London part two, electric bugaloo

I totally cannot type when I have had wine. So srry if this is rife with error. (Ok, I can remember words like 'rife' but can't rememebr how to spell sorry? jeez.)

I got my hairs cut yesterday. Remember that movie, Edward Scissorhands? Well, it was a bit like that. The hairdresser, a cool guy named Michael, is like the Curly Hair God and he totally made my hair his bitch. (He has a salon, called Unruly. It's good. A bit wierd to find the first time, but an awesome place in this sort of Creative Idea Building, the Westbourne Studios, full of designers and stuff. cool. Very vibey. He also has a blog, go here for that.) Anyhow, at one point he had me stand up and he stood behind me and just scissored bits of my hair off my head. I was the hedge, he was the gardener. Just like in the movie. I saw my hair flying in every direction. A bit unnerving, but it totally worked, he cut off about three pounds of hair but he cut off just the RIGHT hair and I really like the cut i got. I will totally visit him again.

After the haircut and some shopping (I found the most awesome dress at Zara) I went to see Spamalot at the Palace theatre. That is THE show to see if you are a Python fan. Good fun and hilarious as hell. I totally want to see it again. Ohmigod it was HILARIOUS. I had to pee the whole time, and not from my unusually small bladder, but from laughing. It was THAT good. I met up with Martin (a coworker and friend of Rich's who is in town) and his daughterAimee for it, they just made it in time for the show after driving over half of England that day. God I laughed my ass off. At the end of the show, a confetti shower was unleashed from the ceiling of the theatre all over the audience and I had a metric ton of it in my cleavege, which I am saving as a souvenir. I took pictures of it, on the floor of the hotel, as I got undress it showered out of my dress and even I was amazed at how much got into my clothes,. I think I will make a dress out of it. Or maybe a shirt. Not sure how much I have. but there is lots.

Anyhow, Martin and I went out for drinks after the show (Aimee had to catch a train back to her grandparents) and we managed to stay out until 3:30 am. We went to a bar on Dover street full Hooray Henrys and posh blond women. Good wine, though. I, in a fairly stunning example of grace, took a cab back to the hotel and as the cab driver stopped suddenly outside the hotel, I flipped ass over applecorn onto the floor of the cab, my ass in the air and my wallet and coins all over the floor. This is easy to do in London cabs as the back seats are fairly roomy and if you aren't prepared at a sudden stop, you take a tumble. (Is anyone surprised when I say this is not the first time I've taken a tumble in a London cab?)I was giggling madly as I tried to get my dress off my face and my legs back onto the floor. Luckily it was just me in the cab, I had dropped off Martin at Victoria Station to catch his train back, so no one saw my ignominy but me and the cab driver. I got to bed at 3:30 and did not get up until noon, which put a damper on my Extreme Shopping Day I had planned. Instead I just wandered around King's Road with a massive and progressively more intense hangover, to the point where I gave up and went to a pub and had a warm beer in front of a cold fireplace. I did get some cute silver sandals, though.

This evening i met up with my cousin Edward at a restaurant called (and I will btucher this but never ye mind) Le Relais de Venise, in Marylebone (huh huh she said bone) Street, which serves only one dish: entrecote and fries. (Beef and taters.) And wine. Weeeeee! So we had beef and taters with special sauce and chatted and laughed. Both my young cousins are very handsome young men and Edward in particular is quite the style maven, very sleek in his Ted Baker suits and city pinstripes. We had a nice time, ending the evening at a sort of sad pub with strange drunk people singing tunelessly and loudly, with too many vowels and not enough consonants. There was one annoyingly poncy guy there who was from Miami, but spoke with a Brrritish accent, as he had lived in london for 10 years. Dude, sorry, but you don't pick up accent just cuz you live in Britain. Urg. If that weret he case, I'd be speaking English with a Norwegian accent!

It#'s 10:30 and i am going to crash now, I need my beauty rest.
Back to Norway tomorrow.

London is wierd

I don't know y'all. It's either me or it's London, but wierd things always happen to me when I am here.

Like last night? I went out to see my aunt and uncle and coming back to the hotel afterwards, the route I took was to get off at Mansion House station and then cross the Southwark Bridge on foot. As I was crossing the bridge (it's a big wide bridge, not a little namby pamby one) (and why am I using the term 'namby pamby?') I kept hearing this strange noise. Sort of rhythmic, snorty, strange. Like there was atroll or something following me. I looked around (it was night after all, a girl has to be careful) but saw no one. I looked over the bridge, and way down, at the foot of the bridge, in a doorway along the Thames Path, was a homeless guy asleep and SNORING loud enough to wake the dead. Or, in my case, loud enough that I could hear him over the traffic! WOw! I could kinda see why he might need to sleep outside, then, as a snore like that cannot be contained by any mere four walls.

Then, today? I got serenaded by a Tube employee. I asked him a question, something about my ticket, and he asked me if I was from San Francisco. I said, no, as one does when one is not from San Fransisco. I told him i wazs from Texas. He then said, "Oh well then you will know this gentleman" and proceeded to sing me an Elvis song. I told him that Elvis was not from Texas, but from Mississippi, to which he replied "Oh". Then he went off and sang Roy Orbison. After Roy he did some Johnny Cash. All the while he was singing to me there was this queue of people witing to ask him a quustion, and I tried to indicate that there were people waiting, but he was too busy singin' the blues. He was pretty good, though.

And i had a moment of complete bliss today too. Do you ever have those? Where you are just so fucking happy you get teary eyed? Itusually happens to me when I travel. You know, a MOMENT. (I've had many moments, everything from one when I was in Oxford when I was 20, to going to Moroco and being so excited I got verklempt, to seeing the Piazza San Marco in Venice for the first time. Good moments indeed.)
Today's moment was when I was walking across the Millenium Bridge. It was brilliantly sunny and briskly cold, with a very strong biting wind. Around me were all the monumental buildings of central London, and directly in front of me was St Paul's Cathedral and directly below me was the legendary Thames. As I walked the wind was so strong that I actually edged away from the sides of the bridge for fear of being blown off. But I have this THING for wind, it makes me want to holler and scream and jump and spread my arms wide and yell "I'm King of the World!" (I actually did do that on the Hill of Slane in Ireland, when the wind was so strong that you could lean into it and not fall over, it held you up. THAT was cool. A definite WAHHOOOO! moment.) I refrained from that, but my smile was so big that people walking past me smiled too. (Maybe they just htought i was nuts.) An added bonus was that wind did GREAT things for my hair, and I had a total wild flowy mane thing happening. (Typical, as I am getting it chopped off tomorrow, that i would have a really good hair day the day before.)

Then i went to Spitalfields Market and bought some cute and cheap street clothes, and had my favorite ever street food at this Indonesian stand in the market. I have it every time I go there. Then over to Covent Garden, for a bit of St Patty's day celebration, but it was so crowded I lost patience and hung out at a pub instead. THEN I wandered over to the National Portrait Gallery to see this exhibit called Face of Fashion. They should have called it 'We Love Kate Moss' because I figure about 30% o the photos were of her, and I personally can't stand the little crack ho so I was a bit dissapointed. Plus it cost 8 pounds to see it and it took all of 10 minutes to breeze through. The only bit I liked, besides the odd picture of Madonna and others, was this great portrait of Tilda Swinton, on whom I have a massive girl crush. She fascinates me.

After that I did a London Walks tour of 'haunted London' which was hilarious as it was mostly attended by a group of 15 year old girls from Kansas who were determined to get scared, though it was not scary at all, and I am now nostalgic for my silly 15 year old self who would take pictures of the tour guide and scream at nothing. Cuz I would SO have done that too.

Back to the hotel, in Southwark. If it is your first time in London I would not recomend it as you might think the area was a bit scary and the Tube is not directly nearby. Once you've been here about 30 times (as i think I have) it's great because you get to learn a new area of London, it's not scary at all AND the hotel has this awesome top floor bar where you can drink beer and blog. Which is what I am doing. And it's making me damned happy.

Tomorrow: Haircut. Spamalot. High Street Ken shopping and a side trip to Sloane Street.

My life rocks right about now.

Planning ahead

I'm doing some planning ahead for upcoming trips.

Like, when I go to London, I've booked myself a haircut at a highly recommended salon for girls with curly hair. I'm gonna go for a big change because my hair is driving me nuts. I know i need some change when I keep my hair pulled back more than I wear it down. It's just kind of lame lately.
I'm not sure what I will have done. but I think it might be one of those things where i tell the hairdresser "Hey go nuts, just don't dye it purple or make it flat". Because no matter what, Texas gals like me keep the hair BIG.

Then that night when I have (hopefully) gorgeous hair, I got a ticket to Spamalot.

Spamalot! Who! I've only wanted to see that show for, like, EVER. And I so don't mind going by myself....not for something like this that I really want to see. Rich and I tend not to go to the theatre together because he is usually too tall for the seats and ends up being very uncomfortable all night, thus making ME uncomfortable when he puts his legs in my space. I don't mind being uncomfortable if I can see a show I really want to see. Like Spamalot! Woo!

While on the topic of British stuff, have you ever seen a very short and hilarious show called Posh Nosh? It's on BBC food, it lasts about 10 minutes. It's frigging hilarious, a total send up of those hoity toity food shows that Brits seem to excel at lately. Richard E Grant is one of the actors in it, and I have always had a slight crush on him. When you first see it you think it's for real, but then you start to catch on that it's a total spoof, just excellently and very cleverly done. As Wikipedia says: . For instance, they employ words in odd ways in parody of specific culinary terminology, such as "interrogate a lemon"; and their cooked vegetables are not peeled but "embarrassed," after which they might be "annoyed" instead of boiled. They also frequently insist on ultra-specific, often prohibitively expensive, ingredients - such as Greek currants that you actually have to fly to Greece to buy.

Here's a YouTube of one of the episodes:



Your daily giggle is on me. Enjoy!

God Jul!

God Jul!

Feliz Navidad!

Merry Christmas!

Froehliche Weihnachten und ein gutes Neues Jahr

With love from The Texpatriate

*This photo is from King's Road London. It was outside a pizza place. He was not fully inflated and so he sort of looked down on everyone walking beneath him on the sidewalk...I liked him. Poor, deflated, friendly Santa.

pictures..because right now words are too hard.

I'm totally tired and am going to veg, work is killing me. So for your entertainment, I picked some fairly random pics from the archives and posted them. Enjoy please.

Me on a pedestal at Schloss Charlottenburg in Berlin. That is my favorite skirt currently, but it's too cold for me to wear it now.

A view of the rooftops around Trafalgar Square, London. Taken from the fabulous restaurant at the top of the National Portrait Gallery. It's a tad expensive, but the food is great and the views of London are unique.


Er...I think this is a little street cart in Luang Prabang, Laos.
My eyeballs.

Definitely worse "from" than "to"

I can definitively tell you that the jet lag is worse coming from the US than to it. When you leave the US to go to Europe you are guaranteed a loss of a night's sleep. When you go to the US, it's just a really long day.

Anyhow, I left my parents at 11am US time and got to ST Louis by 2pm. Returned the rent car (and boy were those folks at Avis NICE. I was not expecting that, but everyone was really NICE.) Got to the airport and waited in the stupid American Airlines line. St Louis is alos apparently a hub for the military and there were army guys everywhere, all so young. SO YOUNG.

The flights from St Louis to Chicago and from Chicago to Heathrow were fine. The Chicago to London leg was PACKED. There was not one free seat. Luckily I had an aisle seat, but unluckily the lady sitting next to me had some sort of bladder problem so every time I even began to drift off for a nap, she'd tap my shoulder so she could get out. I started to hate her.....

The flight attendant for my area had neon pink dragon lady nails, a big blonde hairsprayed bun on her head and the attitude you would expect from someone who had such things. Lots of eye rolling and fake sweetness, but you just knew she'd like to poke those nails into most of our eyes.

Got to Heathrow in plenty of time, with a couple of hours to shop, even, but that was all taken away by the LONGEST FUCKING SECURITY LINE IN THE UNIVERSE. I had to transfer from Terminal Three to Terminal Four, and some genius obviously underbudgeted for security there, because there were about 1000 people in line for security and there was...ONE...yes ONE...security machine working. And the line was like one of those lines at Disney Land/World, where it keeeps snaking around but you never see the end of it? Each time I thought I was there....nope, another false end. GOD it was annoying. And we had no water, no nothing. I was dehydrated like crazy. There were these tables all along that circuitous route where we were supposed to deposit any lotions, etc, we had because they weren't allowed through security? So at each table I would use someone's left behind hand lotion or whatever, and moisturized whatever part of me was dry and cracking. The folks around me caught on and so we all had soft hands and un-ragged cuticles.

Finally got through that and told them (after I got my stuff, of ocurse) that they really needed to open a second line. They apologized in the inimitable Britsh way....

Got back to oslo at 6pm (11am US time, so 24 hours straight, once again), was in bed by 7:30 and got up today at 2pm. To say I was tired was an understatement.

I still am.

Will everyone please say a little prayer/send good thoughts to my dear friend Karla May? She's having a helluva time at the hospital and could use the karmic good feeling right about now.......

In which my opinions become fixed

RE: Project Runway.

Jeffrey is an ASSHOLE.

I am rooting for either Laura (I like her cool Mom vibe, and how protective she is of Michael) or Michael. Michael is stealth, cool and has awesome taste.

RE: Back to work

Oh, Bugger.

RE: London

My head is still there. Did I mention I had a great time? I swear, the pub is the absolute best thing Man (probably Woman, though, if you think about it) has ever invented. I adore pubs. Cozy, comfy, no pressure, no worries about seeing and being seen, you just go with whoever you want (or a book) and have a nice pint of summat. Pubs. They should be a legal requirement every mile. The world would be a better place with more pubs.

RE: Istanbul

So I booked my trip to Istanbul to meet my parents there in October. Then, while in London I heard about these bombings that this Kurdish group is doing, specifically to scare tourists. AND I made the mistake of telling my mom about it. How the fuck am I uspposed to know the US news has mentioned NOTHING about it and so my mom didn't know anything and now she's all freaked out and wants to talk to the agent about cancelling their trip? Like, hello, there's bombings everywhere, if you cancelled your trip every time a bomb went off, you'd just stay home and never even go grocery shopping. So now I'm all, great, they are gonna cancel and i am stuck witha $500 non refundable ticket. THEY got travel cancellation insurance. I don't think Dad will let Mom wimp out, he's too excited about going back to his old stomping ground from his youth, but I am so annoyed at the American attitude that if you leave the US you are gonna DIE. (And MOM you are NOT American!) Americans have gotten frozen by the news that gets piped into them wherever they turn. The Brits? They just say "Eh. That's the world. It's not stopping me." And off they go. Livinng life. The chances of dying from a bomb are so much less than a car crash or a plane crash or probably even getting stuck by lightning.

More people die in London than Istanbul from bombs.....but people keep going there. And living there.

I mean, I wouldn't go to Iraq or anything, that would be risky and stupid, but Turkey is all about joining the EU and so I think they will start cracking down pretty hard on these Kurds. I mean, we are talking lifeblood of a nation here...no way are they gonna let a fringe group ruin their chances at EU membership and all those available tourist dollars (and pounds.)

I'm shutting up now. I didn't mean to talk turkey.....

Oh, bugga

Which, in Yorkshire terms, is really pronounced "Oh, booga". With a sort of a poofty "b" sound, a bit like a small horse snort. At least, that's what they got me to try to do. Maybe they just wanted to laugh at the Texan saying bogger with a horse snort.

Anyhow, oh booga, I'm home. Back at work today. Hard getting back into the swing.

I really had a great time on this trip. I may be a bit unusual (and this is absolutley NOTHING against my husband or any of my traveling buddies) but every so often I just like to take a trip by myself. It's my way of testing my boundaries, seeing what I can do alone, what I am brave enough to try, what seems uncomfortable alone. I always meet the most interesting people when I travel solo. I'm not sure if it's because as a woman I am non-threatening and folks talk to me, if I leave myself just the slightest bit open to talking or what, but I always meet neat people when I travel solo. Also, and Rich and I talked about this, he's rather large, thus kind of fobidding and it's actually harder to meet the locals as a couple. When you are alone, folks tend to find you more approachable.

So far I have not found much that is not fun alone. OK, so dinner is a bit wierd, but you make sure have a book and find a place with a nice female waiter, and she usually gives you a bit of extra kindness. But I rather enjoy eating alone. Especially, in London, on Gerard Street in Chinatown, it meant I got all the crispy duck to myself and did not have to share. Teehee. (And Rich and Colleen: nyah nyah.)

Though, too, I was also a FREAK MAGNET, but this comes with the territory, I guess. I was actually wondering if they passed a secret law in London which makes it illegal to be alone as a woman, and all men must try and talk to you at every opportunity. It started on the train in from Heathrow and just kept going. Walking to the hotel. On the train. In a shop. I mean, really, at one point on Gerard Street I had to HIDE from a guy who would NOT leave me alone, even when I gave him my fool-proof "I'm German and don't speak English" routine. Bugger, that bastard spoke flawless German as well. And I don't. So I turned a corner and hid. After saying, in my best German, "I want to be alone", which was very Garbo of me, even if I am quite sure he saw straight through my German pretending. Bastard. Fook OFF already.

On Monday night I got seriously ballsy and went to the Intrepid Fox. (And by the way: FUCK! I just found an article dated Aug. 26th that it will be closing, so I guess I am doubly glad I went in.) If there is one pub that looks threatening to go into by yourself, that one would be it. It's a metalhead goth pub. I've always wanted to go. Always. And so I wore my little leather jacket (it has ruffles, but it's black with string ties that close it, so it passed for sort of pirate-goth) and made my way in for a Guinness. And promptly got hit on by two guys from India, speaking Hindi to each other but English to me, asking me if I was a rock star (hahaha!!! I mean, seriously, HA!). One was wearing dress pants and shirt, but had on a leather spiked wristband, so obviously he had changed his outfit for the evening to reflect his alternativeness. The other asked me for a light. I'm not smoking...no matches....uh, no? No light. Sorry dude. Might wanna work on your pick up lines to actually reflect real life. But, by then I was done with my beer, and so decided to call it an evening. I was just proud of myself that I went into the Intrepid Fox solo. Making me, an Intrepid Karla. So I left the pub happy. Was going to buy the t-shirt, but the back of it said "Rock N Fuckin' Roll" and I don't know about you but while I might curse alot? I don't WEAR curse words.

So, Lonely Planet? Pilot Guides? Any of the travel shows on the Travel Channel or Discovery? I am definitely your next TV travel presenter. I'll talk to anyone, go anywhere and do anything but eat bugs.......

traveling alone

Hello. I'm making a quick post from London. I have 10 minutes left on this internet card.

I am having a GREAT time. Sometimes taking a trip on your own is refreshing. No pressure, no one else to think about and you can just wander at will.

Which is what i have been doing. I've done some historic walks and today I treated myself to lunch at the Portrait Cafe on top of the Nat'l Portrait Gallery with the best views I think I've ever seen of London and amazing food. I wet to a pub with just me and a book and was invited by a bunch of big burly rugby boys from Yorkshire to join them for a drink (they were offended by my drinking and reading alone in a pub and took my book away) and now I am an honorary Texas Yorkshire girl, who can't quite say 'bugger' correctly but has learned say a mean 'fook off'. What a fun bunch of guys, like 8 big brothers. And I do mean big. Total sweethearts all of them, all on a bank holiday weekend away from their wives, who kept texting them, to their frustration. All that texting kept them away from their Guinnesses, you see. It's hard to text and drink.....

On the way home from the pub I got caught in a sudden rainstorm and played 'Singin' In the Rain'. Ok, so I was a bit tipsy.....

Yesterday I spent at my aunt and uncle's and they cooked me an Indian dinner (well, he did, it's his specialty) and me and my aunt went shopping to this great outlet place. Wonderful. Coming back from their place on the east side I was on the Tube about 9pm listening to my iPod and I swear I felt like I was at a convention of urban hipsters. Everyone else on the train were on their way into London to go clubbing. We ALL had on iPods and everyone was nodding their heads to their music. It was hilarious, and I really felt a part of the night time scene.... Not, of course, that I have any idea where the cool clubs are, but I sure felt like I was already IN one on that Tube ride. Everyone dressed to the nines, including one boy in the latest trends who looked EXACTLY like a gay friend of mine in high school, and dressed like him too. Skinny skinny jeans, pointy shoes, pearls, a vest over a striped long sleeve ts shirt, spiky mullet hair cut...it was totally 1984...I loved it.

Tomorrow i hope to see the inside of Kensington Palace. And do a bit of shopping.....though I don't really need anything.

I fooking love London.

lists, observations and what have you from my recent trip to London

1......Number of times I fell flat on my face in front of High Street Ken Underground Station in London last weekend.

2......Number of newspaper sellers I yelled at in front of High Street Ken Station when I discovered it was their damned newspaper binding that they left on the sidewalk that my feet got tangled in.

3.....Number of bruises I sport from that adventure.

4.....Number of people who asked if I was alright and offered to help me up.

78....Number of curse words I muttered under my breathe as I dusted myself off and scurried away, blushing furiously.

1.....skirt I bought at a shop nearby to assuage my shattered ego. (Number of skirts bought in total on this trip, 2)

2...beers I had at the pub afterwards.

3....number of times I had fish and chips in a four day period.

3.....celebrities sighted. They include Elvis (well, spittin' image, anyhow) and the Queen (see previous about spittin' image) at a fish and chips shop in Pimlico. (The food was good, atmosphere spartan, Elvis wore all black, the Queen wore mauve. They too had the fried cod.) Also saw one of the Two Fat Ladies from that cooking show filming her latest tv cookery spot at the Borough Market. She sailed majestically through the market in her long skirt and apron, larger than life, calm center of a furious melee of hangers on, assistants and gawkers.. I think the other Fat Lady died a while back.

1....number of amazing steak sandwiches I had at Borough Market. Free range beef on a sourdough "bap" with mayo and rocket. YUMMY.

7.....Number of Grande Skinny Vanilla No Whip Mochas I had at Starbucks.

6....number of times I got to make my standard joke at Starbucks when they asked me if I wanted whipped cream on my mocha. "No, thanks, that would ruin the skinny part, wouldn't it?".

1/2.....number of laughs I got when making my joke.

9....Number of pubs visited. Had fish and chips at two.

1580....The year one of the pubs was built.

8.....hours per day spent walking each day.

3....number of London Walks tours I joined.

102....Room number at the hotel we stayed at. Britannia Court Hotel, fun and funky. I recommend it.

38....average temerature in Fahrenheit while we were in London. It was not warm.

585.....cost (in pounds) of a Mulberry purse I fell in love with. Obviously my tastes run to the posh.

0.....number of Mulberry purses I bought.

1.....husband who remains married to me as I did not buy that purse.

20....percentage discount I received when I bought Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince on CD as read by Stephen Frye. My collection is thus far complete and I am thrilled. These cd's are better than the movies. They are not available in the States. And they cost a bomb. I consider it an investment. In me. Yeay!

7.....percentage of the Mulberry purse price the Harry Potter CD cost.

5....approximate number of miles walked on a jaunt through Hampstead Heath to Kenwood House and thence to the Spaniard's Inn pub for fish and chips and then back to the Tube Station, where we decided instead to go to another pub instead of heading back to the hotel.

7....alcohol units I had that day, including beer and wine.

4....number of times Rich told me to quit snoring that night.

300....cost in dollars for both of our round trip tickets from Oslo to London on BA. Cheaper than RyanAir and way nicer. Score!