Frites and Mayo

Last summer, I was fortunate enough to get to travel to Belgium. There, I found out why my grandpa speaks Flemish, listens to Belgian music, eats frites (french fries) with mayonnaise, and, in essence, loves Belgium. It was amazing! From the seaside to the small towns to the big cities, this small country had so much to offer.

I fell in love with the beauty of the country as well as the residents there just like my grandpa had many years ago. You see, my ancestors are from Pittem, a small city in Belgium. My grandpa has a lot of pride in this so he formed the Sister Cities program about 30 years ago. Shawnee, Kansas is a sister city of Pittem, Belgium. When I visited there this summer, I got to stay with the local residents of Pittem. They knew my grandfather very well and only had good things to say about him.

Even though my grandparents are too old to travel over to Belgium as often as they used to, they keep the Belgium spirit alive in Shawnee by listening to Belgian music, eating frites with mayo, being a part of the Shawnee Belgian American Club, and attending the Sister Cities State Championship Rolle Bolle tournament every year during Old Shawnee Days.

Anyone and everyone is invited to compete in the Rolle Bolle tournament. It's an old Belgian game that my grandparents love so much they built a Rolle Bolle court in their back yard!

The tournament takes place tomorrow, Saturday June 4th at the Rolle Bolle courts at 58th Street and King Avenue (just north of Johnson Drive). Beer, brat worsts, hot dogs, and other food will be served starting at 12:00. The tournament will start soon after. Grandparents, parents and kids will all be in attendance. It is a game that anyone of any age can play.

The game started in the 13th century in Belgium and was an outlawed activity for a while. Those who play the game are called boulders, and they play using a hard rubber disc that the game takes its name from. Rolle bolles are about eight inches in diameter and four inches thick and can weigh six to eight pounds.

How to play the game:

One at a time, starting at the backstop on one end of the court, two teams of three boulders take the rolle bolle and roll it toward a stake or pin raising about five inches from the ground. Rolling the rolle bolle is not so easy, however, because a bevel running down the center makes the surface uneven. Getting the rolle bolle as close to the stake as possible is the object; if the rolle bolle hits the backstop behind the stake, it is considered dead.

Players can try to use their rolle bolle to knock away those of the opposing team, bringing in some shuffleboard tactics.

I hope you will come to the Rolle Bolle tournament! I will be there as early as 9 AM helping to set everything up. My grandpa has instilled a Belgian pride in me and I hope that long after he is gone I get to pass it down to my grandchildren and keep a little bit of his spirit alive as well.

My Cousin Vinny

I never have a boring night out. Even if we decide to go to a low-key bar for a few drinks and some much-missed girl talk, it never ends up being "low-key".....EVER.

And I'm ok with that. In fact, I love it. Boring nights should be restricted to lame people who don't know how to have fun. And I don't associate with those kinds of people. (Feel honored. If you are reading this, then the odds are that you probably know me. And if you know me, then I don't consider you a boring person. Because if you were boring, I wouldn't talk to you......Joking....)

Last night started off with dinner at Waxy O'Shea's with the fam. Cue vast amounts of laughter. After, I decided to ditch the fam to go out with a few girls and was waiting outside the restaraunt for a friend so we could leave. Then I was, yet again, informed that my blog readership goes beyond what I anticpate. A nice man stopped me and asked, "Are you a Soetaert?"

I was stopped in my tracks and pretty surprised because no, I am not "technically" a Soetaert because that is not my last name, but my relatives are Soetaerts. So I'm a Soetaert in a kind-of-sort-of-way. Actually, I have been asked this question by adults who are familiar with that part of my family multiple times throughout my childhood. I would be stopped at the pool, at the mall, etc by random strangers asking the question, "Are you a Soetaert?" I guess I've got those dominant Soetaert genes then.

As we began talking, however, I realized I did know and recognize him from multiple gatherings my grandparents have had. He's a good friend of theirs. He said, "You went to Belgium this summer, right?" "Yes, I did!" "Yeah, your grandparents told me. That's when I started reading your blog." A shade of deep crimson immediately engulfed my face. My mind started racing. 'Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod WHAT have I been writing on that blog lately?? What all did I say I did in Europe?? Ohmigod, I need to start editing myself if my grandparents' friends are reading that thing!!!' I quickly recovered and responded with a big smile and "Ohh, really? That's great! Yeah, I'm always surprised when people tell me they read my blog because I forget it's public domain." Shit.

As much as I was worried about what I've been writing on this darn thing, I was actually very flattered. Wow, people actually like to read what I have to say? That made me feel so good! So thanks, Kevin, if you're reading this. I'm glad you stopped me and said hello! And happy birthday! (It was his birthday yesterday..) And thanks for reminding me to edit myself because you never know who is reading....

Anyway, fast-forward a few hours later. We've got some intense dance-floor moves by our crazy miniature 5-foot friend, a few failed pick-up lines by some random Wyandotte County guy in a wife beater, a successful spill of half a pitcher that managed to attract the attention of everyone within a 30-foot radius of our table, and two guys from K-State who just can't...seem...to graduate. And are still sticking around our table as well.

One guy's name is Vinny. And at first I think it's a fake name because this guy doesn't look like a "Vinny"....at all. Now when I choose my fake names, I try to pick one that at least fits me. And guys usually believe it. His was a failed attempt, but we played along anyway....it actually probably is real.

The conversation is winding down (has been for the past hour, mind you) when we decide it's time to peace out. Vinny asks for my number. Not really wanting to give it but not wanting to totally destroy his ego either, I say sure. He gives me his phone and I first type in my friend's number but I decide I can't do that to her....damn you, conscious! So after a few minutes of pretending to try and figure out how to work his phone while thinking about how I'm going to handle this situation, I resolve to put my own number in. I leave for Florida on Monday and won't be back in Kansas for 5 months so that seems a logical end to the "relationship". I'll just tell him that. No harm done.

He asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Well, my cousin is coming in town so we'll probably go to the Power and Light district.....you guys should come (???)" (WHY DID I SAY THAT!) He responds with, "Ohh, actually I think I'm gonna hang out with my grandpa. You see, he's really old but he's cool to hang out with." I should be insulted but I'm not....I just didn't care enough I suppose. I think, 'Wow, I just invited you and your friends to come out with us tomorrow night after you asked for my number and you say you would rather hang out with your grandpa?!' Haaaaa. Niiiiiice. Glad I fall short of a gramps. Awesome.

Anyway, we leave. Later, he texts. He sucks at carrying on a texting conversation. Relationship over.

Lessons from the night:
Monitor what you put on the internet (not that I've really put anything that bad).
Don't let a guy wearing a wife beater in a bar think he's got a shot because he'll just keep coming back...and back...and back.
Don't give your number to someone you won't have a future with. Pointless. And stupid.
Let your friend dance....but not so that she pulls a few muscles. That's too wide of a range.
And finally, have lots of fun. Always.

Where's the excitement in planning ahead?

I'm not sure if I subconsciously crave mass chaos, but I somehow always seem to attract it.

And no, I'm not talking about last night when our whole program went on our last Booze...ahem, I mean BOAT Cruise. And no, I did not get drunk. Nope nope nope. I took care of everyone else. Gold star for me. This post would be way too long if I told you everything that happened last night. But I suppose that means I've attracted two instances of chaos within the last 24 hours...great.

I'm talking about today. Yes, today when I tried (key word: tried) to book my train tickets to and from Euskirchen, Germany. I sound like a fool when I try to pronounce it. Either way, after searching online for a few hours over the last couple of days comparing times and prices, I finally have my route and timeline figured out. I was so proud. I go to book it and have everything planned out when they tell me....

Roadblock Number 1: They have to ship the tickets to me and want to know when I'm leaving The States. Can't ship the tickets anywhere BUT the US. Hmm...that won't do me any good...I'm already in Europe. So I think shipping them to the person I'm staying with in Belgium is the smartest idea--that way I'll get them in time. Also, since I'm so responsible, I don't know my address here in the UK where I've been staying for the past 5 weeks. So Belgium it is. Of course you can't do ANY of this online, so I decide to call RailEurope via Skype. It's free. That's literally the only thing I had going for me today.

Talk to a nice lady and she helps me figure everything out AGAIN. We had to re-figure everything because some trains are already booked, my luck is bad, etc. Almost done and ready to pay when...

Roadblock Number 2: Call is dropped. UGH! Knowing that RailEurope has over a thousand employees and chances of talking to the same lady again are about a million to one, I resolve to Skype call them again to start over. What else was I going to do? Gotta get to Germany.

So I talk to a different lady and tell her my last call was dropped just to prepare her. This time she gives me a confirmation number to track my itinerary just in case. This was a good call. Because, yet again, we are ALMOST finished when...

Roadblock Number 3: Call is dropped. Again.

I call back. The first two ladies were super nice. But this man is mean. Very mean. I came to the conclusion that he hates his life. He has to help other people prepare their awesome European adventures while he sits in a cubicle all day long. I'd hate my life too. We look up my already-planned trip and--surprise!--it's actually there. And it's a whopping 400 dollars. WHAT?! For two trips? Interesting. He e-mails it to me and.....

Roadblock Number 4: I find a ton of extra charges on each ticket. The lady thought I wanted First Class. Wait, you couldn't hear the poor-college-student's-desperate-need-for-money dripping from my every word? She also thought I wanted rail insurance. False. Finally getting my fare filed down to only 300 dollars, I feel better. A little. Scrooge on the line asks the address in Belgium so they can ship it. Realizing...

Roadblock Number 5: I asked my friend in Germany for her address--not the lady in Belgium--so I have to to say I don't have it. Ignoring the disappointment and frustration in his voice, I apologize and hang up the phone. I stare at my computer screen for at least 10 minutes contemplating exactly how I just spent the last 4+ hours. When finals are on Friday. And I've done nothing to prepare.

Don't worry, I'm sure everything will turn out fine. That way, I can be surprised and thrown for a loop when it doesn't! I can't wait for the excitement to continue...

Is this real life?

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:

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.

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.

Bonjour

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Note to Self: Start Thinking More

SO I took my kids to the pool the other day (the six kids + my brother I watch every Tuesday and Thursday) and I was reviewing my Oxford info booklet because I LEAVE IN TWO WEEKS!!!! :) :) :) And when I say review, I mean I finally read the booklet we were supposed to read first thing back when we got it in April. Hey, I'm pretty proud of myself for reading it at all. Anywho I was almost to the end when I read, "Required reading assignment with complimentary essay due upon arrival." I cringe a little. Ok...at least I have two weeks to read this book and crank out an essay. Totally do-able. Then I read that I have FIVE books to read plus an essay. FIVE BOOKS in, yeah in case you don't remember, TWO WEEKS. Ughhh..oh well. It's my own fault. Whatever.

So I'm still reading it when I get up to help the kids with something. Then, all of a sudden, my papers go flying! They could have flown into the chair, against the fence, into the yard next to the pool.......but no. As if by instinct, they make a bee-line for the pool. It was like they were saying, "Ahhh yes! Haley hasn't had a screw-up moment for at least a few hours, so here is our opportunity. Seize it and go for the pool. Hopefully we'll be unreadable by the time we make it in there." I scream and dive into the pool to get my precious Oxford materials. These are the plans for my whooooole stay there and include some very important documents. Like umm say my flight information including my confirmation number that I absolutely cannot lose. Oh and yeah the piece of paper from my program director that says I am a student at Oxford; I can't get in OR out of the country without it. These and about 5 other equally important and informative papers decided to go for a little dip in the pool. I might as well have taped my passport to my back and used it as a fin as I swam! WHAT was I THINKING taking this stuff to the pool?!?! I wish I knew. So I get them out and everything is in tact. Luckily. "So, ok, I lay them out to dry," I think.

I lay out a few white papers along with a blue one and a purple one on the white plastic pool chair next to me. (These specific details are important, I promise.) When I go back a few minutes later to check on them (they are a little dry and are threatening to go back into the pool again) I notice the purple and blue papers have successfully dyed the white plastic chair.

This is when I throw my hands up in the air and start banging my head against the fence. I look around to see if anyone has noticed as I reluctantly put my papers away and angle the chair away from anyone at the pool.

I finally retire to laying down and not doing anything. I can't possibly screw up anything if I'm not doing anything right??

And I haven't started reading yet. Maybe tomorrow.....afternoon.
Or the next day.

I think I need to get this and tape it all over my room, car, locker room, and body. Haha but seriously, I'm glad things like this happen to me: I rarely ever get embarrassed or mad and always get to laugh at myself. It makes life a lot more fun.

Superstar(s) on the rise!

So my little brother (we'll call him Pretty Boy) is quite cute. And yes, I'm a little biased, but the talent agency he worked for and the people who signed him to shoot various commercials (including The Sunflower House and Build-A-Bear) seem to agree with me. He is also one of the sweetest 12-year-olds you'll ever meet, giving me a hug whenever he enters or exits the room. He's also got an incredible six-pack with muscles trying to bust out of his arms and legs. Yes, he's the whole package. And how does he get such an amazing bod? Well by sitting on the couch playing XBox eating Cheetos and Oreos of course! I mean, doesn't that work for you? .......I know, some things just aren't fair.



So this weekend when my roommate Outdoors Woman was in town and we were all swimming in the pool, she said, "Pretty Boy should have his own Disney Channel show. I would for sure watch it and I know so many other people would too!" We laughed and agreed and went on fighting over the raft. Then, about an hour later, Outdoors Woman and I were talking when all of a sudden she goes, "SHhhhh! LISTEN!"............. Then I hear the radio: "Do you want to be on the Disney Channel? Think you could have your own show? Want to work with your favorite Disney actors like Demi Lovato and The Jonas Brothers? Do YOU have what it takes? Then call this number today! You could be the next Disney STAR!" I immediately jump out of the pool, grab my phone, and dial the number. Pretty Boy is waving his hands in front of his body as if to say, 'WHAT are you doing?!?!?" as I start talking to some talent agent on the phone. She asks if I am registering myself or my child and I say, "My child," and stifle giggles. She doesn't believe I'm old enough to have a kid (grant it I was 7 years old when Pretty Boy was born) and asks to speak to a parent. After a few more minutes of answering questions and nodding, my mom confirms that Pretty Boy is going to a talent scouting the next day at 5:30. Outdoors Woman and I are jumping for joy while Pretty Boy sinks lower into the pool. Mom asks us to come with her and says the lady told everyone to "dress to impress" and that Pretty Boy needs a head and body shot. We're on it.



The next day we wake up and immediately get to work on the photo shoot. I pull various outfits from Pretty Boy's closet and he walks out of his room in khaki pants and a button-down light blue dress shirt. He is for sure ready for his close-up! He has his long blond hair bushed over to the side and boasts a bright white smile that contrasts nicely with his golden tanned skin. How dare he hog all the good genes!! While he was getting ready, I gave myself a 5 minute photography course by studying the pictures around the house showcasing the various poses we held as young children when our mother forced us to get our picture taken every 6 months. After such a brief intro to photography, I am ready to launch Pretty Boy's modeling and acting career. I set up props and chairs on the screened in porch, but Pretty Boy has so much natural raw talent that it only takes 10 minutes until we have the perfect shot. If only things were that easy for everyone.



Later, we all get ready and head out to the Overland Park Convention Center. We sign Pretty Boy in and walk into a room that resembles an American Idol Audition. There are soooo many people. We all look at each other, laugh, and sit down at least knowing we seized some kind of opportunity and will probably remember this evening forever, even though we know the probability of something actually happening is very slim. We sit and wait and wait and wait and watch some intro video and wait and listen to talent agents talk and wait and it's finally Pretty Boy's turn. Mom, Pretty Boy, Outdoors Woman and I get up all giddy and giggling; we are so excited! Mom walks Pretty Boy up to a talent scout while OW and I stand next to him. She asks PB many questions, looks at his application and photos, and seems to be liking him. Next follows a dialogue that made us laugh for the rest of the evening:



Talent Scout (TS): "It says here you play sports. What kind of sports?"

Pretty Boy (PB): "Umm golf, track, basketball, football, kickball..."

TS: "And do you play every day?"

PB: "Well, no, not really I guess....I--"

ME: "--Hey! You play every day. You have practices and golf lessons and you play outside with your friends all the time and--"

TS: (Turns to me) "--And who are you? Are you his sister?"

ME: "Yes, I signed him up for this actually and I just want him to be his best and--"

TS: "--And are you auditioning today?"

ME: "Haha no."

TS: "Well, why not?!"

ME: "Because the age limit is 17 and I'm 20."

TS: "You're 20?!?! No way! You could be 16! What's your name?"

ME: *Gives full name*

TS: "And do you live here in Overland Park? What do you do?"

ME: "Well no, I go to school in Texas--"

Mom: "But she lives here in the summer and this is her permanent home." *Gives me a sideways look*

TS: "Right. So where do you go to school?"

ME: *Gives school name and info*

TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting?"

ME: "Because I've done sports all my life. I'm a sporty girl."

TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting? Why have you never pursued this?"

ME: "Because I was always in about 3 different sports and going to practices and stuff. I just never did."

TS: "But you're much to pretty to be a sport girl. Are you interested in the entertainment business?"

ME: (giggling--this is too funny) "Well, yes I suppose."

TS: "And if you were chosen, would you now pursue this?"

ME: "Yes! I mean I guess if I'm good at something or have a shot then I will definitely give it all I've got."

TS: "Ok great. And how tall are you?"

Me "5'8"

TS: "And you must weigh about 130 pounds..." *writes it down*

ME: "HAHAHAAH Oh my gosh I LOVE you! No."

TS: *Gives questionable look* "What are you talking about? How much do you weigh?"

ME: *Gives number*

TS: *Gives even larger questioning look* "WHAT?! Well where are you hiding it?"

ME: "Well I'm a student-athlete at my school....and I guess it's in my muscles....ummm I don't know...."

TS: "Well whatever; you don't look like you weigh that much. Good for you."

ME: "Uhh thanks?"

*****This whole entire time, I'm thinking, 'No no no! Don't focus on me! Focus on my cute little brother over there--he's the one we came here for! Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy.' I felt so bad because I was worried she wasn't looking at him at all. But she was, thank goodness*****

TS: "Ok, this is what I am going to do (turns to mom): I definitely want the boy to audition because I like his look, but I also want your daughter to audition. She is extremely marketable because she's a lot older, but has such a young look that she could be styled to play someone much younger than her actual age. Go outside and get her a script. I want to get her on camera to see how she does; don't worry about memorizing it because she hasn't had the last 2 hours like everyone else. I am going to call you on Monday after their auditions to talk. If you don't hear from me, I still want you to e-mail the general address given to everyone but I'm also going to give you my private line so that I don't forget about you. Good luck!"



All four of us walk away laughing and slapping our knees and my mom is beaming with pride. I take Pretty Boy's script and immediately start getting nervous. My mom tries to calm my fears and says, "Hey, it doesn't matter. We didn't come expecting this anyway so just do your best."



Pretty Boy goes first and he does awesome! He thought he was supposed to take his score card with him so he goes back over to the other talent scout, but the guy waves him away. He still snuck a look at his card and HE GOT ALL TENS! I'm so proud of him. I went next and, well, we'll see how it goes. My mom gets a phone call today so I'll let you know then!



For now, keep reading my blog because I going to Europe for 6 weeks from July 3rd to August 15th to study abroad at the University of Oxford and will for sure be updating it as I also go to London, Paris (France), Pittem (Belgium), and the Netherlands. But you should also keep reading because I am a superstar on the rise and you can track my climb to the top! Haha just kidding. But that was a pretty funny experience and definitely an ego boost!

I'm In A Glass Case of Emotion!!

....or should I say 30 case...


When you mix alcohol with college kids, you know there's bound to be trouble. But it's kind of like separating peanut butter and jelly or jam and bread or mac and cheese: NOT GONNA HAPPEN.

Last night was Saturday night and oh what a night! Starts off at my friends' townhouse where we are just hanging out and relaxing until people come and pick us up to take us to another apartment where we, again, just hangout and relax until we go to the actual party around 11 (at another apartment). Why 11 and so late? Because that's the time that people actually start going out and you don't want to get somewhere so early and have no one be there. Duh. The boys watch the game--I think USC?--and the girls play with the dog or take pictures of themselves (guilty). Then, my friend asks me to go to the bathroom with her. Yes, she is a fully enabled human being who is pretty good (most of the time) at dressing and grooming herself, so I immediately knew she wanted to talk about something kinda big and maybe not all that good because A) the bathroom is where you go when you're around alot of people in an unfamiliar place and even though the music is loud it's that big of a deal so you need privacy and B) she asked me and not her twin sister (who was also there). Uhh oh.

So she tells me she likes this guy, we'll call him Jason, who we have been hanging out with recently. Great, I say. Go for it. He's cute, you're cute, what's amiss here? Nothing. WRONG.

So my friend, we'll call her Mary-Kate, starts hanging around him more and they play a drinking game and everything is good. I'm talking to someone else when her sister, we'll call her Ashley, asks me to go to the bathroom. Are you guys trying to make me look like I have a bladder disorder so no guys here will talk to me? So we're coming back down the stairs when Ashley tells me that she likes Jason too. Ohh shit. I say, "Ohh ok. Umm I think you should talk to your sister." "Why?" "I don't know. Have you told her you like him?" "No. Why would that matter?" "Ohh, it wouldn't. I just assumed that you had told her. Before you do anything, you guys should talk." "Oh my God does she like him too?!?" "Uhh......."

Seriously. Out of ALL the guys in the world, ALL the guys at SMU, ALL the guys at the party, they have to like the same one. Superb.

So we come back from the bathroom and go talk to different people. Five minutes later I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mary-Kate and Ashley BOTH talking to Jason, vying for his attention, and he's cornered. Poor guy.

Go to the party. It's fun. I meet people. A guy from Russia and a guy from Germany, among others. Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to talk to Jason a lot throughout the night as well as other people to not seem desperate...but mostly him. While giving each other the evil eye. So I'm talking to Russia when, all of a sudden, he starts taking jabs at me and making fun of me! What the hell? "It's all in good fun," he assures me. "No, it's not. It's not funny." I turn to leave when he grabs my hand and WON'T. LET. GO. Germany tries to direct my attention by talking about the weather in Germany and the Winter Solstice (WTF?) and Russia reassures me that I DO want to stay and talk to him and listen to him make fun of me some more. Riiiiiight. I give him the death stare as I command him to LET GO OR REGRET IT. So weird. What is it with internationals? Communication barrier. Weird sense of humor. It's not attractive.

So I'm kind of liking this one guy who Mary-Kate knows. I ask her to introduce me and all is good. I tell her that if she talks to him later to bring me up and see what he says. She does. Then, later, I'm talking to Mary-Kate and Jason when this guy, we'll call him Freddy, starts motioning for me to come over. Ok cool, I think. WRONG. He asks if Mary-Kate has said anything about him. What? I'm confused. He likes her. Should he ask her out? he asks. Trying to be a nice person but really wanting to scream, "SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU AT ALL-I DO!" I politely say, "I don't know. Just go talk to her." Before she's blindsided, I give her a heads up. She's ecstatic! Not. Not knowing what to do and fed up with Russia AND Freddy, I realize that this is not turning out to be my night. I decide to go outside for fresh air and find one of our friends, we'll call him Kruger, outside and sad. Good, I think, a bonding opportunity. We can bond in our sucky nights. I ask him what's wrong and, bet you would never have guessed it, he's basically in love with Ashley and she's not giving him any attention and he doesn't know why. HAHAHAHAAAHA, I think, you couldn't write this stuff! Everyone likes someone else who likes someone else who likes someone else. Fabulous. We bond.

Then Mary-Kate comes out to tell me that we're going to leave. Finally. It's 3 AM but it feels like we've only been there for 20 minutes. It was a fun...scratch that...interesting and life lesson learning night. Then Freddy comes out, gives me the thumbs up, and says he got her number. "Great," I say, trying to be reassuring with my plastered smile. One of our friends drank too much and we have to carry her to the car. In the rain. It's pouring buckets and you can't see ten feet in front of you. The umbrella rips. I'm soaked. And in a white t-shirt. Carrying my friend. So fun. We get back to their apartment and everyone who jammed themselves into the car with us decided that they're ALL going to spend the night. I get my friend upstairs and safely in bed and when I come back down, everyone has claimed their sleeping spots. I get to sleep in a little chair while one of the guys takes over the blow up mattress. Chivalry is definitely dead. I find the floor much more comfortable until I finally resign to going upstairs and sleeping next to my friend on her pillow-top mattress. This is around 4 AM after the guys decided that they wanted Chinese. Yes, there is a Chinese food delivery place that delivers until 4 AM. Who would have known.

Wake up to some really loud noises coming from the middle floor. The twins don't have dogs but it legitimately sounds like there are dogs BARKING in their house. Ten Bull Dogs. I go down to see what the deal is when the sound reverberates off the walls and stuns me still. It like traps me and I cannot think of what to do, where to go, or how to get my body moving. The sound takes over my brain. The guys are ALL snoring. The sound is so loud when they snore, but it bounces off the walls and makes it twice as loud in the second floor until it travels up the stairs to the twins' rooms. I find ear plugs on the kitchen counter and am really surprised that they have such a random thing lying around and put a few in. NOT HELPING. There is no way I can go back to sleep and it's only 8 in the morning. 4 hours of sleep. I go back upstairs to lay in bed for an hour trying, trying, trying to sleep. No luck. The sounds are haunting me.

Ashley finally wakes up and we go over the previous night, laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness and hoping against hope that it never happens again. So until the next Saturday night, this is Ron Burgundy and

Stay Classy. Or just try to get there in the first place.