Posts Tagged 'flatmates'

A year, in layman’s terms.

What is a year? 365 days? 52 weeks? God help me, I’m struggling not to quote Rent here. I’ve never seen the play or the movie and so any notable amount of derision would be unfair of me…but still. I love me some Mamma Mia, but I’d be lying if I said Broadway was my thing and as such, quoting Broadway would be even more out of character.

Regardless of my non-affinity for America’s West End and my ability to digress on the subject, I was talking about years. A year, to be exact. Three-hundred sixty-five days and the incomprehensible fact that while each and every year is exactly the same amount of time, it does not always feel that way. For example, and I know you saw this one coming a mile away, the past year. Just about this time last year, I was meeting for the first time about ten or so people that would in the space of about 48 hours become some of my closest friends. Since I was without internet at the time, I didn’t even chronicle meeting them, and because the experience is something I want to remember, I’m going to recall a bit for you now. A forewarning: those allergic to high doses of nostalgia might want to skip the next few paragraphs.

The last night my mom was in Norwich with me, she and the family friends we’d been staying with dropped me off at Norfolk Terrace to spend my first night there. My mom’s flight was at six am the next morning so spending the night in the same house was slightly pointless…and I think we both wanted to prove that I could be dropped off and left alone while she was still in the country, just to make it seem less like I was about to live 5,000 miles from home. Our friends hadn’t seen much of my living space, so when they went with us they came inside and I showed them around the flat. My purple-doored room, the yellow-doored toilet, and lastly the green-cabinet kitchen. While admiring the view from said kitchen, a guy burst in and practically had the fridge open before he noticed us at the window. He, in a well composed drunken state, introduced himself as Dan, and after I’d said my name was Kathy and that I’d just moved in, he promptly invited me to the flat two floors up where a bunch of drama students and internationals – the only ones currently occupying the building – were hanging out. It was a casual invitation, and I’m sure Dan was just being nice, but it was amazing. Not ten minutes in the building and I already had plans for the evening. Not only that, but my mom knew I had plans, and felt about a million times better about leaving me in my incredibly foreign surroundings. Ten minutes later I was saying goodbye, knowing that for the first time in my life I was leaving my mother for more than a month – and in a foreign country, no less. Five minutes later I nervously tidied my room (ha! how quickly that habit would die) and then set off up the stairs, following Dan’s super simple instructions as to how to find his room.

I forget who first let me onto the floor -each flat has a key-locked entrance- but they must have led me to the room. Even if they hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been hard to find. Simply follow the sound of uncontrollable laughter to the shoved open door down the hall, with the crazy red-head Australian girl spilling into the hallway.

Somehow I got up the nerve to walk into the room. Well, into what space there was. There were four girls sitting on the bed, Dan ensconced among them. He smiled when I came in and introduced me to everyone, and immediately following a blur of names I instantly forgot and a wave from an apparent fellow American seated on the bed, a dark-haired boy with a heavy accent shoved a shot glass and foreign-labeled bottle of vodka my way and said, smiling, “Drink!!” From there, nearly everyone in the room (who had clearly made use of the first three-fourths of the bottle) took up the chant, and from the direction of a sympathetic Australian – let’s call her Prue =] – I received a glass of cider to chase with.

“That Lithuanian stuff is feral,” she said. “You’ll need this.”

I tried to share the group’s enthusiasm, but my novice self kept insisting I didn’t drink. When this was met with friendly mockery, I conceded to one shot, and the whole drunk room cheered. One nasty shot of Lithuanian vodka and a glass of cider later, I plopped down at the door next to the red-head, who’d introduced herself as Kelly. Sitting there, warm now from the bit of drinking, I felt one of my favorite vibes: acceptance. Yes, I admit, it was the acceptance of happy drunk people, but it was acceptance on my first night alone at school in England, and so I was happy to take it. Not only that, but two minutes later, my fellow expatriot who’d been seated on the bed extricated herself from the pile and joined me on the floor.

“Mad props for being American,” she said, smiling. “And I have to come sit with the only other non-drinker in the room.” And from there she re-told me her name, Maggie, and proceeded to be my guide for most of the evening.

From there, photos were taken, I actually absorbed the names of those around me – Becs, Sharaz, Martynas, Suzy, Kelly, Maggie, and Prue – and I accompanied the group on a vague adventure up the few flights of stairs left to the top of the terrace. I remember getting slightly scared of Sharaz simply because he offered me a cigarette out of politeness, and thinking Kelly was crazy as she jumped around and talked about the wild European trip she’d just finished up called Contiki. I saw the incredibly extroverted side of Becs, who was full of hugs and smiles and insistence on being friends right from the start. Maggie was the cut-a-bitch girl form New Jersey that I soon could not live without, and Suzy – though she doesn’t remember – was chatty, lovely, and generally hilarious. Prue and Kelly I thought were best friends, right up until they told me they’d only met on the bus from the airport to UEA. Basically, they were all amazing and, unlike what I assumed, they all were just as nice to me the next morning as they were during their late-night celebrating. Right off the bat they were fantastic, and I spent most every moment of my days with them.

The rest of the D5 clan, who arrived a few days later, got to play my new-comer role upon spending their first night with us. Again, we were all a bit pissed, and got along famously. I have never known a group of people to get along so quickly and so amazingly in such a short frame of time, and though I give the booze some of the credit, it was still pretty fucking lucky. To not be tired of any of them a year later, and most of us still living together (and by choice this time!), is awesome.

So yeah. There you have it, this time last year, my introduction into my life as I know it. Maybe it wasn’t very exciting on paper, but I hope that at least it was easily skipped for those who were uninterested, and memorable to those that were there.

END MEMORY LANE.

Thanks to the wonderful event that was Zach moving into the house for reals, I have not only had more going on in my life than work at pastyland, but also, I have had the LUDICROUSLY amazing advent of the TV show Chuck entering my life.

Zach and I powered through the first season in oh, a day and a half, and now we’re forcing ourselves to work through the second season in smaller, spread-out portions. I am in LOVE with Zachary Levi, like, Jon Derek status love. And I am in LOVE with John Casey. And I am in LOVE!! with Awesome. Basically, I’m in love with everything about that show. It is hilarious, amazing, and has renewed my love for Cake. So, unless you think you can get through life without a good dose of this:

…then go watch yourself some Chuck. Mmmmm.

On other television related notes – and there are lots of television related notes, as with school not yet starting, television and pasties are my life – Zach and I are also trying out Deadwood, Weeds, and Mad Men (which I cannot, for the LIFE of me, stop calling Mad Money on accident. SO MUCH FAIL). We’d be getting through a lot more of Mad Men if there wasn’t the prerequisite that I’m-either-working-eating-or-sleeping Sharaz be present, but seeing as Weeds is actually really entertaining I guess that’s alright. Deadwood, I fell asleep during, so we’ll see about that one. And yes, for the record, I am aware of how boring my life sounds right now.

Positive thinking, though: SAM arrives tomorrow! After dallying about in France for a few days, Sam is moving into the house for reals and then finally our house will be full (just like that one show, only without John Stamos and his science-defying mullet-y sexiness). So yay for that. Also positive thinking – I get paid on Saturday and can finally buy groceries. AND! On Saturday, Emily gets here, and on Sunday, Kate and Laura get here! So despite how boring it may sound, life is, at the mo, slightly more than win.

I apologize for the lack of embarrassing foreign adventures or generally interestingness that I like to think my posts usually contain. Hopefully this will hold y’all over until next week when classes start, and I suffer the return of Joad Raymond (and all of the ridiculous Englishness therein). Being in his class again, I’m bound to have some sort of “oh dear god, she is still ludricously American” anecdotes to share. For now, though, I’ll just settle for finishing a post with my (boring) dignity in tact.

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End of an era.

It’s not until you see halls the way they were when you first walked in that you realize just how much you’ve been through. Excuse the extensive overuse of second person in that sentence and try and think about it: when you go somewhere new, you have no idea of knowing what lies ahead. That’s the beauty of it – you can fail miserably (fall 2007, anyone?) or you can thrive (read: the last nine months of my life). It is a blank canvas, and you have no way to tell which way it’s going to go.

Seeing empty halls – and by empty, this transcends the empty of Christmas break or Easter break – is like walking straight back into September 2008. A mere nine months ago, yes, but it’s impossible for me to even begin to explain how much I’ve changed, how much I’ve learned, how many people I’ve come to love, and how much more sure I am about my life and what I want from it. When I walked into these halls nine months ago and saw them as I see them now, I had no way of knowing that though things could easily go well or go poorly, they would go incredibly, incalculably, amazingly well. And that regardless of that fact, when the fantastic people that made this year what it was slowly extricated their presence and possessions, these halls would go back to their simple purple-black-and-white state, ready to welcome the unknown for a fresh batch of students next fall.

Within the flat it’s easy to see that some of us are more emotional than others, and I find it an ironic twist that the biggest emotional tear-jerkers (myself and Laura Wells) will be the last to leave D5 behind. I know that next year will be amazing, but that doesn’t make letting go of this year any easier, and I know that when Laura and I have to lock up the doors to our empty rooms at 9.30 tomorrow morning, that fact is going to hit us hard. You can’t go back. You can’t relive what has already been amazing. Luckily, we have thousands of little reminders of all the great times we had this year, most of which will likely be blue-tacked to our walls in our new rooms next year. It’s part of the process: you have to take what you’ve experienced and build on it. Always make the wall collage grow.

As I write this, laying down in my depressingly sterile room, I’m getting the rare feeling that I’m rambling. I don’t have any good excuse, besides the fact that my brain is nearly liquid from so much procrastination, packing, and bittersweet excitement. I don’t even know what to really write about, except that no matter what happens in the future, I will always, always have this year to remember…and to be completely honest, that makes everything all right.

It’s the end of an era – bittersweet, if nothing else – and there’s nothing to do but to embrace it. I’m off to California for the next two months, leaving my friendships with these amazing Brits in the hands of Skype and Facebook to be nourished by the awesome time-zone-transcending wonder that is the internet. Round 1 of the transatlantic adventure has finally come to a close. It was, if you haven’t gathered, absolutely fantastic, and I extend endless thanks to any and all that have spent their time reading here. And because it wouldn’t be me without a bit of “I’m awesome!” self-promotion, I’ll encourage you to come back…because, well, while I can’t promise exactly when the next installment of Transatlantic Kathy will show up, I can promise one thing: it’s going to be fucking awesome.

Love you all, guys – and West Coasters…..ONE DAY.

Kathy xxx

Life in High-Speed and Technicolor

If the rest of my life goes by at the same rate as the past two months, I’m pretty sure I’ll be eighty by next week.

Today is March 1st. That is RIDICULOUS! How, how, how can it possibly already be March? My mind is officially blown.

In other news, I turned twenty last week. Something about twenty sounds so much cooler than nineteen, so needless to say, I’m pretty happy. The flat got together and did the cake-and-balloons deal (=]) and we had cheeseburgers and malts. Malts! WIN! I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about making malts, beyond that they’re basically milkshakes with malt, so all things considered they turned out pretty well. Basically, I’m in love with Iceland, and I’m pretty sure that every college town in America needs one.

Iceland is magical. It doesn’t exactly collect the cream of the crop in terms of society, but damn…the selection of frozen food is BOMB, and it is dirt cheap. And it’s frozen. Which means it lasts…basically forever. I can forget about the chicken kievs (6 for £2.50!!) I have in the freezer till next Wednesday and they will still be just as tasty, as opposed to, oh, the mince that I picked up for spaghetti but forgot about and now it’s moldy and ten kinds of fail.

One of the downsides of Iceland is, go figure, their lack of fresh produce. They do have a fresh produce section, but I don’t know if I’d call it kosher. As in, I went looking for some tangerines the other day and couldn’t find any. Found myself a £1 bag of ten “Easy Citrus Peelers” though, which look (and sort of…?) taste like tangerines. Case in point.

On a fantastic food note, though, we have the discovery of MALT LOAF, many thanks to my flatmate Matt. I promise you, you have not LIVED until you’ve had malt loaf slathered in butter. It ranks right up there with Lyle’s Golden Syrup in terms of epic English foods that must come back to the states with me. And in terms of American foods to bring back here come August? How about some Bisquick and some Lucky Charms. Holy shit, what I would do for a bowl of Lucky Charms right now.

This is malt loaf. ITS FUCKING AWESOME.

This is malt loaf. IT'S FUCKING AWESOME.

Lyles Golden Syrup is liquid win and is best consumed on its own with a spoon.

Lyle's Golden Syrup is liquid win and is best consumed on its own with a spoon.

And since I can’t seem to stop talking about food, I’ll go ahead and lay out for you all my current Lenten diet. I’ve given up cookies, cakes, candy, chocolate, and fried food. On second thought, I probably should have given up butter or cider…but last time around (and by last time around, I grossly exaggerate and actually refer to about three years ago) the whole cookies, cakes, etc. seemed to work pretty well, so I thought I’d give it another whirl.

This past week was Reading Week, so I haven’t had any class for ages. It’ll be nice having a purpose in life besides pasties come Monday…er, come tomorrow. Turned in some coursework though on Thursday, so I guess I had a slightly academic week.

Must say though…definitely spent more time with my two besties Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus than I did on my paper. Yes, the Rome bug has bitten again – and this time, I blasted through Season 1 and Season 2 in a concise four days. Why, oh why did HBO cut that series? I kid you not, people…Rome is TEN KINDS of epic, and seriously…if you enjoy quality shows, or anything of the ancient world history variety, or especially if you’re awesome like me and love both, you HAVE to watch Rome. HAVE TO.

Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus: quintessential BAMFs.

Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus: quintessential BAMFs.

Finishing up with that and refusing to come back to reality has me itching for another trip through the fifties/sixties epic movies; you know, The Ten Commandments, Spartacus, Ben Hur, yada yada. Nothing entertains quite like Technicolor and the blatant disregard of race when casting movies of the ancient world. JOHN DEREK I LOVE YOU.

John Derek, my 1950s love.

John Derek, my 1950's love.

[Sidenote: I just searched thesaurus.com for a synonym for ignore. On the sidebar of the results page, it had a “Related Searches from Ask.com” list. Number one related search? Why do men ignore women? Just…at this point in time, no words. Irony for the win.]

For once in my life, last Tuesday, I had GOOD phone luck! Reggie is, I swear, the luckiest phone I’ve ever had. I misplaced him a few weeks ago – left him on the desk in the main office of the Arts 2 building – and Tuesday, once again, I nearly saw the last of him. Amidst a bit of drunken revelry in the LCR, I managed to upend my purse and lose nearly the entirety of its contents. This includes, cause I’m awesome, my ID (£20), my phone (£90), my bus pass (£148), my camera (£150), and my keys (£40). Would you like to know the two items that managed to stay in the purse? Two pieces of chocolate liqueur candy. Of ALL of the things to not fall out…the candy. WTF LIFE YOU FAIL.

Anyway, because Laura and her ENV friends are awesome, we somehow managed to locate all five of those essential items. I don’t even know how that’s possible, almost as much as I don’t know how it’s possible for me to LOSE them all…but hey, it’s a good thing, so I won’t question it.

And right now, just cause I can, I’m going to say how much fun it is creating tags for posts. I know they pretty much don’t even matter…but I’m a fan of making endless amounts of them. I swear, every time I write, I end up with like five more tags than my last post…regardless of relevancy. Once again, because I’m awesome.

It never ceases to amaze me how a piece of information can just sit in your brain and then – BAM! – just re-hit you and suddenly seem like a surprise. For instance, when I was making a mocha (pronounced, by the by, “mah-ka” on this side of the Atlantic…which makes me laugh to no end) for a customer yesterday when I realized, out of nowhere, that next year I will be living in a house that I am paying the rent for using money I earn at a job independent (sans tuition) of my parents. And with three guys, no less. When did that happen? When did I turn twenty and gain that kind of responsibility? It really, really, weirds me out. In fact, if it didn’t excite me about twenty millions times more than it weirds me out, I don’t know if I could handle it.

But, well, as things stand I think it’s safe to say that I’ll be just fine.

Reggie, Manfred Mann, and other reasons not to complain.

I have been here for nearly six months and today, for the first time, I attended church at Norwich Cathedral. It was long overdue, I know…but as they say, better late than never.

The service was amazing. It took a little longer to walk there than I thought, so I was about ten minutes late. Thus, when I entered from the small door in the back the choir was in the middle of singing a hymn. I can sit here and try to tell you how amazing it is hearing a monstrously huge pipe organ and the incredibly talented Norwich Choir harmonize in a 900 year old cathedral, or you can just trust me when I say that it gave me goosebumps. I still can’t get over the fact that people regularly attend church in such an awe-inspiring, spectacular place.

Among other religious firsts, I’ll note that this was the first sermon I ever heard where it was preached that part of the listeners’ Christian duty, in terms of achieving world peace, is to help put a stop to climate change. I’ve grown up in a pretty conservative church environment, so needless to say, pro-environmentalism (if you decide to call a simple decision to live sustainably an environmentalist attitude, rather than a simply logical one) was never really a sermon theme. Don’t get me wrong – I loved my church growing up, and it was hardly preached to drive a Hummer and never recycle. In the same vein, though, I highly doubt many members of the LCMS church find themselves voting on the left side of the ballot. It was, simply put, interesting to see church from a visibly more traditional view (900 year old building, traditional liturgy, etc.) while hearing a slightly less traditional sermon.

When I got up for Communion, I was advised by the woman sitting nearest me that I should bring my bag with me to the front of the church, as sadly before people have come in during service and “nicked” the bags of Communion-goers. Seriously. How much of a conscience do you lack if you steal purses from women while they Commune? Things like that in the world make me pray that my faith in karma is not misplaced. Anyway, the reason I mention it is because after service the same lady spoke to me and chatted with me for five or ten minutes, asking me if I was visiting, or if I attend church at home, etc. It was just really nice that in such a huge, intimidating church setting the members are still incredibly personable and, well, nice. I really, really enjoyed myself, and now that I have myself a bus pass, I’ll try and go every Sunday.

Last weekend was spent in utter relaxation, sleeping 10+ hours both Friday and Saturday night, wearing pajamas for most of both Saturday and Sunday, and curling up in bed eating take-out fish and chips and finishing Devil’s Brood (Sharon Kay Penman = HISTORICAL FICTION LOVE).

This weekend has been 48 hours of compensatory productiveness. I woke up and left for town at the unheard of hour of 9:00 AM with a certain Laura Wells and then proceeded to pick up my paycheck, do some much-needed exploration of hole-in-the-wall Norwich shops off of Haymarket, and pick up a week or two’s worth the groceries at Iceland. It was pretty awesome when I arrived back at the flat at 12 and only found one or two people awake. Since it was a particularly gorgeous (albeit FREEZING) day, I brought a blanket out next to the lake and laid down in the sun. Within half an hour enough clouds had showed up to block out the sun, so that was the end of that. Still though…it was absolutely fantastic. Even more so because I made myself a bacon sandwich when I got inside.

One of my amazing finds yesterday, among other things, was a perfect little record shop near Haymarket. It’s just one small room overstuffed with vinyl, with brown-and-honey-colored speakers that remind me of my grandparent’s house hooked up amidst framed album covers and blasting Manfred Mann. I picked myself up a vinyl Cat Stevens album, partly because it was Cat Stevens and vinyl, and partly because it came with an original poster of shirtless, lei-bearing Cat Stevens playing acoustic at some unnamed blue-walled venue. It’s on my wall being epic as I type…I am in love.

Sadly, I have no academic misadventures to report or to amuse you with. That’s doubly disappointing since I seem to fail at constancy these days…you’d think I would have embarrassed myself tenfold since I last wrote.

I can, though, report that I nearly have my housing situation worked out for next year. That, combined with my realization that in terms of rent and bills I will be financially independent next year, AND with the fact that on the twenty-third I turn 20, makes me feel very, very strange. And adult. You’d think that the whole living in a foreign country bit would go a little farther in acquainting me with feeling strange…but alas, the feeling is just as bizarre now as it was a year ago.

Wish me luck though, guys. No matter how the current numerous roommates situation works out, I’ll be living with three boys. Having no brotherly experience, I’m sure this will be quite an adventure…though, if nothing else, the material I’ll get over the next two years will be boundless, and unavoidably amusing.

Speaking of the other gender, I have a new man in my life, and his name is Reggie. He’s not actually a man in any way, shape, or form. He’s my anthropomorphized phone, and he fucking OWNS. I can now skype anyone at any time via Reggie, and in what is bound to cause my death, I have unlimited access to Facebook as well. Because skype is awesome, I was finally able to get one of my epic friends from my old church on the phone the other night to play six months of conversational catch-up. Communication can at times be a bitch, but skype goes quite far in terms of making it simple. I’ll be doubly making use of that now, as Prue, one of my best friends here that hails from Australia, has left England and after six months of being abroad, returned to her half of the globe. FAIL.

None of you can see (that is, none of you that are reading this and are not one of the ten people I live with), but MY ROOM IS CLEAN. This is absolutely unheard of, as I usually live in a state of general explosion, where the only clean surface is my sink…and that’s only on Wednesdays, when I have to move everything off of it so that Paula, the cleaner, can wash it off.

That, plus the fact that my new tongue-piercing has officially healed and I have the new, much shorter bar in, makes life quite nice at the moment. I can say, temporarily, that I have no complaints!

Let’s try and keep this going, shall we?

[belated] Round 2

Today  marks two weeks from my fully-functioning arrival, and to be honest, I thought I’d at least have written once or twice by now. Goodness knows plenty has happened!

I am fully embroiled in the land of English Lit classes, for one. It’s nearly ridiculous how much reading I have to do all the time; though, since I’m only actually in class for what, seven hours a week, I guess that’s to be expected. I’ve also returned to work at the mall, even had a work dinner last night at a semi-gimmicky place called Fatso’s that served EPIC burgers of deliciousness! With CURLY FRIES, WIN!

On a far less exciting note, I think I’ve left my cell phone* on the bus on my way to work this week. Optimistic me, however, notes that this would be an excellent time to move my patronage from a pay-as-you-go O2 phone to a SKYPE PHONE! Basically, it will be amazing. I’ll be able to use skype for free via my phone…so, I’ll be able to call the states for, at most, 2¢ a minute. And well, since I accidentally spent £8 on a call to a certain Jaime, that skype rate sounds pretty fucking awesome. Silver lining for the win!

D5 now lacks a certain Maggie McBride, which is too sad to really write about. I miss her in epic, illogical proportions. But again with the silver lining: the new flatmates, who don’t really even feel new anymore, are amazing. Basically D5 has the best people luck on the planet.

Lots of those English people, for the record, have developed a certain affinity for the phrase “to be honest” / “to be fair”. Maybe I just didn’t notice it last term…but I swear, I must hear somebody say one of those two phrases AT LEAST three times a day. So there you have it, yet another linguistic discovery from a foreigner.

And completely unrelated, another incident of me being ridiculous:

The other evening I had the pleasure of lacking any semblance of balance and falling headfirst into a thorn bush. I survived just fine, though I look like I got attacked by my cat Angus up my entire left side. The next morning, I’d invited my friend Eleanor back to my flat after class for some tea, and I decided to regal her with my tale of failure. It was pretty theatrical and I was really enjoying myself when suddenly Eleanor’s eyes got huge and she just busted up laughing out of nowhere. Amidst the ridiculous laughing, I catch three incredulous words: “That was YOU??”

Apparently, Eleanor’s flat has quite a nice view of the thorn bush into which I fell. And well, as fate would have it, Eleanor and her entire flat was sitting in the kitchen of her flat chatting away when I had my little shenanigan. And, wouldn’t you know it, they watched me flounder in the thorn bush until I found my way out, and had a great laugh about it. What can I say, apparently I live to entertain!

Oh, and one more note before I ditch Konsuke for some breakfast. I am in love with one of my lit professors. He’s basically a poor man’s David Bowie, and listening to him lecture is the highlight of my week. Seriously. If it didn’t sound so creepy, I’d snap a picture all spy-status to prove my point.

Alas, while I may be many things…I’m not THAT insane.

*Resisted the urge to say mobile.

21 hours of sleep.

The first time I flew over here back in September,  I took a 3:25 flight out of SFO on a Friday afternoon. When I arrived in Norwich at 5:00 the next evening I was a little disoriented, but I don’t remember any sort of undue jetlag.

What I certainly don’t remember is spending the next 21 hours asleep, which is what happened after I arrived yesterday afternoon. I didn’t even know that you could sleep 21 hours straight. Maybe you’d get through about 10 hours, wake up, and consciously decide to waste more time sleeping, but seriously…I went to “take a nap” last night at 5:00 and I didn’t wake up till 2:15 this afternoon. That’s 21 hours of solid sleep.

Anyway. I’ve had my share of sleep for the day, and I’ve officially decided that all that sleep was a combination of jetlag and my undue amount of left-over stress from break. The loan check, which I did a fantastic job of forgetting to bring to the states with me when I left December 15th, arrived at my house today, go figure, the morning after I leave (thank you, Laura favorite-person Wells for sending it my way in the first place! =]). So that’s that much I don’t have to worry about, and I have another day of peace till classes (and work, most likely) kick in on Monday.

That day of peace includes much catching up with all of the great people I’ve spent the last month missing – all of my flatmates, who have by now mostly trickled back into halls. All we’re missing at the moment are Zach and Sharaz – that’s not counting Maggie and Prue, the former of which, as a study abroad-er, will not be returning this term (FAIL), and the latter of which will arrive WEDNESDAY!!! for her wondrous class-less stay in D5. Dinner sign-ups are already posted on the fridge, we’ve already met the two awesome new flatmates, and as far as I know, we already have plans to go out this evening. So pretty much, round two has begun!

Oh, and because apparently no round two would be complete without one, I’ve managed to bring my flute back over with me [?!]. Yeah, you’re probably wondering how big (and over-stuffed) my suitcase must have been for my flute to be in it without me even knowing…but somehow, my suitcase is big enough, and it happened. This would be even more funny if I hadn’t spent an hour with my sister Kelly trying to unpack my 70 lb suitcase down to a fine-less 50 lbs yesterday morning (or would that be Thursday morning…?), and in the process of “Well, I guess I don’t need this shirt…” left 20 lbs of fluteless, awesome clothing on the floor of my room in California.

So yeah. That’s two equal portions of funny and fail. I guess, as my mom said, now I have my flute around, “should the mood ever take me”.

And for all of you who just went American Pie on me, I think she meant something along the lines of joining the orchestra.

Random! On the plane flight over, I had the glorious advantage of a personal TV on which to watch any of fifty or so provided movies.  About six hours into the flight, I happened on Vicky Cristina Barcelona – a Woody Allen film that, much to my surprise, I actually enjoyed! I saw Match Point with Sammi a few summers ago and after that one wasn’t much of a Woody Allen fan. VCB was much more fun, and made me want to go to Spain. Which, now that I’m in the UK again, is that much closer to a possibility!

Oh my gosh, being here…it is so amazing to FINALLY not be stressed about anything!

And on that thought, it’s time to revel.

Deja vou?

So I’m not exactly back in England yet, I know.

And it hasn’t really been a month since I left, I know.

But…I go back to school, to England, to the most incredible floor, in three days. Can you blame me for being a little premature in my excitement? The answer to that question, by the way, is no. There’s no way I can be excited too early, or excited too much, or any such concept of excitement in excess.

Do you know why? Because in three days, Round 2 starts, and I’m ready to blog about it right this instant, like the ridiculous person I am. Hopefully at least one of you enjoys the reading.

=]


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photo cred to myself and Maggie J. Moxie
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