The new (BBC) me

First day!

It went along swimmingly for those of you who are on the edge of your seats. My commute was WAY to short for the not-one-but-two papers I bought to read during the time.

I had checked and rechecked the route from my tube stop to TV station at the BBC. It didn't seem clear. I walk north and THEN cross? Low and behold you could see the MASSive buildings from the escalator that brought me safely to ground floor. I needn't worry.

How the hell do you order a coffee in London? I tried twice today and both times was received by curious looks. I thought it must be my American peeking through so I tried the order again with a faint british accent, which really just ends up being a long "Pleeeeeeeese" at the end. But still - all blank face. Then I'm inevitably forced into what I'm obviously trying to hide - "OH," says the girl "you mean an Americana." Yes, yes, fine fine. (bitch).

Today was actually not my first day. It's sort of a pre-first day. It's a computer training day that was delightfully easy. It's all just false promises though. I'm going to grow confident and casual before the big blow on Wednesday. When we went around an introduced ourselves (there were five others. I am, however, the only sucker not being paid) I said I would be working on the Specials Team. A woman dressed in head-to-toe navy asked, "what's the specials team." Good question, I thought. I suddenly found the hem of my shirt very interesting and the question was diverted to the teacher (BER-nahd) who literally gasped. "Oh," he said, "they're they piece-de-resistance (at which point I began unraveling my fallen hem)." He went on to tell Navy that 'we' put all the 'crazy' stuff on the site - interactive maps and graphics - "if you want something exciting done to our story and don't know how to do it, you send it to them."

The room spun around and starred at me, this suddenly brilliant computer wiz, and I smiled politely and gulped loudly.

BUT. That excitement will come and smack me in the face later. For now, it's still intro. And intro is, gloriously, easy. I was so PLEASED and shocked to find that I had been well-equipped to, say, write a news article (helloooo inverted pyramid), if that were my assignment. Or write a headline or a photo caption (add something, don't repeat). Then, the entire afternoon was spent on photoshop. We were given the keys to the online database of photos (fabulously endless celebrity sightings...and other things I'm sure). We were told to find certain photos and crop and set accordingly. Blah blah blah.

Then we were set free! Allowed to look up whatever we wanted. Sure, I tried to play it straight at first, Gordon Brown here, Becks and Posh there, maybe a little Eddie Izzard for my sauce, but when we were asked to put together a three-block photo set of any theme I went by my old standby - PUPPIES! Oh the database was FULL of them. you'd be surprised. My final photo looked, ohhhh, something like this:



And with this photo I was welcomed into the class anew. Navy pulled out here camera and showed me a pocket-sized puppy of 4 months in a hamper, on a bed, rolled in a towel. Once-stern progammer in the back flipped through a pug-tastic slideshow on his iphone, suddenly all smiles.

Ah, puppies. I unites us all, americanos and brits alike.

xoxoL

BK girl hits LDN town

London.

She arrived in a flurry of goodbyes, heavy bags, miscalculated drop offs, layovers, parched tongues and salty drivers. But she certainly did arrive.

It all started at 4 p.m. in New York City where I settled into a very tight, very yellow, economy class seat in a Lufthansa airplane. I had done all that my dad, the seasoned traveler, suggested: light dinner (sammy and a delicious brownie), some sleeping drugs 30 minutes before take off, herbal sleeping drugs 15 minutes before take off, setting my watch five hours ahead (to get myself in the mood) and a sleep mask. Now if only I could have gotten my body to believe that, yes, 4 in the afternoon was sleepytime.

But the drugs kicked in and before I knew it a very dark 5 a.m. in Frankfurt rolled around. In a haze I found the general location of my next flight, set to leave in 2+ hours (the NYC flight landed oh so kindly ahead of sched). Nothing is open at 5 a.m. in the Frankfurt airport. And I couldn't even get into the waiting area to settle into an awkward sleep-standing snooze. I sat on the edge of a very dirt chair and munched on a peanut butter something rather i brought from the states (sweet heavenly pb treat).

I think the flight was delayed in the air, or so I gathered from the upset passengers surrounding me. I really could have cared less as I was passed out, drooling a little in my second very tight (now very blue) seat.

I arrived to a wonderfully sunny, surprisingly warm London day. I popped out of the car that picked me up and into one of those beautiful, tall, white and brick london homes. It's so very picturesque, with a blue door perched just steps form the thames. I was welcomed into the home by a quick talking cute blond girl, the daughter of the family, who was packing for uni. i was bleary eyed and had to catch up to what she was saying, with the accent and all, but she was lovely and her bounce was addictive. As luck would have it she had invited her grandparents over for lunch so she could see them before leaving that afternoon. One hour and one shower later the most English pair walked through that blue door - all tweed and clenched teeth. My goodness they were edible and lovely. They're chitter chatter practically lulled me to sleep - that or the cold meats and cheese. I napped, woke for a walk, ate again and slept so hard I would have thought a few years had passed.

The weekend has been a mix of strolling and getting. I'm slowly becoming a real working londoner, equipped with my very own oyster card - my way to get here and there on the tube - and a mobile! With my very own phone number, which I'm never going to remember. What's the deal with the (0) in these london numbers anyway? Do I dial it? Just it change the number? Is it like our ubiquitous (1) that isn't even necessary anymore? These are the things that keep me up at night.

I made dinner for my lovely host fam tonight, which, despite the slight overload of olive oil, seemed to go over well. Though I'm looking for a place of my own, I've unloaded a few of my things into a closet and am settled, in a way, here. I'm ready, at least, for my first day of BBC tomorrow. SO glad to have a purpose. After two weeks of lounging with Lola and then three days of meandering 'round London I wasn't sure what I was up to. Then it dawned on me, ah yes, work. Thank goodness. I've laid out my clothes for tomorrow and am getting up much earlier than necessary, which just means I'll give my snooze button a work out. I've packed by bag and if it weren't for this unsightly pimple I think I'd was a real person with a job.

Must get my beauty sleep.

More soon (and photes).

xoxoL

Hangin' tough in Orange

Perhaps, like me, you find yourself back at home in a small town in southern Connecticut. You've just spent 12 very quick months in the windy city and now, just as suddenly, you are sleeping in your pink-flower-decorated childhood room (albeit with a bed upgrade). So you're 29 years old. So the new dog has usurped your position as beloved female child.

What to do, what to do.

Since I'm experienced in this realm, I'll pass on a few good-times-a-comin' suggestions to help you pass the time.

Earn your keep. Let's be honest. Times are tough. You can't just be hanging on that comfy couch in the basement with all that glorious cable and not expect to give a little. Am I right? Besides, I dunno about you but, my Dad is one day away from selling me off to our neighbors for some good ol' fashioned yard work. Anyhoo. Get in there. I'm not saying you need to paint the house or grout the bathroom. Maybe bike down to your grocery story and pick up a little somethin' somethin'. Or empty the dishwasher or cook some dinner and then make sure to brag about it for most the night.

let yourself go. Why not? What are you doing with yourself anyway? Tap into that teen angst with a jammies outfit that lasts all day. Develop a little adult-on-set acne. Sure, keep things spicy.

When all else fails....hit up a puppy glamor shoot

Lola the sea-dog-wonder


Pensive Lola


Lola and toys


Lola from afar


Lola and friend


Lola and the vest of humiliation


Lola sunbathing

How to train for a triathlon (when you have no idea what you're doing)

It may sound scary at first but a triathlon is completely achievable for the busy, athletically fickle and, well, homeless. Just follow these easy steps and you'll be jaunting across that finish line in no time.


1) Sign up at least 6 months ahead of time. This gives you the necessary luxury of forgetting that you signed up for anything at all. While decked out in wintery layers the August feat o strength will seem impossibly far away so that it'll seem just plain silly to train.

2) Do as much as possible. No, I'm not talking about the running, biking and swimming required of this event. The DO that will help you is the everyday tasks. Working? Ask for more responsibilities, take on more shifts or opt for those consecutive conferences across the continent. In school? Make sure that the final three training months correspond with your capstone project, final thesis or (at least) finals. You want to spread out the worry. Dwell on other things besides the fact that you haven't run more than a mile in six months. If your schedule is a little too, shall we say, open, might I recommend moving, dog sitting or trying to get a VISA. One or all of these items will make a 24-mile bike ride seem like a vacation.

3) Get a bike. Yeah, you'll need one. But don't get caught into the whirl wind chaos of a bike that works. No. You really just need two wheels and a seat. Why not take the time to go vintage. Opt for fun over function. Two brakes are for wimps and you'll just be showing off with foot cages or, ha, shoe clips.

4) The week before the tri, lock your bike to a street lamp and loose not just the main key but the two back-up keys. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and things are no different when you can't hop on that sea-foam green monster and peddle away.

Lucky for you, you went for vintage so no one in their right mind cared to pry the chain off that puppy. So you'll have to shell out $85 for a friendly young keysmith to come grind the chain off.

He'll be lovely and that mac & cheese you order and eat on the street corner while he finds his way are just the perks.


5) Don't give into the 'swimming in open water' hype until the very last minute. That 70-degree pool water is totally close to the experience of maneuvering the white-peaked waves of Lake Michigan. Sure, the weather may experience some unseasonably cold dips and storms may threaten, but you're tough. right? Well, if you're feeling iffy get your mits on a wet suit. "Professionals" may try to talk you into a real wet suit - the seamless, neoprene, full-body kind. But that's just plain silly. And, actually, two days before the tri, will be impossible to find. Sooooo jump into a child's surf suit. You get the added benefit of a brightly-colored patches that set you apart from every other competitor. And when everyone else is a little too toasty in their suit, you'll be cool as a cucumber with bare legs and arms exposed. It'll put hair on your chest. And - bonus - the wet suit becomes your adult depends when you forget to pee in the lake.

6) Finally, an awesome cheerleading section is a must! Good friends screaming their heads off will be better than any energizing GU they throw at you.


It was brutal and ridiculous and I definitely threw up a little in my mouth before starting but, damn, crossing that finish line was the BEST FEELING EVER.
Get into it.