And secondly...

I feel the need to follow-up as I just read Crosswalk's blog and she thought I had gone AWOL...

I am going to post pictures here real soon like, I swear. Screw the anonymity, behold the beauty of Tom Williams House and all of its inhabitants!

I could write for days about the things that go on within that flat. I seriously think there is a place where we check our morals at the door. If I had a pound for everytime I had to lie about a flatmates whereabouts to their signficant other I could afford...something really great... This morning was no different:
J. calls T. to tell him that he cannot come over at 11 as planned because she is not home. But she is home and her ex-lover H. (coincidence) is passed out in her bed. J. and H. then lock themselves in the bathroom and have sex for two hours and then she walks him to the tube and in the meantime T. shows up and then J. finally comes home looking both hungover and very glowy from all the doing-it and we are all like, oh J. where were you last night? Out with the girls? Etc. and poor T. looks confused because he has the mental capacity of the aforementioned pound coin. But worthless.

And secondly, just as an aside, T's claim to fame is that he can rap the entire MC Hammer classic, "Can't Touch This". The entire song. And he did it when I was wasted and I had to stop and remind myself to remember the moment so I could write about it here, so it's ok, crosswalk, we all do it.

Oh, and by the way, I told my only friend who you all were so the nicknames will not protect you. AND the above J. and H. are not the J. and H. that I might be involved in, if that was confusing. This world is full of J. and H.'s which is a depressing thought.

new highs (or lows) in lameness

i was at work yesterday afternoon when i read about the split of nick and jessica. the news was not particularly shocking of course, and not nearly as upsetting as the separation of cmm and sophia bush but here's the weird part: as soon as i read about it, i jumped up, grabbed my phone and my jacket and headed outside to call 3-way. seriously. forget that it was 6 in the morning, my first thought was gasp! nick and jessica are splitting up! omg! must call 3-way!
i stopped myself, do not worry. i never made it out the door, but i really really wanted to. i am so lame. that is so lame.
i feel shame.

i am titular

tonight is a good night; the working week is over. my friend here thinks that in canada mooses are allowed to vote. silly brit.
i never responded to the offer of a date. ummmmmmmmmm... I am out with Matt tonight, tonight, not any other night.
(YOU DON'T KNOW MUSICALS! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!??!??! MISS SAIGON! MORE LIKE MISSING OUT?!?!?!?)
i have made a pact that i will move out within the week. mark my words. you all want to stay with me? yeah, we'll be sleeping in my sweet-ass double bed. Matt does not appreciate the sweet-ass; and he does not think you understand the importance of a double bed. silly brit.
that's all i can say right now. i promise all of the dead that they will rise again! and if you are terrific, you will you get an email tomorrow...thits job sucks my will to live. i am still friendless. except for matt. and i HATE HER!!!! HO HO HO
heart, l.

obligatory update

i need to make this quick, but i realized it had been too long since my last update. what can i say that the people who read this don't alredy know?

h. told me he has a crush on someone else. sort of. i imagine she is a boring whore, but perhaps i am biased.

i was asked out on a date today at work. i imagine he is tall and impossibly handsome and so rich, but really nice though not so nice that i get bored and screw him over. and he is so smart.

yeah, that's basiclly it. oh, and i am a film star. and they really do spell aluminum 'aluminium' here, Transfer wasn't making that up. crazy arse bastards.

Last night was Clara's going away dinner. Or rather it was a dinner that turned into a getting-wasted dance party. When I saw Clara this morning, about to depart and still quite drunk, I could not help but think of you, Transfer.
The dinner was amazing, anyways. Clara cooked Russian pancakes and despite my apprehensions about her cooking based on her normal diet, the food was delicious. But let me tell you about her diet anyways. First, she eats pickled things constantly. Morning, noon and night, it is pickles. You pickle it and she will eat it, carrots, onions, shallots, beets. She'll even drink the vinegar. In one evening I saw her eat an entire jar of pickles bige enough to keep you, Crosswalk, satisfied for at least a year. Second, she drinks at least a litre of milk a day. At least. She adds a splash of coffee to her cup of milk. She adds milk to everything. She soaks crackers in milk and then sucks them back once they are all soggy. She drowns her canned fruit and vegetables in milk even. Oh yeah, she only eats canned fruit and vegetables...
So now she is gone and I am going to miss her. Sort of. It is definitely nice to reduce the number of people in this room. Now if I can just get rid of H... The thing with Clara is that she is sweet, very pretty and exceptionally smart. She is pretty like a little doll; she sort of looks like the love child of Tina Fey, Natalie Portman and a couple of fairies and elves. And she is intelligent in a way that few people are. She is constantly referring to literature, art, philosophy, etc. and she does it not in a pretentious way. She speaks French, Russian and English fluently and she is learning Chinese. She read Anna Karenina as a teenager and loved it so much that she just decided to learn the language. Just like that. And she is only 20.
Now here's the drawback: she is so out of it and in her own head that one begins to suspect that she is mildly autistic. It's like she really has no idea what is happening in front of her eyes. Going out in public with her is just impossible. She's like, oh let's go here and we go there. Then she sees something else and we go there. And so on and so on. A simple walk through the park becomes a three hour ordeal. We would never get to our original plannded destination. And she has no sense of direction, absolutely none. I honestly have no idea how she got around when she was by herself. When it was the two of us she would constantly be asking where we were and then not believing me when I told her. Oh, and on the Tube she puts her purse on the floor and just stares straight ahead with her dream-face on. She never holds her bag or even looks at it. And she lives in Paris! I don't know how she has not been robbed yet. Especially since I have seen her almost leave her French Identity card on the train and her wallet on the floor of a pub. It's madness, I have never known anyone who was so out of touch with reality.
Anyways, now she is gone and things can be a little more normal here. The room is an absolute disaster and this is my first opportunity to really unpack and settle in. Plus, our little dance party was more like a tornado blowing through. It was fun though, it made me think of my friends. Dance parties are the same everywhere in the world. Even the music. Of course, there was a little more house music than I would have preferred, but there was also some GnR, JLo, Outkast, etc.

I want to go to the National Gallery today.

the debutant

Last night was my coming out party; my introduction to London society, if you will. Ok, maybe not but it was definitely an introduction to something. People were very curious about me and right away they were approaching me and "subtly" asking me about my relationship to H. I was with three other girls and you could tell that they all sat around first, trying to figure out which one was the girlfriend...There was some definite hostility from a few girls from his program, not directed solely at me, but at the girls I had come with. Why are women like that? Anyways, it was a fun enough party. My standards for fun have decreased considerably since leaving Montreal, obviously. I was feeling angry at H. when we left (little wonder) and when he tried to put his arm around me I hit him so hard in the chest that I knocked the wind out of him. I can't really remember this: Blind rage perseveres!!

I am going to write a book. It's the story of a girl who moves to London with her boyfriend, but then he decides that he does not want her there the day that she arrievs. Actually, he realizes it a couple of days before, but he is far too much of a chicken shit to tell her this. It matters not. She is fabulous and she can get through anything. She will have a happy ending and I am pretty sure he dies. Painfully. And slowly.

The first day I was here I walked so much that my feet bled. Yesterday I walked so much that the heel fell off of my Marc Jacobs shoe. I didn't even notice until way later and now I am heart-broken. Perhaps it is a sign that I need a new pair.

The weather is so warm, apparently unseasonably so. They are predicting a colder than usual winter to compensate and apparently the Thames is expected to freeze for the first time since 1840!

My diet here is healthier than ever, I swear. Almost all of the food I buy is organic and I am eating rye cracker and hommous at least twice a day. Food in England is good! Who knew? I think this is definitely the country's best-kept secret. Even the McDonalds food is so lacking in grease that it almost doesn't taste good. It did little to calm today's hangover anyways...

I need to go get a job. I can't tell if I am a tourist or an immigrant.