What am I gona do about my bed?

I had a large lump on my boob this afternoon and for the first and only time in my life, it was a good thing. I had to stash a bulk of 500 pounds (AKA British dollars not weight… I can’t believe you would think this… I’m not that strong) in my bra. I didn’t really know where else to put the money and I needed it for my apartment deposit and rent. YAY for Al and I, yes we found an apartment! I actually needed more than that, but that was all the bank would allow me to take out. The bank, meaning the ATM machine, the actual bank was closed today, but every stinking ATM machine I went to denied me any further access to my money from EITHER of my bank accounts! Like bro, what if I wanted to really ball out in London? I’m going to be stopped by a bunch of computer ATM machines in London!?

It was pouring rain all day. Al and I were walking in the street drenched with all our luggage and a British dude passed us and was like… “HAHA, welcome to London!” His sarcasm didn’t really amuse me at that point, I really just wanted to get to our damn apartment so I could finally stop wearing the same clothes and imagine myself in something other than a hostile bed.

The apartment itself is not the best situation, but it’s something! Plus it will help me save some money so I can get more situated. Basically, the apartment is a four bedroom flat in East London. It has one bathroom and kitchen for four rooms. Al and I are sharing the largest room on the first floor. We each have our own twin bed (which currently has no sheets). Yes, I am actually rocking out in my Syracuse hoody and sweatpants and my warm wool socks my mom bought me one Christmas. Thanks mom. (Special thanks to Al for taking these pictures of me at one of my lowest moments.)




It’s cold here! But I’m thankful because the flat has good heat. Unfortunately, it didn’t come on right away and I was late to an interview because I couldn’t move far from the radiator.

As far as the job situation, things are surprisingly looking up. I randomly applied to a cocktail waitress position out of fear that if I didn’t start applying to jobs, I would be going home a lot sooner than I want to. I didn’t expect any reply back, but I do have a lot of New York City waitressing experience. I assume that was the reason the manager called me back. Unfortunately, since I don’t have a visa or working papers, I was extremely nervous about heading over to the interview.

(see video)

The interview shouldn’t have gone as smoothly as it did. Not only was I thirty minutes late, but the application I needed to fill out included every question imaginable on my bank information, visa and working papers. I left half the application blank and stood at the bar waiting to speak to the manager while trying to calmly think of a story as to why I would even bother coming in for an interview without working papers. A tall young spiky haired man came up to me, it was Andy. Nervous as hell, as he sifted through my half empty application form, he looked at me and asked about possible working hours. “So, we close at 3am three days a week, is this okay with you?” (I was waiting for a much harsher question obviously) “Yea, that’s fine!” Eventually, he asked me about my visa, and thankfully, I came up with the excuse that I originally came here with the intention to work for a company who was also supposed to sponsor me, but upon my arrival last week I found out that due to the bad economy, the company would no longer be able to utilize my work, so poor me is now stuck in London hoping to stay but unfortunately is currently without a work visa. Andy shook my hand told me to come in on Monday for a trial workday.