Well hello, Ohio. Or, as Legally Blond 2 would have it, the Sunshine State (?). After four weeks of basking in a healthy blend of said sunshine and the occasional tornado, I am still mostly unemployed and addicted to cheap wine, cider, terrible Eurotrashy jams and my expertly cultivated fondness for doing absolutely nothing. Besides the fact that I can't think about Heathrow and wish I could still text sex on the Samsung (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4npUdfEmbQ), things are going swimmingly. Life as the only England fan in the Midwest is lonely but SO OVER, because life as the newest Germany fan is full of much better man candy. Achtung, Steven Gerrard...we're through. Thomas Muller called, and he wants to show you his six-pack.
Other things I now like include: e-mail, because some people refuse to join me in the 21st century by having Facebook; pretending I can sing along with the Soweto Gospel Choir, learning to drive in the cemetary, paying for things in dollars (although I do miss all those coins), the fact that it's FINALLY always fashion week somewhere again, Russell Brand and 50 cent drafts.
Things I don't quite fancy: Americans, their accents, their clothes and their awful beer; the fact that Gavin & Stacey only comes on BBC America like once a week, keeping in touch by phone and generally not being in England.
I'd write something sappy about the last 2 weeks of study abroad, but nobody likes an alcoholic who cries all the time. Just rest assured that it included fire escapes, cigars, pasties, pub time, too many pictures, no sleep and something people apparently call 'exams'. Whatever.
I'm off to take pictures of fat people, SUVs, American flags t-shirts and pickup trucks for my tintillating 4th of July special. BAM.
England, you gave me my first cavity and took away my dignity. We're in a relationship, but it's complicated.
xxx
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Friday, 21 May 2010
April May (June?)
21 May is a scary date. Not as scary, of course, as 22 May (two weeks!), 1 June (June!) or 5 June (In British phone-speak: LATERZ, ENGLAND). Ah. Terror and nostalgia aside, there is much fun to report.
Easter vacation ended on 26 April, which meant absolutely nothing except that halls were no longer lonely. Commenting incessantly on the weather is an annoying British trait, but I'll do it anyway: it's gorgeous and warm and basically I wish my life could be a never-ending English summer. Although they reside in what is quite possibly the dreariest country in the world (and perhaps because of it), the Brits know how to enjoy their fucking sunshine. Sitting outside is an activity here, and it's glorious.
Revision is overrated. I spent an entire week of my life watching HBO's 'The Pacific' because apparently I'm a War Studies student, and I still can't answer an essay question about weapons in the 1940s. This is either because I hate weapons from the 1940s, or because TV programs should stop exclusively casting sexy men. How am I supposed to pay attention to flamethrowers if people keep taking their shirts off and staring pensively into the palm tree-filled abyss? Fuck me, it's distracting.
Village pizza is not overrated. Neither, accordingly, is the size of my waistline. Yikes. Let's just say that there is a week of my life that I can't seem to remember, but I do know that the pizza guy has my order memorized. April, you kill me.
We had an election! Nobody won, but the London Eye was rainbow for a night and everyone loves an excuse to drink to seats in Parliament. It's comical how similar the parties are here, but also reassuring that so little of their politics revolves around moral issues (or, in the USA, the vomit-inducing 'family values'). That's not to say that Britain is absent of debate about such things (if you want a scare, google David Cameron's appointment of everyone's favorite bigot, Theresa May, as equality minister), but people tend to vote on the drier issues. America, I've always judged you for this, but now you just look uneducated, simple and ridiculously easy to manipulate.
I got a new camera, which means that I've finally resumed one of my favorite activities: wandering aimlessly and taking photos of things that are only funny to me.
And now for a list of reasons why reintegration to the States will be difficult and annoying.
1) Cider. Why on Earth don't we have hard cider on tap? On the eighth day, God invented Strongbow.
2) Brit-speak. You alright, mate? I was on the lash last night, and I pulled a super fit bird. What are you on about? I'm headed down the shop for a curry. I'm in mine. Are you in halls? I can't be bothered. Cheers. In a bit. Etc.
3) 4od. British TV is amazing, and also the only thing I've watched online for months. Going back to Gossip Girl, Hulu and incessant reruns of Law & Order blows.
4) Chavs. I won't know what to call trashy people, and American ones are heavier on the scary and lighter on the comedic value.
5) Digestives. Beans at breakfast. Sainsburys Basics. Double-strength juice. Pasties. Vending machines full of snacks I've never heard of. Prawn cocktail crisps. Chips with everything. Chicken everywhere. High quality McDonalds. Sweet corn at Subway. Sweet corn on everything. CADBURY. Innocent smoothies. Double vodka Red Bull. Pub food. Something I won't miss: being fat.
This list will grow.
xxx
Easter vacation ended on 26 April, which meant absolutely nothing except that halls were no longer lonely. Commenting incessantly on the weather is an annoying British trait, but I'll do it anyway: it's gorgeous and warm and basically I wish my life could be a never-ending English summer. Although they reside in what is quite possibly the dreariest country in the world (and perhaps because of it), the Brits know how to enjoy their fucking sunshine. Sitting outside is an activity here, and it's glorious.
Revision is overrated. I spent an entire week of my life watching HBO's 'The Pacific' because apparently I'm a War Studies student, and I still can't answer an essay question about weapons in the 1940s. This is either because I hate weapons from the 1940s, or because TV programs should stop exclusively casting sexy men. How am I supposed to pay attention to flamethrowers if people keep taking their shirts off and staring pensively into the palm tree-filled abyss? Fuck me, it's distracting.
Village pizza is not overrated. Neither, accordingly, is the size of my waistline. Yikes. Let's just say that there is a week of my life that I can't seem to remember, but I do know that the pizza guy has my order memorized. April, you kill me.
We had an election! Nobody won, but the London Eye was rainbow for a night and everyone loves an excuse to drink to seats in Parliament. It's comical how similar the parties are here, but also reassuring that so little of their politics revolves around moral issues (or, in the USA, the vomit-inducing 'family values'). That's not to say that Britain is absent of debate about such things (if you want a scare, google David Cameron's appointment of everyone's favorite bigot, Theresa May, as equality minister), but people tend to vote on the drier issues. America, I've always judged you for this, but now you just look uneducated, simple and ridiculously easy to manipulate.
I got a new camera, which means that I've finally resumed one of my favorite activities: wandering aimlessly and taking photos of things that are only funny to me.
And now for a list of reasons why reintegration to the States will be difficult and annoying.
1) Cider. Why on Earth don't we have hard cider on tap? On the eighth day, God invented Strongbow.
2) Brit-speak. You alright, mate? I was on the lash last night, and I pulled a super fit bird. What are you on about? I'm headed down the shop for a curry. I'm in mine. Are you in halls? I can't be bothered. Cheers. In a bit. Etc.
3) 4od. British TV is amazing, and also the only thing I've watched online for months. Going back to Gossip Girl, Hulu and incessant reruns of Law & Order blows.
4) Chavs. I won't know what to call trashy people, and American ones are heavier on the scary and lighter on the comedic value.
5) Digestives. Beans at breakfast. Sainsburys Basics. Double-strength juice. Pasties. Vending machines full of snacks I've never heard of. Prawn cocktail crisps. Chips with everything. Chicken everywhere. High quality McDonalds. Sweet corn at Subway. Sweet corn on everything. CADBURY. Innocent smoothies. Double vodka Red Bull. Pub food. Something I won't miss: being fat.
This list will grow.
xxx
Wednesday, 14 April 2010
Stolen Goods
Also, a few pictures that I robbed off of Kelsi (RIP camera), just for kicks:
This is why I'm fat.
Homeless chic in Bristol
Bristol
Standard
(Not New) York.
Cheers, Kelsi :)
This is why I'm fat.
Homeless chic in Bristol
Bristol
Standard
(Not New) York.
Cheers, Kelsi :)
Easter, Springtime & York
It's been a while, again. Since I last wrote, lectures have ended, most of my coursework is done, and I've been outside without tights on (once), which clearly means that summer is coming.
Life at uni is a bit odd when there is no uni, but it's still so good to be in England and everything has been kind of a haze since the end of March. If you know anything about me, you know that I like it that way. How could I possibly complain about an existence that consists of waking late, grocery shopping, consuming too much coffee, having drinks and wasting hours on end with lovely people? I won't.
Easter also happened, but not Easter as we know it at home--English people have a giant vacation from school and at least appear to make a pretty big deal out of the whole thing. Since I don't like Easter (I hate springtime rains and pale, ugly colors and church makes me angry), I was obviously thrilled to spend it having a late dinner at Nando's and drinking half a bottle of Sainsbury's basics vodka out of a super-sized Burger King cup. There was, of course, good company and lots of sunshine; there was also a spur-of-the-moment Michael Jackson dance, something that resembled a double date, and abundant happiness. I think I even watched There Will Be Blood, but I can't be bothered to remember. All in all, the best and most ridiculous least favorite holiday I've ever had. Props, London.
After Easter, the following: I contracted the plague, got lost in East Dulwich, found out I'm living alone next year, watched more Peep Show than I care to admit, and realized (yet again) just how much I don't ever want to leave here. On the topic of leaving, Kelsi, Khogan and I went to York for a bit last weekend/the beginning of this week to visit Ted. Aside from being whitewashed and a potentially boring place to spend more than a few years, York was lovely lovely lovely and nothing but laughs. We walked on a wall, ate shit food, froze to death by sitting outside at just about every pub we could find, were surrounded by daffodils, smoked in the garden and watched silly British children's telly. Joe even came out to play with us on Sunday. So much fun.
Finally, northern girls love tanning salons and crap makeup enough to seriously consider auditioning for the inevitable next cast of the Jersey Shore. English people call a sun room a 'conservatory'. Apparently I talk in my sleep (about horses?). When you're driving on the highway here, the road signs just say 'the NORTH' and point you in a straight line. It's so easy, even a non-driving mess like myself could probably manage to get to Leeds.
XXX
Life at uni is a bit odd when there is no uni, but it's still so good to be in England and everything has been kind of a haze since the end of March. If you know anything about me, you know that I like it that way. How could I possibly complain about an existence that consists of waking late, grocery shopping, consuming too much coffee, having drinks and wasting hours on end with lovely people? I won't.
Easter also happened, but not Easter as we know it at home--English people have a giant vacation from school and at least appear to make a pretty big deal out of the whole thing. Since I don't like Easter (I hate springtime rains and pale, ugly colors and church makes me angry), I was obviously thrilled to spend it having a late dinner at Nando's and drinking half a bottle of Sainsbury's basics vodka out of a super-sized Burger King cup. There was, of course, good company and lots of sunshine; there was also a spur-of-the-moment Michael Jackson dance, something that resembled a double date, and abundant happiness. I think I even watched There Will Be Blood, but I can't be bothered to remember. All in all, the best and most ridiculous least favorite holiday I've ever had. Props, London.
After Easter, the following: I contracted the plague, got lost in East Dulwich, found out I'm living alone next year, watched more Peep Show than I care to admit, and realized (yet again) just how much I don't ever want to leave here. On the topic of leaving, Kelsi, Khogan and I went to York for a bit last weekend/the beginning of this week to visit Ted. Aside from being whitewashed and a potentially boring place to spend more than a few years, York was lovely lovely lovely and nothing but laughs. We walked on a wall, ate shit food, froze to death by sitting outside at just about every pub we could find, were surrounded by daffodils, smoked in the garden and watched silly British children's telly. Joe even came out to play with us on Sunday. So much fun.
Finally, northern girls love tanning salons and crap makeup enough to seriously consider auditioning for the inevitable next cast of the Jersey Shore. English people call a sun room a 'conservatory'. Apparently I talk in my sleep (about horses?). When you're driving on the highway here, the road signs just say 'the NORTH' and point you in a straight line. It's so easy, even a non-driving mess like myself could probably manage to get to Leeds.
XXX
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Bristol, Piercings, Moving
First, the most important piece of new in all of the U.K.: SPRING HAS FINALLY COME TO LONDON. Praise Jesus or Prince Harry or whoever is responsible, because not spending my evenings shivering at bus stops in 4883 layers of clothing is good for the soul. There are even flowers (which, let it be known, I identified by name. Yo, mom).
On the topic of Spring, and because London gets boring when all the losers you hang around with skip off to Amsterdam for the weekend, I went to Bristol last Saturday. Home of Skins, chavvy girls and--apparently--the coolest suspension bridge ever, it's 2.5 hours from London by bus and completely bomb. Highlights include the aforementioned suspension bridge, taking pictures with a survey woman at Tesco (after having to admit that we, in fact, visited her Tesco solely because we could see it from the green where we wanted to drink...and spent only 3.60, on said drinks), not freezing to death, MAGIC ROLL, meeting a boy at a club who claimed to have gone to uni to study football, and Amanda's rapping skills at the bus station at 4:55 a.m. You should probably go. You should not, however, decide to keep it homeless and take the 4:55 bus back to London. There is nothing more soul-crushing than trying to navigate notoriously shitty Sunday morning public transport hungover and running on 2 hours of bus sleep. Oops.
Last week, I also left my overpriced, antisocial home on Stamford Street for a lovely Danehurst prison cell in Camberwell. It's nice to actually spend more than 2-3 nights a week in my own bed. Enough on that.
In other news, I pierced my nose and Shelley didn't kill me. It also didn't hurt at all. There is only one more week of lectures at King's, which basically means that my life will be the same, I'll just spend significantly less time feeling guilty.
xxx
On the topic of Spring, and because London gets boring when all the losers you hang around with skip off to Amsterdam for the weekend, I went to Bristol last Saturday. Home of Skins, chavvy girls and--apparently--the coolest suspension bridge ever, it's 2.5 hours from London by bus and completely bomb. Highlights include the aforementioned suspension bridge, taking pictures with a survey woman at Tesco (after having to admit that we, in fact, visited her Tesco solely because we could see it from the green where we wanted to drink...and spent only 3.60, on said drinks), not freezing to death, MAGIC ROLL, meeting a boy at a club who claimed to have gone to uni to study football, and Amanda's rapping skills at the bus station at 4:55 a.m. You should probably go. You should not, however, decide to keep it homeless and take the 4:55 bus back to London. There is nothing more soul-crushing than trying to navigate notoriously shitty Sunday morning public transport hungover and running on 2 hours of bus sleep. Oops.
Last week, I also left my overpriced, antisocial home on Stamford Street for a lovely Danehurst prison cell in Camberwell. It's nice to actually spend more than 2-3 nights a week in my own bed. Enough on that.
In other news, I pierced my nose and Shelley didn't kill me. It also didn't hurt at all. There is only one more week of lectures at King's, which basically means that my life will be the same, I'll just spend significantly less time feeling guilty.
xxx
Friday, 26 February 2010
You're Fucking With My Hygge
Everything in London is well post brief but needed disappearance to Denmark. After more UK units of alcohol than I care to count, Kelsi and I missed our bus (twice, almost three times), missed our train by an hour and 20 minutes, and still got to Gatwick with time for breakfast. Baller, I know. No matter if we spent the entire bus ride fantasizing about bagging the whole operation, or if it took me five minutes to figure out how to get a Gatorade out of the vending machine on the National Express platform, we arrived in Copenhagen with no means of communication and a massive combined hangover. Clearly ready to take over the world.
Luckily, pay phones are a worldwide lifesaver, and we were able to find Andrea and make our way to the center of the city. Being the Ohioan that I am, I frolicked in the snow the entire five days we were there and basically rejoiced at my brief return to the winter I'm missing back in the States. Copenhagen--like the rest of Denmark--is extremely tiny, so Andrea was able to show us most of the city center before taking us back to her apartment in Norrebro. Despite the fact that Norrebro is supposed to be the sketchiest neighborhood in Copenhagen (if you've been to Denmark, you'll understand how funny that sentence is in the first place), it--like Andrea--is absolutely lovely. In short, we played house all weekend and cooked amazing food and sat around under blankets while drinking like Scandinavians to keep warm.
Highlights include: A hippie commune in the middle of Copenhagen where everyone legally buys weed and stands around trash can fires and is happy. Attempting (successfully) homemade gnocchi and trying to grasp the concept of hygge...also with great success :) Olympic curling stance. I'll leave that one at that. Walking across frozen lakes in the snow at 2 a.m., once the right way, and once narrowly escaping a Danish disaster. Noticing that Danish boys act like they're at a middle school dance when they're out at clubs; they stand behind you for like ten minutes before they even dare to touch you. And they go out in their ski jackets. Making it home much more easily than we got there, but mostly realizing that you can be really fucking stupid and still get around the world, and have a jolly good time at that.
Tryk = push, Traek = pull...and they sound exactly the same.
xxx
Luckily, pay phones are a worldwide lifesaver, and we were able to find Andrea and make our way to the center of the city. Being the Ohioan that I am, I frolicked in the snow the entire five days we were there and basically rejoiced at my brief return to the winter I'm missing back in the States. Copenhagen--like the rest of Denmark--is extremely tiny, so Andrea was able to show us most of the city center before taking us back to her apartment in Norrebro. Despite the fact that Norrebro is supposed to be the sketchiest neighborhood in Copenhagen (if you've been to Denmark, you'll understand how funny that sentence is in the first place), it--like Andrea--is absolutely lovely. In short, we played house all weekend and cooked amazing food and sat around under blankets while drinking like Scandinavians to keep warm.
Highlights include: A hippie commune in the middle of Copenhagen where everyone legally buys weed and stands around trash can fires and is happy. Attempting (successfully) homemade gnocchi and trying to grasp the concept of hygge...also with great success :) Olympic curling stance. I'll leave that one at that. Walking across frozen lakes in the snow at 2 a.m., once the right way, and once narrowly escaping a Danish disaster. Noticing that Danish boys act like they're at a middle school dance when they're out at clubs; they stand behind you for like ten minutes before they even dare to touch you. And they go out in their ski jackets. Making it home much more easily than we got there, but mostly realizing that you can be really fucking stupid and still get around the world, and have a jolly good time at that.
Tryk = push, Traek = pull...and they sound exactly the same.
xxx
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Fail
It's really hard to blog, especially when you have nothing to do. For instance, the only reason I'm writing this right now is that I'm supposed to be finishing (read: starting) a 2,500 word essay before I leave for Denmark on Thursday morning. Oops. So instead of pretending I actually know what happened during the Falklands War--my knowledge of which stops about 37 minutes into This is England and picks up again at 'Margaret Thatcher was proper shit'--I'm attempting to summarize the last 2.5 weeks of my life.
Lessons of the month:
1) While you're getting ginned, it's way harder than it looks to know when to drink. Thank Jesus for the fact that (though they'll deny it) '4 shots' in Britain are an alcoholic American 2. Nobody else thinks it's depressing to get older.
2) NEVER attempt new slang when drunk and tired -- you'll end up announcing to someone of the opposite sex that you "don't wear knickers". Knickers are NOT the same thing as trousers.
3) There is no right time for someone else to enter a conversation about oral fixations. Ever.
4) I will never live down 85% of the things I say in public.
5) I've said this before, but British people are RACIST. Like, scary racist. At 5 a.m. on the night bus a few weeks ago, this chavvy white woman literally physically assaulted some guy who wouldn't turn his music down 2 seats behind Amanda and me. When other people on the bus got involved, it only took a predictable 1-2 seconds for the 'go back to your country' comments to start flying. Ew. Stupid people piss me off at home, but somehow the smart accent makes Brits wear it even worse than we do.
6) Man panties are 1.50 at Primark, appear to only come in varying combinations of pink, and are the best pajamas of all time when you don't want to do your laundry.
7) British people don't understand the concept of iced coffee...it even sucks at Starbucks.
8) Double strength juice.
9) Nobody here checks their e-mail, which I love. I despise uptight, e-mail obsessed Americans. There's no way you're important enough at age 20 to check your e-mail more than once a day. Have a signature at the end of your e-mail in university? You're probably a douchebag.
10) There are some things that are the same everywhere, namely: vending machines, awkward conversations on public transportation, bitchy TAs, token inappropriate, offensive conservative kids in lecture (usually obsessed with the military, short-haired and unfortunately competent at borderline racial slurs in academic discussion), and chocolate.
11) It's probably always raining in London, even if it's sunny. If you think it's sunny, you're wrong...or at least you will be within the next 15 minutes.
Alas, poor Fanny.
xxx
Lessons of the month:
1) While you're getting ginned, it's way harder than it looks to know when to drink. Thank Jesus for the fact that (though they'll deny it) '4 shots' in Britain are an alcoholic American 2. Nobody else thinks it's depressing to get older.
2) NEVER attempt new slang when drunk and tired -- you'll end up announcing to someone of the opposite sex that you "don't wear knickers". Knickers are NOT the same thing as trousers.
3) There is no right time for someone else to enter a conversation about oral fixations. Ever.
4) I will never live down 85% of the things I say in public.
5) I've said this before, but British people are RACIST. Like, scary racist. At 5 a.m. on the night bus a few weeks ago, this chavvy white woman literally physically assaulted some guy who wouldn't turn his music down 2 seats behind Amanda and me. When other people on the bus got involved, it only took a predictable 1-2 seconds for the 'go back to your country' comments to start flying. Ew. Stupid people piss me off at home, but somehow the smart accent makes Brits wear it even worse than we do.
6) Man panties are 1.50 at Primark, appear to only come in varying combinations of pink, and are the best pajamas of all time when you don't want to do your laundry.
7) British people don't understand the concept of iced coffee...it even sucks at Starbucks.
8) Double strength juice.
9) Nobody here checks their e-mail, which I love. I despise uptight, e-mail obsessed Americans. There's no way you're important enough at age 20 to check your e-mail more than once a day. Have a signature at the end of your e-mail in university? You're probably a douchebag.
10) There are some things that are the same everywhere, namely: vending machines, awkward conversations on public transportation, bitchy TAs, token inappropriate, offensive conservative kids in lecture (usually obsessed with the military, short-haired and unfortunately competent at borderline racial slurs in academic discussion), and chocolate.
11) It's probably always raining in London, even if it's sunny. If you think it's sunny, you're wrong...or at least you will be within the next 15 minutes.
Alas, poor Fanny.
xxx
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