A long post about things I like. And an update about the mouse.

Disclaimer – To my three favorite cousins, I’m going to say a bad word in here. Don’t worry; it’s not me swearing… it’s just an expression I heard someone use. But, you should still have your mom or dad read this first, and then they can decide if you get to read it or not. Okay? Love you guys.

In honor of my post about the things in London that make no sense or just make me mad, I’ve decided to post about some of the things that America should adopt immediately.
First, the stoplights don’t just go green, yellow, red. They also have a yellow right before a stoplight turns green, so you have a second to get your car in gear and zip along your way. It only makes sense, right? You have a warning telling you when to stop, so why not have a warning telling you when to go? Granted, I don’t drive here (I haven’t driven in over a month… weird!), but I can imagine how wonderful it would be to have warning both ways.
Second, Brits do this funny thing when they end a conversation on the phone- not in person- just on the phone. They start winding up and get ready to say goodbye, but as they do this their voice gets higher and softer. So it would sound like this: “It was lovely speaking with you. (An octave higher) Yeh, well I’ll see you tomorrow then. (Another octave higher in a very quiet voice) Okay, cheers (even higher) Bye! The “Cheers, bye!” part is very important- all good Brits end their conversations like that. Sometimes I just listen to people talk on their mobile on the bus and wait for their head to explode from the high pitch. And what’s funny is that this is not just something girls do- guys do it too. In fact, one of my coworkers just called me and he got all quiet-high-pitchy right before we hung up. It’s so funny to listen to… I’ll give you an impression when I get home next year. Only 177 days, according to a reliable source.
Oh here’s what I LOVE. Indian food in London is like Mexican food on the west coast. At the grocery store, they have a bigger selection of curry sauce than they do of spaghetti sauce. I’ve been in love with curry ever since I was ten and they had mission’s potluck at my church. I remember being a little leery of my dad telling me to try the spicy chicken that looked funny… but I did, and it was pure love. I think I ate about three helpings and maintained a strict philosophy that I would have curry whenever my circumstances allowed. And so at least a couple times a week, I make myself curry in my little, tiny apartment and revel in my small victory.
Another wonderful thing is the one pound coin. All countries should be required to produce a coin for one pound, one dollar, or whatever. It makes my wallet smaller and it’s just so convenient.
Also, I’m a little bit obsessed with some of the terminology and phrases they use over here. I’m trying not to let it infect my own way of speaking too much, because I know that you’ll (ahem, Emily) just make fun of me when I get home. But some phrases are too wonderful to pass up. For instance, when you’re trying to get something figured out, you’re ‘getting it sorted.’ They say decent and lovely all the time. Cookies are biscuits, and Lisa and I can’t figure out what you call a normal, American biscuit. Maybe they just don’t exist here. I call home on my mobile, I live in my flat, and I travel to work via (pronounced with an I rather than an E) the tube. I drink tea proper because it has milk in it, but apparently Lisa’s tea is improper because it’s sans milk. I go to the cinema for a movie and the threatre to see a show. I “top up” when I add more money to my tube pass or mobile or even when I fill up the sugar container at work. I ‘mind the gap’ so as not to step into the abyss between the station platform and the tube, and I get my food for take away rather than take out. It’s all very different, and I feel very legit (that word doesn’t exist here… I got blank stares when I used it) when I can speak the London language.

I like more things, but I’m not in the mood to talk about them right now. Guess what! Last Friday Lisa was working, so I went to see Grease. My Dad and I were laughing on the phone before the show… what if they all had British accents? Fortunately they didn’t… it was pure American goodness from the accents down to the giant hair and the fries (not chips). I snuck a Cinnebon into the theatre, and karma made it leak all over inside my purse. So, I’m still finding old Cinnebon sludge when I rummage for my keys or chapstick. But other than that, the night was great. Everyone sang the songs and a sixty year old lady in front of me got up and danced during Grease Lightening. It was a riot and I loved every bit of it.

Here’s an update on the mouse situation. I’m currently panicked beyond my ability to think rationally because the mouse only rummages when I’m there by myself. To this day, Lisa has maybe heard it once, and possibly not at all. I’m so freaked out that I’m hanging plastic grocery bags on all the knobs of the cupboards in the kitchen and using those as my garbage. I haven’t opened the dreaded mouse infested cupboard in almost five days. Lisa opened it once to see what she could find (I stood on the bed and mentally prepared myself for impending death), and just swept out a bunch of poops. We talked to the godfather's son about it, and he said it’s a bad time of year for mice, so he gave us these awful things called glue-traps with the explanation that mice “stick to them like shit to a blanket.” Well, we didn’t know shit stuck to a blanket, so this didn’t make sense to us. It did, however, freak us out because these things don’t kill the mouse… rather, the mouse just sticks to this pad until you dispose of it. I’m not even sure what that means, but I know that I’m sure as heck not doing it. I’ve head it squeak while it’s alive, and if I hear it squeak while it’s slowly starving away on that glue trap, I will feel like the worst sort of animal murderer. So, living with the live mouse is out. The glue-traps are definitely out. The next tactic will be finding that expanding caulky (sp?) stuff that you can squirt into holes and fill them up. I’ve seen my dad use it before, and I bet Lis and I can figure out how it works.

That’s all, I think. This moment officially marks the eighteenth hour in a row that I have done nothing at my job. Ha!