mouse in the house

Yup.

He's small and furry and comes out to say hello most evenings around 9.

so...what to do.

I've had some mouse issues in the past, as most urban dwellers have. In my early 20s, Brooklyn version of the 'Money Pit,' four roommates, a guy on the couch and I had a rotating cast of critters.

The role of the grim reaper was allotted to one of the dudes. We tried all sorts of traps - the glue ones where their little feet get stuck until they starve to death in your kitchen, homemade bucket ones, even the good old fashioned cheese on sling trap. Ultimately the mouse murdering roommate was stuck having to drown the little guys in a bucket of water killing the rodent and a little bit of his soul as well.

So here we are. Many years later, new apartment, one more mouse one less mouse murdering roommate. But R is willing to step in! But I'm having second thoughts. I mean it's fairly harmless, not that I'll walk on the ground when it comes out. And it leaves these lovely little not-so-chocolate-nibs on the counter (that we EAT on).

Ugh and gross. I'd like it to just be the little dude from Ratatouille but even I can see that's not going to happen. I've always wanted a cooking companion...that carried disease and filth.

So I looked into some humane ways to get rid of mice. This very helpful woman on about.com pointed me toward peppermint - apparently the smell is too overwhelming for their little noses.



So I'm supposed to plop those peppermint coated cotten balls in the places that the mouse likes to hang.



Can you spot the pepp?



Night one with the peppermint balls: here's hoping little mouse doesn't find another entrance leading to more intimate places. (shiver)

xoxoL

*poof* a flat

I'm official! Officially a Londener. I have an address. The address comes with a flat. The flat comes with a room. The room comes with furniture and the whole bit comes with the added feature of flatMATES. Yes. Friends!

They are extremely lovely and doing very cool and fun things in the arts and this whole thing is just a dream come true. Of course it took some work to get here.

let me just travel down flat-search memory lane for a moment...

I was on a hunt. Well, first I was kindly taken in my a friend of my Dad's. They were so very lovely to take me in, this helpless American on their stoop. Little did they know they'd be adopted host family for nearly a month.

I searched on all sorts of cleverly named craigslist-equivalents for the right fit. I even checked some BBC classifieds.

The advert said something to the effect of Beautiful Maida Vale flat! Close to Nothing Hill! Quaint, 5 mins to the BBC.

We speak on the phone, me and ms Maida Vale. She sounds lovely and inviting. She gives me directions and we set a date. After wandering in and around tiny little london streets I finally come across Ms. Vale's street, which was locked behind a giant iron gate (welcoming). Behind the gate are a handful of tiny brick buildings (quaint). Ms. Vale said that she'd come out and meet me so I survey the squat buidlings. As the road slopes down I notice this young woman opening a window. I stop and she peeks her head out - she looks about 30s or so. cute, nice bangs. So I wave, she sees me gives me a good lip curl shakes her head and retreats into the darkness.

OK. Not Ms. Vale. three houses down, perched against some sort of garden decore (sans garden) is this tiny little woman with a shock of white hair. Upon seeing me she gives a little wave and I see where this is going.

Ms. Vale is one hot little septuagenarian who likes to pair pastels with her neutrals, so long as they're matched with a pair of comfortable loafers. She gave me a tour of the place. My room was on their first floor in the back just past their piano parlor. You just have to step carefully over the marshmallow-colored wall-to-wall carpet (take your shoes of if you can remember) and get a load of that single bed. Oh yes. There's also a kitchenette all to myself that comes with a counter and a microwave.

Though we had a lovely chat in their little-angel-inspired living room I had to say adieu.

Just because Vale didn't work out didn't mean that Cute Notting Hill flat!!! wouldn't.

So off I went.

I tried to put my guard up a little more. I clearly can't judge british people's ages over the phone. SO when me and Notting Hill chatted I tried to pick up some hints. She mentioned a man but called him 'her guy' so that seemed young. Right? or perhaps a fallback to some sort of 50s jargon that I wasn't familiar with.

So we chatted, set a date and got on with it. I got off the tube and was actually right smack dab in the middle of NH. This was already looking better. Shops and cute little eateries. It was a delight. I was already picturing my Saturday stroll, my coffee on my way to work.

So Ms. Notting Hill wasn't around so i was actually being shown the place by her guy. We texted before meeting, me and the guy. I thought this was a good sign.

But then he emerged from this tiny white-brick home - A slouched figure with a bright red basketball of a head that, curiously, had this collection of long gray hair attached to the bottom back side of it. At this point I couldn't help buut second guess my judgment of character or, at least, apartment ads.

It sort of looked like he'd put a child's fake beard on backward and called it a day. He was more criminal-sketch-drawing-come-to-life than new roomie. But, I thought, I've come all this way...

So I followed him in. Surely this had to be the scene of some sort of kidnapping. But criminal sketch was actually quite nice so long as I didn't look directly at him and the gaping shadowed hole were teeth once lived.

The house smelled of ciggies and cat urine. A plus for for any apartment hunter. The room for rent was up a few flights, through and past all sort of common rooms and such. The room was, actually, quite nice. Sun was cascading in and you would have a view of the this budding tree in their backyard.

Criminal sketch croaked "Oh, I hope you like cats." I smiled. "Strays" he said. "We pick 'em up" he said, as though the action had yet to come to a close. "They're generally afraid of anything on two feet so they tend to hid behind the bed."

I pointed to the single bed in the sunlight-room. 'this bed?' I asked. Yup. It was a statement, really. The cats came with the room. I could feel R sneezing across the Atlantic.

Criminal sketch and I parted ways with me promising that I'd call him as soon as I figured out my finances. OH. I nearly forgot to mention. Included in the rent I couldnt afford was dinner cooked by Criminal Sketch...every night.

But no matter. Because Ms. Vale and Criminal Sketch led me to my new sitch, which is just perfect - this perfect English building and this cute little flat. The roommates are normal young girls who chat and eat with friends and drink wine and hang out. One isn't familiar with 90210, but that can be changed. All in all it is fabs.

So today I moved from this blue door in south west London.


To this blue door in the north west London.


Ta Da!


And I couldn't be happier.

xoxoL

Just grab a tenner and your jumper and head to the tube!

London is definitely familiar.

The people speak the same language, thankfully, though with varying degrees of understandability.

As a city it has a nice mix of buildings, monuments, tourist attractions and homey instances of everyday life.

There's a free morning paper, Metro, just as there is in Chicago (The Red Eye) and New York (also Metro and one other I can't remember at the moment).

And of course the public transportation, which indeed works and gets you from A to B.

But just as London warms up to you it blows a few stray oddities to send you a kilter. Though it's the English language they use, it's Londonese they speak. There are all these words, words you'd know but are all topsy turvey here.

For example:
Jumper (sweater)
Pudding (dessert)
Uni (college)
Flat (apartment)
Trousers (pants)
Knickers (underwear)

There's also phrases. At work I'm surrounded by 50 or so Brits buzzing about, catching up on their weekend activities, chatting about projects or just trying to get their work done. When, for example, they ring (another word, meaning 'to call') someone up the first thing they say is "You alright?" as though the person on the other end is suffering from an unexpected tragedy or is caught under a rock, trapped in a closet or has fallen down a short flight of stairs. But of course everyone seems to get over said tragedy quickly and they move on to business.

It's our equivalent of "How you doing?" but the "You alright?" seems to imply that you're not, in fact, alright. That things are going quite badly and that this phone call is only aggravating said state of not alrightness.

I've been asked this a few times myself. Monday morning, with still the better part of 8 o'clock to get through and the girl behind me perks up "You alright?" and considering my transient life, luckless apartment search, frustrating internship, lack of funds, and withering job prospects in an increasingly dire economy I thought she knows! a friend! But turned around to a pleasant but indifferent face and quickly recovered 'good, good, and you?'

In turn I tried the next day to ask of the guy sitting to my right, "are you alright?" but I didn't say it with enough nonchalance or maybe my American accent suddenly made they're introductory phrase seem thick with concern. He looked at me quizzically, mid chew, and said, "pardon?" I recovered again with a "how was your, er, Monday night?"

There's also a funny thing about pronunciation. Obviously if you have a British accent there is no concern about muddling up words and halting conversation. But with this sticky American accent water cooler chats are a little more arduous. Names, also, fall into this category. My computer trainer's name is Bernard. Which I would want to pronounce ber-NARD with the ber running quickly into the nard. But, he introduced himself as BEHHR-nehd, with really very little room for a consonant for me to grab a hold of. The solution, of course, was to not call him anything at all. If I needed help I sort of appeared behind him or asked the Canadian to my right. In the meantime I practiced the sound of this familiar-yet-foreign name as it escaped my mouth - while in the bathroom, on my way out of the tube, during a run (bhr-ned....BUR-nad....brnd, etc. etc.). But when I finally said his name out loud, during class, it sounded riDICulous. All American and then this one British word invasion? I cut it off halfway through and so Bernard didn't respond. I've just reverted to the not calling him anything at all.

But I do love the accent. And it really does vary from person to person not to mention the whole lot of kiwis and Aussies thrown in their for good flavor. It's a roller coaster of linguistics and i can dig. My American one is terribly bland so I'm trying to spice it up with a Canadian 'eh' every now and again but, let's be honest, that's a weak little spice. Slowly but surely I'll work some words into my repertoire. I've ousted bathroom (they don't seem to like that). I can't jump on the Loo bandwagon just yet so I've settled for 'toilet' as in, do you know where the toilets are? Also flat. This seems easy enough. I'm not looking for an apartment, I'm looking for a flat with some lovely flatmates. The flatmates is a little put on but I'm sure if I try it out long enough it'll become second nature.

I ought to throw some photes in, eh? These are taken in walking distance to London flat #1 in south west London.

i have many more from my weekend adventures but those will come momentatiously.

Looking across the Thames


The Hammersmith Bridge (painted Harrods green)


East view down the Thames


Oh and whaduknow...Lola. muffin!


Stay alright, people.

xoxoL

This is just getting weird

Well, it's August and I've sold all of my furniture. Yup. It's me, an aloha beach chair and my tele. It's not nearly the end of school but I had the fear of New York living/moving in me. So out the furniture went. I think this trumps the 28th birthday waking up at the Road Side Inn in South Dakota.

But I'm random enough so I'm heading down to Hyde Park for the next week to dog sit and pretend to live someone else's life. Then I have two more weeks of school and a shit ton of work to do, some silly presentation to give, a story to write, a video to make and a triathlon to run. oh and sending my life via usps - only 9 boxes. I don't know if that's sad or impressive.

In a matter of three short weeks I'll be saying goodbye to another city, another apartment, another mini life. I will miss this palatial apartment since it will be the biggest place I will live in...ever.

Margherita is doing well and pushing out tomatoes a plenty. It's kind of toppling over over with the weight of all of them and I haven't a clue what to do about that. But she's looking h.o.t and delicious.