Oh, I have so much to tell you about! I don't even know where to start. First of all, I'm back from London, which I guess is probably obvious, though I did not escape without doing something majorly embarrassing in front of all my fellow countrymen and also a few Americans too.
It was in the Virgin Atlantic Clubhouse at Heathrow Airport, see, which is kind of the one place you really don't want to do anything embarassing, mostly as it is also the kind of place where you constantly have to hiss at yourself to keep cool, play it cool, because otherwise you'll suffer a sudden attack of self-doubt and end up jumping onto a chair, rending your garments, and shouting WHAT ARE THEY THINKING, LETTING ME INTO A PLACE AS FANCY AS THIS?
Anyway, I was doing a pretty good job of keeping cool for the first half hour or so---don't worry, I actually had to take those pictures above for my job, I wasn't just being some CLUBHOUSE TOURIST (although of course we all know I totally was)---and then my luck ran out and I fell into a pond. Yes, a pond. There's a pond in the Virgin Atlantic Upper Class Clubhouse at Heathrow Airport, WHO KNEW? Well, I know now, thank you very much. I was standing behind one of those cool spherical chairs in the second picture, inching back a bit back a bit back a bit for my next shot, and then suddenly SPLASH!, I had staggered backwards and was ankle-deep in a very cold pond. I mean, I guess it was a reflecting pool if we're going to get all technical about it, but a reflecting pool implies that I would have, you know, seen myself reflected in it and therefore not fallen in, but I didn't and I did, and so there you go.
They were awfully nice about it and brought me a couple of towels from the spa to dry off and my colleagues tried not to laugh too much and my gold flats---once I had poured the pond water out of them---were whisked away to the sauna to be dried, which meant I spent the next hour shuffling around the lounge in a pair of spa slippers, which had its own kind of charm, but man, WHO FALLS INTO A POND IN A FANCY AIRPORT CLUBHOUSE, you know? This guy. This guy does. Right here.
Oh look, I am also the kind of person who takes picture of her food on an airplane. But look! Teeny-tiny cupcakes! A baby cupcake trio! Coochie-coochie-coo!
That picture above was my flight from London to New York, by the way. My flight from New York to San Francisco---after twelve hours in the Sheraton Newark Airport, which was exactly as you would expect the Sheraton Newark Airport to be---was far less glamorous. Gone were the days of lounging in my exclusive pod with a white-tablecloth delivery of mini cupcakes, and instead I was crammed into the middle seat between two people of questionable hygiene, one of whom popped her gum for the entire six-hour flight and swiped her credit card for eight bucks so she could keep watching some inane television show featuring the janitor from Scrubs---except it wasn't Scrubs and he wasn't the janitor---that made her snort out loud approximately three times a minute (don't know why, it didn't look that funny to me.) Oh how the mighty have fallen, eh? That'll show me.
Anyway, now I am back in San Francisco and on Friday we spent three hours signing papers on our house that basically mean we own it---or at least that if we back out now, we're idiots---and the keys should be ready for us to pick up on Wednesday. Unfortunately I won't be here on Wednesday, as I'll be on the Pioneer Woman's Ranch in Oklahoma until late Thursday night filming a video for BlogHer, which means I will have to wait until Friday to do that whole I'M A HOMEOWNER! LOOK AT MY KEYS! thing they do on HGTV all the time. We're going to go over there after work, pizza and champagne in hand, and sit on our very own hardwood floors in all that empty space and toast ourselves for draining our bank account while we visualize painting the walls.
In other news, we went to Kristin and Scott's wedding a few weeks ago, and I have finally got around to uploading all my pictures of it. They are on their honeymoon right now, which makes me long nostalgically for my own honeymoon, because there is really nothing better than having to do nothing after having had to do something for months and months on end. Speaking of doing nothing, has anyone been watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey recently? I find that the women are my least favorite of all the Real Housewives---apart from Dina who I have, inexplicably, warmed to, oh and Caroline too, and actually I guess Jacqueline is quite nice as well; come to think of it, I think Danielle is the only one I hate---and yet there is one person on that show who I cannot get enough of, and that is Albie Manzo, Caroline's son, CAN I GET AN AMEN. Am I the only person to have a secret sneaky crush on Albie? Come on, I really don't think so. Show yourselves. No-one's judging.