Last post: Or BAG OF EMOTIONS

After my last final, I realized that I was going to say goodbye to everyone I met here, and will, in all honesty, never see them again. This includes many of my american friends, who live in different states. First thing that was odd about the night of the 17th: I didn't even think of crying. I was so lazer focused on getting safe and sound to the airport, that I didn't think of anyone else.

If you know me, you know that I cry very easily when it comes to goodbyes. They are what make movies like Return of the King and, yes, even Mamma Mia, nigh unwatchable to me. This is even sadder than if someone dies. They're still alive. They have every reason never to separate, but they do. If you know the depths of the friendships I made here, seeing me with dry eyes and a face only red and sniffly from the cold is downright sociopathic. Of course, I gifted several Brits what I thought they would like in American Indie. I was going to hang out with my flatmates first, before traipsing off to Koko and getting visibly drunk, getting noodles, going back to Koko, going to Teviot, going to Burger King, going back to Teviot, and finally ending the night with the people I love most.

THUSLY

I stayed up with Jan, Rory, James, and Ayesha all sitting in my depressing, empty room.

When they said goodbye, I felt a twinge of tears. When I was writing the note to my flatmates, telling them how awesome they were, tears quivered. But nothing came of it. It wasn't until I was in the taxi at 5 am, with Dillon, talking about how I was a pseudo mentor/punching bag to everyone, did a tear run down my cheek. I got to the airport and hugged Dillon goodbye. I then got in line, was told that I had to wait for my flight to be called. I hung out with Emily, Dillon, and Corey while I waxed poetic on my own madness. They left. "IT'S FULL OF BLOOD!"


After that, I ran into Finlay, an elementary school friend who was also studying in Edinburgh, and we waited in line together. When we finally got to the front of the line, the news hit us like a ton of pigeons.

"London is closed"

Thousands of people were stranded in London. It was easy to fly into, but impossible to get out of. Not because of lave, not because of the four horsemen of apocalypse, not even because of a psychotic escaped Irish setter: because of snow. It had snowed litte more than an inch, and this country is so goddamn incompetent that they shove their fingers in their ears and let it's citizens riot. Finlay and I then made panicked phone calls to our parents, me yelling at my mother for not getting impossible flights fast enough, Finlay pale and nodding at what her father had to say. Keep in mind, I was going on no hours of sleep, and Finlay was doing similarly. We ran into a friend of hers that was waiting in line for six hours. British Airways--I am disappoint. Never flying you ever again.

LIST OF THINGS THAT MADE ME WEEP IN SUCCESSION:

I haven't slept in 24 hours (unhealthy)

I'm missing my birthday, my birthday dinner, and being able to order my first drink. (sad)

Getting home and leaving a message on the boyfriend's wall about how I'm not going to see him (very sad)

Eating porridge and diet coke where it was supposed to be wine and pasta. On my birthday (extremely depressing)

Having my flatmate come and hug me in bed to say goodbye (happy)

My other flatmate made me a cake (very happy)

GusGus left a comment on my wall about being safe, and not worrying (touching)

My boyfriend calls me and has his entire family sing happy birthday to me (joyful)

And now, my friends, I hope to get up at 5 am and hop on a plane to Dublin (after breakfast, of course), Dublin to Chicago, Chicago to San Francisco, where my parents and boyfriend will meet me. Hopefully. If all hell doesn't break loose.

Exam Week

HIGHLIGHTS

1) Carving on a desk that said "DON'T PANIC". Below that, "TOO LATE".

2) Being the only one in the room without my student card, and finding it in my sweatshirt pocket two days later.

3) Watching the entire Gargoyles First Season in TWO DAYS.

4) One person looked and spoke like Alan Cumming. Another, like Ezio Auditore da Firenze.

5) Never having to drag myself to the New College EVER AGAIN.

6) Cadbury. Cream. Egg.

7) Actually knowing what the heck I'm talking about on my first two finals.

8) Clearing out all the stuff I plan on leaving here in a nice little box.

LOWLIGHTS

1) Not sleeping more than ten hours the past three days.

2) I'm...actually going to miss this place?

It's All the Same To Me

Listening to Anya Marina when cramming for my Islam exam--not the most fun thing.

Doing it while hopped up on three cups of coffee, a full serving of mejadarra (that I will be eating for the rest of my life...) and the burning, passionate hope that the taxi that's supposed to come at 5 am on the 18th will come and I won't be stuck in the country for the rest of december--even less so.

And I haven't slept :D

LOCA LOCA LOCA

I went museuming today by myself. It was nice to go at my own pace and look at all the things behind the glass. There's a real tranquility in museums--how predictable they are, how the painted white backgrounds to exhibits display whatever artifact it's showing so starkly. I'm a sucker for dioramas, along with ancient roman stelae and old christian woodwork, both of which were in the museum in abundance. I took a look at the souvenirs, decided I could get it for much less at the local pound store, and went on my way.

I got a coronation chicken sandwich that was delicious. Hours later, the mayonnaise was making my tummy cry. Still, I managed to re-read/annotate half of my readings for my Islam course, like a boss. I had some tea and lay there via skype as the Ninth Street Hooligans decided who the new officers would be. I am the new spirit chair and party planner.

...

This...is amazing. I feel like I actually have a role in the Hooligans now. I know I was there since it's birth (every pizza party, every hopeful concert, every den of inequity) and I know I'm a respected member, but now I can give back tangibly. As sappy as this may sound,I love the Hooligans like they're my own family. I plan on giving them a big group hug when I'm back at Scripps.

Seven days, and so much to do.

Eeeeeek.

First Final

Went fine. I'm not going to say anything about it, so the final gods don't hear me and say "HA HA! BLASPHEMY." It took place in McAdams Hall--which, to all accounts, is a freaking opera house. One building--so many baroque looking staircases. I wish I had my camera. It was truly magical. Of course, it was still super cold in the building. If I hadn't looked like a yeti (six laters of clothing--ohhh yeahhhh), I would have frozen.

But it it so, so cold. I wore four pairs of socks. Four. And my toes still froze.

Now, to Claudia's! It's her 21st, so we're going pub hopping. While looking like yetis.

DUH NUH NUH NUH, DUH NUH NUH NUH-NUH

The countdown of how long I have left in Edinburgh begins.

I never thought I would get to this point. Well, of course I knew that time does in fact move forward, and that I would eventually find myself partway through a revelation that I'm going to miss this place. I said it. I love this place now. It took me months to say it, and now this is in my top five cities in the world. On the fifth of december.

I've had pleasant experiences lately--going to a carol service with my flatmates, hanging out more with various friends. I didn't make the friends I thought I would make here, but that's okay. A majority of my friends are other Americans. I am no better at faking a scottish accent than I was back home,before I came. The only real change is my views on California (it's the most amazing place in the world), and my pants are a little tight. It seems all the weight I've gained is in the past month--let's hope that it falls off as quickly as it adhered itself to my body. If not, I'll be a little stressed, but then I'll have a gym to go to. And capoeira to attend etcetc.

I went to the German market twice now--once with flatmate Canada, another time with Dillon. I made soup that wasn't terrible and finished it today. My mission--to finish ALL of the food I bought already, and not to go to Tescos until every last oat, lentil, and grain of rice is gone.

SNOWWW

It snowed in Edinburgh! Having never experienced it here before, of course I went outside to lie in it. I threw some snowballs and made a snow angel beside the Potterrow at 2 am.

It was snowing when I went to the grocery store this morning. It continued snowing as I ate my breakfast.

The Canadian flatmate (Margaret) and I went on a walk around three, all around our area of the city. The snow had partially melted, and it was that awful brown slush for most of the way, but it was white and lovely in the gardens, behind the fences. There's a German fair going on on Prince's Street for some reason--complete with rides and booths. I got a pretzel with mustard on it, and Margaret got Currywurst, which is exactly what it sounds like. A bratwurst with curry powder.

Magical.

Thanksgiving:, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb

This was my first thanksgiving away from my family. Mixed emotions through the week--thanksgiving means that my time here is almost over and I'm approaching finals. I'd better get A's on all of them--this semester has to be the worst academically since my sophomore year of high school. I know I should have done better--these are classes in my major. They count. I'm not going to graduate with honors. Whatever. Honors are overrated. I had this theory at SD that all the dean's list signified was the list of people to go on the spaceship when the world exploded. After all, what better do the dumb kids have to do than evaporate among the fallout?

Whoaaa. I was a bitter child.

Anyway, Wednesday was the pre-Thanksgiving thanksgiving butler threw. It was in Ghillie Dhu, a classy place where we got free food and took many pictures. And thus--the Fattening.

Funny story: thanksgiving morning, after eating my traditional breakfast of eggs in a basket--I took a sliver of one of my mama's cookies. The cleaning lady was there, and had this to say.

"You're still eating after that fry up? That's really greasy. Hangover food."

Uh.

"It's a miracle you're so slim!"

Yay! Kind of backhanded, but yay!

The next day, I made up my mind to make stuffing. The package my mother sent me finally arrived the day before--along with so many cookies. It is my mission to make my flatmates as fat as me. Anyway, I was saved, and I felt like such a boss. I cut up the onions with my awesome knives, broke the celery with the force of my will, and threw that fury into the oven for thirty minutes. I also sauteed mushrooms and made gravy. All of them were delicious.

I am a GOD.

Then off to Claudia's! I had to walk with all of my awe-inspiring food from College Wynd to Hermit's Croft, all while imagining someone running into me, punching the stuffing from my hand and letting it shatter I'm the street. Luckily, that didn't happen. However, I was completely shown up by Dillon, who cooked deviled eggs, Mac and cheese, and two apple pies in the hour between his class ending and the start of the party. Claudia made a turkey breast (with an herb crust--how does that work) and mashed potatoes. Corey made four pumpkin pies. Someone made heartbreakingly good rolls. Another person made apple crumble.

Pretty good for college students. We were able to show the foreigners their first thanksgiving, and I led a tutorial on hand turkeys.

And there was plenty of wine.

Something changes, and everything is wonderful.

It's the last week of official classes. The rest of the semester (all 25 days of it) is review sessions, all of which are optional. All I can do is pat myself on the back for surviving. My classes are over. WHAAAT.

As I walked out of my lecture at 4:00, it was already dark. The air was nippy. It smelled like snow. Menacingly.

Oh, by the way, it's predicted that it'll snow tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day.

Anyway, I put on my gloves and headed back towards College Wynd--when something seized my soul. Angels We Have Heard on High started playing. Bells from the Tron (no, not TRON. It's a church) rang very loudly next to me. There were Christmas trees in every window. They were putting up Christmas decorations on the Royal Mile. There were red ribbons on the bottle of Baileys.

It's not even December, but I was caught up. I bought trappings for my stuffing and gravy, and am planning on making it for Thanksgiving. I have a gift list that I have to get on.

I'm just going to ignore Korea for a while. Lalalalala can't hear you.

Several Things:

1) I went to a Boyce Avenue concert last night. Amaaaaaaazing.

2) This is not my best year academically. Whatever.

3) Thanksgiving is this Thursday.

4) I'm PMSing like a mofo, and you all know what that means!

5) I feel so fat. My loose jeans don't even fit me anymore.

6) 26 days until I'm home again!

SPAIN

Where to begin? I know I haven't been keeping up with this blog, but in this post I'll tell you about Spain and my adventures with my cousin. I carried a huge, dorky backpack, but it was much better than carrying a suitcase. I don't mind taking my shoes off, my belt off, baring my very soul to the TSA, but the feeling that you have to do it at a thousand miles per hour, lest you upset everyone behind you, is not a happy feeling.

Plane flight, a couple of cute kids with accents, and I was in Barcelona! I got off the plane and nearly started weeping. It was warm. Warm enough for me to wear short sleeves. Yaya met me at the airport and was my de-facto translator for the trip. I thought I was dressed pretty hip. I paled in comparison.

Barcelona is one of the prettiest cities ever, and I've been to a few. The way everything is so old and Spanish is amazing. Yaya lived next to the Catedral Santa Maria and the square where the monarchy welcomed back Columbus. Her apartment was glorious, albeit a little cramped. We got tapas and shared a jug of sangria. Sangria is delicious.

The next day, after a wonderful breakfast of jamón y café con leche, we boarded the tourist bus and saw the sights. I am awful with remembering the names of places--but it made me so homesick. Everything was like california. We were in San Francisco and then, a few minutes later, we were in the middle of Tiburon.

Especially the garden. It reminded me so much of scripps I nearly wept. I sat in the sun for hours and remembered what the blue sky looked like. Then--paella. Oh lord, paella. There were shrimp that stared at me with hatred in their dead little eyes, but I ate them with gusto. Then I had chocolate con churros, a shandy, and then Yaya and I shared a bottle of wine while watching Frequency. That movie is dreadfully underrated. Of course, that could be the alcohol talking.

Sunday morning, I had bread and a latte for breakfast, and moved into the hotel where I would be staying once Diego, Yaya's boyfriend, got back to the apartment. Oh goodness, it was lovely. Of course, the only TV channel in English was showing a documentary on Hiroshima, which was a downer. I had dinner with Diego, who is such a lovely person. He was also very jet-lagged, which makes me think he's a saint. He reminded me a little of my boyfriend, and only made me miss him more. I let Yaya spend the night with Diego, and I was able to go full starfish on the large, wonderful bed.

Monday was shopping, where I trusted Yaya's judgement and bought a ridiculously European outfit. I hope I can pull it off in the US. Then I had lunch with Diego, who continues to be amazing, and registered for classes. They are:

Looking at Religious Worlds
Heretics in Early Christianity
The Religion of Islam
Asian American Psychology

I spoke my best Spanish at the airport--mostly "si", "no", "no lo necesita", "estuve visitando mi prima" y "mas cafe, por favor." One of those things is wrong, but I realize, if I had to, I'd learn Spanish pretty damn fast. Yaya already told me that you don't have to speak spanish to live in Barcelona. Future plans? Not likely. I'd probably live in the canal area of San Rafael before Spain. I will relearn Spanish. This trip has only strengthened my resolve.

I didn't want to go back. I don't want to work. I do plenty of that at Scripps. I want to stay in that pseudo California forever. Oh well. The important thing is that I'm happy and safe and experiencing new things.

31 days. Holy horsefeathers, Batman!

Things I'm Grateful For: The Scotland Edition

I would post this on thanksgiving, but there is no thanksgiving here.

10) Warm jackets/hats/gloves/beds

9) Scottish tablet

8) The fact that I saw my friend who I haven't seen in, like, five years just last night.

7) The fact that I'm in the library and someone who looks and sounds EXACTLY like Paul McCartney is sitting next to me.

6) Skype/Google Phone

5) Lenient professors!

4) Andrew, Catherine, Fraser, Tina, Melody, Margaret, Ayesha, Rory, Dillon, Jan, Emma, James, Claudia, and anyone else I might have missed. You're awesome. All of you.

3) LIZZLE, who's here, VICKAY, who's in Amsterdam, and every single one of my friends at home.

2) an unbelievably supportive boyfriend. One month and a week <3

1) My family, who sends me things. And are media savvy. And loves me, of course.

I am filled with LAAAAHVE.

תֵּבַת נֹחַ

I have 40 (technically 39) days left in this country. I have two papers, three finals left.

I've downloaded podcasts from NPR and KGO newstalk 810. The closer I get to leaving, the more anxious and homesick I get. What will I get everyone for souvenirs? What will I do before I say goodbye? Will I miss this place? Will I miss the people I've met? What about facebook and skype and twitter and working out and capoeira and losing and gaining weight...

On Noah's Ark, I'm sure the animals were sick, cold, and wondering when that goddamn rain would end. I'm sure Noah got a little too tired of playing ye-olde solitaire and talking about the unchanging weather. Shem probably mastered knitting and basket weaving.

I'm restless. I've been listening to Christmas music, hoping with all my heart that time will speed up.

As I mentioned in my last blog post, people have been calling this place home. They mention their flats and places of interest with fondness. I'm looking forward to the years of therapy my first flat will surely give me. I am permanently scarred by their apathy and outright hatred of me. I question now whether people really like me, or if they're just smiling for the sake of it.

I hate them. I feel justified in using that word.

They have made me question whether anybody loves me. That is not okay.

I am a Scrippsie. I am Californian. You can take me out of America, but you can't take America out of me. I've become so grateful for my group of friends back at home, for the Hooligans, for my family.

Nothing I've done here compares to them. Being away from them hurts me. I want to see the sun again. I want to lie on my deck with Eva and Elisa and Andrea. I want to snuggle up to my boyfriend as he reads the New Yorker. I could never, ever live here.

A month and 8 days. That's all.

On being away, hungry, and full of emotion.

I had a little bit of a cry with my boyfriend and best friend last night. The reason: I was way behind on a paper, was going to end up turning it in late, I was horrifically hungry. Also, it was 6:05 am. I get really cranky when I'm tired. I don't see the positives and only focus on the negatives. I saw myself as a massive failure. Failure to do work, failure to make friends...I've been taking regular two hour naps today and am feeling much better.

The fact that I only have 40 days left in this country left me in a panic. I saw that I wasn't having 'the time of my life' here, like you're supposed to. I've heard the arguments before, countless times. You should seize this opportunity. You should be enjoying yourself, because you'll never get to do this again.

Doesn't matter that I was regularly spat on (metaphorically)/ ignored by my fellow flatmates. Doesn't matter that nobody I know is in any of my classes, so I don't see them at all. People have extended their stays to a year, and I wonder HOW they can do it. Do they not care about home?

I'm being mean. Of course they care about home. But they have certainty that they can change as much as their surroundings. I'm sure that it'll be the same when I get home, my boyfriend will still be loving, my bed will still be comfy, but, still.

40 days.

Rabba rabba Amsterdam

On Friday, I boarded a bus to the airport. Of course, this would have been so much better had I gone to bed at a decent hour. There I was, tired, bitter, and leaning on my backpack full of clothes that I didn't use. Why do I do that? Whenever I think I need less clothes, I always end up needing more, and when I don't, I end up with a chunky backpack.

I got to the airport ridiculously early, changed my money, and read Simon Pegg's autobiography all the way through. I love that man. So hard.

The first minute I stepped off the train, I had a kaassouflee. Angels sang. It's a grilled cheese sandwich dipped in batter and fried. Next, McDonalds. Oh, and BTW, McFlurries? Awesome. Stroopwaffel McFlurries? MORE AWESOME.

My arteries constricted three sizes that day.

As did my waistline.

We spent a lot of time chilling in her flat because it rained, but when we did go out it was fantastic. We went to several coffee shops where much merriment was to be had. We went to the Museum of Sex (where I saw things I cannot unsee) for kicks and giggles, and then, relating to the theme, walked down the red light district.

It was...unique.

Vicki had told me all about the various sex-related things that happened in Amsterdam history. Men would meet in the town square, then go off and have sex in a church. Prostitutes would meet men in the public urinals and would have sex with them there. When I saw the women in the windows, some posing, some talking on their cell phones, I realized that I felt a little uncomfortable.

I'm as liberal as you're ever going to get, but something about seeing women in shop windows--something to be consumed, something to look at, pay, have a roll in the hay, and be done with--it just made me wonder. They have regular clients. They work in shifts. It's just like any other 9-5 job, they just happen to be using their bodies. It made me wonder what it was like to hire a prostitute. And then I was distracted by a pigeon that NEEDED TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED.

America has such a puritanical culture. I saw what California could be (of course, the taxes are incredibly high, which people just won't have), and I wept. But then I went to a coffee shop and could not stop laughing.

And the nicest flatmates ever award go to Callie's new flatmates. I was sitting on my computer in the kitchen. Margaret comes in.

Margaret: Do you have dinner plans?

Me: Don't think so.

Margaret: Because there's a whole chicken in the fridge. I was planning on doing a recipe, but it said it feeds four, so it's perfect for the flat.

Me: ...

Margaret: Sounds good?

Me: ...MARRY ME.

Okay, maybe that last thing I said I didn't really say, but oh my Lord.

Leaving Azkaban--and the return of the Calibug

"They don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought."

I KNOW. I'M A HUGE DORK.

These last few weeks have been a whirlwind (OF EMOTION) for me--ending, of course, with my not getting out of bed in the morning, because I didn't see the point.

That was definitely a sign that the situation withthe dementors my flatmates, the location, and my hesitance to stir up any trouble was not going to get any better. I'm a naturally shy person, and always have been. It was only in the last couple years, when I was able to start over again in high school and college, that I've grown from that quiet girl reading in the back of the room to a highly social being. If I'm left alone, I go absolutely crazy. With all the negative, passive aggressive energy in my last flat, I was both crazy AND depressed. I would complain to anyone that would listen, but then I drew inward. I wouldn't speak at all, to anyone. Even my male British friends noticed that something was wrong.

I made the decision to move out when I came back to my flat one day. One incident led to another, and I went back in my room and started packing. Thank J the B that Vicki was visiting from Amsterdam, and was able to help me. Thank J the B I have strong, manly (American) friends to carry all of my stuff out of my flat and into the next one. When I entered the taxi, it felt like my soul was back and singing Ke$ha. I have had that smile on my face since then. My new flatmates are amazing. I don't know them as well as I would like, but they are friendly. They are American, Canadian, and German. They are not obsessive compulsively clean. Noise doesn't carry as badly. I'm across the street from clubs and bars. There is life here. Life and love and just...this place is full of awesome.

I feel like I can finally experience this country the way it's meant to be experienced. I'm eating a bag of cheese. Life is wonderful. Halloween is wonderful. People are wonderful.

Things Are Suddenly Better...

And yet they're worse.

Things are much better with my flatmates! They're not so passive aggressive anymore. I spent all day in the library, working on a paper that's due a lot later than any of my other papers. Turns out my Visual Representations of the Holocaust Paper is due next week. Get my research on!

MY FINALS SCHEDULE

8 Dec: Visual Representations of the Holocaust (2:30)
14 Dec - Islam and Modernity (2:00)
17 Dec - Religion 1A (2:00)

MY ESSAY SCHEDULE
1 Nov - Visual Representations of the Holocaust
9 Nov - Islam and Modernity
15 Nov - Religion 1A

My prompt for my Holocaust paper is "How the Tea Party Uses Holcaust Imagery--and how it was wrong"

...

It's really upsetting.

I'm watching a documentary.

It's REALLY UPSETTING.

Oy.

Drama on the Callie Front

I hate passive aggression.

I know that I'm passive aggressive sometimes. It's completely understandable. You don't want to be a shit-disturber. You want to be nice. You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

There is a flaw in that.

By being passive aggressive--not inviting someone out, not telling them when "girl's nights in" are, you are hurting them. When you scribble pointed notes on the community whiteboard that say SOMEONE left the freezer door open and ALL OF MY FOOD got ruined, how INCONSIDERATE OF WHOEVER LEFT THE FREEZER DOOR OPEN, you're hurting them. What they don't seem to realize is that if someone is bothering you, you're supposed to tell that person to fuck off. Not insinuate it though your tone and the way they look at you and--agh, they're just so CONDESCENDING.

I'm at the point where I want to move out of this building. Hell, I want to go HOME. To AMERICA. Where people are FRIENDLY AND DECENT.

I JUST WANT TO BITE SOMEONE IN THE FACE.

Liz came over the other night, and we were forced to go into my room. I broke down and sobbed in her lap, just because I felt so freaking alone. I'm hesitant to go into the kitchen and get myself a meal. I feel like a guest in what's supposed to be my home.

EDIT:

They seemed nicer this evening. Aki didn't have a problem but the Glaswegian looked at me with JUDGING EYES. Rachel's just older. Apparently I'm supposed to dress up like Bubbles from the Powerpuff Girls with them. We made that deal back when I wasn't afraid to engage them.

California Looooove

Last night, I was determined to feel better. I was still feeling like crap when Jan came over. I was feeling a little less crap when James and Friend came over. Three of us are Californian. I finally felt at home.

James opened the fridge at one point and said "Your FRIDGE, Callie! It's so HEALTHY!"

We did California things, listened to California Music, and watched California videos. A not so California video was Song of the South, from which we watched the "Tar Baby" segment. Cue the Americans in the room (including Dillon--who is in fact from South Carolina) being horrified, looking away, and the Europeans going "I don't get why it's racist. It's talking animals."

"Uncle Remus is a happy slave!" says I.

"It takes place after the end of slavery!" says Rory.

"Well he's a happy SHARECROPPER!" Dillon says, in the corner, not making eye contact with anyone.

Oh my goodness, it was fun.

For the first time--I felt BETTER. Actually better. My awareness, my head, my sinuses felt all clear. It was a Christmas miracle! Tonight I think I'll rest (...unnnlikely, I'm probably going to rest all day, though). Now, to make a grilled cheese sandwich and revel in my recovery.

Gobblin' Pills like Breath Mints

So Day Five, and I'm not feeling any better.

I'm convinced it's sinusitis. Last night, my nose felt like it was being squeezed, and my ears made a "reeeeEEEEEEEEEE" noise every couple of minutes. Such are the trials of being unable to do meth take sudafed--there is literally nothing I can do about this. Of course, I'm being melodramatic. But, hey, when you feel as crap as I do, why WOULDN'T you.

I find my symptoms disappear if I'm with people, socializing, getting my book signed by SIMON MOTHEREFFIN PEGG.

That's right. Simon Mothereffin' Pegg.

Dillon alerted me to the fact that he would be signing books at the UK's equivalent of Borders, and of course, I NEEDED to go. I still felt like crap, but I soldiered through it. The fact that I would be meeting Simon Pegg motivated me. I got to the bookstore, where there was already a line. I plopped myself down and started reading. My love for him grows. He was a drama nerd. He loves Star Wars. The high point of his life was when he got to meet Leonard Nimoy.

I finally got to meet him, and what do I say?

"I LIKE YOUR HAT."

We continued to have a conversation about the Little Mermaid for some reason, and he told me to post pictures on his facebook wall of me and the Statue. He told me I had a pretty name. EEEEEE.

Last night, I had a "Girl's night out" with Dillon, Liz, and Catherine. Still feeling pretty crap, but I had a lot of fun. I got ACTUAL SAAG PANEER you guys. It was my crowning moment.

I got back to find a shortbread cookie with my flatmate Aki's handwritten note, saying "EAT ME." MAybe things are looking up?

It's really, really, really cold.

I need therapy...

I finally went to the doctor's today, after getting really dizzy when I got up. I was a mess--I didn't go to class, I forgot my phone, all so I could figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

When the doctor finally saw me, he told me what every hypochondriac dreads hearing.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

But. But.

"Everything looks fine."

He gave me advice to rest and drink a lot of fluids--saying it's probably "a virus"

Excuse my language.

FUCK.

On Being Ill in Scotland

It sucks. Did I mention how much it sucks?

What sucks even more than the obvious suckitude is that I don't know what this illness is. I don't have a stuffy nose NOR does it run; it can't be a cold. I don't have stomach problems, nor backaches, nor leg aches, nor any other kind of ache. No headaches, even. I'm dizzy and lightheaded. My ears hurt sometimes. My sinuses hurt sometimes. But not all the time. If it was an ear infection, I would have trouble hearing. If it was a sinus infection, I would have actual problems with my sinuses.

I call my mother and tell her about my symptoms, and she says it's a "virus".

What kind of virus? Herpes virus? Flu virus? AIDS virus? Tumor virus?

After class today, I went to the doctor to try and register/see someone about my problem. Of course, since I'm only here until December, they suggested I go to the pharmacy because they were so busy that day. Sidenote: when there is literally NOBODY WAITING IN THE WAITING ROOM, I have a hard time believing you're up to your eyeballs in sick people. So I go down to the pharmacist, I describe my symptoms, and she gives me Sudafed. I can't take Sudafed. It's a vasoconstrictor. If I take it, my brain will go squish and I'll have another stroke. Lovely.

I go to the bus stop, still dizzy, still lightheaded, but this time burning with bloodlust. I think, what would Jesus do?

He'd go and turn their asses into piles of salt, that's what He'd do.

So I go back and say "I NEED TO SEE SOMEONE, LIKE RICHT NOW." Of course, being so busy, the soonest they can see me is tomorrow at 11 AM. Better than next week, which is what I was previously told. I take the card begrudgingly and then take the bus (with a renewed bus pass--woo) to the New College, where i sit now, fueled by rage and fear.

Being a hypochondriac is awful. I always expect the worst of my illnesses. I think I have MS or a brain tumor or AIDS or meningitis whenever I have a three second headache. When I'm sore from capoeira, I think I'm dying. I get a tummyache and think it's an ulcer. I constantly have to bite my right finger just to make sure I have appropriate sensation. I freak out ALL THE TIME, even though most of my problems are in my head, It sucks to be constantly paranoid, and not be able to see a doctor right away.

Oh, that's another thing I hate about this country. Back at Scripps, you could just pop over to the Health Center, wait a little while, and see a doctor right away. That put me so much at ease. Here, even if you trek all the way to the Health Center, you have to have an appointment. Oh, and another thing, they don't do walk ins for Temporary students. ASDGSFAFDGVV

59 Days Left. You can tell I'm enjoying Scotland when I have to constantly keep reminding myself of that.

I know I should be looking forward to the months ahead, of Halloween and visiting Vickay and going home and seeing the Barely Legal Coed and GOING TO SEE LADY GAGA IN CONCERT and singing with the Hooligans...but I CAN'T BE EXCITED if I'm worried I'm going to be catastrophically ill.

I think I'm skipping class again. I can't do this.

Watching Death at a Funeral can only do so much.

Day Two of the Unspecified Illness That Might Be An Infection

I feel like a roly-poly that's been turned on it's back. Hopeless, helpless, legs flailing. I actually look like a roly poly right now. My computer is resting on my chest with my knees balancing. If I don't move...maybe it will go away.

I wish I brought sweatpants.

PARTIES. PARTIES EVERYWHERE.

I have three essays all due at around the same time. I could outline them right now, get a nice little head start on my reading for tuesday, maybe work on a presentation. But I choose to blog! That's a good idea. I won't regret this tomorrow.

The past four days were intense, and I think that aided in my ability to contract another Tahoe grade (TM) ear infection. But the parties were worth it.

THE FOUR DAYS OF PARTIES

The first night was Wednesday, where I drank a glass of wine while looking at Facebook. Ayesha called me to meet her at Teviot. I instead walked to Bedlam (stupid limp), which took me twice as long as it should have. One of the disadvantages of a bus--it lulls you into a false sense of security. Ayesha was wearing her awesome hat and she told me about boys as we walked 45 minutes to the destination. At first, we were awkward, being the capoeira newbies, but then rum came and it wasn't quite as awkward! I got into this really deep conversation about Texas with a Glaswegian named Owen, and ended up bringing home Ayesha's awesome hat. I still have it. I ended up having to take a cab home because it was a very long way home, and I was not exactly in the state of mind to navigate.

For a hangover cure I did what the Polish girl told me! I made an egg in a basket and had a shot of pepper vodka. That's pepper in the vodka--not pepper flavored vodka. It was vile! But it made up for the night. I also had a glass of water. We had meant to have the next party at Rory's, but it ended up at my place because everyone was so much closer. I had a rip roaring good time, going to bed before it was cleaned up, but then everyone cleaned up anyway! They are so nice. I love them.

THE THIRD DAY was not really a party so much as another get together with a lot of alcohol and funny stories in Slovenian. At one point, I got a massage from said Slovenian, while everyone else watched Adventuretime.

The fourth and final day was just a "let's all crash in Callie's pad whilst Fraser has chicken pakora to sober up" kind of day. I ended up imbibing some of what Calum gave me, while on antibiotics. This was a bad plan, which resulted in my staying in bed all day long, eating pot-o-noodles and drinking tea. Also, all my flatmates went clubbing, got back at 3 AM, and turned everything upside down.

I want a theme party. I'm thinking I'll invite all the Americans I know over to my flat and have it be themed "AMERICA: F@CK YEAH". I am the only one who really uses the flat to its full potential. I wonder why.

This will be short.

I woke up in the middle of the night to my flatmates being loud and obnoxious.

I woke up this morning to everything in my kitchen being turned upside down.

I made myself some coffee and am now back in my room, my ears throbbing, feeling miserable.

Why am I here?

Passport Adventures sounds like a child's computer game...

So! Today I got up extra early and took the bus where the internet told me to. I lost my passport, you see, and thought I could easily get another one if I just went to the US Consolate. They'd understand. They're all American there.

I was wrong.

First off, it took me much longer than it should have to get there. I asked the front desk of the Balmoral Hotel, the Tourist Information center, and finally got accurate directions from a Spanish Hotel. I walked all the way there (well over 20 minutes) and finally saw a star-spangled banner. I went in, and after about five minutes of pleading, they let me into the entrance way. I explained my situation, and they said I needed an appointment.

What.

The email I received said I could go there without an appointment, I said.

No, they said. You have to make an appointment.

So I gave them my phone number and I have an appointment at 9:00 AM tomorrow. Right before my tutorial at 10:00. I already missed a class today to do this--but luckily, that was my Easy class. If it takes more than an hour, I'll be screwed. It takes a very, very long time to get from the New College to the Consolate. There are no buses. I might as well just not go to class at all.

RAGE.

However, things did look up. I coped with this by doing what I usually do when I'm sad--going into a Burger King on Prince's Street (ah, America) and getting a medium Diet Coke. No ice, but it calmed me down. I then went to H&M for a little retail therapy. I bought a sweater. It's lovely.

That's what I've been missing. I've been missing routine. I've missed shopping. I've missed American stores.

Now, to read the stuff for the class I might not make.

A SHEEP CALLED JUSTICE

This weekend I went to Inverness! I didn't sleep at all the night before, which led to my first successful nap ever on a bus. Of course, that meant I was curled up like a squirrel with two coats over me, kicking slightly, but it was worth it.

We arrived at an Asda (Wal-Mart for Britons) about two hours later, and I got a muffin and a cup of coffee. It was there I solidified my friend group for the trip. We then went to a waterfall where some long-dead poet lived (it began with an O...I am so bad at paying attention), and waterfalls. Lots of dangerous, slippery, kill-you waterfalls. Alexander, one of my group, was stupid enough to take a picture WAY UP CLOSE, nearly cracking his head open in the process. It was there I got the reputation of Mom of the group, as I berated him for nearly killing me with worry.

Then we traveled to a quaint little town and stopped for a while. I got a spinach and cheese pasty.

Then--the Hogwarts Express.

We went right up to the bridge it's always crossing. It made my little heart go pit-a-pat. It will be my profile picture on facebook for a very, very long time.

We boarded the bus again and drove to our hostel. I shared a room with two other girls. We went to pubs that night, and I had a pint of Guinness. I need to stop with the pints of Guinness. Food and Beer will be my newborn babies.

The next day, breakfast and off to a farm where we saw sheep herded like they have never been herded before. The dude in charge was just a bastion of manliness. He grabbed a sheep with one arm, held it on the ground, and started shearing it with a pair of scissors. The verdict that came from watching these people: sheep are really, really dumb. But puppies! I held an older puppy, a younger puppy, and a little seven-day old puppy that the farmer handed out of a bucket. A puppy bucket. I wanted to take one home with me and cherish it forever. Oh, and a little four year old boy was handing out the puppies. My heart just kind of exploded.

After that, we went back to several castles etc, and then back to the hostel. Some friends and I just got a bottle of booze, a few bags of chips, and talked the night away.

The next day, we saw Loch Ness, the castle on Loch Ness, and I unsuccessfully tried to see the monster. The bus driver played the bagpipes as we disembarked. A man of many talents. I saw the trebuchet used in Highlander (AHH) and then, on the way back, saw the place where they filmed Hagrid's Hut (AAAAAH). Also, there was a place that looked particularly like Helm's Deep, so I stood there and took a picture.

We stopped in Stirling to drop off some people while we watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince: a steaming pile of awkward. It ended just as we were pulling up to Pollack Halls.

All in all, a good time.

TESCO BAGS

One really is the loneliest number.

I realize that now as I'm sitting alone in my kitchen, typing this blog and listening to Glee music.

Living in a dorm is one of the best decisions anyone can make. I thought it would be horrifically uncool to live in the dorms as a third year, I thought I could live in a flat. I was right. I can physically, mentally, and spiritually be alone most of the time, cooking my own food and living my own life. Making tea. Drinking coffee. Being in charge of my own damn self. Getting up in the morning. Dragging my butt to class.

I can never, ever live in my own apartment. I always need someone there. I'd go absolutely crazy if I were all alone, all the time. I would never do anything.

I know there's a youtube video of "How to be Alone". I know I've looked at it many times. I've tried to find comfort in it. I'm just not one of those people. I used to be. But then I went out, walked around looking for Palak Paneer (DIDN'T FIND IT), and ended up getting sandwich supplies. I made myself a sandwich. I felt better.

Maybe half of my loneliness is me being hungry all the goddamn time.

And Tesco bags are a bitch and a half. I can never get them open.

Oi sim sim sim

Two days ago, I had a little get together in my flat. It was five people, with a little bit of booze. I had a really, really good time. Suffice it to say, I woke up around 11 the next morning, only to get a facebook message from my friend Ayesha saying "Remember the capoeira workshop? Yeah?"

I ended up meeting her at the Bedlam Theater, where we walked to the train station, bought our tickets, and boarded the fifty minute train to Glasgow. (Fun Fact: They do not have trash cans in British railway stations. The reason: nowhere to put bombs.) Once there, we had some confusion about where exactly it was. We ended up taking the tube. The tube in Glasgow goes in a large circle. I'm not joking. There are two trains, one that goes out, the other that goes in. The trains themselves looked like toys.

Once at our stop, we ran into her Mestre (who had invited her in the first place) and the Mestre who would be teaching the workshop, Mestre Pantera. More on him later. Her mestre looked like the be-dreadlocked version of Ben Savage.

We got some fish and chips and sat on a couple of stairs, where we discussed what exactly is in a White Russian, our families, etc. The church that held the workshop was right outside of our stop. Oh, and it rained, as is wont to do in Scotland. There were capoeira babies (CAPOEIRA BABIES EVERYWHERE), including a little baby girl in a pink onesie who didn't crawl on her knees, but on her feet.

Mestre Pantera was a large, muscular, black Brazilian from Cordao de Oro. Three minutes in, I could see why he was called Pantera. His game was magnificent. He was agile, graceful, and jumped really, really high. I struggled a little, but was one of the better non-corded students. We had to leave before we could play in the roda (GRR), and made it back to time to get to the fresher's play, which, while awkward, was pretty good.

I sat in the tech booth, like a creeper. I then went to the cast party--like a creeper. I was not imbibing alcohol, that was much too expensive.I didn't end up having a good time, as everyone knew each other, so I went to Teviot to sit with Fraser and Garry. We then ran into Kat Diablo and Hannah, and we went back to my flat for a little bit of wine. Kat, having ingested 9 cocktails in rapid succession, was a wee bit sick. I am impressed with my mothering skills.

This morning, I made egg fried rice and vacuumed the floor, straightening up the kitchen.

I'm an ADULT.

Food.

I'm going to explore my feelings here for a moment.

I have class at 1:00 tomorrow. A tutorial, which requires very little work on my end. I've read all the reading, meaning I hung out with two of my friends tonight. One of them is going to be my Edinburgh Bestie (TM), I can tell already, but one of them I'm not so sure about. Anyway, I got a little tipsy and walked myself home. I saw it--a chip shop. I needed them to live, just then. It's a hard feeling to explain.

The man gave me more than a supersize order, and I figured, I'm going to eat all of this. And I just did.

I am feeling remorse after eating those.

I had an egg in a basket for breakfast. I had a bit of a tablet for mid-morning snack. Tea and coffee (with milk!), I had several times today. A gin and tonic. A latte. Soup and a piece of bread. Peanut butter toast. Pasta. 2 cans of cider. An eraser sized slice of cake.

Always, I try to rationalize what I've eaten, as if eating too much were some kind of mortal sin. I say to myself, "I didn't have that much lunch today. I'm hungry right now." But then I fear the fat that's seeping it's way into my stomach, into my thighs, increasing my already apparent (read: three millimeter) stretch marks and adding to my cellulite. Successful people don't have cellulite. Beautiful people don't have stretch marks.

I look at my stomach and am disgusted by that centimeter of pudgle, the thing that proves I have fun, and enjoy living,experiencing this beautiful country and it;s heavy, heavy food. I look at my face and see nothing but my cheeks and (not there) double chin. I worry that my eating habits (of now) will catch up to me at some point in the future and I'll be miserable and lonely forever. Because God knows fat people don't exist in the United States...

Jesus Christ. Is this really what I've done to myself? Am I really thinking of food and my twisted relationship with it all the time? Do I really think, if I get thinner (and, frankly, in my body, scary-bony) I'll have achieved some sort of perfection?

I've been thinking this way since I was fourteen.

If that's not messed up, I don't know what is.

this is the sixth time I've seen this dude.

Oh hot guy with a mullet, sitting at the table adjacent to mine
I see you there, staring at your computer with the awesome cover/case--
Are you British, Mullet Guy? Is your affinity for red plaid and hiking boots ironic?
Did you match your ear buds to your books on purpose?
It is alright, Mullet Guy. Keep on being pretty.

(shamefully ripped off)

Bragahahaaaa

I think this is the second post I've titled with an anguished noise.

Today I have a presentation on Sayyid Ahmad Khan. 10 minutes on this great modernist's life and ideas. I will be the sacrificial lamb to this class, seeing as I volunteered (stupid) to be the first one (stupider) to give a 20% of the grade presentation (STUPIDEST).

He will be lenient. He will have mercy. I certainly hope so.

I make it a point to leave the house every day by 9:30 AM, so I can dick around in the library for a while.

I need some tea. Will get on that.

Starting tomorrow I'm going on a diet.

This weekend was an epic weekend.

At 5:30 PM on friday, we all met in front of Pollack Halls to board the bus for Shap, a place that was unknown to most of us, and that I had only googled five minutes prior. The bus ride over was amazingly beautiful, pastoral, green, with many, many frolicking sheep. We got to the car park as I realized I had underpacked like whoa, as I was freezing. We (two other people and I) met our homestay parents, Brian and Ann. Brian looked like an older Liam Neeson, and Ann was Helen Mirren. They had brought two cars, thinking the bags would take up most of the room. They didn't.

We arrived at their house, which was a bed and breakfast in real time. They fed us wonderful chicken and potatoes, along with several glasses of wine, and I went to sleep in the first real bed in almost a month. I slept like a baby, a sated, tired baby. In the oirning, we had tea, coffee, toast, eggs, sausage, bacon, yogurt, and general english breakfast food. This was both days. I also watched the British Supernanny and Are you Smarter than a 5th grader.

In the morning, we climbed a fell (hiked), and I pined for comfortable shoes. The view was spectacular, and I took blurry pictures. Ann and I talked about the weirdness of horse people as we descended. We went to mini-stonehenge (really, really old rocks), and then, not two hours after breakfast, we got ice cream. Kessig was next, and I bought several postcards there, a mug, a water bottle, and batteries.

We had fish and chips for lunch. I ate my weight in fatty food, and then was comatose for a few hours. We went home (where they made us tea and biscuits...who are these people), studying, and we were off to Cockermouth (yes.) It's a little town outside of Bassenthwaite (these towns are named so English...ly) with a lot of pubs and restaurants. The host kids and I went and had a pint, chinese food, and another pint in that town. Brian was pleasantly happy, so happy that he rode on the hood of his friend's car for about fifty meters.

The next morning we went to see a little waterfall (after black pudding--crunchy.), got coffee, and then boarded the bus, saying goodbye to them.

Ann and Brian's kids had left the house (graduated) and their pet chickens were all killed by a fox. They only had one left, and they said it was terrified. Even though they had never done it before, I think we had the best time out of anyone. These people are parents. They acted like mom and dad throughout the experience. They were so much like my parents I felt at home instantly. My room was like my room at home.

It made me realize how much I miss home, but at the same time, it cheered me up a little.

Now, to class!

I don't have class today. Mumblemumblemumble.

I'm in the library anyway. It's a nice library. As Lizzle put it, it's a "gingerbread boy Denison."

This morning I was fueled by rage.

Self-inflicted rage.

I woke up much later than I expected to (given the amount of partying I did last night. Sorry Mom.) and had a bite of the fried nightmare that is King Rib for breakfast. I got it for free! They were closing and I ordered some chips and they included that along with two fish cakes. I never turn down free food. Anyway, I then got a coffee at the cafe next to the bus stop (anther one of my favorite places) and waited for the bus like a good little uni student.

With a wet shirt. And it was windy. I should have spent that extra pound to dry stuff.

I make my move to get on the bus and he says "That's not allowed." gesturing to my coffee cup.

"But I'm cold and need to get to school." I say.

"There should be another bus coming soon." says he.

And it drives away, So I decide to walk, warmed by the anger and thirsting for the blood of my enemies.

It was so very cold I bought a University of Edinburgh sweatshirt that, while BRIGHT RED (like the blood my enemies), kept me toasty for the remaining three hundred foot walk to the next bus stop, where I hid my coffee (LIKE A NINJA) in my bag and hopped on the 41.

In other news, I have a puff!



--atop a very expressive forehead. Saint Green would be proud.

I'm going to Shap today at 5:30, a little town almost on the border of England, where the people I'm staying with have three children of indeterminate ages and chickens for pets. This...ought to be interesting.

Totoro has NOTHING on me

This morning, I woke up a little later than I expected. I also felt like there was a squirrel trapped in my throat. I decided to sleep a little more, and left the house at around 9:40.

It was raining. And it continues to rain. Truly, Scotland.

I opened my umbrella and walked to the bus stop, having only a carton of orange juice to keep me nourished and hopefully disease free. I am feeling better now--but this morning, in my shapeless, cozy sweater and scarf, I was not very happy. I felt like Totoro waiting for his cat bus. The rain tapped tapped on my umbrella and I stood looking straight ahead.

Now, I'm in Rainey Hall (otherwise known as the GREAT HALL OMG), vaguely looking over my readings and eating a piece of bread. It is too noisy here. I'll move soon.

I've met people here that remind me so much of people back home that I'm thinking they all have a common ancestor somewhere in Europe. There's also this kid I keep seeing everywhere with a slight cockney accent and a mohawk. So far, I sit alone at the cafeteria. I honestly don't mind.

You can people watch so easily here.

Lots of Bieber haircuts. Lots of people reading books. There's a particularly hot one sitting diagonally from me.

Mm.

At least the Bus Driver was attractive...

Yesterday, the internet was gone. All of it.

I felt a little like an episode of South Park. In the episode, the whole town loses the internet and goes into a state of panic, going from Starbucks to Starbucks trying to find a signal. Of course, the whole point of that episode was to look at life for itself, not whether one can get a signal.

I ended up spending a lot of time in the library because of that. I'm from California. It costs a lot of money to call someone on the phone there. The time difference is ridiculous. I want to know what my friends are up to, even if that does get a little facebook-stalky. What I don't want is to come back to the US and have things be completely changed from when I left. I want updates on my social group, whether they're making new friends, new relationships, breaking off, reuniting. I got a big hunk of news from one of them today, and boy howdy.

I went to sleep at 9:30 PM. There was nothing else to do.

This morning, when I woke up, I was just as tired as if I had gone to sleep at 2:00 AM. Moral: I'm tired no matter how much sleep I get. Internet! FOREVER.

Today, the bus was late, and even when it came, it didn't stop where I get off. I had to walk a whole 100 FEET. God. What a hassle.

Now, to class!

I'm at Hogwarts...

Okay, maybe a slightly less castle-y hogwarts, I mean, the walls are a periwinkle blue with white trim, but I can't help but be excited about it. There are stained glass windows everywhere. EVERYWHERE. And a child who looks just like Paul McCartney just walked through the door. I kid you not I think he's him in disguise.

If I were sneaky, I'd take a picture.

It's a little like Scripps. No, the bookshelves etc are EXACTLY LIKE SCRIPPS. It makes me feel better.

As I was on the bus this morning, I became very excited. I'm going to learn things. I'm sitting in a library that looks like a church. All the funk I was feeling is instead taken up by INSURMOUNTABLE EXCITEMENT.

I'm also going to buy salad things today. That means taking out some more money from my account. Yikes.

I've already spent like $310 or more while I'm here...that means I have about...1315 dollars left. rounded down, that's about £842.62. AAAHHHH.

I'm sure I won't spend that much money as the year goes on. It was just Freshers Week that really did it. I'm feeling kind of resentful about those who said "It's only Fresher's Week once. Get another drink." That's money I can't make back. I CAN'T WORK OVER HERE. I would love to get some money, but the conditions of my visa are just so that all the money I have will not grow.

Aaaargh I want class to start.

Everyone here is wearing scarves.

It's September and I'm listening to Christmas carols.

It turns out that the last post was for naught.

I think the reason why I feel so lonely all the time is because the campus is so spread out. I know it seems I'm ragging on this, but hear me out, faithful family and friends. I'm spending just as much time alone as I did at Scripps. I know about as many people as I did the first week of freshman year. The reason I feel so weird is the same as if I spent a semester at UC Berkeley.

If I were to go to the Motley on a random day, I'd see at least five people I knew or recognized. I'd recognize the baristas. I'd recognize the professors. I'd recognize that chick from Toll who dropped her mug and was embarrassingly trying to pick it up with the help of the freshman who just joined Mood Swing.

At a big school, it seems I spend a lot of time doing what I did at Scripps. Walking around, enjoying the scenery, spending far too much money on headphones and the like.

Last night was fun. Honestly, I spent time with people I wanted to spend time with. I met some wonderful people. With classes starting soon, I'm sure I'll meet even more people who are fantastic. With clubs, everything will happen in time.

PMS is a huge bitch.

Right, so, for those of you who think I am not alive, here is proof that I am. I've been busy with various things, and feeling the post-high angst that I was talking about earlier.

I haven't been doing what I had planned to do. I haven't been going to as many events as I should, or seeing and meeting as many new people as I can. I love the friends I've made here, but I want to make new friends as well. When you hang out with one group of people for too long, you get used to their routine. You don't branch out. You remain in your little Scripps/Uni bubble and stay there until kingdom come.

My roommates (flatmates) are lovely people, but we are fundamentally different. Being from different countries, of different cultures, and of different subjects, we don't see each other as often as I see other people, and when we do sit down for dinner, conversation is strained and awkward. It is the first week, and we haven't started classes yet, but I want us to be more than flatmates. I want us to be friends.

I'm also spending all of my moneyyyyyyyy.

Today I auditioned for the choir, and felt the teacher was judging me for being a dumbass American. I got a bagel and a latte straight after that and they were playing "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback on the speakers. Today is just not my day.

I'm used to Scripps, where everything fell right into place the first day I arrived. People were kind, events were awkward, and the weather was so sunny. I had all my stuff in my room, a hallway full of friends, and, eventually, the Hooligan family. There is very little of that stuff here. Not to say that EVERYTHING IS AWFUL, on the contrary. everything is great. I'm living on my own and haven't died yet. I've managed to

Is it that I feel isolated here? I've already done two or three douchebag moves that I did not mean--obliviousness? Is it that I feel that everyone is so involved in their own stuff, and that they don't want to let me into their social circles?

Waah waah no friends waaahhh.

Like, now, for instance. I'm sitting alone in my room feeling sorry for myself because I haven't made the effort. I'm getting very bored of Fresher's week. EXTREMELY. I've already fucked up so many times that I'm seriously doubting my decision to think I can live on my own.

I am just feeling very lonely and PMS-y and don't want to be forced into any more uncomfortable situations. I'm a friendly person. I make the best of what I'm given. But old fears are creeping back and causing me to react badly. What I'm thinking right now?

Everybody must think I'm the biggest loser-freak in the world.

I miss the USA. None of this bullshit ever happened there.

Once classes start, I'll feel better. But now it's just crap.

AAH YOU GUYS

Last night was one of the best, I think, what in terms of bonding with the locals and others.

I've been feeling kind of weird lately, and not being as social as I can be, but this time I felt like I was getting the feel of the place. I was feeling that way on the morning of the twelfth, and I still felt kind of third wheely. As time went on, I started warming up a little. WE went shopping, I got some milk in a shopping mall, and then we relaxed in the flat.

We went to Potterrow, and had a massive headphone party with Leeann and Fraser and Esmond--after the pub quiz, which I shamefully lost. I knew one of the six power rangers was KImberly, I just thought the others were Seth and Arnold. They were Zach and Joy. Blast! I got to know Fraser and Esmond, and Fraser walked me home. It was very nice. Also--Soulja Boi.

The next day--yesterday? I missed my beginning lecture, but I went to the New College anyway (30 MINUTE WALK--I may be investing in a bus pass) to check on if we had packets or anything. We didn't, but I got to see the closest thing to Hogwarts I've ever had the honor to live in. Holy crap. It's Hogwarts. Seriously. Seriously. Hogwarts. Then I went to the trade fair and met someone from Gilroy.

Julie, Aki and I went shopping soon after that, and groceries were purchased. We had a nice dinner around the table, and then we went our separate ways. I stayed in my room, feeling lonely, but then I decided to grow a pair and head out to Potterrow, I saw some excellent folk music (BAGPIPES) and saw Sonoma James again, and then I met Fraser in the bar. We went to Teviot, where we discussed how different sports preferences were, how ridiculously expensive America was, and eventually headed up the stairs to see two more people from Sciennes and Draco Malfoy. Seriously. He was from Leeds and looked just like him. And then they talked of Prefects. Which made me giggle into a little pile.

Then we sang all night long to a drunken piano player who played Hey Jude like 5 times.

It was amazing.

*THIS IS CRAZY LATE*

Like 2 nights ago, I had a dream that I was playing capoeira on the beach with the Hooligans and some new people. There was a bass behind me who I considered kidnapping and forcing him to sing for us. The boyfriend was lookin' dapper in his capoeira pants, and we both snuck off to the closet, like it was routine. There was also that woman from the Progressive commercials there and a blonde version of AC. It was easily the most vivid dream I've ever had.

I miss America, but not to the extent I will.

Anyway, the next morning we went to Edinburgh Castle and got a walking tour. The guy was obviously experienced in these things, because I passed him about an hour later and he was saying the exact same thing. I broke off from the group and started walking down the royal mile. I stopped in the Elephant Cafe, where there was a ridiculous line and an American in front of me who wouldn't stop asking what "treacle" was.

I was about to sit in the place where J.K. Rowling sat when she wrote the first Harry Potter book, with Edinburgh castle in the foreground, because I am that much of a nerd.

The annoying American sat in the seat I wanted to sit in. Grumblegrumble. I shouldn't call her annoying--I'm being mean. What I should say is, this--don't start a conversation with a barista when the line is out the door and people are sighing impatiently. I then chatted with Rebecca the North Carolinian about how much we miss our boys, and then I registered for class. I changed it so I don't have to make a mad dash for the old college ten minutes after I get out of the new college. They call schedules timetables here.

Two suitemates went to the Ceilidh, while me and Rachel (from Holland!) stayed home. We talked about what it was like to live medically (Callie: stroke is Rachel: Chronic Lyme Disease) and bonded. I then met her Indian friend who told me about their awesome houses in Stirling. Boyfriend? Maybe. I dunno.

I completely forgot about international day, but I'm cool with that. I also lost my freshers guide. Sadness. But I can borrow Julie's anytime, and--OOH! Need to make a calendar.

I'm gonna go to Teviot tonight and socialize, something I came here to do.

*FROM LAST NIGHT*

The parties. Scots. They party so hard.

Like, oh my goodness.

I arrived at the flat, and Julie the Glaswegian was already almost all the way unpacked. We chilled for a while, and then I went off with her friend while she had a job interview. I bought some school supplies and a cup of coffee. I also explained what "Hella sketch", "Mudders" and "dish liquid" meant.

I met some other kids from Scotland, and we hit it off pretty well. We went on Pub Crawl with the rest of Sciennes. That's something you don't see in the states. I guess we don't really have that much of a drinking culture. We can marry before we can sip champagne. Anyway, we got tipsy in the first bar, but in the second bar, they asked for ID. One of my friends wasn't 18 (SUCH A BABYYY), so she couldn't get in. Rather than leave her, we were super awesome friends and went back to Sciennes and had some cocktails (pre-boozed, as the scottish say) before we went to "The Big Cheese", basically, a huge freaking party where everyone is smashed and dancing to S Club 7.

Slightly before that, I won three moose dollars (I don't even know) by sticking my foot behind my head and holding it there. I knew that would come in handy sometime. We also tried singing "Tragedy" in four part harmony (Glaswegian is a music major), but we won them anyway.

She can PARTY.

I then proceeded to go back to the flat and eat a banana so that it somehow got all over the couch. I'm the epitome of class.

from my flat, there is a view of nothing.

Today was the last day of Butler Orientation, or sitting in a room drawing happy things like rainbows and flowers while they told us not to screw up in school. I sat to a nice boy named Dillon, who was creepily familiar to someone else in my life. He was from South Carolina, and even though he says he has no accent, HE HAS AN ACCENT.

I finally got a phone! That was nice.

Now that I officially have my Edinburgh Student Card, I feel weird. I still have my Scripps card in my wallet, so that'll never be gone. Plus, I look like a member of the drug cartel in my photo. All pale and gross. Fresher's Week is also coming up, so, basically, non stop parties. I'm going to do all the touristy things, because they're free. I'm also going to join capoeira over here, and kick the boyfriend's ass when I get back.

Lizzle, Anna, Emily, Rebecca and I explored a graveyard, like most tourists did that day. I saw more people with fancy cameras there than anywhere else. I got sore feets and we had our first fish and chips in an Irish pub. I also had my first Guinness in Scotland.

We also saw our residences! Lizzle and Anna are living in Hermit's Croft, while Rebecca is living in Pollack Halls. Both of them are very nice. I had the brilliant idea of looking at mine--Sheeens, as it's called, and I wasn't disappointed. WHen I say that, I mean it wasn't in a ghetto. It wasn't on the ice planet of Hoth. It was in a random neighborhood. Looking over...the adjacent wall.

I'm excited about tomorrow, though. Finally getting settled in will be nice. Unpacking, I think, will make me realize that I'm actually in Scotland. Haven't yet.

I skyped with the boyfriend today, which was very nice. It was nice to hear his voice.

Today was tiring. I woke up at 2:35 AM because I thought it was morning, but some drunken scotsmen were just having a good time outside the window. Then breakfast of runny eggs, tea, tomatoes (!!) and yogurt, and off to the room where they would explain a little bit about scottih history and talk about safety etcetc. They gave me a laptop case!

A nice scottish policeman explained some things about safety, and then showed us pictures of who was most likely to steal our stuff. Chavs. All of them. I guess there are no gangs who will, as he put it "pop a cap in your ass". Apparently, any measure of self defense one could take is illegal here, including pepper spray. Weed is also illegal. If you smoke it, you'll get expelled from your university, kicked out of the country with no passport, and never get that upper-class american hummer you always wanted.

Lunch of soup and bread.

The tour of Edinburgh was nice as well. I went up to see the Firth and the Pollack Halls. I pointed them out, and felt like an expert. It made me miss Fringe Gang 2007. I should call them.

Best line of the night, by two bros.

"What's that stadium thing?"
"IS IT FOR QUIDDITCH?"

I walked past the Elephant cafe and squeed for a good five minutes.

I had dinner (soup again) in the UK's finest chain restaurant, went out for drinks, and got a milk bar.

I'm getting so poooorrrrr.

BRAGHHAHHAHAA: and why food is the answer

Food. It's a marvelous thing. I was very hungry when these events happened, so keep that in mind.

I missed my connecting flight. Not because the plane was late. Or because it was a confusing airport.

It's because I CAN'T DO 24 HOUR TIME.

The ticket said "13:55" was the time you were on the flight. Okay. Sure. That's...after noon. 1? Alright. So I looked at my ticket (however briefly) and saw that it said "1448". I looked at the departure times and saw that well, hey, 1448 wasn't leaving until 15:35, so it must have been delayed. Cool. I putzed around and explored the HATED Heathrow. I get to my gate, and him my ticket, and he says "this isn't right."

"What?" I ask, bewilderedly.

"This flight left at 1:55. You missed it."

And he points at the number of the flight. 1446. That's a 6.

WAUGHHHH

So after a lot of feeling sorry for myself and writing a bunch of cursewords in my journal, I eventually get to Edinburgh. I realize now understanding James McAvoy is much different from understanding the cab driver.

"So ove tha i a CAAAAHastle! Ho' lung 'er yoo ere fur? Scotland e berrger doon"

"...yes"

But then I get here! Where I'm lonely and introspective for a while, but then my lovely roommate comes and we go out for lovely drinks an have a lot of fun discussing various things about THe Last Airbender fail and Animorphs.

Tomorrow, we explore!

8 September 2010

12:42 PM (4:42 AM California time)

London

As I got on the place I was asked to switch seats. I did gladly. That meant that I had absolutely nothing to do all flight, as my bags were up above. I did get my ipod out of my bag, and my journal, but having no pen it was useless.

I can’t sleep on flights. But back to that later.

They served a weird Indian dinner that was kind of evil tasting, but I nibbled on the sweet/cheese stuff. I then proceeded to watch Surf’s Up and Clash of the Titans.

Clash of the Titans had everyone in it. I mean, everyone who you can’t name but you see in movies anyway. It had the cute Bobo tribute, but he should have stayed in the movie. RELEASE THE KRACKEN. Hades should have been more badass (played by Ralph Fiennes—in his best Voldemort impression.) I recommend Surf’s Up. No joke. It is witty, hilarious, and reminds me of most people I know. James Woods. The Dude is the Dude in everything he does.

Sleeping has always been a hobby of mine, which is why I am so sad on overseas flights. I tried, friends. I tried so hard. I even took a sleeping pill, which only made me stoned. How does one sleep sitting up? I got into this weird fetal position and tried to shut my eyes, only getting weird looks from the brits around me. The only time I remember sleeping was in the last three hours of the flight, which didn’t do me any favors. Of course, I missed the coffee, but I was awake for the yogurt. I AM RUNNING ON FOUR HOURS. MAYBE 3.

The Brit airlines always have a mixed race couple as the parents of their mixed race child. Progressive. Or, you know, I’m horribly underexposed to it.

I also met with someone who claims to be going there as a freshman, but is from Davis. Weeeeird. I didn’t get her name.

I envy people in first class. They don’t have thump thump on the back of their seat, and when you’re ready to scream at the little s#!%head for interrupting the precious few minutes you’re comfortable to sleep, it turns out to be an old man adjusting his knees. Either that, or he was just a bitter old man. There was also a flight attendant from Glasgow. The nice Indian man next to me gave me his shoulder to slump on when I started hallucinating.

Panty pads. Now I’m in London, foggy, rainy London. Just like I left foggy, rainy San Francisco. I’m going to try and find some coffee. RIGHT NOW.

There's a big british flag on that girl's hat.

Here I am in the airport! It's going to be a while until I board the flight, so I'll blog to take up time. There are all sorts of people flying to London--one of which I think is in the same program as me but I'm not sure. I'm in my corner. Watching. AND WAITING.

I cried. Let's be honest.

You know the scene in Return of the King where Bilbo is saying goodbye and Frodo goes with him? I sweahtuhgawd, I must have bawled harder in that movie than any other in the HISTORY of the world. Besides the episode of Futurama with the dog. And the episode with Fry's brother. And Toy Story 3. And the beginning of Up.

BASICALLY

I was sad that I'm leaving for Scotland, because I'm going to miss my friends, my Scripps, my boyfrann, and my family. But then I am INCREDIBLY EXCITED because I'm GOING TO SCOTLAND.

I hope my outfit is warm enough.

EDIT: THERE'S A RUGBY TEAM. OMG.

Aaaaachhhhh

Here's where I'm going to keep track of my adventures in Scotland!

Enjoy the weekly (almost...please) updates.

9 DAYS