I’d like to have my own personal Jamie Oliver

A conversation between S, my co-worker, and me taking place this afternoon in the office bathroom:
Lisa: “Hi S. What’s goin’ on?”
S: (Clearly not understanding the question and therefore replying with every possible answer except the appropriate one) “Awright. Yeah. Fine.”

No one has their own trash can at work. There are communal trash cans and recycling bins. This makes it quite stinky when I get lazy after eating my banana and wait a good 20 minutes before building up the effort to walk to one of the bins. I’m not sure how minimal trash receptacles is a good idea, but again, they’re British; I won’t question it, I’ll just mock it.

The vending machine at work is replenished every day. I think someone came about once a week in Boston to refill ours. I guess people just really like their junk food here.

Whenever G talks I immediately think of Ricky Gervais. And when that woman was sitting next to me today talking on the phone, I immediately thought of Elizabeth Hurley. I’m not sure what it says about me that the two stereotypical Brits I picture when I hear the English accent are David Brent and Vanessa Kensington, but oh well. At least I’m amused.

I was invited out for my first drinks at a pub today after work. (The National Portrait Gallery will just have to wait until next Thursday.) You will never guess what we all talked about at the bar…G's bacon! Except I learned that it’s not bacon, it’s frankfurters. I guess it’s just common knowledge that at 9:30 every morning, G heats up some frankfurters and stinks up the kitchen. I was so overjoyed that I wasn’t the only one privy to his morning snack. I’ll try to keep the talk about G's meat to a minimum now. I think I’ve gone well beyond the appropriate limit for this topic.

I met two K's at the bar tonight, one male, one female. Male K is going to send me a website link where I can find tickets to shows for 2 pounds. I am very excited about this. Female K is going to invite me out to drinks on Friday nights with her mates. I’m less excited about this.

For the first time in pretty much ever, when I ordered a diet coke and followed it up with an “I’m not a big drinker,” I was not met with hostility and rebuttals! It was fantastic! A bunch of different people offered to get me a drink and each one accepted the fact that I was okay sippin’ on my soda. I think I might live to see the end of 6 months!!! Now…where did I put that bottle of Jack?