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.