There are no bad owners, only bad dogs



Apparently Oxford is a seller's market. Everyplace that is advertised for rent ('to let,' which looks a lot to me like 'toilet') is snapped up fast. But I think I have a place to live. Small, expensive, but close to work. I won't be able to move in until Friday. Life in the group home is okay most of the time, but adults just weren't meant to live together and share a bathroom. That's why so many marriages end in divorce. It's a fact.

So my housemates are starting to get on my nerves. The American is an adult lisper (way worse than Drew Barrymore), which is driving me insane. I know that public schools provide speech therapy, but I think this is a choice on her part. Plus, she gets all uber-American on occasion in a nasty way. According to her, she went to look at a house to rent/share with friends and it wasn't up to her standards, so she started tell the owner that he 'thouldn't be thowing plathes like that to Americanth, becauthe we have different thtandardth.' And she was telling this to me and a Brit. I was cringing and making 'I'm not with her' motions. And then she started on the 'Americanth are jutht the betht in the world' crap. Oy. I'm Canadian.

And I suppose when I say ''My housemates are getting on my nerves,'' I really just mean her. Because the other ones are ok.

On Friday night, there was a going away party for someone I had never met, but I was invited along so I went. It was in a 'cocktail bar,' distinctly different than a pub. It was interesting -- hot, smoky, and a guy with only one tooth in the top front tried to 'chat me up.' It was icky. But the crap part of that is that I had to be civil to him because he is integral to the IT department, and if you piss them off, you're screwed for life. It was fab. The party continued onward to other pubs after I left, but it's hard to converse with people in a noisy, crowded bar, and it's hard to do anything but converse when you don't know anyone. You can't watch other people and laugh at them until you know them better. At least, not when they're still sober.

Saturday was spent doing laundry, which took all day because each load takes like a freakin hour to wash. It was rainy and crappy, so it was a good day to stay in. I finished my book which was called Starter for Ten. It was very good -- even though it was all British-y, it was hilarious.

I've promised the boys in my department that I would find them t-shirts that say 'Fuck y'all -- I'm from Texas' but the Internet is not giving up its secrets so far. I know such things exist because I've seen them in Austin store windows. Sigh. That Internet. Sometimes it's just so stubborn.

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