will be the first people to see it and barring severe structural damage, human waste, and or pest infestations, I think we'll love it. SO! Fingers crossed and hopefully you'll read something very positive in this place next week.

Until then, x's and o's and all that jazz to each and every one of you. I miss everyone a lot; this adventure is crazy and great, but it would be exponentially better the more of you were here. So! Get your asses on planes, people!

Also, PS - thank you SO much to all of who are commenting! It means a lot to know that you're reading what I'm writing (picking up what I'm putting down, in fact). And, Laura, who knows - never say never!