Day-o!

Last night as Bec and I walked home from a late and lovely Indian dinner on Brick Lane - a dinner exploding with spices so tasty that they danced in a million colors of wonder before our eyes (okay, not THAT amazing, but how about that description, eh?) - a besotted man stopped us on the street vacillating like shafts of wheat shaking gently in the wind. He paused, looking confused as if trying to remember what it was he had planned on saying. Then he pointed at me and ventured, "You are the most beautiful girl I've seen in my entire life." That's when I knew he was really plastered. That or maybe its the plastic surgery makeover I had which has turned me into a living likeness of Marlene Deitrich. Hmmm. Either way, I'll take empty, whiskey-tinged comments if they come out as ridiculously good- or maybe just as ridiculous - as that.

So la-de-dah. Today I spent doing event staffing/food services work again - this time around at London's cycling convention. While I rang register and made the occasional frothy-to-perfection cappuccino, bike extremists learned about tires, breaks and aerodynamic seats, or admired the beauty of bike wear-clad dance performances smoother than Michael Jackson in Thriller. Next weekend I will be working at a Hair and Beauty salon convention and on for a different company at some shishi party at Sotheby's.

At the internship, I've been doing photography for the next auction. Just call me Adams, Ansel Adams. In a few weeks time, you'll be able to see my masterpieces on kerrytaylorauctions.com. Give it a few more weeks and you can buy a ticket for my exhibition at the Tate Modern. All attendees of the opening gala will be entitled to a free cake of their choice and to a square foot of sleeping space on my floor. Andy Warhol, Damien Hirst and my buddies Michelangelo and Oskar Kokoschka with all be there to celebrate. Among this show-stopping portfolio, the real winners are the photos of the sensuous buttons. In these portraits, I toyed with aperture - we played dominoes if you want the specifics - and came out with the worlds most damn glorious photos of buttons you'll ever see this side of everywhere. One or two shimmering fasteners are caught in zillion-pixel sharpness while the rest of the buttons fade away into morning light dancing on the sharp ripples of a summertime lake.

I've also been spending the past week at the auctioneers calling the fashion house Courreges trying to reach the elusive Madam B..... I've called so much that when I ring I need say no more than "Bonjour" and Christoff the receptionist knows who I was. To say it Clueless-ly, We're like, OH MY GAWD, best friends.

Oh and about things French... in two weeks time I'm going to visit the city where my heart has been paved over the sidewalks: Paris. Mon coup de coeur! I plan on eating my body weight in almond croissants.

Until then, I'm in London. It's 8:35 on a Saturday night. I've got no plans because Bec is at a comedy show, Noellia (flatmate 2) is home in Spain and my one American friend is in Paris. When I first arrived in London and at least two people (though likely more as my jet lag-laden stupor impaired my memory like the Men in Black) told me that they'd been here many months and met few friends. I was unsure of the verity of this statement But hot damn hot potatoes, the concatenation of these past five weeks has lead me to see that it's not exactly an easy task to meet people in this here city. Without the conduit of university and dorm life nor a plethora of co-workers, I feel like a polar north in a field of souths. I'm not used to these big busy New 'Yorkaise' cities. I am happy, yes, my current 'mates' are bunches of fun, but I should try to find those other poor lost souls stuck in a city full of people whose lives have been sucked to the fathoms below by the big vacuum of 'being to busy.' Maybe my expectations are too high. Maybe I'm actually socially inept. Yes that must be it, I am to awkwardness what Elvis to rock and roll. Hahaha noooooo. So, in efforts to shed my cocoon in search of my former butterfly being, I'll be going to a French language meet up on Tuesday and will deliberate joining a book club. Oh look at me, the image of infinite cool, the James Dean of our lives, let me just brush my shoulders off of all those book and language clubs. Or, maybe I'll just continue being happy with my four friends. I'm not as forlorn as this all may sound - I promise.

That's about all to report. It's more so that I just felt like writing than that I had much to say. With the world turned into a carnival ride and the elections exactly one month away, it must be an exciting time over there is America where most of you reside. You know I'd love to hear about it all.

Come Mr. Tally-Mon tally me banana,
Hannah