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 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.