Only 24 Hours Behind Schedule

When I left Atlanta on Wednesday evening, it was around 70 degrees (F), and when I arrived in London on Thursday morning at 7:15 a.m. my guess is...and it's only a guess as they tell me everything in Celsius now...it was around 40 degrees...AND it was cloudy. AND my boyfriend was late picking me up from the airport. Bless his heart...and he even left his home at 5:30 to get there on time. By the time I had arrived at my place of abode and taken a two hour nap, the sun was out, BUT it was in the process of setting. The sky was lovely and pink though. Friday morning I got up and made my way to the BUNAC office to get my work visa validated and to learn about bank accounts and national insurance numbers. Apparently it takes a while to register for a doctor (which is what you do once you have a national insurance number) so most people go to medi-centres...which...the BUNAC people regretted to tell us, would cost as much as 20 pounds to visit. I kept my mouth shut about the $100 base fee for visiting a walk in clinic, and I bit my lip when they explained that hospital emergency visits are free. BIT MY LIP. I got back home at around 1, had some lunch, and then Liam and I commenced cooking the Thanksgiving dinner...on Friday...I know. I had no idea what a feat this actually was...and how many baking dishes were actually involved. Liam, worried that we wouldn't have enough turkey, bought a whole bird + a crown. We defrosted them incorrectly, and had to put them in the microwave...mom, don't cringe. Then we stared at the whole bird for a few minutes, trying to figure out how in the world to get inside of it to pull out the "baggie" of intestines. People began to arrive at around 7 p.m. and they hovered around in the kitchen being excited (the poor english don't get a holiday strictly for eating until you pass out) until Liam and I had to finally shew everyone into the sitting room so that we could set the table and...carve the turkey. Thanks to room-mate Simone for stepping in and tackling that job. Then the stuffing of the faces commenced, and I believe it was quite the success. We watched Rushmore and concluded the evening with bourbon and wine in the kitchen, chatting about being too old to go out on a Friday night, and mocking my poor friend James for not being able to stand on one foot. At one point in the final hours of the night, I turned to my other friend/room-mate James (there are a lot of them...Jameses), who had been adamant that he couldn't go out until Dec. 12 as he had a great deal of studying to do, and I said, "If you don't take a break and go out every once in a while, you'll go crazy, and going out doesn't mean getting wild and regretting it in the morning, you need to learn the art of going out as an adult," a statement that I punctuated with a long belch (and at that moment, I felt myself connected to Diana...more than ever). Perhaps I too need to learn the art of going out as an adult. Sorry mom, but I was in my own house.