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.