It's over.
I'm home now. I'm back in Boston. I just got it yesterday after spending 10 hours in Heathrow because I missed my flight by 10 minutes (fucking cab driver). Then some Indian man tried to get my number and told me he was from Portugal. Why would you lie about something like that? I mean, you are old and gross, so being from India isn't going to make your points go any lower. I'm shallow, not racist.
I'm not happy about it. When I was in London I was excited to be back here. I wanted to see my friends and family and get a job and see my pretty little cat and now that I've done those things I couldn't give a wank. I just want to be back in my dorm room in Furzedown, looking out my window onto the school where all the little wanker children would play at fucking 8 in the morning. I want to see the dishes piled high and have only one tap to drink water out of. I want public transportation that works and to climb up the double decker stairs when the bus is moving and risking serious injury. I want to see Rosie, Mark, Josh, Callum, Ocky, Becca, Elenor, Amaranthe, Leigh, Paul, George, Fran, Megan, Alex, and all the others. I want to roam the streets of London; the dirty, beautiful streets of London. Did I use that semicolon correctly? Probably not.
I have almost cried a couple of times, but I guess I can't be too upset because I know I'll be back there soon enough. I'll see some of those people again and I'll walk those streets again. I'll see Brick Lane, Portobello, and Borough Markets again and I'll CONQUER it all.
Dublin was boring, by the way. Drank a lot. That's about it.
I guess this is the end of my London blog. There isn't much more to say except that it is one of the greatest cities on earth and the opportunity I was given to come here was more than I could have asked for. I love London. That's that.
I still need to find an English husband.
Thursday 17 April 2008
Thursday 10 April 2008
Regrets...
I wish I could go back in time and rethink my trip. I would scratch off Manchester and Newcastle for sure. I don't know why I went to all these industry towns. They are boring as..well...industry towns. I wanted to see England and the UK at it's finest! Not old mills and cranes building new high rise apartments in slums where the people would never be able to afford to live in them, thus having to move when the high risers make all the property around them increase and they can't even afford their dilapidated, wonky flats.
Edinburgh was like a breath of fresh air in my industry town tour. The Royal Mile is almost ALL 17th century, genuine buildings. Sure, there are gift shops everywhere, but that doesn't bother me. The city is gorgeous and I didn't want to leave. I could have walked around for days and days.
I reached into my wallet and pulled out a mean £38 to go on a day tour in the Highlands. It was partially worth it, although the Castle Stirling was about as interesting as all the other castles they've turned into War museums. The Scots really do love to fight. But the view of the mountains, the Lochs, the winding, tiny roads, and the beauty of what looks like a pristine and untouched Scotland was worth it. We took a boat cruise down Loch Lamond and the view of the mountains and of Mount Ben Lamond was stunning. It was the first time I had ever really seen a white capped mountain in real life and NOT from the air. In case you are wondering, a LOCH is the word for lake and it's not pronounced LOCK, but LOCCCHHHHSSFKLSJ....like Hebrew. You see that spelling? That's Hebrew.
The tour guide was a tiny, robust Scotsman who would talk endlessly about the lore and told the truth about William Wallace. Turns out the guy was 6'7", his sword alone was 5'7". And he would nae painted his face blue. That was the tribe called the Pects that tattooed themselves blue and fought bare ass naked. The Romans never DID conquer them, probably the sight of naked, blue men charging at you would make anyone a little skiddish. Also the words "blackmail", "Nightmare" and "Daylight Robbery" are all from Scotland. That was interesting. On the way back from the Loch Lamond, the entire bus joined in singing to the song The Ballad of Loch Lamond. I couldn't help myself and I sang quietly to myself while some English women went mad.
There was an American couple of the tour and they annoyed the hell out of me. American tourists tend to do that to me because I am so high and mighty now, you know. I mean, I'm a world traveler. Well, at least a European traveler and I have no problem with that. I don't think I am all that upset that I won't have the chance to go further into the mainland. Although I do with I had more time to spend in Paris. That is my regret. Paris would have been fantastic.
Now I am in Dublin, a bit stranded, hungry, and alone. Not unhappy, though. I think I am getting weary of traveling and I am excited to be back to London on Saturday and then come home soon after. I love it here and I have to come back, but the responsibilities back home seem to be piling up and it's affecting me over here. I can't just forget about things. I need to tend to them right away because I lack patience. Well, with myself at least. Well, this has cost me two Euros and I must be on my way. I am STARVING.
oh yeah...so where I would go.... Bath and Cornwall. Somewhere else too. Oh well, they'll still be there in two years. Hopefully.
Edinburgh was like a breath of fresh air in my industry town tour. The Royal Mile is almost ALL 17th century, genuine buildings. Sure, there are gift shops everywhere, but that doesn't bother me. The city is gorgeous and I didn't want to leave. I could have walked around for days and days.
I reached into my wallet and pulled out a mean £38 to go on a day tour in the Highlands. It was partially worth it, although the Castle Stirling was about as interesting as all the other castles they've turned into War museums. The Scots really do love to fight. But the view of the mountains, the Lochs, the winding, tiny roads, and the beauty of what looks like a pristine and untouched Scotland was worth it. We took a boat cruise down Loch Lamond and the view of the mountains and of Mount Ben Lamond was stunning. It was the first time I had ever really seen a white capped mountain in real life and NOT from the air. In case you are wondering, a LOCH is the word for lake and it's not pronounced LOCK, but LOCCCHHHHSSFKLSJ....like Hebrew. You see that spelling? That's Hebrew.
The tour guide was a tiny, robust Scotsman who would talk endlessly about the lore and told the truth about William Wallace. Turns out the guy was 6'7", his sword alone was 5'7". And he would nae painted his face blue. That was the tribe called the Pects that tattooed themselves blue and fought bare ass naked. The Romans never DID conquer them, probably the sight of naked, blue men charging at you would make anyone a little skiddish. Also the words "blackmail", "Nightmare" and "Daylight Robbery" are all from Scotland. That was interesting. On the way back from the Loch Lamond, the entire bus joined in singing to the song The Ballad of Loch Lamond. I couldn't help myself and I sang quietly to myself while some English women went mad.
There was an American couple of the tour and they annoyed the hell out of me. American tourists tend to do that to me because I am so high and mighty now, you know. I mean, I'm a world traveler. Well, at least a European traveler and I have no problem with that. I don't think I am all that upset that I won't have the chance to go further into the mainland. Although I do with I had more time to spend in Paris. That is my regret. Paris would have been fantastic.
Now I am in Dublin, a bit stranded, hungry, and alone. Not unhappy, though. I think I am getting weary of traveling and I am excited to be back to London on Saturday and then come home soon after. I love it here and I have to come back, but the responsibilities back home seem to be piling up and it's affecting me over here. I can't just forget about things. I need to tend to them right away because I lack patience. Well, with myself at least. Well, this has cost me two Euros and I must be on my way. I am STARVING.
oh yeah...so where I would go.... Bath and Cornwall. Somewhere else too. Oh well, they'll still be there in two years. Hopefully.
Monday 7 April 2008
CONT'D
So Edinburgh. Beautiful. Wet. Hilly.
I went to The Castle Edinburgh yesterday. It was sunny and fucking cold as hell. The castle is perched atop a rocky cliffside overlooking most of Edinburgh that isn't on the Royal Mile. It cost me 11 quid to see the view. The castle itself wasn't so impressive. I mean, it was a castle and all castles, regardless , are amazing for me. There was a lot of war stuff there. Cannons, the war museum, prisoners of war museum, war war war. The Scotts love their war. I did get to see the crown jewels of Scotland which had been hidden for a couple hundred years and found at the bottom of a chest. AND there were ruins. So that was nice.
There are kilt shops and wollen textile shops a plenty. Scotland is known for its textiles and of course, the Tartan. Gift shops with little naked scotsman and all that glorious stuff. Tomorrow I do a walking tour and then the next day I am off for a day to the highlands to see LOCHNESS!!! WHOO!!
Tonight though, I am going on a haunted tour. Muahaha.
I went to The Castle Edinburgh yesterday. It was sunny and fucking cold as hell. The castle is perched atop a rocky cliffside overlooking most of Edinburgh that isn't on the Royal Mile. It cost me 11 quid to see the view. The castle itself wasn't so impressive. I mean, it was a castle and all castles, regardless , are amazing for me. There was a lot of war stuff there. Cannons, the war museum, prisoners of war museum, war war war. The Scotts love their war. I did get to see the crown jewels of Scotland which had been hidden for a couple hundred years and found at the bottom of a chest. AND there were ruins. So that was nice.
There are kilt shops and wollen textile shops a plenty. Scotland is known for its textiles and of course, the Tartan. Gift shops with little naked scotsman and all that glorious stuff. Tomorrow I do a walking tour and then the next day I am off for a day to the highlands to see LOCHNESS!!! WHOO!!
Tonight though, I am going on a haunted tour. Muahaha.
Sunday 6 April 2008
The Flying Scottsman?
EDINBURGH is amazing. It's gorgeous and I am so excited to start looking around tomorrow.
Booked the hostel. It's nice enough. A lot of people. I hate to say it but a 300lbs girl is going to be sleeping on the top bunk above mine and I am sorta scared for my life. We'll see. If I don't update for a week, then I'm dead. But you'll know I'm dead already.
I went to the castle today and it was alright. The view was amazing and what really made the place. There was also a massive blizzard today. A blizzard in April. It was strange. But it all melted except some little dust on the mountain/hills. Whatever they are.
Oh computer is about to die. More later.
Booked the hostel. It's nice enough. A lot of people. I hate to say it but a 300lbs girl is going to be sleeping on the top bunk above mine and I am sorta scared for my life. We'll see. If I don't update for a week, then I'm dead. But you'll know I'm dead already.
I went to the castle today and it was alright. The view was amazing and what really made the place. There was also a massive blizzard today. A blizzard in April. It was strange. But it all melted except some little dust on the mountain/hills. Whatever they are.
Oh computer is about to die. More later.
Saturday 5 April 2008
bonus
I find myself on the computer a lot. Checking the same websites.
Facebook
Myspace
Livejournal
Gmail
Waiting to see if anyone is commenting on my posts. If I have any personal e-mails that don't involve making my penis larger or how I missed this deadline and that. The loneliness of traveling is creeping up. Even though I am in Newcastle with a very nice host, I'm lonely and sort of waiting for my trip to be over. When I can come home. Seeing people I love. And don't.
I am taking things for granted, I know. OH MY, she says, WHAT A BORE! I DARE SAY THAT ALL THIS TRAVELING THE UK IS GETTING ON MY NERVES. I DON'T WANT TO SEE THE WORLD, EXPERIENCE NEW THINGS, MEET EXCITING PEOPLE. I WANT TO GET A JOB AND FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF. I WANT BE SAD.
Shit. I WANT to be sad. I am making myself sad. I am literally doing things in order to feel that horrible, gut wrenching ball in my stomach build up until I feel like bursting. I want to be on the edge on tears when no one is around. I WANT WAITERS IN RESTAURANTS TO TELL ME I HAVE SAD EYES.
So. I guess I'll have to stop being sad. First task in my no more sadness goal is to eat right. The food I am eating isn't making me happy. I know my choices and I will choose them wisely. I already did pretty well today. Happy times?
Happy times.
Myspace
Livejournal
Gmail
Waiting to see if anyone is commenting on my posts. If I have any personal e-mails that don't involve making my penis larger or how I missed this deadline and that. The loneliness of traveling is creeping up. Even though I am in Newcastle with a very nice host, I'm lonely and sort of waiting for my trip to be over. When I can come home. Seeing people I love. And don't.
I am taking things for granted, I know. OH MY, she says, WHAT A BORE! I DARE SAY THAT ALL THIS TRAVELING THE UK IS GETTING ON MY NERVES. I DON'T WANT TO SEE THE WORLD, EXPERIENCE NEW THINGS, MEET EXCITING PEOPLE. I WANT TO GET A JOB AND FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF. I WANT BE SAD.
Shit. I WANT to be sad. I am making myself sad. I am literally doing things in order to feel that horrible, gut wrenching ball in my stomach build up until I feel like bursting. I want to be on the edge on tears when no one is around. I WANT WAITERS IN RESTAURANTS TO TELL ME I HAVE SAD EYES.
So. I guess I'll have to stop being sad. First task in my no more sadness goal is to eat right. The food I am eating isn't making me happy. I know my choices and I will choose them wisely. I already did pretty well today. Happy times?
Happy times.
Manchester and Leeds
Manchester's sister city should be Minneapolis. Although they are nothing comparative in size, they are both industrial towns and reminded me of one another. Manchester had...a high street but all cities have high streets. All the beautiful, lovely cities of England are being destroyed by high street shops like Marks and Spencer, NU LOOK (although I do buy pants from there), BH, John Lewis, and whatever crappy departmental store that they can implant on the once historic high streets. But there was a good area for alternative shops. An actual arcade full of them. 3 floors of alternative shopping. I bought a pair of plugs that were, unfortunatly, too big. Looks like I am in for a summer of ear pain while I stretch them to fit. I spent £12! I can't lose that!
I met some German guys named Roman and Peter. We were in the same room at the Hostel. Sweet fellas. We ate indian food and drank together, but I had to leave in the morning to get train to Leeds...
LEEDS! Leeds was far more interesting than Manchester. Oh , I left out that Manchester had a boss art gallery called Urbis. Check it out online or something. I really don't care what you do.
SO LEEDS! I couldn't get ahold of my friend who would be hosting me so I spent the better part of the day looking or a hostel then realizing there are none in Leeds. Oh well. She did get ahold of me and I would take the train then bus to her village of Homfirth. I walked around Leeds with my massive, heavy bag and wasn't that interested in the art museum. I found a cheap place to eat which ended up being a gay bar. The fact that techo and Madonna was playing my entire meal (AND the song "It's Raining Men") and I was surrounded by gay people. There was a lesbian in the corner who would peer at me over her drink in a most unflattering way. As if she knew I wasn't gay. She could see right through me.
I went to a small villiage called Homfirth. That's where Rosie lives. She happen to live on top of a hill which was...lame, but absolutely beautiful. The view was of green fields, slate stone fences, horses, and old country houses, and the bluest sky I had seen in a while. It was windy and warm. Ah! It was heaven.
On the second night, we all went into center of Leeds for an art show of a friends ex. It was interesting enough. I had fun. I drank four glasses of wine within an hour and a half. That's a whole bottle of wine. MY GOD. Then afterwards we tried to dine and ditch, but that didn't happen. We just continued to drink. I had a good time being with friends I knew from school. It was nice to see familiar faces. Traveling can be very lonely and it was a releif. We all went back to Josh's house, drank more, fell asleep on the floor and woke up with a massive head ache. Also my throat decided not to work.
AH well. Leeds was fun. I'm not in the mood to write more. Fuck it.
I met some German guys named Roman and Peter. We were in the same room at the Hostel. Sweet fellas. We ate indian food and drank together, but I had to leave in the morning to get train to Leeds...
LEEDS! Leeds was far more interesting than Manchester. Oh , I left out that Manchester had a boss art gallery called Urbis. Check it out online or something. I really don't care what you do.
SO LEEDS! I couldn't get ahold of my friend who would be hosting me so I spent the better part of the day looking or a hostel then realizing there are none in Leeds. Oh well. She did get ahold of me and I would take the train then bus to her village of Homfirth. I walked around Leeds with my massive, heavy bag and wasn't that interested in the art museum. I found a cheap place to eat which ended up being a gay bar. The fact that techo and Madonna was playing my entire meal (AND the song "It's Raining Men") and I was surrounded by gay people. There was a lesbian in the corner who would peer at me over her drink in a most unflattering way. As if she knew I wasn't gay. She could see right through me.
I went to a small villiage called Homfirth. That's where Rosie lives. She happen to live on top of a hill which was...lame, but absolutely beautiful. The view was of green fields, slate stone fences, horses, and old country houses, and the bluest sky I had seen in a while. It was windy and warm. Ah! It was heaven.
On the second night, we all went into center of Leeds for an art show of a friends ex. It was interesting enough. I had fun. I drank four glasses of wine within an hour and a half. That's a whole bottle of wine. MY GOD. Then afterwards we tried to dine and ditch, but that didn't happen. We just continued to drink. I had a good time being with friends I knew from school. It was nice to see familiar faces. Traveling can be very lonely and it was a releif. We all went back to Josh's house, drank more, fell asleep on the floor and woke up with a massive head ache. Also my throat decided not to work.
AH well. Leeds was fun. I'm not in the mood to write more. Fuck it.
Sunday 30 March 2008
Liverpool is full of Scallies
I never thought I would utter the words " I've been to Liverpool".
Now I can.
I've been to Liverpool.
Every obsessed Beatles fan's wet dream is to stand in front of the tiny stage in the damp, dingy, smelly ol' Cavern Club. Yeah, I lived it. I got the pictures to prove it (which, of course, I am far too lazy to post). Although it isn't the true cavern club. It was partially demolished in the 70's and then was rebuilt using all original bricks. The archways are, as far as I know, true originals. They also moved it 15 meters up Mathews St. and a couple floors lower.
But it was still the Cavern Club. Lets not argue about this.
I spent 7 quid on a cheesy Beatles museum called "The Beatles Story". The most amazing thing they had, and it isn't THAT amazing-but kinda is- was George's first guitar. It looked like crap but man oh man, it was real. They also had the original collarless jackets the lads wore in the early days. I find it so hard to believe that every record company had declined to sign them. Sometimes I really love irony.
Then I went into the Beatles shop and bought stupid things like buttons and the like, but didn't spend hoards. I also visited the Tate Liverpool the night before (all this is located on the Albert Docks) and it was okay. I have a beef with modern art that may never be understood.
Back to the Beatles...after the hour and a half cheesiness, I headed off to Mathews St. otherwise known as "Beatles Street". This is where the Cavern Club is, The Cavern Pub, really bad Beatles memorial things, and The Grapes Pub. All of these places hold a special place in every Beatles fan's heart. When I laid eyes upon the cavern club, rounding the corner in the dark, dankness and sweaty place, my heart stopped. I was silent and nothing existed except me and this club. All the scallies were non existent. It was a moment of bliss between two lovers.
So after all my Beatles fun, I met up with me mate, Mark. His dad was kind enough to pick me up from Liverpool Central and take me to his home in Beddington on the Mersey side (which used to be called Lancashire- ignore spelling) We went to a real, English like pub for a night out with his two mates and little brother. Ironically, the real English pub had some guy singing Frank Sinatra tunes all night. It was a strange atmosphere but most enjoyable to get pissed in.
We headed back to his house and he was kind enough to let me sleep in his bed while he took to the floor. What a gentleman!! In the morning, I was going to head back to get my stuff from Marcin's place (Marcin is the CS guy that was kind enough to host me, but I feel bad that I ended up staying with Mark rather than him for the last night. He's polish, works for Ryan air-yikes- and was super nice although a bit strange and a loner.) Anyway...Mark's dad makes me breakfast and then they all offer to take me to a small town called Chester and to Penny Lane! What the hell? Why are these people so fucking nice? Their hospitality towards me was honestly amazing and I am beside myself and very grateful. We went to Chester which is a small town that has a medieval wall surrounding it along with ancient roman ruins. Then they bought me LUNCH!!!
And several Pints!!!
Then we watched Liverpool play Ebbington in a football match which was sorta boring.
I ATE MORE FOOD!!!
Got on the train and here I am in a hostel in Manchester. It's late, I'm tired. And I was in Liverpool.
Now I can.
I've been to Liverpool.
Every obsessed Beatles fan's wet dream is to stand in front of the tiny stage in the damp, dingy, smelly ol' Cavern Club. Yeah, I lived it. I got the pictures to prove it (which, of course, I am far too lazy to post). Although it isn't the true cavern club. It was partially demolished in the 70's and then was rebuilt using all original bricks. The archways are, as far as I know, true originals. They also moved it 15 meters up Mathews St. and a couple floors lower.
But it was still the Cavern Club. Lets not argue about this.
I spent 7 quid on a cheesy Beatles museum called "The Beatles Story". The most amazing thing they had, and it isn't THAT amazing-but kinda is- was George's first guitar. It looked like crap but man oh man, it was real. They also had the original collarless jackets the lads wore in the early days. I find it so hard to believe that every record company had declined to sign them. Sometimes I really love irony.
Then I went into the Beatles shop and bought stupid things like buttons and the like, but didn't spend hoards. I also visited the Tate Liverpool the night before (all this is located on the Albert Docks) and it was okay. I have a beef with modern art that may never be understood.
Back to the Beatles...after the hour and a half cheesiness, I headed off to Mathews St. otherwise known as "Beatles Street". This is where the Cavern Club is, The Cavern Pub, really bad Beatles memorial things, and The Grapes Pub. All of these places hold a special place in every Beatles fan's heart. When I laid eyes upon the cavern club, rounding the corner in the dark, dankness and sweaty place, my heart stopped. I was silent and nothing existed except me and this club. All the scallies were non existent. It was a moment of bliss between two lovers.
So after all my Beatles fun, I met up with me mate, Mark. His dad was kind enough to pick me up from Liverpool Central and take me to his home in Beddington on the Mersey side (which used to be called Lancashire- ignore spelling) We went to a real, English like pub for a night out with his two mates and little brother. Ironically, the real English pub had some guy singing Frank Sinatra tunes all night. It was a strange atmosphere but most enjoyable to get pissed in.
We headed back to his house and he was kind enough to let me sleep in his bed while he took to the floor. What a gentleman!! In the morning, I was going to head back to get my stuff from Marcin's place (Marcin is the CS guy that was kind enough to host me, but I feel bad that I ended up staying with Mark rather than him for the last night. He's polish, works for Ryan air-yikes- and was super nice although a bit strange and a loner.) Anyway...Mark's dad makes me breakfast and then they all offer to take me to a small town called Chester and to Penny Lane! What the hell? Why are these people so fucking nice? Their hospitality towards me was honestly amazing and I am beside myself and very grateful. We went to Chester which is a small town that has a medieval wall surrounding it along with ancient roman ruins. Then they bought me LUNCH!!!
And several Pints!!!
Then we watched Liverpool play Ebbington in a football match which was sorta boring.
I ATE MORE FOOD!!!
Got on the train and here I am in a hostel in Manchester. It's late, I'm tired. And I was in Liverpool.
Tuesday 25 March 2008
Long Overdue
I haven't left Furzedown Hall today. Not once. Not even for a breath of fresh air. I have been inside for a good....well, all day. Tomorrow will be different. I've been packing and I am basically done except for odds and ends that can't be put away until the last minute. But I'm not hear to talk about packing-I was in Paris!
I started my journey last Tuesday and decided that I wanted to spend the day in Dover. I wanted to see the Castle because I haven't been to any proper castles since I've been here. I'm not sure I want to count Hampton Court or the Brighton Pavilion. Okay, I will.
It is atop a huge hill overlooking the ocean and the entire of Dover. The view was breathtaking and so was the fucking walk up the hill. But I did it. I climbed to Dover castle.
The castle itself is sorta blandish. No period furniture, just crevasses and tunnels. There were medieval tunnel that scared the shit outta me so bad I dared not even venture past the light. I went to the roof of the castle and took photos and froze my bum off. The castle had been used as an army base during the centuries including the 2nd world war. They had secret tunnels and even a hospital built into the white cliffs.
After an enchanting day on top of a hill, I made it down to the valley in search of some food. I wanted something good. Something to remember. I ended up at some greasy spoon, dying of hunger, and going face first into a chicken and mushroom pie with veggies and spring potatoes covered in gravy. They fucking love gravy here. I don't get it.
The next day it was onto the Ferry. The port was massive and like a giant car park with all sorts of dotted lines that cross and intersect confusing even the most expert of motorists. The ferry was pleasant enough as a ferry ride could be. The wind was forceful and the sight of the white cliffs going off into the horizon against a bright blue sky will stick with me forever. When we arrived at the port I tried to find the bus that would take me to my final destination of a train station. But to my surprise, the train station was all the way in Siberia and I needed a taxi to get there. This is where it gets good.
I consider myself to be okay in French. I can get by so so. At least I can order a meal and reserve a hotel room. So this taxi driver, his English is about where my French is. On our lovely little drive, he talks on his mobile to some phantom on the other side. Promptly after hanging up he speaks to me in french. I caught these words. Drive, wife, on route, grocery store, okay. Its adding up in my head. We begin to go down all these side streets and pass various patisseries and boutiques and I know we are not going to any train station. He pulls into a neighborhood development and it hits me. He is going to rape me, kill me, and hide my body in the foundation of one of the these 1/2 constructed houses. Huzzah.
Turns out we just pull up to his house and his wife gets in. I'm in the back seat of a taxi who just took me to pick up his wife and drop her off at a store while I need to catch a train. Only in France, my friends. Only in France.
The train ride was relaxing. The French country side is exactly like it is in all the films highlighting it. Broad, green, and charming. I expected to see oxen plowing the land.
12 hours later I am in Lyon.
Lyon is a nice city. Small compared to the demigod that is Paris, but charming non the less. My friend Anata was nice enough to let me have shelter in her home with her mother. I get there and enjoy a croissant. The architecture in the south of France makes me feel Mediterranean. Large buildings with long, tall windows. Wooden shutters. Red roofs. And mountains. Very Beautiful.
We set off the next day to the center of London. Chatting about school, friends, boys, and mothers, we arrive in the center with food on our minds. We settle on a little Brasserie and have a set menu for 12 euros. I ordered a starter of a chicken cake (don't ask, it just tasted good) and fish. She had a steak with chips and a chocolate mousse. But when she orders her dessert, who do they bring the chocolate mousse to? Me. That's who. The fat one at the table. Why does everyone assume that I ordered fucking dessert? Cmon people, just because I am portly and American doesn't mean you can dump a bag of sugar down my gullet and call it a meal. Yes it does, actually.
We went to the Musee Beaux D'Art. I took two photos of Jesus being circumcised and felt proud. Saw some mummies, some other art, more art. art. But the best was going up to the Basilica that sits atop a huge hill over looking Lyon. You could see for miles. I saw the entire city of Lyon including the silhouettes of the mountains below. I was in awe of the whole thing. The view would most defiantly make me want to be christian.
The next day was another day filled with travel. I got to Paris and it was snowing/hailing/raining. I struggled to find my Hostel which was in the northern Boulevards part of the city. It was in a very nice, quaint neighborhood and was near a cemetery. I walked around the cemetery looking for Truffaut and Degas's graves. I only found T-mister and Degas is a sneaky son of a bitch because I looked for a good hour and never found him. Then I met up with Caryn and Tracy. We saw the Arch and that's when it hit me that I was in Paris. My heart fluttered and I looked down the Champs-Elysees and lost myself. I was really in Paris. Who is going to get that chance? I am sure a lot of people, but really. France. Cmon.
We walked down the street to the center with the Obelisk and then moved on to the Louvre where I saw the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, The raft of the Medusa, The lace Maker, The astronomer, Krotos boy, and some other gems. But after all that fucking art we were tired and hungry. We made ourselves to an island in the seine river and ate like kings!
If the french know a thing or two, its about food. I have never eaten so well and so much fucking bread, my god! But I couldn't help myself. Bread and cheese. That is all I will ever need.
The next night I did a bit of shopping which was fun and realized how much money I was spending. I quickly stopped shopping at that point.
The trip home was not so great. I was stuck in Calais for 4 hours due to heavy winds. I was supposed to be back on the Island around 8pm, I got there at midnight. The Ferry ride was on rough seas and I don't ever get sea sick...but I did this time. Then I tried to sleep on the floor of the Ferry and imagine I was a baby being rocked by my mother. It didn't work.
When we got to Dover, everything had closed. I mean everything. No buses. No trains. Nothing. I was stranded in the massive port with only my journal to keep me company on account the ipod died. One can only write so much before it just becomes incoherent babble. I ended sleeping on the floor of a nursing room which was the only warm spot in the entire place. I remember dreaming.
Then it was the long trek back to London from Dover. I started at 6 am and got to Tooting at 10:30. On the way I had taken a taxi, a bus, and train, then the tube and had eaten the most ghastly of breakfast sandwiches. It was called the mighty butty or something like that. It was bacon, sausage, cheese, and egg. The sausage was a long sausage roll rolled into a sphere with slabs of thick, English bacon with melted cheese and a bit of egg. All on a butty. Fuck it was nasty as hell and I regret every moment of it.
So there you have it. My trip to Paris to avoid immigration. Whooo!
I started my journey last Tuesday and decided that I wanted to spend the day in Dover. I wanted to see the Castle because I haven't been to any proper castles since I've been here. I'm not sure I want to count Hampton Court or the Brighton Pavilion. Okay, I will.
It is atop a huge hill overlooking the ocean and the entire of Dover. The view was breathtaking and so was the fucking walk up the hill. But I did it. I climbed to Dover castle.
The castle itself is sorta blandish. No period furniture, just crevasses and tunnels. There were medieval tunnel that scared the shit outta me so bad I dared not even venture past the light. I went to the roof of the castle and took photos and froze my bum off. The castle had been used as an army base during the centuries including the 2nd world war. They had secret tunnels and even a hospital built into the white cliffs.
After an enchanting day on top of a hill, I made it down to the valley in search of some food. I wanted something good. Something to remember. I ended up at some greasy spoon, dying of hunger, and going face first into a chicken and mushroom pie with veggies and spring potatoes covered in gravy. They fucking love gravy here. I don't get it.
The next day it was onto the Ferry. The port was massive and like a giant car park with all sorts of dotted lines that cross and intersect confusing even the most expert of motorists. The ferry was pleasant enough as a ferry ride could be. The wind was forceful and the sight of the white cliffs going off into the horizon against a bright blue sky will stick with me forever. When we arrived at the port I tried to find the bus that would take me to my final destination of a train station. But to my surprise, the train station was all the way in Siberia and I needed a taxi to get there. This is where it gets good.
I consider myself to be okay in French. I can get by so so. At least I can order a meal and reserve a hotel room. So this taxi driver, his English is about where my French is. On our lovely little drive, he talks on his mobile to some phantom on the other side. Promptly after hanging up he speaks to me in french. I caught these words. Drive, wife, on route, grocery store, okay. Its adding up in my head. We begin to go down all these side streets and pass various patisseries and boutiques and I know we are not going to any train station. He pulls into a neighborhood development and it hits me. He is going to rape me, kill me, and hide my body in the foundation of one of the these 1/2 constructed houses. Huzzah.
Turns out we just pull up to his house and his wife gets in. I'm in the back seat of a taxi who just took me to pick up his wife and drop her off at a store while I need to catch a train. Only in France, my friends. Only in France.
The train ride was relaxing. The French country side is exactly like it is in all the films highlighting it. Broad, green, and charming. I expected to see oxen plowing the land.
12 hours later I am in Lyon.
Lyon is a nice city. Small compared to the demigod that is Paris, but charming non the less. My friend Anata was nice enough to let me have shelter in her home with her mother. I get there and enjoy a croissant. The architecture in the south of France makes me feel Mediterranean. Large buildings with long, tall windows. Wooden shutters. Red roofs. And mountains. Very Beautiful.
We set off the next day to the center of London. Chatting about school, friends, boys, and mothers, we arrive in the center with food on our minds. We settle on a little Brasserie and have a set menu for 12 euros. I ordered a starter of a chicken cake (don't ask, it just tasted good) and fish. She had a steak with chips and a chocolate mousse. But when she orders her dessert, who do they bring the chocolate mousse to? Me. That's who. The fat one at the table. Why does everyone assume that I ordered fucking dessert? Cmon people, just because I am portly and American doesn't mean you can dump a bag of sugar down my gullet and call it a meal. Yes it does, actually.
We went to the Musee Beaux D'Art. I took two photos of Jesus being circumcised and felt proud. Saw some mummies, some other art, more art. art. But the best was going up to the Basilica that sits atop a huge hill over looking Lyon. You could see for miles. I saw the entire city of Lyon including the silhouettes of the mountains below. I was in awe of the whole thing. The view would most defiantly make me want to be christian.
The next day was another day filled with travel. I got to Paris and it was snowing/hailing/raining. I struggled to find my Hostel which was in the northern Boulevards part of the city. It was in a very nice, quaint neighborhood and was near a cemetery. I walked around the cemetery looking for Truffaut and Degas's graves. I only found T-mister and Degas is a sneaky son of a bitch because I looked for a good hour and never found him. Then I met up with Caryn and Tracy. We saw the Arch and that's when it hit me that I was in Paris. My heart fluttered and I looked down the Champs-Elysees and lost myself. I was really in Paris. Who is going to get that chance? I am sure a lot of people, but really. France. Cmon.
We walked down the street to the center with the Obelisk and then moved on to the Louvre where I saw the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, The raft of the Medusa, The lace Maker, The astronomer, Krotos boy, and some other gems. But after all that fucking art we were tired and hungry. We made ourselves to an island in the seine river and ate like kings!
If the french know a thing or two, its about food. I have never eaten so well and so much fucking bread, my god! But I couldn't help myself. Bread and cheese. That is all I will ever need.
The next night I did a bit of shopping which was fun and realized how much money I was spending. I quickly stopped shopping at that point.
The trip home was not so great. I was stuck in Calais for 4 hours due to heavy winds. I was supposed to be back on the Island around 8pm, I got there at midnight. The Ferry ride was on rough seas and I don't ever get sea sick...but I did this time. Then I tried to sleep on the floor of the Ferry and imagine I was a baby being rocked by my mother. It didn't work.
When we got to Dover, everything had closed. I mean everything. No buses. No trains. Nothing. I was stranded in the massive port with only my journal to keep me company on account the ipod died. One can only write so much before it just becomes incoherent babble. I ended sleeping on the floor of a nursing room which was the only warm spot in the entire place. I remember dreaming.
Then it was the long trek back to London from Dover. I started at 6 am and got to Tooting at 10:30. On the way I had taken a taxi, a bus, and train, then the tube and had eaten the most ghastly of breakfast sandwiches. It was called the mighty butty or something like that. It was bacon, sausage, cheese, and egg. The sausage was a long sausage roll rolled into a sphere with slabs of thick, English bacon with melted cheese and a bit of egg. All on a butty. Fuck it was nasty as hell and I regret every moment of it.
So there you have it. My trip to Paris to avoid immigration. Whooo!
Monday 24 March 2008
eh?
That night ended up being neither. It just turned out to be mediocre. Which is more than I could have asked for. I did fall asleep at 3 am again like I always do. I am such a lame person to party with if I have access to a bed. I will knock out around 2 and never be able to awake till the next morning. I miss so much action because of my need to sleep.
Went to Paris. More on that later.
Went to Paris. More on that later.
Friday 14 March 2008
The toss up
Tonight has the potential of being the WORST night of my life or a REALLY GOOD ONE.
damn it.
damn it.
Friday 7 March 2008
I'm not laughing
A good laugh was had at my expense at about 5am. Everyone thought it was fucking hilarious-even I laughed. But then the reality of what was said set in and I wanted to run screaming and crying. I think it would have been funnier if it were said behind my back. In fact, I'm sure it was at one point.
Sometimes I can hear my name through the walls. I heard my name whispered while I was in the room and it caught my ear. Then I heard some laughter. My heart sank a little.
What am I doing to warrant this back talk? I don't understand or get where it's coming from. I mean, am I making a fool of myself on a daily basis? I don't mind as long as I know I am making an utter fool of myself, but when people are talking I get nervous. Someone knows something about me that I would rather they didn't and they could spread the details like butter around the dorm. And things get around the dorm, believe me.
When people laugh at me it makes me sick to my stomach. I think the reason I want to do comedy is so that I get people to laugh with me before they get the chance to laugh at me. If I can make them like me through laughing, then I don't have to worry about them laughing at me.
I do this thing, where if I like someone and I find out that they don't share such feelings, I'll sorta of ignore. Then they start ignoring me and I get to the point where I don't even say Hi to them because my vocal chords just lock up with nervous energy. I don't mean to ignore them. I just feel like they can see that I like them all over my face. Written in big, red letters all over my fat face. I LIKE YOU.
The laughing. The laughing. Perhaps I spoke to soon when I said I would miss everyone. My self esteem has been tarnished beyond repair right now and I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I want to leave the fucking country. I want to scream, shout, cry, kill, swear. Things right now are not going very well. I am either going to be deported or....oh god. I haven't slept since 4 am and its 8am. I should just lie down and relax but there is far too much going on in my head right now.
Why can't I just convince myself that I am worth things? That I am attractive? Why do I gauge my worth by how many guys dig me? (so far, I think it's at 2- and both are creepy as hell).
Oh fuck this post. Seriously. No one reads these damn things anyway.
Sometimes I can hear my name through the walls. I heard my name whispered while I was in the room and it caught my ear. Then I heard some laughter. My heart sank a little.
What am I doing to warrant this back talk? I don't understand or get where it's coming from. I mean, am I making a fool of myself on a daily basis? I don't mind as long as I know I am making an utter fool of myself, but when people are talking I get nervous. Someone knows something about me that I would rather they didn't and they could spread the details like butter around the dorm. And things get around the dorm, believe me.
When people laugh at me it makes me sick to my stomach. I think the reason I want to do comedy is so that I get people to laugh with me before they get the chance to laugh at me. If I can make them like me through laughing, then I don't have to worry about them laughing at me.
I do this thing, where if I like someone and I find out that they don't share such feelings, I'll sorta of ignore. Then they start ignoring me and I get to the point where I don't even say Hi to them because my vocal chords just lock up with nervous energy. I don't mean to ignore them. I just feel like they can see that I like them all over my face. Written in big, red letters all over my fat face. I LIKE YOU.
The laughing. The laughing. Perhaps I spoke to soon when I said I would miss everyone. My self esteem has been tarnished beyond repair right now and I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I want to leave the fucking country. I want to scream, shout, cry, kill, swear. Things right now are not going very well. I am either going to be deported or....oh god. I haven't slept since 4 am and its 8am. I should just lie down and relax but there is far too much going on in my head right now.
Why can't I just convince myself that I am worth things? That I am attractive? Why do I gauge my worth by how many guys dig me? (so far, I think it's at 2- and both are creepy as hell).
Oh fuck this post. Seriously. No one reads these damn things anyway.
Wednesday 5 March 2008
extra
Okay...so two things have made me sick to my stomach today.
1. Knowing that when I return to Boston, I will be alone (in the life partner sense). I always thought that didn't matter. I never had anyone so I didn't know what all the hype was about until I did. Now I know and it sucks.
2. There is basically no chance of me renewing my visa. So I have options. Stay in the country illegally, or wait for a while to leave and not be able to return. I think there is some "Over stay" of 28 days and that I get a stamp in my passport that will hinder my ability to get another UK study visa.
But honestly, what is waiting for me back home? Rocky.
I want to put offensive and angry things down but I refrain. This is a London blog, not a brothel.
1. Knowing that when I return to Boston, I will be alone (in the life partner sense). I always thought that didn't matter. I never had anyone so I didn't know what all the hype was about until I did. Now I know and it sucks.
2. There is basically no chance of me renewing my visa. So I have options. Stay in the country illegally, or wait for a while to leave and not be able to return. I think there is some "Over stay" of 28 days and that I get a stamp in my passport that will hinder my ability to get another UK study visa.
But honestly, what is waiting for me back home? Rocky.
I want to put offensive and angry things down but I refrain. This is a London blog, not a brothel.
I am missing it already
Please ignore all spelling errors as I have no way to edit them:
I saw Amy Winehouse! Well, I think it was her. It really could have been a man in drag dressed as her but considering the location I think I can say it was 82% her.
She was walking and I saw her hair and thought to myself "Gee, that is very Amy Winehouse of that woman" (who was walking with her coat collar covering her face. Then our eyes met and she dropped her collar. It was magic. My heart jumped. Then I thought "Is that a dude or Amy"? My first London Celeb spotting!
Last night we went to a club called Madame Jojo's. It is a hot spot of trendy as fuck mods and rockers along with their tights wearing counterparts. I think I had been wanting to go to a place like that for a while. I needed to see all the hipsters that I strive to be and dance along side them feeling inadequat as hell.
Don't get me wrong, I had a wonderful time. I am just pointing out the silliness of our world. But then again there will always be that sect of people who are going to be cooler than the next and so on and so on so I might as well be cool for myself.
Anyway, I danced to music I actually knew instead of computer beats. There were guitars and real drum sounds! Vocals and harmonies! Daft Punk! So for the first time in my clubbing history, I was actually able to dance AND sing which makes the whole process of dancing so much more enjoyable. I didn't get too drunk as my wallet just won't allow it.
My wallet hates my guts right now. I am just spending money like its no thang. I always have a budget for myself but it never really works.Drinking, Eating, all so expensive. And I have to buy gifts soon!
The term is almost over and it is really bumming me out. I have become quite attached to my fellow roomies and I like them a lot. So much that I have been trying to find options of staying another term. But this is normal and I think all study abroad students go though it. I wouldn't mind it so much if the term was an actual term. Not 10 lousy weeks. They talk to me as a friend and I can walk into a room of them and not feel so strange and alienated. They tell me how they don't want me to leave and it melts my little jew heart. After I leave, will we still be friends? Will we keep in touch? All these questions I have! I wonder about the future. What will happen when I go home? Will my friends still be my friends, do I really have any friends, will I get a job, will I have enough money, how long can I live off loans for....all those wonderful and exciting inquiries.
I want to put those in the back of my mind right now. All I want to think about is the weekend, the parties, the FUN I'm having now and then when I get home all the WORK I will be doing. Job time. Yeah....
I saw Amy Winehouse! Well, I think it was her. It really could have been a man in drag dressed as her but considering the location I think I can say it was 82% her.
She was walking and I saw her hair and thought to myself "Gee, that is very Amy Winehouse of that woman" (who was walking with her coat collar covering her face. Then our eyes met and she dropped her collar. It was magic. My heart jumped. Then I thought "Is that a dude or Amy"? My first London Celeb spotting!
Last night we went to a club called Madame Jojo's. It is a hot spot of trendy as fuck mods and rockers along with their tights wearing counterparts. I think I had been wanting to go to a place like that for a while. I needed to see all the hipsters that I strive to be and dance along side them feeling inadequat as hell.
Don't get me wrong, I had a wonderful time. I am just pointing out the silliness of our world. But then again there will always be that sect of people who are going to be cooler than the next and so on and so on so I might as well be cool for myself.
Anyway, I danced to music I actually knew instead of computer beats. There were guitars and real drum sounds! Vocals and harmonies! Daft Punk! So for the first time in my clubbing history, I was actually able to dance AND sing which makes the whole process of dancing so much more enjoyable. I didn't get too drunk as my wallet just won't allow it.
My wallet hates my guts right now. I am just spending money like its no thang. I always have a budget for myself but it never really works.Drinking, Eating, all so expensive. And I have to buy gifts soon!
The term is almost over and it is really bumming me out. I have become quite attached to my fellow roomies and I like them a lot. So much that I have been trying to find options of staying another term. But this is normal and I think all study abroad students go though it. I wouldn't mind it so much if the term was an actual term. Not 10 lousy weeks. They talk to me as a friend and I can walk into a room of them and not feel so strange and alienated. They tell me how they don't want me to leave and it melts my little jew heart. After I leave, will we still be friends? Will we keep in touch? All these questions I have! I wonder about the future. What will happen when I go home? Will my friends still be my friends, do I really have any friends, will I get a job, will I have enough money, how long can I live off loans for....all those wonderful and exciting inquiries.
I want to put those in the back of my mind right now. All I want to think about is the weekend, the parties, the FUN I'm having now and then when I get home all the WORK I will be doing. Job time. Yeah....
Sunday 24 February 2008
Man . What a terrible weekend. What a wonderful weekend.
Wonderful for my social life
Terrible for my body.
2 nights straight of drinking.
3 burgers
1 unnamed substance
2 busted eardrums
8 hours of dancing
1 early train ride home
2 broken hearts
4 glasses of punch
2 gin and tonics
and the list goes on.
0 make out sessions.
Wonderful for my social life
Terrible for my body.
2 nights straight of drinking.
3 burgers
1 unnamed substance
2 busted eardrums
8 hours of dancing
1 early train ride home
2 broken hearts
4 glasses of punch
2 gin and tonics
and the list goes on.
0 make out sessions.
Thursday 21 February 2008
Hampton Court Palace
I went to a Palace. For real, yo.
I went to Hampton Court Palace which is on the Thames just on the outside of London. It was chilly, foggy, and grey. The perfect London day. This palace was the home of Henry the 8th. It was pretty amazing to walk down the halls of the great palace that he himself used to waddle down.
I guess when he was young he was supposidly handsome, valliant, had fine calfs, and talented. Then he went nuts and killed his wives. Although he was with Catherine for 20 years. Not many people realize that.
The Tudor part of the castle was I think my favorite, although I did feel like I was in Amadeus as I walked down the long cooridoors of the Georgian part. The cielings were high, the furniture rich and ornamental, the tapastries to die for, the rock crystal chandelier was a rock crystal chadeleier....I mean, what else can one say about such a place? The gardens were specatular even in the winter. Like I've said earlier, everything here is still green and the Kew trees were full on hunter green. Green against the grey, magic.
And swans. There were swans that went right up to my feet and stared menacingly at them. Then they went off to do swan things.
I frolicked in the meadow, the fog heavy and receeding into the background. There were no buildings for miles, it seemed. A giant pool that must have been a 1/4th of a mile long was surrounded by trees and had the stranges birds bathing in them. All black except for a little white on their heads.
My spell check won't work and I know my spelling is horrid in this entry. Please, please ignore them at all costs since I have as well.
What else? Beer, 3 gin and tonics. Nothing. Felt nothing except hot. Fire alarm at 3:40am. Pissed. Worked on a REALLY AWESOME video today. Working slowly on my own. Someday, Jenny. Someday.
I went to Hampton Court Palace which is on the Thames just on the outside of London. It was chilly, foggy, and grey. The perfect London day. This palace was the home of Henry the 8th. It was pretty amazing to walk down the halls of the great palace that he himself used to waddle down.
I guess when he was young he was supposidly handsome, valliant, had fine calfs, and talented. Then he went nuts and killed his wives. Although he was with Catherine for 20 years. Not many people realize that.
The Tudor part of the castle was I think my favorite, although I did feel like I was in Amadeus as I walked down the long cooridoors of the Georgian part. The cielings were high, the furniture rich and ornamental, the tapastries to die for, the rock crystal chandelier was a rock crystal chadeleier....I mean, what else can one say about such a place? The gardens were specatular even in the winter. Like I've said earlier, everything here is still green and the Kew trees were full on hunter green. Green against the grey, magic.
And swans. There were swans that went right up to my feet and stared menacingly at them. Then they went off to do swan things.
I frolicked in the meadow, the fog heavy and receeding into the background. There were no buildings for miles, it seemed. A giant pool that must have been a 1/4th of a mile long was surrounded by trees and had the stranges birds bathing in them. All black except for a little white on their heads.
My spell check won't work and I know my spelling is horrid in this entry. Please, please ignore them at all costs since I have as well.
What else? Beer, 3 gin and tonics. Nothing. Felt nothing except hot. Fire alarm at 3:40am. Pissed. Worked on a REALLY AWESOME video today. Working slowly on my own. Someday, Jenny. Someday.
Sunday 17 February 2008
Today I took a day trip.
I woke up and made a film about not knowing what to do. Then in the film I decide to go out to Oxford. So I had to go to Oxford. That is just what I did.
The English countryside is beautiful. The farm land, the rolling hills, the 17th century villages, the tudor barns. Everthing. Iowa has nothing on the English country side. Everything was still green and plants were growing. Cows and pigs roamed the land along with horses and sheep. It was a magic sort of feeling. It was like being in Harry Potter. I will be in Harry Potter.
By the way, finished the book. FUCKING AMAZING. I have no reason to live anymore.
So Oxford is about 1 1/2 hours out of the city. It was amazing. Beautiful . Charming. Everything you would epect a city with the oldest university to be. The architecture blew my mind, the winding streets and the meadow. A MEADOW! Yes. I went to a church aptly named "Christ Chuch". You cannot get more to the point. It had a meadow with a winding brook though it that you could rent boats on. The meadow stretched so far that at one point all you see is trees. Then on the other side another open field and more towering church towers. The sound of bells tolling the hour were in the background while birds chirped, babies laughed, and then angels fell out of the sky and draped me in silk. Amazing.
London is great, but the country, the villages, the towns. That is what is great. Architecture from hundreds of years ago still stand and the cobble stone streets are just different. Actually, its in London too, but its different. It doesn't smell as bad and the air is fresh. So fresh I smelled dirt and I though it was heaven. Paths through quiet seclusion, wide open football fields with foxes running across them, churches on every corner. That is what the english are all about! That is the England I want to see! The country side is for me, damn it. Thats it.
I woke up and made a film about not knowing what to do. Then in the film I decide to go out to Oxford. So I had to go to Oxford. That is just what I did.
The English countryside is beautiful. The farm land, the rolling hills, the 17th century villages, the tudor barns. Everthing. Iowa has nothing on the English country side. Everything was still green and plants were growing. Cows and pigs roamed the land along with horses and sheep. It was a magic sort of feeling. It was like being in Harry Potter. I will be in Harry Potter.
By the way, finished the book. FUCKING AMAZING. I have no reason to live anymore.
So Oxford is about 1 1/2 hours out of the city. It was amazing. Beautiful . Charming. Everything you would epect a city with the oldest university to be. The architecture blew my mind, the winding streets and the meadow. A MEADOW! Yes. I went to a church aptly named "Christ Chuch". You cannot get more to the point. It had a meadow with a winding brook though it that you could rent boats on. The meadow stretched so far that at one point all you see is trees. Then on the other side another open field and more towering church towers. The sound of bells tolling the hour were in the background while birds chirped, babies laughed, and then angels fell out of the sky and draped me in silk. Amazing.
London is great, but the country, the villages, the towns. That is what is great. Architecture from hundreds of years ago still stand and the cobble stone streets are just different. Actually, its in London too, but its different. It doesn't smell as bad and the air is fresh. So fresh I smelled dirt and I though it was heaven. Paths through quiet seclusion, wide open football fields with foxes running across them, churches on every corner. That is what the english are all about! That is the England I want to see! The country side is for me, damn it. Thats it.
Wednesday 13 February 2008
Last Night's Dream
I had a very vivid dream last night:
So my flat mate Tom and I were dating but I could tell that he really didn't want to date me. He would sit far away from me when we ate dinner, didn't give me eye contact, and wouldn't kiss me or do anything a boyfriend should. I realized this and I wanted to break up with him. I brought it up to him and said "Tom, you don't really like me, do you?" he would argue me and say he did. I think eventually I just left him or he left me...
Then I was in a small town running and hiding from people who were trying to hurt me. A few kids from my class were running with me along with Sasha. We hid in a giant house and I think we were safe for a while. Someone gave me a couple of bombs to throw at enemies. They were sacks of liquid that you poked through the top with a ball point pen and would explode at whatever you threw them at. Eventually the Nazi's came in and we were hiding and putting up a fight against them as they tried to detain us. I threw one bomb and killed someone but the other one I hid under my shit when I was caught. However it was grossly inflated and they found it and took it.
Then we were in a 90 floor tower building where they were detaining all the Jews. I remember that I knew they were going to kill me if I didn't escape. A bunch of my classmates were there and some friends. We were trying to fiind a way to escape. It gets a little fuzzy but I remember running in and out of rooms diverging the Nazis and hiding. I think I threw a few bombs and may have had a gun at one point.
Finally we all made it to the stairs which were half broken. Then would go down a certain ammount, then there was a 10 foot drop to the next set of stairs. People were helping to drop others down these stairs. I was terrified and hated it, butI made it down them all and I was almost home free. There was only one last stretch of land to cover before we were safe.
Suddenly we were at an old neighbors house-the couple with two kids and lived next to us in the blue house on the hill. I saw guards and I knew that we just had to run for it and make the best of it. So we started running. The guards saw us and were after us at once, shooting and killing a few. I got shot in the wrist, but somehow managed to grab two machine guns and started killed the Nazis that were chasing us. They turned out to be kids from my class as well. I remember distinctly killing Claudius...
The safe house was my old house on the hill were Ruby and my Father lived. But it was inhabited by English people and I couldn't find my father. But I was safe from the Nazis which was very reassuring.
So my flat mate Tom and I were dating but I could tell that he really didn't want to date me. He would sit far away from me when we ate dinner, didn't give me eye contact, and wouldn't kiss me or do anything a boyfriend should. I realized this and I wanted to break up with him. I brought it up to him and said "Tom, you don't really like me, do you?" he would argue me and say he did. I think eventually I just left him or he left me...
Then I was in a small town running and hiding from people who were trying to hurt me. A few kids from my class were running with me along with Sasha. We hid in a giant house and I think we were safe for a while. Someone gave me a couple of bombs to throw at enemies. They were sacks of liquid that you poked through the top with a ball point pen and would explode at whatever you threw them at. Eventually the Nazi's came in and we were hiding and putting up a fight against them as they tried to detain us. I threw one bomb and killed someone but the other one I hid under my shit when I was caught. However it was grossly inflated and they found it and took it.
Then we were in a 90 floor tower building where they were detaining all the Jews. I remember that I knew they were going to kill me if I didn't escape. A bunch of my classmates were there and some friends. We were trying to fiind a way to escape. It gets a little fuzzy but I remember running in and out of rooms diverging the Nazis and hiding. I think I threw a few bombs and may have had a gun at one point.
Finally we all made it to the stairs which were half broken. Then would go down a certain ammount, then there was a 10 foot drop to the next set of stairs. People were helping to drop others down these stairs. I was terrified and hated it, butI made it down them all and I was almost home free. There was only one last stretch of land to cover before we were safe.
Suddenly we were at an old neighbors house-the couple with two kids and lived next to us in the blue house on the hill. I saw guards and I knew that we just had to run for it and make the best of it. So we started running. The guards saw us and were after us at once, shooting and killing a few. I got shot in the wrist, but somehow managed to grab two machine guns and started killed the Nazis that were chasing us. They turned out to be kids from my class as well. I remember distinctly killing Claudius...
The safe house was my old house on the hill were Ruby and my Father lived. But it was inhabited by English people and I couldn't find my father. But I was safe from the Nazis which was very reassuring.
Saturday 9 February 2008
Never Mind the Buzzcocks
So....
Camden Town Market has burnt to the ground.
Not all of it, but a sizable chunk I am told by the local news. How sad since I did want to go there tomorrow and get some cheap, trashy things that one could really only find in Camden. If you are unfamiliar with Camden, it is the place where punk was born. You can still see its roots and some hard core punks lolly gagging about, but for the most part it has since turned into a tourist trap with mainstream shops and a Sainsbury. Although the lock is beautiful, despite the bodies that end up floating in it.
A popular Pub that has seen the likes of Kelly Ozbourn, Amy Winehouse, Peter Daughtey, and every other scenester/hipster/indie trash bastard (of which I fit into somewhere) has burnt down as well. Oh dear! Where will they drink their beers and smoke their rolled up cigs? Where will they talk about obscure bands and various sexual partners they encounter all while looking stunning and unbearable bored? I had wanted to go back there-I was inhouse on Monday and actually liked the atmosphere- but I guess that won't be happening any time soon.
London is plagued by great fires.
I went back to Portobello road and got a SWEET painting. I was shopping and looking at prints and such and the man said "that one, 50 pounds." I politely said "piss off, i'm a student!". He then directed me to the "discount" paintings. Honest to god, it was someones Uni portfolio from the 70's and he was selling the spoils. Well, this was just too good so I indulged and got a portait of a cowboy-esque man for 3 pounds.
Walked around, went to Brick lane, got Indian food for a deal, drank, came home.
That was my day.
I drink far too much. Every night this week and my checking account is feeling the blows. I don't even want to look at it. I am too scared. Don't ask me to look at it!
I didn't get into Vail. Oh well. I know I am talented and everyone else can go to hell.
Camden Town Market has burnt to the ground.
Not all of it, but a sizable chunk I am told by the local news. How sad since I did want to go there tomorrow and get some cheap, trashy things that one could really only find in Camden. If you are unfamiliar with Camden, it is the place where punk was born. You can still see its roots and some hard core punks lolly gagging about, but for the most part it has since turned into a tourist trap with mainstream shops and a Sainsbury. Although the lock is beautiful, despite the bodies that end up floating in it.
A popular Pub that has seen the likes of Kelly Ozbourn, Amy Winehouse, Peter Daughtey, and every other scenester/hipster/indie trash bastard (of which I fit into somewhere) has burnt down as well. Oh dear! Where will they drink their beers and smoke their rolled up cigs? Where will they talk about obscure bands and various sexual partners they encounter all while looking stunning and unbearable bored? I had wanted to go back there-I was inhouse on Monday and actually liked the atmosphere- but I guess that won't be happening any time soon.
London is plagued by great fires.
I went back to Portobello road and got a SWEET painting. I was shopping and looking at prints and such and the man said "that one, 50 pounds." I politely said "piss off, i'm a student!". He then directed me to the "discount" paintings. Honest to god, it was someones Uni portfolio from the 70's and he was selling the spoils. Well, this was just too good so I indulged and got a portait of a cowboy-esque man for 3 pounds.
Walked around, went to Brick lane, got Indian food for a deal, drank, came home.
That was my day.
I drink far too much. Every night this week and my checking account is feeling the blows. I don't even want to look at it. I am too scared. Don't ask me to look at it!
I didn't get into Vail. Oh well. I know I am talented and everyone else can go to hell.
Sunday 3 February 2008
Waiting....
God has yet to reveal to me why I was banished from Italy.
I'm waiting God, and all I have to say, is that it better be good. Better than sliced bread or cheezitz, and I really don't see it possible to top cheezitz.
This thing won't change the font back to unbold. Oh well. Looks like everything I say in this post will be REALLY important.
I will say this, my relationship with my roommates has improved so I guess that is a good thing. We went dancing and I got so BLASTED out of my mind, I've been having dizzy spells for two days. Or my liver has finally tuckered out. Which ever one it is, I am now sworn off heavy drinking. I really shouldn't drink Alcohol at all. It's doing nothing for my health.
I made homemade taboulli and mashed cauliflower for dinner. It was delicious. I am trying to do whole food thing and get my body back into shape. It won't be so hard. I shouldn't drink, eat carbs, sugar, or anything else tasty. It won't be so hard. I CAN DO IT!
I went to Portobello Rd., but I went a tad too late. Everything was closed except for a few market shops and restaurants, but the street was deserted. It was a beautiful road, none the less. An old man that I bought a necklace from gave me a coin from the era of King George the Third. It is worn out and you can't really tell if it's a penny or what, but you can still see his face and the naked lady on the back. It is now the oldest thing I own.
Portobello Road is located in Notting Hill. Everytime I think of it I think of that terrible film that shares it's name. Granted, I've never seen the film, but its a RomCom and you know how terrible those are. (Gigli, anyone?) It reminds me of Beacon Hill if Beacon Hill were in England and larger and older and...well, nothing like Beacon hill except rich people populate it. There are a ton of private parks that you need a key to enter. I guess if I was shelling out over a million pounds for a dwelling, I would want to be entitled to a private garden to share with my fellow rich bitches.
Now I am off to have ONE glass of wine. Don't over do it, Jenny.
I'm waiting God, and all I have to say, is that it better be good. Better than sliced bread or cheezitz, and I really don't see it possible to top cheezitz.
This thing won't change the font back to unbold. Oh well. Looks like everything I say in this post will be REALLY important.
I will say this, my relationship with my roommates has improved so I guess that is a good thing. We went dancing and I got so BLASTED out of my mind, I've been having dizzy spells for two days. Or my liver has finally tuckered out. Which ever one it is, I am now sworn off heavy drinking. I really shouldn't drink Alcohol at all. It's doing nothing for my health.
I made homemade taboulli and mashed cauliflower for dinner. It was delicious. I am trying to do whole food thing and get my body back into shape. It won't be so hard. I shouldn't drink, eat carbs, sugar, or anything else tasty. It won't be so hard. I CAN DO IT!
I went to Portobello Rd., but I went a tad too late. Everything was closed except for a few market shops and restaurants, but the street was deserted. It was a beautiful road, none the less. An old man that I bought a necklace from gave me a coin from the era of King George the Third. It is worn out and you can't really tell if it's a penny or what, but you can still see his face and the naked lady on the back. It is now the oldest thing I own.
Portobello Road is located in Notting Hill. Everytime I think of it I think of that terrible film that shares it's name. Granted, I've never seen the film, but its a RomCom and you know how terrible those are. (Gigli, anyone?) It reminds me of Beacon Hill if Beacon Hill were in England and larger and older and...well, nothing like Beacon hill except rich people populate it. There are a ton of private parks that you need a key to enter. I guess if I was shelling out over a million pounds for a dwelling, I would want to be entitled to a private garden to share with my fellow rich bitches.
Now I am off to have ONE glass of wine. Don't over do it, Jenny.
Friday 1 February 2008
okay, things are SO bad.
My wounds from yesterday are actually healing very nicely. I used the 50 pound note as a bandage and sandwiches as disinfectant.
My sling was a new guitar I bought. Okay, hold your horses. Yes, I bought a new guitar...it was only 39 pounds and I got the case for free! Not to mention I can sell it for at least 20 pounds when I am done with it. Totally worth it. I have been going a little crazy not being able to move my left fingers in chord progressions and not being able to sing popular tunes as if I wrote them. It's a HANK guitar and it's a 3/4th steel string. It sounds alright and eases my pains. Now I can sing about how much I hate Ryan Air.
Today was acutally good day, sorta. I didn't do anything that would warrent it a bad day except getting up at 7am to go to school and once again realizing I'm not learning anything. I feel like I am taking workshops for summer break. I got to bring actors for casting auditions to the Tower Block. Fucking exciting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I can now play 3 different Bob Dylan songs which I will promptly forget tomorrow morning.
I also plan on getting drunk and going dancing tonight. I better look awesome. I wonder what I should do with my hair?
Thursday 31 January 2008
Having a terrible time.
I don't know if this is the fact that I've just been raped by Ryan air or what, but I am getting fed up with London and being abroad.
First off, I hate Ryan air and anyone who works for an airline. They are all cock sucking mother fuckers and I hope they all die. Sorry if anyone reading this works for an airline. Anyone who works in transportation in London are the cruelest, dirtiest, sadistic creatures from hell I have ever met. Let me just say that I should be out in Rome getting drunk and meeting Italian men, but I'm not. I'm in my room cursing my computer for not accepting UK DVD's and wanting to punch someone square in the face.
I am fed up with having the only people who hang out with me be other American and foreign students. I am fed up with spending nights in my room alone wanting someone to come knock on it and invite me out for a beer. I am fed up with this fucking exchange rate and thinking I am getting good deals but really I am just paying what I should. I am fed up with not learning anything I want at school. I don't want to make a documentary about other students learning things I should be learning. I want to do work, I want assignments to make videos and things I want to do. I want to be challenged, not shucked into a room and given some hap hazard assignment because they can't think of anything more productive. I am fed up with all my plans blowing up in my face. I am exhausted with trying to keep a positive attitude all the time.
What can I say? Right now I am NOT having a good time. I want to come home. If someone gave me a ticket to Boston and said I could go back to MassArt and have all the money I've wasted here returned, I think there is a 75% chance I would do it.
Sometimes I think to myself- as egotistical as this is- that I am such a great person, why don't these people want to get to know me? Am I really that bad? My charms just don't seem to work out here as well as they do back home. Not to say I was the most charming bitch one could ever meet, but I am a fun person and I will admit that. My pessimism is getting the best of me, its true, and I am sure I haven't sounded exactly "excited" when people talk to me, but up until today things were okay.
I want to put something positive in this post, I really do. I just can't think of anything at the moment. I did see a good film yesterday staring Oliver Reed called "The Devils". It had some killer scenes of naked nuns gyrating on Jesus, but its to be expected. It also made me hate catholicism...well, what it used to be anyways. All that nonsense that the devil was in everyone and steak burning. I am sure not only catholics are guilty of such things, but you never hear about Jews burning people at the steak.
I'm just saying.
First off, I hate Ryan air and anyone who works for an airline. They are all cock sucking mother fuckers and I hope they all die. Sorry if anyone reading this works for an airline. Anyone who works in transportation in London are the cruelest, dirtiest, sadistic creatures from hell I have ever met. Let me just say that I should be out in Rome getting drunk and meeting Italian men, but I'm not. I'm in my room cursing my computer for not accepting UK DVD's and wanting to punch someone square in the face.
I am fed up with having the only people who hang out with me be other American and foreign students. I am fed up with spending nights in my room alone wanting someone to come knock on it and invite me out for a beer. I am fed up with this fucking exchange rate and thinking I am getting good deals but really I am just paying what I should. I am fed up with not learning anything I want at school. I don't want to make a documentary about other students learning things I should be learning. I want to do work, I want assignments to make videos and things I want to do. I want to be challenged, not shucked into a room and given some hap hazard assignment because they can't think of anything more productive. I am fed up with all my plans blowing up in my face. I am exhausted with trying to keep a positive attitude all the time.
What can I say? Right now I am NOT having a good time. I want to come home. If someone gave me a ticket to Boston and said I could go back to MassArt and have all the money I've wasted here returned, I think there is a 75% chance I would do it.
Sometimes I think to myself- as egotistical as this is- that I am such a great person, why don't these people want to get to know me? Am I really that bad? My charms just don't seem to work out here as well as they do back home. Not to say I was the most charming bitch one could ever meet, but I am a fun person and I will admit that. My pessimism is getting the best of me, its true, and I am sure I haven't sounded exactly "excited" when people talk to me, but up until today things were okay.
I want to put something positive in this post, I really do. I just can't think of anything at the moment. I did see a good film yesterday staring Oliver Reed called "The Devils". It had some killer scenes of naked nuns gyrating on Jesus, but its to be expected. It also made me hate catholicism...well, what it used to be anyways. All that nonsense that the devil was in everyone and steak burning. I am sure not only catholics are guilty of such things, but you never hear about Jews burning people at the steak.
I'm just saying.
Tuesday 22 January 2008
Brighton
We went to the REAL Brighton Beach. Not the one in NYC infested with dirty immigrants of Russian decent. Those dirty Russians.
It was beautiful but all this wood was showing up on the shore. Turns out the day before a tanker had sank that was carrying lumber. Fancy that, will you. Otherwise, it was nice.
Now when I say the weather in England is beautiful, it doesn't mean sunny, 60 degrees, birds and rainbows. It means its not raining. Period. And when its sunny, its like god smiled on this tiny island and bathes it in a warm glow it is so thankful to have.
We went to pier and it had all these rides on it like a real carousel (very creepy) and a haunted hotel ride (not so creepy). None of them were open in the wee hours of the morning(11) and so we made our way to the Palace! King George the 4th, or the prince regent, built himself a massive palace that looks like its a grand mosque or, at least, from the orient. it's massive and I got thrown out of it for not having a ticket. I wasn't really thrown, but escorted back to the gift shop (I was in the process of stealing postcards. So after being thrown back into the gift shop, I guess it was karma saying I better pay for these).
We walked the board walk and came across a pony named Mary. It belonged to a Little girl who also had a little yorkie terrier. That bitch. I think she is the only person I've ever met who actually got a pony when she asked for it.
Ate more fish and chip and then made my way back home. Oh what a trip!
Yesterday I visited the Geffrye Museum which is a museum of interior designs from 1660-present. It was very cool for a history buff such as myself. Well, I'm not really a history buff, I don't know what I am. I don't know why my computer is being so slow right now. That is no concern of yours of course.
Last night I went out with some school mates to celebrate Rocio and Amelia's birthday's at a place called "The Big Chill". My ears are still ringing from the noise of the music blasting. I got pretty blasted myself, wasting about 20 pounds on drinks alone. But the drinks are so expensive! I couldn't help it. Plus I wanted to be more relaxed when approaching my new classmates that I am slowly getting bonds with. I had a lot of fun. After we were kicked out of the bar, Alex, a mate I was with, started speaking with an American accent- which was to his credit very good. He started going up to random people saying he was from America and I was his sister and annoyed the hell out of them. Then we went up to some french people who hated Americans and I felt very uncomfortable. I started speaking in an English accent trying to prove I was no American. I thought my English accent was pretty good, but some people didn't seem to think so. Whatever, I am awesome and that's all they really need to know.
Eating disaster.
It's time I shower. I had a dream about a watch that could take you back in time but needed 31 days to recharge its battery so you could travel back in time. Sounds like an interesting film.
It was beautiful but all this wood was showing up on the shore. Turns out the day before a tanker had sank that was carrying lumber. Fancy that, will you. Otherwise, it was nice.
Now when I say the weather in England is beautiful, it doesn't mean sunny, 60 degrees, birds and rainbows. It means its not raining. Period. And when its sunny, its like god smiled on this tiny island and bathes it in a warm glow it is so thankful to have.
We went to pier and it had all these rides on it like a real carousel (very creepy) and a haunted hotel ride (not so creepy). None of them were open in the wee hours of the morning(11) and so we made our way to the Palace! King George the 4th, or the prince regent, built himself a massive palace that looks like its a grand mosque or, at least, from the orient. it's massive and I got thrown out of it for not having a ticket. I wasn't really thrown, but escorted back to the gift shop (I was in the process of stealing postcards. So after being thrown back into the gift shop, I guess it was karma saying I better pay for these).
We walked the board walk and came across a pony named Mary. It belonged to a Little girl who also had a little yorkie terrier. That bitch. I think she is the only person I've ever met who actually got a pony when she asked for it.
Ate more fish and chip and then made my way back home. Oh what a trip!
Yesterday I visited the Geffrye Museum which is a museum of interior designs from 1660-present. It was very cool for a history buff such as myself. Well, I'm not really a history buff, I don't know what I am. I don't know why my computer is being so slow right now. That is no concern of yours of course.
Last night I went out with some school mates to celebrate Rocio and Amelia's birthday's at a place called "The Big Chill". My ears are still ringing from the noise of the music blasting. I got pretty blasted myself, wasting about 20 pounds on drinks alone. But the drinks are so expensive! I couldn't help it. Plus I wanted to be more relaxed when approaching my new classmates that I am slowly getting bonds with. I had a lot of fun. After we were kicked out of the bar, Alex, a mate I was with, started speaking with an American accent- which was to his credit very good. He started going up to random people saying he was from America and I was his sister and annoyed the hell out of them. Then we went up to some french people who hated Americans and I felt very uncomfortable. I started speaking in an English accent trying to prove I was no American. I thought my English accent was pretty good, but some people didn't seem to think so. Whatever, I am awesome and that's all they really need to know.
Eating disaster.
It's time I shower. I had a dream about a watch that could take you back in time but needed 31 days to recharge its battery so you could travel back in time. Sounds like an interesting film.
Saturday 19 January 2008
I'm hot and you know it.
Why are Israeli men so creepy? No matter what they say, they either sound
1. Super condescending
2. Sleazy
3. Super condescending AND sleazy
I decided to be a good Jew and go to temple. I arrive at Marble Arch Synagogue and I can't find an entrance. Finally, someone comes out. I ask him how I get it.
"You chave to go through me first," sayeth a Hebrew man in that oh so condescending tone.
"Um, okay" I laugh.
"Why are you chere?"
"To go to services."
"Where are you from?"
"Boston"
"What synagog do you go to in Boston?"
I freeze. Why am I being quizzed? Oh yeah, he thinks I'm a terrorist or just a woman.
" I don't really go to one."
"Why?"
" I don't know."
"Whose the Rabbi?"
"What's a rabbi?"
he asks for my id. I warn him that my last name is Italian. Perhaps I should also warn him of my neo-nazi tendencies.
"Chow did you find out about us?"
" I'm supposed to be meeting my friend here."
"Where is she?"
" I don't know. Why don't you go ask your friends in the Mosad? "
Is he serious? He is fucking serious. And this entire time he has this smug ass smile on his face that keeps stepping all over the suffrage movement.
"If you don't go to synagogue in Boston and your friend isn't here... then why are you chere?"
Why am I here? I don't know. That's a pretty existential thought for just wanting to attend sabbath services. I guess I'm here because hashem, in all his grace, has decided that I needed to really question my beliefs and my faith through being questioned by a sleezey Israeli with a slick phone and even slicker hair.
Actually, no. I think you're just an asshole.
Finally he lets me in as if he'd doing this huge favor and I should give him a little lechiam in return.
We had a wonderful dinner with the rabbi that night and had nice conversations with foreigners. The Israelis at the table continued to be creepy and have eyes made for undressing. But all in all it was a good night.
And then I got drunk and stumbled home on the night bus.
1. Super condescending
2. Sleazy
3. Super condescending AND sleazy
I decided to be a good Jew and go to temple. I arrive at Marble Arch Synagogue and I can't find an entrance. Finally, someone comes out. I ask him how I get it.
"You chave to go through me first," sayeth a Hebrew man in that oh so condescending tone.
"Um, okay" I laugh.
"Why are you chere?"
"To go to services."
"Where are you from?"
"Boston"
"What synagog do you go to in Boston?"
I freeze. Why am I being quizzed? Oh yeah, he thinks I'm a terrorist or just a woman.
" I don't really go to one."
"Why?"
" I don't know."
"Whose the Rabbi?"
"What's a rabbi?"
he asks for my id. I warn him that my last name is Italian. Perhaps I should also warn him of my neo-nazi tendencies.
"Chow did you find out about us?"
" I'm supposed to be meeting my friend here."
"Where is she?"
" I don't know. Why don't you go ask your friends in the Mosad? "
Is he serious? He is fucking serious. And this entire time he has this smug ass smile on his face that keeps stepping all over the suffrage movement.
"If you don't go to synagogue in Boston and your friend isn't here... then why are you chere?"
Why am I here? I don't know. That's a pretty existential thought for just wanting to attend sabbath services. I guess I'm here because hashem, in all his grace, has decided that I needed to really question my beliefs and my faith through being questioned by a sleezey Israeli with a slick phone and even slicker hair.
Actually, no. I think you're just an asshole.
Finally he lets me in as if he'd doing this huge favor and I should give him a little lechiam in return.
We had a wonderful dinner with the rabbi that night and had nice conversations with foreigners. The Israelis at the table continued to be creepy and have eyes made for undressing. But all in all it was a good night.
And then I got drunk and stumbled home on the night bus.
Thursday 17 January 2008
Free flight!
Yep. It says it all. I got a free flight on Ryan air. Bitches gonna fuck up some hos. yo.
Please excuse the profanity, but I am just so excited. I'm off to Rome with friends, then to Dublin by me wee little self. Unless of course someone wants to join me on such a treacherous journey. But no one will. BECAUSE I WON'T LET THEM!!!
So things have been pretty tame on this side. I got a wonderful visit from a friend I haven't seen for a long time. PJ and his kind girlfriend, Georgina, spent two nights with me and we wandered around London aimlessly. Well, not entirely. PJ had a list of things to do which, as I recall, only completed a few. Two days in London is like...nothing.
We visited the Tate Modern which is a splendid place, seriously. But like all art museums, after about the third painting of an apple that looks mysteriously like a vagina,I got overwhelmed and had to sit down.
By the way, I am hearing screams of some kind of animal from outside my window and it's freaking me out.
Anyway, the Tate is a great place. There was a dungeon with Wax sculptures on the way though that caught my eye and I will definitely be visiting them soon enough. Then it was off to China town to eat food and look at the lights of Leicester Sq. (pronounced Lester. You silly English) and I felt compelled to spend loads and loads of hard earned loan money. Thanks Andrea!
By the end, I was tired of being so touristy although I do enjoy it. I still have to visit such places as Parliament, the Tower of London, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, The British Museum, The Victoria and Albert Museum, blah blah blah...all the wonderful things. It seems though that time is running out. Seriously, I have been here almost three weeks already. THAT IS QUITE NEARLY A MONTH! Can you believe that? I am amazed.
Still trying to make those connections and slowly trying to learn to love myself. I am having a hard time doing that. I have probably gained some weight what with all the drinking and eating I have taken interest in. Yet I refuse to stop it. It would be in my best interest to not have purchased that wonderful ice cream but I did it anyways;. And that fish and chips, and those three ciders, and that blah and those bloops. When evening hits I am a mess of pounding one bad food after another.
Thing will get better and they will like me for the must. I am that likable.
Please excuse the profanity, but I am just so excited. I'm off to Rome with friends, then to Dublin by me wee little self. Unless of course someone wants to join me on such a treacherous journey. But no one will. BECAUSE I WON'T LET THEM!!!
So things have been pretty tame on this side. I got a wonderful visit from a friend I haven't seen for a long time. PJ and his kind girlfriend, Georgina, spent two nights with me and we wandered around London aimlessly. Well, not entirely. PJ had a list of things to do which, as I recall, only completed a few. Two days in London is like...nothing.
We visited the Tate Modern which is a splendid place, seriously. But like all art museums, after about the third painting of an apple that looks mysteriously like a vagina,I got overwhelmed and had to sit down.
By the way, I am hearing screams of some kind of animal from outside my window and it's freaking me out.
Anyway, the Tate is a great place. There was a dungeon with Wax sculptures on the way though that caught my eye and I will definitely be visiting them soon enough. Then it was off to China town to eat food and look at the lights of Leicester Sq. (pronounced Lester. You silly English) and I felt compelled to spend loads and loads of hard earned loan money. Thanks Andrea!
By the end, I was tired of being so touristy although I do enjoy it. I still have to visit such places as Parliament, the Tower of London, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, The British Museum, The Victoria and Albert Museum, blah blah blah...all the wonderful things. It seems though that time is running out. Seriously, I have been here almost three weeks already. THAT IS QUITE NEARLY A MONTH! Can you believe that? I am amazed.
Still trying to make those connections and slowly trying to learn to love myself. I am having a hard time doing that. I have probably gained some weight what with all the drinking and eating I have taken interest in. Yet I refuse to stop it. It would be in my best interest to not have purchased that wonderful ice cream but I did it anyways;. And that fish and chips, and those three ciders, and that blah and those bloops. When evening hits I am a mess of pounding one bad food after another.
Thing will get better and they will like me for the must. I am that likable.
Saturday 12 January 2008
Waiting
I am waiting for my laundry to finish. I have no clothes. I am in jeans and my jammie top because its the only top I have.
I am still struggling to make connections with people here. I don't get it. I just can't seem to be on their level...and it's not that I think I am above or they are above in the ratio of levels, but they must be in another dimension than I. I can't blame them. I think if a new girl came into the middle of my circle of friends, I may not be so outright welcoming. They do invite me out on occasion and I do partake in drinking, but I don't want to be pissed out of my mind to be able to talk to these people.
For an example. Mark, my neighbor, is in his room. It's only us on the floor, the others have gone to a house party. Now, should I go start a conversation that I know may be awkward and probably not even wanted? Okay, now I am just setting myself up for defeat.
Today Catlin and I went to Brick Lane. It's a market place with a ton of vintage shops which are all over priced. But I did find a sweet Al Pacino shirt for only 3 pounds. That is a deal, my friend. We shall return there later. We also saw a Daniel Johnston exhibit. Now, if you don't know who Daniel Johnston is, he is quite the...artist. His drawing are below. A great musician and his drawings are an interesting glimpse into the brain of this disturbed idiot savant.
I have some pictures finally.
I am still struggling to make connections with people here. I don't get it. I just can't seem to be on their level...and it's not that I think I am above or they are above in the ratio of levels, but they must be in another dimension than I. I can't blame them. I think if a new girl came into the middle of my circle of friends, I may not be so outright welcoming. They do invite me out on occasion and I do partake in drinking, but I don't want to be pissed out of my mind to be able to talk to these people.
For an example. Mark, my neighbor, is in his room. It's only us on the floor, the others have gone to a house party. Now, should I go start a conversation that I know may be awkward and probably not even wanted? Okay, now I am just setting myself up for defeat.
Today Catlin and I went to Brick Lane. It's a market place with a ton of vintage shops which are all over priced. But I did find a sweet Al Pacino shirt for only 3 pounds. That is a deal, my friend. We shall return there later. We also saw a Daniel Johnston exhibit. Now, if you don't know who Daniel Johnston is, he is quite the...artist. His drawing are below. A great musician and his drawings are an interesting glimpse into the brain of this disturbed idiot savant.
I have some pictures finally.
Sunday 6 January 2008
Top of the Pops
After getting quite boozed up with my roommates....or FLATmate should I say, I woke up in a haze and the awkwardness seeped in again. I wish that people could be drunk all the time. Then their inhibitions towards other humans would disappear. Also nothing would ever get done, but thats small peas on comparison to all the social situations people would let themselves get into! And there wouldn't ever be that weird aftermath of the shitty feeling of becoming sober and people realize that they are surrounded by other humans and turn into marble.
Well I went shopping today. I mean, are you surprised? Good bye $430 dollars! Hello debt! It's impossible to not spend more than 30 pounds a day. Well, actually it an be done if you don't go buy every shiny English thing you see. If i can't control what I put in my mouth, how can I control what I take out of my wallet? Don't ask such things of me!
I'm listening to an impossible amount of Art Brut. It's getting a little obsessive, but its about to time to get a new obsession. More later. I have laundry to do. Pictures too!
Well I went shopping today. I mean, are you surprised? Good bye $430 dollars! Hello debt! It's impossible to not spend more than 30 pounds a day. Well, actually it an be done if you don't go buy every shiny English thing you see. If i can't control what I put in my mouth, how can I control what I take out of my wallet? Don't ask such things of me!
I'm listening to an impossible amount of Art Brut. It's getting a little obsessive, but its about to time to get a new obsession. More later. I have laundry to do. Pictures too!
Friday 4 January 2008
This is England
The English all look like elves. Every last on of them.
Well, the real ones at least. And by real I mean their fore fathers used to gaze upon the Tower of London with great fear. They all have these cute, little bulbous noses, rosy cheeks, pasty skin, and hobbit like hair. Maybe I am taking it a bit far, but seriously. The English are mythical creatures.
Today was orientation. We met up with the exchange students, such as myself. It was refreshing to actually speak to another human being for once. I was getting tired of my own voice. Plus I think it was getting annoyed with me. We didn't do much but talk about student services, look at the hub, ate lunch. It was a delicious lunch of tiny sandwiches and Clementine's (of which I stole 6).
Afterwards we walked around London and the SoHo district. We walked by Davis Market, Carnaby Street, cute galleries, expensive shops where a bag costs more than my entire bank account, and oh so many little pubs. Then they bought us drinks as some little pub. I ordered my first drink at a pub. It was some organic cider because I have no pallet for ale....yet.
Give me time. I'll be a drunk soon enough.
So I am loving London pretty much completely so far. Until my heart gets broken by some bloody brit. Then I'll be begging to come home.
But until then, I'll be on my mobile, in my flat, drinking my ale which I bought with my quid, and using the loo that has no damn sink for hand washing. It's a beautiful place.
Well, the real ones at least. And by real I mean their fore fathers used to gaze upon the Tower of London with great fear. They all have these cute, little bulbous noses, rosy cheeks, pasty skin, and hobbit like hair. Maybe I am taking it a bit far, but seriously. The English are mythical creatures.
Today was orientation. We met up with the exchange students, such as myself. It was refreshing to actually speak to another human being for once. I was getting tired of my own voice. Plus I think it was getting annoyed with me. We didn't do much but talk about student services, look at the hub, ate lunch. It was a delicious lunch of tiny sandwiches and Clementine's (of which I stole 6).
Afterwards we walked around London and the SoHo district. We walked by Davis Market, Carnaby Street, cute galleries, expensive shops where a bag costs more than my entire bank account, and oh so many little pubs. Then they bought us drinks as some little pub. I ordered my first drink at a pub. It was some organic cider because I have no pallet for ale....yet.
Give me time. I'll be a drunk soon enough.
So I am loving London pretty much completely so far. Until my heart gets broken by some bloody brit. Then I'll be begging to come home.
But until then, I'll be on my mobile, in my flat, drinking my ale which I bought with my quid, and using the loo that has no damn sink for hand washing. It's a beautiful place.
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