Alright, did I do something to seriously piss Karma off? I'm confused. I can't recall...
Oh wait, yes. Ok, now I remember. Dang. Well, I hope it ends soon. Because this is getting ridiculous.
I'll take you back a few days in order to explain my unfortunate evening tonight.
We were on a break in between classes. And one of the advisers made an announcement about an extra dinner. About politics. And there were only 20 spots. Ok, these dinners are AMAZING. Best food I've ever had. Only drawback is that you have to sit through a lecture. But it's worth it.
Either way, I wanted to go. And so did a few of my friends. So, being the outgoing and assertive one, I volunteered to sign us (5) all up for the lecture. I trudged through the crowd and stuck my hand up amidst all the other people and scribbled a few names down before anyone else could. I got death glares and elbows to the sides, but I got the job done. Good deal. We're in. Can't wait for the free food and drinks.
So we get all dressed up and go to the reception. Champagne and mimosas are served. Ultimate score. Reminds me of New Years Eve, except it's summer. Double ultimate score. We find out that the dinner is assigned seating. My friend and I joke about our luck with sitting by teachers we don't like. Her: "You just watch, I'll be sitting next to Smith! Just wait!" ME: "YOU watch. With my luck, all of you (5) will be sitting with each other and I'll be sitting by myself at the end. Just wait."
Go up to the room where dinner is served and look for our seats. You know when you scan a list for your name and you usually recognize a letter and easily find your name? Yeah...didn't happen. So after scanning, I look through the list...once...twice...three...four times. My name's not on it. Really? Like, this is for real? My friends are all laughing as I stand there like a fool and everyone has a place and is starting to sit. I don't know what to do. A professor I like asks what's wrong. I have to say that I don't have a place. I'm embarrassed. He's embarrassed. The caterers are embarrassed. It sucked. They had to scoot everyone down a few inches and make a place for me. Really? I was the one who signed everyone up while they sat on their butts and I'm the one who doesn't get a seat. And I know I wrote my name down. Dang.
Dinner goes on and it's fine. I still feel bad, but what can ya do? After dinner, everyone's going down to the beer cellar for a drink. Not wanting to pay 5 pounds for a coke (and knowing I have a 2 liter in my mini fridge in my room), I say I'll be back in ten. Go upstairs, open the fridge, and find that my 2 liter is frozen solid. I throw my head back, raise my arms up in the air, and shake as I say, "WHYYYYYYYYYY?" All I want is diet coke. I leave it out as I make a trip to the bathroom. I come back to find that, yes, it's still frozen solid. Alright, I can fix this. Ironically, there is a blow-dryer next to the mini-fridge. And please tell me you would have done the same.
Yes, I took the blow dryer to the 2 liter bottle of coke. For literally only 10 seconds. And everything was going fine at first. The coke was melting.
But then it kept melting. And fizzing. And melting. And fizzing. And the blow dryer was off. And fizzing. And fizzing. And exploding. Oh crap. It starts over-flowing all over the place. My roommate and her friend walk in to the image of me with an overflowing bottle of coke in one hand and a European hair dryer in the other with a confused/panicked look on my face. Coke is literally going all over our common room. I quickly fill up all of the cups in the room with coke.
It's still overflowing.
I find the trash can and hold it upside down to empty it out. Then hold it right-side up. Still overflowing. After 5 minutes. It was like the never-ending bottle of coke. They're rolling on the floor laughing. I'm covered in coke. I finally give up and just put the coke IN the trashcan. It's still overflowing. I throw my hands up in the air, pour myself a huge glass of coke, and resolve to slowly watching it disappear into my trash can.
So now I have cups of coke all over my room. And a distorted half-full bottle of coke. And everything smells like coke.
Does anyone know when bad karma stops haunting you? Help.
P.S. Inspiration for title of post:
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Julius Caesar drinking game??
So yesterday we went to Shakespeare's birthplace: Stratford-upon-Avon.
I've been there before so, to be honest, I wasn't too thrilled to go. It's just a little old town with a grave and some old houses. I know, I know, I'm being difficult/taking this for granted. Sorry. Either way, I never thought such excitement could come from a small town way out in the middle of nowhere that celebrates a dead poet. I know, right? It's a long shot. WRONG.
We did see Shakespeare's grave, I'll give us that. But instead of going to his house and the museums and stuff, we decided to rent a rowboat for a little while. I know how to row, obviously, and my friends thought it would be very easy. Wrong again.
I started rowing first and we were going along smoothly. Then my friends wanted to try so we switched (only one person can row at once). We weren't too smart about shifting our weight around in the boat, so after almost flipping our boat a few times, we were finally settled. Amid screams of terror that we were all going in, I assured them that our boat would not flip. No I wasn't 100% positive we were going to stay afloat, but it worked in calming them down. And no, we did not flip. And, yes, sorry to say it, but they're not too good at rowing....
Then we tried to find a place to eat dinner before we saw the play Julius Caesar. Well, everyone and their mom and their mom's dog was out trying to find a place to eat, so we went from place to place for about 45 minutes just trying to find some FOOD. We finally settled on one and it was delicious. When we saw our professors walk in, we knew we had hit the jackpot in picking a place to eat. They've been doing this for 30 years so if they ate at that place, it must have been the best place in town. And it was super good.
We get to the theatre. I have a terrible stomach ache. I can't walk, stand, sit down, or anything. So, yes, the only thing I can do is lay down. So as the show begins, I'm lying down in the aisle. I lay there for about the first 2 acts (there's only 5) until I have to go to the bathroom so bad! I drank waaaaay too much water at dinner. And I'm starting to second-guess our restaraunt selection. Luckily we were in the balcony and my aisle was at the very end so no one noticed me lying down or leaving. It was only until I was drying my hands in the bathroom when I saw a sign that read: "If you have left the theatre for any reason, you will not be readmitted until an appropriate time." Great. So now I'm locked out of the play I not only missed the first 2 acts of, but one that I'm supposed to be writing a paper on for class. Super.
So I go back out to the lobby and wait for about 30 minutes to be readmitted into the play. I find my way back to my seat and watch it for another 30 minutes (3 hour play...ugh) when a HUGE CRASH sounds from across the theatre. My friend turns to me and goes, "Did someone fall off the balcony?!" We see some scrambling on the other side of the theatre, but no one fell off. It sounded like they did though.
Later, I find out that a frat boy was playing a "game" where he took a swig from his flask every time someone in Julius Caesar died. Julius Caesare is a Shakespearean tragedy. And in Shakespearean tragedies, the stage is literally filled with dead bodies by the end. Well, it was near the end of the play when the boy decided that he wanted to stand up. Not for any reason, no, he just wanted to stand up and stretch. In the front row. Of the balcony. Totally disrespecting the actors on the stage and distracting all the people behind him trying to enjoy the show, he stands up and (surprise surprise) can't hold his balance. He falls on a boy from SMU who...ahem...isn't the friendliest guy and thus pushes him off. Well....the drunk boy can't control his body or recover from the shove, so he almost falls over the balcony railing and onto the stage. Someone else grabs his shirt and pulls him back before he goes overboard and ups the dead body count by 1. The security guards come over and try to help him out of the theatre, but he insists on staying for "just ten more minutes, lads." They insist he leaves.
You know, I would be disappointed in the boy--because honestly that is very disrespectful and stupid--but I'm actually impressed that he came up with such a clever drinking game to Julius Caesar. You gotta admit: that takes some creativity.
Some advice, however: don't play a drinking game to a Shakespearean tragedy where you drink every time someone dies. You will be wasted by the end.
I've been there before so, to be honest, I wasn't too thrilled to go. It's just a little old town with a grave and some old houses. I know, I know, I'm being difficult/taking this for granted. Sorry. Either way, I never thought such excitement could come from a small town way out in the middle of nowhere that celebrates a dead poet. I know, right? It's a long shot. WRONG.
We did see Shakespeare's grave, I'll give us that. But instead of going to his house and the museums and stuff, we decided to rent a rowboat for a little while. I know how to row, obviously, and my friends thought it would be very easy. Wrong again.
I started rowing first and we were going along smoothly. Then my friends wanted to try so we switched (only one person can row at once). We weren't too smart about shifting our weight around in the boat, so after almost flipping our boat a few times, we were finally settled. Amid screams of terror that we were all going in, I assured them that our boat would not flip. No I wasn't 100% positive we were going to stay afloat, but it worked in calming them down. And no, we did not flip. And, yes, sorry to say it, but they're not too good at rowing....
Then we tried to find a place to eat dinner before we saw the play Julius Caesar. Well, everyone and their mom and their mom's dog was out trying to find a place to eat, so we went from place to place for about 45 minutes just trying to find some FOOD. We finally settled on one and it was delicious. When we saw our professors walk in, we knew we had hit the jackpot in picking a place to eat. They've been doing this for 30 years so if they ate at that place, it must have been the best place in town. And it was super good.
We get to the theatre. I have a terrible stomach ache. I can't walk, stand, sit down, or anything. So, yes, the only thing I can do is lay down. So as the show begins, I'm lying down in the aisle. I lay there for about the first 2 acts (there's only 5) until I have to go to the bathroom so bad! I drank waaaaay too much water at dinner. And I'm starting to second-guess our restaraunt selection. Luckily we were in the balcony and my aisle was at the very end so no one noticed me lying down or leaving. It was only until I was drying my hands in the bathroom when I saw a sign that read: "If you have left the theatre for any reason, you will not be readmitted until an appropriate time." Great. So now I'm locked out of the play I not only missed the first 2 acts of, but one that I'm supposed to be writing a paper on for class. Super.
So I go back out to the lobby and wait for about 30 minutes to be readmitted into the play. I find my way back to my seat and watch it for another 30 minutes (3 hour play...ugh) when a HUGE CRASH sounds from across the theatre. My friend turns to me and goes, "Did someone fall off the balcony?!" We see some scrambling on the other side of the theatre, but no one fell off. It sounded like they did though.
Later, I find out that a frat boy was playing a "game" where he took a swig from his flask every time someone in Julius Caesar died. Julius Caesare is a Shakespearean tragedy. And in Shakespearean tragedies, the stage is literally filled with dead bodies by the end. Well, it was near the end of the play when the boy decided that he wanted to stand up. Not for any reason, no, he just wanted to stand up and stretch. In the front row. Of the balcony. Totally disrespecting the actors on the stage and distracting all the people behind him trying to enjoy the show, he stands up and (surprise surprise) can't hold his balance. He falls on a boy from SMU who...ahem...isn't the friendliest guy and thus pushes him off. Well....the drunk boy can't control his body or recover from the shove, so he almost falls over the balcony railing and onto the stage. Someone else grabs his shirt and pulls him back before he goes overboard and ups the dead body count by 1. The security guards come over and try to help him out of the theatre, but he insists on staying for "just ten more minutes, lads." They insist he leaves.
You know, I would be disappointed in the boy--because honestly that is very disrespectful and stupid--but I'm actually impressed that he came up with such a clever drinking game to Julius Caesar. You gotta admit: that takes some creativity.
Some advice, however: don't play a drinking game to a Shakespearean tragedy where you drink every time someone dies. You will be wasted by the end.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
If you're going to be my friend...
...you're going to need medication. And probably an endless supply.
I don't know why I do this to myself. Or how I manage to. But lately I have had to come to terms with my horrible, horrible luck. And I'm just going to call it bad luck because if I blame myself, it's just depressing. Because I try so hard. I try so so soooooo hard to not let anything bad happen. I double check everything, make sure I'm doing it all right, and yet.....still fail.
To help you understand, I'll use an analogy: It's as if I triple-knot my tennis shoes and, yes, still trip and fall flat on my face.
This weekend, my friends and I went to Amsterdam. And I was doing really well! I was so proud of myself! We were in London Wednesday through Friday, then flew to Amsterdam on Friday and returned to Oxford on Sunday. I brought everything I was supposed to: clothes, running shoes, homework, copies of my ID and Passport, notes to study for class, enough money, and a very positive attitude.
London went smoothly. I had a great time. I did some exploring on my own, which I love. I figured out the underground system in no time at all and was racing across town to different shops and areas the entire time. I felt so free. And didn't lose anything!
We were almost late for our flight to Amsterdam and while Ashley (as in my twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley) was freaking out, I was surprisingly calm. I just knew we weren't going to miss our flight--there was no doubt in my mind. And we didn't.
All weekend, everything was fun! No mis-haps Friday night (despite the cab driver creepily hitting on me at 4am) and Saturday we awoke to a beautiful, if a little chilly, summer day in Holland. We went to the Anne Frank House and it was really cool and very humbling.
We were near the end of the tour when I was separated from Mary-Kate and Ashley. I had just entered the room that talked about Auschwitz and who in the Secret Annex survived and who died. There was soft music playing as real-life footage of the camps showed on a few screens around the room. There were tears in some people's eyes as they thought about the terrible fate of so many Jewish people. It was serenly silent until.....BOOM BOOM BOOM. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl slip on the three metal stairs you walk down upon entering the room. Seeming to have no control over her body whatsoever, she bounced up and down on each of them until she came to the bottom and was sprawled out all over the floor on her back. In the Auschwitz room. In Anne Frank's House. Thinking, "Oh my GOD, how embarrassing! Glad that's not me!" I look over to see if the poor girl is all right.
And it's Ashley. Slowly trying to pick herself up off the floor, she is so embarrassed. Laughing hysterically (silently, of course--we ARE in Anne Frank's House) I help her up. 30 people in front of us and 30 people behind us turn to stare and murmer, "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," "Ohhh man that sucks," "Wow, that's embarrassing," "Whew, glad that's not me," etc. One man even mockingly yells out, "OHHHHHHH!" Thanks, bud, that helps A LOT. She can't look at anyone. Especially me. Tears are coming out of my eyes, not for Anne Frank at the moment, but for Ashley. Because that shit was hilarious.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we laugh until we cry whenever we think about it. Our mantra for the weekend was, "She BIT IT in Anne Frank's house!" invented by clever Mary-Kate.
Later that day, Ashley broke her toe. It was not her weekend. The weekend before, in Paris, I managed to fall on my face in a bathroom, whack my head on the door to our hotel room, step in a huge pile of donkey poop, and lose my cell phone charger, among other incidents that can't be repeated. Again, I was thinking my poor luck had rubbed off on someone else. WRONG.
Upon returning to Oxford Sunday evening, I immediately brushed off the rest of my homework, reading, and unpacking to watch The Big Bang Theory. I. Was. Exhausted. Amsterdam will do that to you.
Monday morning comes. Can't find my notebook anywhere. Panic-stricken and running late, I grab my keys and a pen, hoping I can bum a few sheets of paper off a classmate. Later, after hours of looking for my notebook, homework, ID and Passport copies, class handouts, information on upcoming finals, I give up and figure I left everything I need for school in Amsterdam. EVERYTHING.
So, no, I didn't have an unlucky weekend. I just managed to screw myself over for the next three weeks.
So, as the English say, "Cheers."
I'll drink to that.
I don't know why I do this to myself. Or how I manage to. But lately I have had to come to terms with my horrible, horrible luck. And I'm just going to call it bad luck because if I blame myself, it's just depressing. Because I try so hard. I try so so soooooo hard to not let anything bad happen. I double check everything, make sure I'm doing it all right, and yet.....still fail.
To help you understand, I'll use an analogy: It's as if I triple-knot my tennis shoes and, yes, still trip and fall flat on my face.
This weekend, my friends and I went to Amsterdam. And I was doing really well! I was so proud of myself! We were in London Wednesday through Friday, then flew to Amsterdam on Friday and returned to Oxford on Sunday. I brought everything I was supposed to: clothes, running shoes, homework, copies of my ID and Passport, notes to study for class, enough money, and a very positive attitude.
London went smoothly. I had a great time. I did some exploring on my own, which I love. I figured out the underground system in no time at all and was racing across town to different shops and areas the entire time. I felt so free. And didn't lose anything!
We were almost late for our flight to Amsterdam and while Ashley (as in my twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley) was freaking out, I was surprisingly calm. I just knew we weren't going to miss our flight--there was no doubt in my mind. And we didn't.
All weekend, everything was fun! No mis-haps Friday night (despite the cab driver creepily hitting on me at 4am) and Saturday we awoke to a beautiful, if a little chilly, summer day in Holland. We went to the Anne Frank House and it was really cool and very humbling.
We were near the end of the tour when I was separated from Mary-Kate and Ashley. I had just entered the room that talked about Auschwitz and who in the Secret Annex survived and who died. There was soft music playing as real-life footage of the camps showed on a few screens around the room. There were tears in some people's eyes as they thought about the terrible fate of so many Jewish people. It was serenly silent until.....BOOM BOOM BOOM. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl slip on the three metal stairs you walk down upon entering the room. Seeming to have no control over her body whatsoever, she bounced up and down on each of them until she came to the bottom and was sprawled out all over the floor on her back. In the Auschwitz room. In Anne Frank's House. Thinking, "Oh my GOD, how embarrassing! Glad that's not me!" I look over to see if the poor girl is all right.
And it's Ashley. Slowly trying to pick herself up off the floor, she is so embarrassed. Laughing hysterically (silently, of course--we ARE in Anne Frank's House) I help her up. 30 people in front of us and 30 people behind us turn to stare and murmer, "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," "Ohhh man that sucks," "Wow, that's embarrassing," "Whew, glad that's not me," etc. One man even mockingly yells out, "OHHHHHHH!" Thanks, bud, that helps A LOT. She can't look at anyone. Especially me. Tears are coming out of my eyes, not for Anne Frank at the moment, but for Ashley. Because that shit was hilarious.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we laugh until we cry whenever we think about it. Our mantra for the weekend was, "She BIT IT in Anne Frank's house!" invented by clever Mary-Kate.
Later that day, Ashley broke her toe. It was not her weekend. The weekend before, in Paris, I managed to fall on my face in a bathroom, whack my head on the door to our hotel room, step in a huge pile of donkey poop, and lose my cell phone charger, among other incidents that can't be repeated. Again, I was thinking my poor luck had rubbed off on someone else. WRONG.
Upon returning to Oxford Sunday evening, I immediately brushed off the rest of my homework, reading, and unpacking to watch The Big Bang Theory. I. Was. Exhausted. Amsterdam will do that to you.
Monday morning comes. Can't find my notebook anywhere. Panic-stricken and running late, I grab my keys and a pen, hoping I can bum a few sheets of paper off a classmate. Later, after hours of looking for my notebook, homework, ID and Passport copies, class handouts, information on upcoming finals, I give up and figure I left everything I need for school in Amsterdam. EVERYTHING.
So, no, I didn't have an unlucky weekend. I just managed to screw myself over for the next three weeks.
So, as the English say, "Cheers."
I'll drink to that.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Recovering.
Never in my wildest dreams could I have planned a weekend so amazing.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
Monday, July 12, 2010
I am a MASSIVE Nerd.
I honestly never realized it until tonight. But I'm a huge nerd. Like really, really big. Big and obnoxious.
and i love it.
Tonight I went to a "Rare Book" dinner. Sounds boring, right? Absolutely not. I was enthralled.
The person who ran it is Collin Franklin, a rare book collector. I thought the dinner was going to entail random original manuscripts of books that no one cares about. Books that are shoved away in stacks in the back of the library that you sometimes have to grudgingly look up as a part of a 15-page essay or some assignment for class. How could I be so wrong?
These were books that I have never heard of. And yet, I found myself staying past the 9:30 deadline looking at these exquisite books from the 1700-1900s. Yes, this must seem so boring to you. But you weren't there. There was this book that outlined patterns that kimonos were designed after. Yes...this book invented the designs that some of the most "in fashion" kimonos replicated. And it was the original. I can't even describe it to you.
I also saw the smallest book in the world. I repeat: THE SMALLEST BOOK IN THE WORLD. When I was forewarned about such a book, I thought it would be a cinch to read. I'm 20 years old with perfect 20/20 eyesight (or better), yet I couldn't make out one word. One single word. It was tiny. The owner told us that the guy who made it (and it was made by a teeny-tiny printing press back in the day) went blind upon completion of the book. No wonder.
My favorite book of the evening is called "Cave Birds" by Ted Hughes. Not only is it a book of poetry about one of my favorite animals, but it boasts beautiful depictions of owls, roosters, eagles and many other birds. Pictures I have never seen in my life. Original drawings. These drawings captured each bird's qualities and helped you see things you never would have noticed on your own. It also tied human characteristics with the stereotype of each bird. I could easily have spent thirty minutes on each drawing/poem. EASILY. I don't even know what to say.
Ted Hughes, the author of this book, was married to Sylvia Plath until her suicide in 1963. I read "The Bell Jar" by her a few years ago. And my, was she an amazing writer.
Which makes me wonder: how could two brilliant minds who get married and "love" each other have such problems and instability that one of them commits suicide? I mean, they were brilliant, right? I could never compose one poem, let alone volumes and volumes that they do. And yet, they were still unhappy.
Which also makes me wonder: if you have money and status and brains and a husband and children and everything that "matters" under your belt, how can you still be unhappy? What "creates" happiness?
Even though Plath only became really famous after her death, familiarity doesn't create happiness. So what does?
A single from an Oxford band.
No, I'm not on drugs.
and i love it.
Tonight I went to a "Rare Book" dinner. Sounds boring, right? Absolutely not. I was enthralled.
The person who ran it is Collin Franklin, a rare book collector. I thought the dinner was going to entail random original manuscripts of books that no one cares about. Books that are shoved away in stacks in the back of the library that you sometimes have to grudgingly look up as a part of a 15-page essay or some assignment for class. How could I be so wrong?
These were books that I have never heard of. And yet, I found myself staying past the 9:30 deadline looking at these exquisite books from the 1700-1900s. Yes, this must seem so boring to you. But you weren't there. There was this book that outlined patterns that kimonos were designed after. Yes...this book invented the designs that some of the most "in fashion" kimonos replicated. And it was the original. I can't even describe it to you.
I also saw the smallest book in the world. I repeat: THE SMALLEST BOOK IN THE WORLD. When I was forewarned about such a book, I thought it would be a cinch to read. I'm 20 years old with perfect 20/20 eyesight (or better), yet I couldn't make out one word. One single word. It was tiny. The owner told us that the guy who made it (and it was made by a teeny-tiny printing press back in the day) went blind upon completion of the book. No wonder.
My favorite book of the evening is called "Cave Birds" by Ted Hughes. Not only is it a book of poetry about one of my favorite animals, but it boasts beautiful depictions of owls, roosters, eagles and many other birds. Pictures I have never seen in my life. Original drawings. These drawings captured each bird's qualities and helped you see things you never would have noticed on your own. It also tied human characteristics with the stereotype of each bird. I could easily have spent thirty minutes on each drawing/poem. EASILY. I don't even know what to say.
Ted Hughes, the author of this book, was married to Sylvia Plath until her suicide in 1963. I read "The Bell Jar" by her a few years ago. And my, was she an amazing writer.
Which makes me wonder: how could two brilliant minds who get married and "love" each other have such problems and instability that one of them commits suicide? I mean, they were brilliant, right? I could never compose one poem, let alone volumes and volumes that they do. And yet, they were still unhappy.
Which also makes me wonder: if you have money and status and brains and a husband and children and everything that "matters" under your belt, how can you still be unhappy? What "creates" happiness?
Even though Plath only became really famous after her death, familiarity doesn't create happiness. So what does?
A single from an Oxford band.
No, I'm not on drugs.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History
Today I'm well behaved. And today I'm making my own history.
Today I'm making a memory. Quite possibly a memory that will be one of my favorites from this trip. More memorable than seeing The Tower of London, taking a cruise up and down the Thames River for hours, numerous pub crawls and High Table (Oxford Tradition) dinners, going to Paris, Amsterdam, Belgium, Germany, and London.
Today I'm doing nothing. I'm doing absolutely nothing and it is utterly and fabulously glorious. I'm sitting at my desk with my computer doing two of my favorite things--discovering new music and writing an English paper--looking out one window over the serene and delicate University College courtyard and through another window that peers into the lives of the street walkers. I have two different worlds combined in one room. And the opposite of it all confuses me. The street is crowded with double-decker buses, impossibly loud sirens, and people boasting different accents and languages while the courtyard is white-noise-quiet. It's so quiet that there is a natural buzz in the air that you can hear (and yet seems to not exist at the same time...). It's like someone trying to whisper something in your ear that bears no importance at all, but you pretend to hear it if only to be worthy of the secret and feel the softness of their breath on your neck. Every time I sit here, I wonder at the possibility that it can be so quiet through one window and so inexorably loud through the other. And that these two worlds are separated merely by a stone wall built hundreds of years ago.
With all of the windows and doors open, different breezes flow through our three-room abode. Scents of lavender and fresh cut grass mix with the customary fish and chips and inevitable street-smell that comes with living in a diversely-populated city.
I plan to go for a run later. And make myself look like a citizen of this historical city instead of another tourist with a camera in my hand, snapping pictures of anything and everything so that I don't forget it all.....but will.
I'll always have those pictures of me standing in front of some monument or another. And they'll always be worth about the same as when they were taken--next to nothing. Not that I don't appreciate history or being able to travel and "see the sights". Because I do. But those things aren't what makes an impression on me; they don't make me grow, change, or become a better person.
Instead, it's days like today. When I do absolutely nothing. But sit. And think. And wonder. And discover. It's when I take things slow and really allow them to naturally process through who I am and help form who I will be. And this means just sitting here and allowing all of it to happen. Being completely open to whatever thought wanders into my mind and allowing it to work itself out.
So while this isn't any exciting breaking-news history where someone famous dies or a human accident throws our natural world into a frenzy, it's still important. It's important to me and who I was and who I am and who I will be. It isn't any one else's history. It's mine. And it's something I'll always remember, even though there won't be any pictures of proof.
And with that, I'll leave you with this.
Today I'm making a memory. Quite possibly a memory that will be one of my favorites from this trip. More memorable than seeing The Tower of London, taking a cruise up and down the Thames River for hours, numerous pub crawls and High Table (Oxford Tradition) dinners, going to Paris, Amsterdam, Belgium, Germany, and London.
Today I'm doing nothing. I'm doing absolutely nothing and it is utterly and fabulously glorious. I'm sitting at my desk with my computer doing two of my favorite things--discovering new music and writing an English paper--looking out one window over the serene and delicate University College courtyard and through another window that peers into the lives of the street walkers. I have two different worlds combined in one room. And the opposite of it all confuses me. The street is crowded with double-decker buses, impossibly loud sirens, and people boasting different accents and languages while the courtyard is white-noise-quiet. It's so quiet that there is a natural buzz in the air that you can hear (and yet seems to not exist at the same time...). It's like someone trying to whisper something in your ear that bears no importance at all, but you pretend to hear it if only to be worthy of the secret and feel the softness of their breath on your neck. Every time I sit here, I wonder at the possibility that it can be so quiet through one window and so inexorably loud through the other. And that these two worlds are separated merely by a stone wall built hundreds of years ago.
With all of the windows and doors open, different breezes flow through our three-room abode. Scents of lavender and fresh cut grass mix with the customary fish and chips and inevitable street-smell that comes with living in a diversely-populated city.
I plan to go for a run later. And make myself look like a citizen of this historical city instead of another tourist with a camera in my hand, snapping pictures of anything and everything so that I don't forget it all.....but will.
I'll always have those pictures of me standing in front of some monument or another. And they'll always be worth about the same as when they were taken--next to nothing. Not that I don't appreciate history or being able to travel and "see the sights". Because I do. But those things aren't what makes an impression on me; they don't make me grow, change, or become a better person.
Instead, it's days like today. When I do absolutely nothing. But sit. And think. And wonder. And discover. It's when I take things slow and really allow them to naturally process through who I am and help form who I will be. And this means just sitting here and allowing all of it to happen. Being completely open to whatever thought wanders into my mind and allowing it to work itself out.
So while this isn't any exciting breaking-news history where someone famous dies or a human accident throws our natural world into a frenzy, it's still important. It's important to me and who I was and who I am and who I will be. It isn't any one else's history. It's mine. And it's something I'll always remember, even though there won't be any pictures of proof.
And with that, I'll leave you with this.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Evidence
Evidence that either I'm insane or St. Nicholas exists:
This morning I woke up early to go running with a friend. I don't think my head is screwed on quite right because I have been losing my keys at least once if not twice a day. And it's driving me nuts. So I made a promise to myself that I would put them on my nightstand right when I walk in every time I walk in. EVERY TIME. So at 6:30 this morning when I was supposed to be meeting my friend--yeah you guessed it--I couldn't find my keys. ANYWHERE. I turned my room inside out looking for them. Literally. I dumped out all of my bags and purses. I took all of my clothes out of my closet and off of my shelves. I took everything off of my bed--including my comforter which I carried into the other room and put onto our living room table to make sure it wasn't hiding in my bed. I cleared everything off my desk, unplugged my computer and moved that too, and looked all around my chair. I also checked my nightstand about 5 bajillion times. And I was so frustrated. They seriously had to have evaporated into thin air because I KNOW I had them last night. So I gave up and decided to take a break and run....and pray really hard to St. Nicholas.
So when I came back I asked the porter for an extra key. He said, "Alright I won't make you sign for it, but bring it back STRAIGHT AWAY." Oh great. This could take all day and then the porter will be hunting me down around campus. So I scour my room for another 15 minutes and although I'm 100% positive it's not on my nightstand because I already checked it 20 million times, I decide, "What the hell? I'll check it again."
And.........yes......they were on my nightstand. Wow. I've hit an all-time low.
So, thank you St. Nicholas. I'm thanking you because I believe in you. I believe that you magically put my keys there for me. And I believe this because I don't want to believe that I'm insane. But I almost do....
On a better note: I ran along the Thames River today. And saw three different boats: people in a four, a double, and a pair. And I got so excited. I just know that while I'm over here I have to row on the Thames. That's just an experience that needs to happen. So I was debating whether or not to say something to these people when all of a sudden my mouth yells out: "WHO DO YOU ROW FOR?!" They looked at me like I was crazy. The two women said a name, but I couldn't understand it.
"I'm sorry....WHAAAT!?"
"Llsnfneknanld"
"I'm sorry...I can't hear you." I could hear them fine--just couldn't understand them. They were speaking with marbles in their mouths, I swear.
"FKNElskdnfe"
"I apologize...can you spell that for me?"
After about 5 more minutes of yelling, I finally got the information from them. And I'm so excited! I hope it works out! These are the times that I'm glad I'm a bold person. Because not many people would have the guts (or weirdness) to yell from the banks of a river to people sitting in a boat. It's a little intimidating, to be honest. But I'm glad I did it.
Head of The Thames:
Oh yeah, and stuff I forgot to show you:
Don't make fun of me.
This morning I woke up early to go running with a friend. I don't think my head is screwed on quite right because I have been losing my keys at least once if not twice a day. And it's driving me nuts. So I made a promise to myself that I would put them on my nightstand right when I walk in every time I walk in. EVERY TIME. So at 6:30 this morning when I was supposed to be meeting my friend--yeah you guessed it--I couldn't find my keys. ANYWHERE. I turned my room inside out looking for them. Literally. I dumped out all of my bags and purses. I took all of my clothes out of my closet and off of my shelves. I took everything off of my bed--including my comforter which I carried into the other room and put onto our living room table to make sure it wasn't hiding in my bed. I cleared everything off my desk, unplugged my computer and moved that too, and looked all around my chair. I also checked my nightstand about 5 bajillion times. And I was so frustrated. They seriously had to have evaporated into thin air because I KNOW I had them last night. So I gave up and decided to take a break and run....and pray really hard to St. Nicholas.
So when I came back I asked the porter for an extra key. He said, "Alright I won't make you sign for it, but bring it back STRAIGHT AWAY." Oh great. This could take all day and then the porter will be hunting me down around campus. So I scour my room for another 15 minutes and although I'm 100% positive it's not on my nightstand because I already checked it 20 million times, I decide, "What the hell? I'll check it again."
And.........yes......they were on my nightstand. Wow. I've hit an all-time low.
So, thank you St. Nicholas. I'm thanking you because I believe in you. I believe that you magically put my keys there for me. And I believe this because I don't want to believe that I'm insane. But I almost do....
On a better note: I ran along the Thames River today. And saw three different boats: people in a four, a double, and a pair. And I got so excited. I just know that while I'm over here I have to row on the Thames. That's just an experience that needs to happen. So I was debating whether or not to say something to these people when all of a sudden my mouth yells out: "WHO DO YOU ROW FOR?!" They looked at me like I was crazy. The two women said a name, but I couldn't understand it.
"I'm sorry....WHAAAT!?"
"Llsnfneknanld"
"I'm sorry...I can't hear you." I could hear them fine--just couldn't understand them. They were speaking with marbles in their mouths, I swear.
"FKNElskdnfe"
"I apologize...can you spell that for me?"
After about 5 more minutes of yelling, I finally got the information from them. And I'm so excited! I hope it works out! These are the times that I'm glad I'm a bold person. Because not many people would have the guts (or weirdness) to yell from the banks of a river to people sitting in a boat. It's a little intimidating, to be honest. But I'm glad I did it.
Head of The Thames:
Oh yeah, and stuff I forgot to show you:
Don't make fun of me.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
What I Do To Avoid Studying While Studying Abroad
So today we went to Blenheim Palace. Obviously it's big and beautiful and I'm extremely jealous that I don't live here. Yes, that's right, people live here. The Duke and Duchess of Blenheim, to be exact. When you're looking at the picture above, they live in the left wing of the estate (their private quarters) and the right wing is turned into a museum. Imagine that: half of your house is a museum and you still have about 100-200 rooms to yourself. Yeah, this place has just under 300 rooms. Ridiculous. So we were given a tour of the inside, which boasts tapestries from the 1700s as well as original beds, including the one Winston Churchill was born in. There are a few rooms dedicated to showcasing his life as well. There is also exquisite furniture from France in the 1400s, numerous busts of past Dukes and Duchesses as well as many portraits. The place also holds many a scandal history! There were forced marriages (including families paying Dukes to turn their daughters into Duchesses...and the Dukes had to comply because they were living such an extravagant lifestyle that they ran out of money), divorces, mistresses, and love affairs. There is currently quite the drama going on right now: the would-be heir to this estate (the current Duke is 86) led such a life of gambling and drunkenness that he has been dis-inherited and the title will surpass him and go to his son. How terrible! But, I mean, come on. He had to know that was going to happen. You can't be given a title like "The Duke" if you're running your family name into the ground. What more incentive do you need to be a good little heir than to inherit an estate worth millions? I can't think of anything. Including the massive building behind you, there were also many gardens (including a secret garden), a lake and boathouse, a Grecian looking building, and many, many acres. My friends and I promised each other that if we ever became royalty, we would all invite each other over for dinner. I think I could deal with that.
Ok, I'm ready to be a Duchess now.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
I Really Did it This Time!!
For a person going to Oxford, I really am dumb.
Is it honestly that hard to mis-read something as simple as a time and date that you need to be somewhere? Guess so!
So I scheduled the wrong flight to Oxford. I thought I was really cool and everything that I got myself out of paying for a flight from KC to Dallas. So, instead I bought one ticket that connected from KC to DFW and I thought I was on the group flight.......but no. I scheduled my flight for A DAY LATER THAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. Can you believe that? No, me either.
So my dad and I tried to figure it out. We called American Airlines to see if I could switch my flight to a day earlier. First, they were going to charge us $250 just to push a few buttons to change my flight. No sir! That was not going to fly with us (hahaha, I'm so funny). So they waived that fee. Then, they told us that I booked my ticket at a great time and a great price (told you, Dad--and I was feeling really good about this compliment) but unfortunately, I would have to pay the ticket price for the other flight. Which was, I donno, an extra 700 DOLLARS! Hahaaa yeah right! I don't need to pay an extra 700 dollars just so someone older than me can tell me to do what I already know how to do. I'm pretty sure I can get myself from Kansas City, USA to Oxford, UK all on my own. Sort of.
So I called my program director and student advisor and they convinced me everything would be fine. And it was. Sort of. I still don't really know what all is going on with my classes or where ANYTHING is on campus (because I missed the whole "Intro" day) but whatevs. All I know is that I'm completely exhausted and got tipsy off of one little glass of champagne because I was sooooo dead tired and didn't have time to eat today. (The champagne was in celebration after our induction ceremony at Oxford where, yep you guessed it, I feel asleep....3 times.....and had dreams. One involved Harry Potter and another involved cabbages. Don't ask.) We had dinner afterwards where they served a different wine with every course. I was like, "Hey! I'm really starting to like Britain!" I traded some of my food for my neighbor's wine. I believe I am the winner in that transaction.
But really, I am very proud of myself for finding my way from KC to Oxford. I first landed in Big D after an hour and a half flight of the boy sitting next to me professing his love of and dedication to Jesus. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm a Jesus fan just as much as the next person....just not when I'm trying to do my homework that I had all summer to do. Just sayin'. I guess it was my own fault in a way because I sat next to him because he was cute and I thought we could hit it off. Walked myself right into that one. Maybe that's a sign from God that I should be thinking less about boys and more about Him. Probably.
Then when I landed I had to find my other gate, which involved getting on the SkyLink and getting myself to another terminal and gate at DFW which, if you didn't know, is a massive airport. So I felt accomplished after that. Then I boarded a NINE HOUR FLIGHT to LondonHeathrow Airport and sat between a lady who loved her red wine and a little girl who probably loved Hannah Montana just as much as that lady who loved her red wine (we're talking a couple of bottles and at least 60 dollars worth of wine on the flight). She thought we were best friends after that! And the little girl was drivin' me nuts with "The Best of Both Worlds" by good ole' Miley Cyrus. In the middle of the flight I was beginning to think I got the worst of both worlds sitting between two females who were WAY out of my age range. I started wishing that there was something I had on the flight that I loved as much as those two loved wine and the beloved Disney Star who is currently trying to make the leap to real stardom (sorry, hunny, I'm not buyin' it). So I looked around.....but there were no boys. Only old ladies taking girls' trips abroad and European/Asian people who didn't speak English. Go figure. I slumped back into my chair and proceeded to watch 3 more movies while I put off my homework even more...which is also what I'm doing now.
Then, I successfully got off the plane...sort of. I left my beloved and expensive camera in my seat. So after I waited 30 minutes for everyone else to get off (the plane was loaded), I tried to re-enter when the nice British Airport Folk kindly informed me that it was against the law to re-enter a plane after you get off. I almost burst into tears. Convinced one of the 100+ people who got off the plane after me had seen my amazing camera and swiped it as they walked by, the airport people said they would go back on board and look for it. It was taking forever and I was getting so nervous I started shaking and my stomach hurt so bad! Mom and Dad were gonna kill me! That camera was expensive! I told God that if He let me have this camera back again I be really, really, extra good on this trip. And then I was like, "Crap. That was a sucky promise to make while you're in Europe. Oh well, I really want this camera." And then I got it back! And then I was really regretting my promise to be extra good.....but I'm gonna try and stick to it!
Then I found ALL of my bags at baggage claim and THEN found my way to the bus terminal! Which took about 30 minutes of walking down hallways underneath London Heathrow Airport and going up and down elevators. I was amazed I did it! Then I got on the bus, got off on THE RIGHT STOP in Oxford, found my room and everything! I'm so proud of myself. Look at me, world traveler, gettin' myself from country to country all alone.
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