Glasgow, sleepovers, & chaos at the airports

It feels like the whole world is freaking out a bit. The airports of the world, at least. The parents and brother left SD yesterday to fly to Edinburgh, but they're not due to land here for another two and a half hours. They had a layover in Arizona, in Philly, and if all went well, in Manchester right now.

I'm in my room. Pretending there aren't a bunch of things I ought to get done before they show up. (post office, clean room, do dishes, Christmas cards, caffeinate myself...)

I spent the night at Berlin's flat last night after spending the day in Glasgow with her and London. It was somuchfun. :) Even though (especially because?) we totally failed at the touristy bits. We wandered around the city centre for a while and ended up going into a mall (which, clearly, are exactly the same the world over. It reminded me a bit of North County Fair, to be honest, though it wasn't nearly so big.) We listened to some carolers then stopped at a cafe for some sandwiches that were not tasty at all. We wandered around a bit--couldn't find the exit, and couldn't go out the way we came in--then I steered us over to a particular shop I've had in mind for a few weeks to buy the Brother a Christmas present.

We didn't really have a plan in mind. London got directions to the cathedral, but he didn't understand them and was too embarrassed to go back and ask again (fair enough). We got everything clarified, but on the way we ran smack into the Glaswegian Christmas market, so we stopped for mulled wine and a ride on the giant swing... ride-thing. I spilled mulled wine down my sleeve. London spent the entirety of the ride shouting, "This is so much better with mulled wine!"

(London and Berlin outside the Glasgow Museum of Modern Art after we left the Christmas market--I'd forgotten to charge my camera, so this is one of the only pictures I've got of the day.)

We took a ride on the subway to a neighborhood that Berlin's flatmate had recommended to her, and the recommended bits turned out to be a dinky little street with pubs and American-style diners. So odd. It was pretty, though.)

I had haggis for dinner. Venison haggis and the tastiest mashed potatoes ever, to be exact. Not gonna lie--I was a little freaked out to be eating (and, I'll admit, enjoying) a deer, but I dealt with it. There was a lot of garlic. And it was tasty.

But venison haggis. Jesus christ.

We hung out at the restaurant's bar for a couple hours after dinner. Odd conversation topics, but we're kind of odd in general, so it fits. By the time we went, "Oh, it's getting kind of late. Maybe we should head back to the train station?" the subway had closed. We walked right by the entrance, then almost passed it again before we realized what had happened. Oops.

So we took a cab to the station, caught our train, and headed back to Edinburgh. We got off a stop earlier than I'd gotten on and went to Berlin's flat for a movie night. We curled up on her couch beneath one of the greatest blankets in the world with ginger cookies and pink-colored wine to watch The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo--I distinctly remember saying, "We could be watching Star Trek!" at one of the more disturbing parts. That movie is one big shudder.

I still almost fell asleep a few times. The only reason I didn't was because London and Berlin kept leaning over to see if I'd passed out yet. Yet! Pffft. So little faith.

But by the end of the movie, London and I were exhausted. Berlin, for some reason, was wide awake, but she was nice enough to let us crash at her flat for the night. Her flatmate was out and wouldn't be coming back for another day or so, so I got his bed and London got the big comfy couch.

I'm a little fuzzy on when I got up to say goodbye to London in the morning (he took a train home for the holidays this afternoon), but he definitely walked into room, took one look at me (asleep), and didn't recognize me. He went to get Berlin, completely convinced that her flatmate's girlfriend had come over during the night, sometime between five and nine-thirty in the morning, and kicked me out.

She didn't believe him, of course. I woke to them standing next to the head of the bed, whispering, "Look! That's not her!" and "Yes, it is! Of course it is! Look at her!"

I turned over and made a face at them. London laughed. "Oh, hello, there. It is you."

Warmth and color

The ice is melting. It's still colder than back home, of course, but for now there'll be no more slipping down flights of stairs or hilly streets, thank goodness. Exams are about half over--I'll be done next Wednesday, and then I'll have four days until my parents and brother show up. I skyped with my dad and The Brother last night. Every now and then I forget how hysterical their sense of humor is. Dad thinks The Brother and I bicker, but it's not bickering, it's banter. Ridiculous, teenage banter. (I might not be a teenager any more, but all The Brother has to do is open his mouth to bring me down to his level. So much for maturity.)

My colorful quote wall is spreading steadily, blossoming over the dirty beige paint. It makes me gleeful as anything. I'm so glad I didn't spend money on half a dozen posters, even though it probably would have made the room look more ordered and maybe more sophisticated. This, though, makes the room mine. It's my handwriting, my choice of quotes, my doodles between the words. And as for color--never underestimate a box full of Crayola markers. :)

I dun wanna grow up, I'm a toys 'r' us kid...

Everything has frozen solid now--it's gone from snowing at least once a day to enormous swathes of ice everywhere. Guthrie Street, where I live, is one giant hill. There's a flight of stairs (with many, many steps) for anyone who'd like to avoid the long way, but let's face it: it was a serious act of willpower to make it up the steps when they weren't icy enough to literally slide down.

(The last time I did make an attempt to get down them, I ended up clutching at the handrail for dear life as I slid down four or five steps. The ice had almost complete covered the steps, but I'd thought there was still enough snow to get a grip. So not the case. I ended up sitting on the handrail and sliding down the way mothers always tell their children to never, ever do because they might fall off backward and break their crown. It was maaaybe more fun than it should've been.)

Last Sunday, before everything had finished freezing, I went out with a friend (codename Freiburg) to the Meadows (which I'm sure I've mentioned before. It's basically a huge and open grassy space with paths and trees and prettiness galore. Except now it's all coated with snow) to have a snowball fight with her and London. London slept in and missed half the fun stuff, but she and I tried and failed to build a snowman (the snow wouldn't stick together), tried and sort of succeeded at throwing a few snowballs at each other--except she does this thing where she throws one and then runs away. She just turns tails and sprints off, and no way am I going to chase her across the Meadows.

We also found a park with relatively undisturbed snow, so we turned into kids for a while and went swinging and sang Christmas carols. I did a stupid thing and was rewarded with falling on my ass. It hurt. A lot, and I was sore the next morning. And when we got tired of the swings, we made snow angels.

I've made a snow angel once before, but really all I remember of it is how unhappy and cold and covered in melting snow I was afterward. But the snow was so deep and totally undisturbed that I really couldn't help myself. I spread my arms and flopped backward, trusting that the snow was deep enough that I wouldn't break my tailbone.

It was. :)

We found a chair made of snow that had frozen into ice. That was pretty cool. Wwatched squirrels for a while--I got kinda bored, but it was restful, I guess, and they're quite rare in Freiburg's corner of Germany, so she was completely enthralled. And then London finally showed up, and we went to a different, bigger playground and turned into kids again. We played on the swings, and the playgyms, and there was a ziplineanditwasawesome!

Fantastic, amazing, stupendous day. Absolutely wonderful. We went to a delicatessen when it got dark and the food was pricey but good. I ended up going back later this week to get my secret santa (for my flat) a gift. :)

Not gonna lie, I'm really, really loving these fits of immaturity. They make the frigid cold and the sun going down at 3:30-4 PM bearable.

Snow!

It started snowing a week ago. The day after Thanksgiving. It really couldn't have been more perfect--isn't that we (those of us who don't get snow) hear? Thanksgiving, then the Christmas season. Christmas equals snow.

A friend told me it was snowing, but when I looked out my window I didn't see any. Still, I ran out of the flat (then ran back in for my coat, then ran back out again) and actually saw one or two odd little white spots kind of drifting toward the ground. Just one or two, just enough for me to kind of scrunch my face up and go, "Is that a snowflake? Is that what that's supposed to look like?"

I'd never seen snow fall before. At least, I don't remember ever having seen it fall. My parents once took my brother up to Big Bear for a weekend when we were younger, and I went skiing my freshman year, but beyond that I don't remember ever having seen it.

But now it's snowed at least once a day for a week. Frigging amazing. It's everywhere. The airport here was shut down for several days and the whole country is basically freaking out.

This is a view from my bedroom window, taken a few days ago. It was snowing hard enough that all the flakes were visible!

Three days ago I had to go to the archery club's Christmas dinner at a nearby pub--it was a whole big to do, with the back room rented out and everybody getting dressed. I'd had a few reservations, like I would with anything I ought to wear a dress to, but it was so, so fun. There wasn't a whole lot of food, but dinner was tasty, the company was great, and I went with friends to two different clubs afterward. The second one is kind of our regular spot, I guess, and it's quite a dive. Terrible music that never changes, you know? But that night there were different DJs, so there was good music!

And then afterward, when the club closed and they kicked everybody out--at three in the morning, mind you--we had a snowball fight on the way home. IT WAS SO MUCH FUN I NEED A BIGGER WORD FOR "FUN." Hysterically fun. I like to think I kicked some ass, even while wearing a dress. :)

Phoey.

I have almost given up on trying to catch up with this. Life moves too fast. It's like in the movies, when someone's sort of running, sort of being dragged behind a car/train/plane/carriage/horse and they can't get off. =P

And I've got a cold. That definitely doesn't help.

So here are these last two photos of Berlin, and then I'm moving on. Last weekend I went to the Isle of Arran with my flatmate Melbourne and two of her friends from her home uni. Tomorrow I'm going to Glasgow--I'll meet my other flatmate Red, who's been kind of egging me to let her take me around there, and then I'll go to dinner and the theater with a bunch of people from my study abroad program. Pictures of both Arran and Glasgow will be going up this week.

(^This was to convey my excitement at having found a tourist attraction in Berlin. I think it does pretty well. =P)

Unfortunately I forgot to take pictures of my Thanksgiving dinner, because that was pretty freaking sweet. South Dakota and Germany, who're flatmates, invited me over and spent what sounds like was the whole day cooking. They made duck! And I ate it! It was pretty tasty, as long as I didn't think about what it used to be.

Oh, yes: and London came over, too. He complained that I'd only mentioned him on here once, and then tried to deny that he'd made fart jokes when we went to see Holyrood Palace.

And now he's on here twice. Hah.

Except for these weekend jaunts, life has been pretty tame. Most of it is just schoolwork--catching up and trying to get just a bit ahead, because let's be honest here, I'm not going to go to Paris or Berlin or Arran and then try to write an essay. Nothing gets done when I run off like that. ;) So the day after I got back from Berlin I had a 2,500 word essay due the next day, and I got it in on time! (No sleep, but it was complete. More or less.) And next Friday I have another essay due, this time on the Persian Wars. It's going to be way, way easier to write because I actually think the Persian Wars are kind of exciting. They're interesting, anyway.

Oh! And that one essay I sprinted across campus in my pajamas to turn in--I got it back today. Awesome, awesome marks, and nothing taken off for tardiness. Ohhhh, yeeaaahhh. :)

Berlin Part IV

Took this as we wandered around between train stops. The dome is a museum. There are a million different rivers and lakes and general bodies of water in Berlin. Coming from SD, I still find water fascinating. I kind of wish we'd gone on some kind of river tour. Not that we would have been able to find one, but still. :)

Brandenburgh Gate (Berlin Part III)

Brandenburgh Gate at night, November 13, 2010

(Yes, we did find it. After I went to the top of the Reichstag and went, "Oh, there it is!" For those of you who don't know what the Brandenburg Gate is, does Checkpoint Charlie ring a bell?)

Berlin Part II

"Just so you know, we are never walking anywhere ever again."

The frustration behind the freakin’ S-Bahn in Berlin was a bit incredible. My friend (codename: Star Command, as per her request) generally knew where we were… we just couldn’t figure out how to get to anywhere we wanted to be.

The first night was, hands down, the worst. She flew in that morning, I didn’t get in until about dinnertime, and then we went to Alexanderplatz to wander around and find something to eat. We hung out, we ate, we told stories about our time abroad so far, and then we got on a train to go back.

The train passed our stop without stopping. We didn’t notice for a while. Finally, we looked out the window and realized there weren’t any buildings around, only some kind of a freeway. And it felt a bit like the middle of nowhere (later, after getting back to Edinburgh, I found out it wasn’t quite the middle of nowhere, but it was the faaaaaarrrrr end of Berlin.)

So we jumped off at Wannsee, spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get to Charlottenburg (our stop for the hostel) and double-checking so we didn’t end up messing up again. The closest we could get (without waiting for two hours, since it was well after midnight by this point) was two stops too far to the stop for the Zoo (which, coincidentally, is the same stop we’re at in the above video. =P). So we were like, “Yeah, we can just walk from there. It’ll be faster than waiting until two in the morning for the perfect train.”

So we hung out for an hour and basically spent the whole time leaping up from our seats on a bench whenever we heard a train approaching, juuuust in case it was the one we wanted to take. Then we got on the (correct) train, got off at the (correct) stop, and walked.

For an hour and twenty minutes.

I won’t say it wasn’t fun, and that there wasn’t plenty of hysterical laughter and jokes about blog entries (“And then we walked, and walked, and walked, and walked, and then we went the wrong direction and walked some more!”), but it was exhausting and by the end we were both definitely wishing we had waited for the proper train.

Edinburgh Castle

Yes, that's South Dakota (have I codenamed her yet?) laughing at me in the background. And yes, I already knew I'm pretty ridiculous.

This is actually from a little over a week ago. I've fallen behind, but that's mostly because things have been so incredibly hectic. I went to Berlin last weekend to meet a friend from my home uni and hang out, so there are a few videos and pictures and stories from that, and they'll be going up within the next few days.

Rainy Parisian Saturday

It rained all Saturday in Paris. Escondido and I were soaked by the time we headed back to his res hall. We wandered not all over the city, but pretty close to it. (It felt like it, anyway. We hit up most of the touristy bits.) He's super tall and takes these giant strides that I just couldn't keep up with. I felt a bit like a child, jogging after him every few steps to catch up.

And Parisian food. God, there was so much food, and it was so good. Palmiers, chocolate eclairs, pain au sucre, crepes, paninis. We ate enough food that by about three in the afternoon my stomach went, "Ohhhh, gawd, you've done it again..."

And I accidentally dripped the contents of my cinnamon-sugar crepe all over my pants as we hung out and ate on the banks of the Seine. Mmmm, sugar-pants.

Jetsetting tomorrow!

I really need to stop looking at the weather forecast for San Diego. Really, really need to stop that, because all it does is obliterate my curiosity and leave me depressed. (Ninety-seven/thirty-six degrees back home!! It's fifty-two/eleven out here in Edinburgh.)

I did buy a new coat today, though. It's cute. And I think it'll work quite well as the temp continues to drop.

Tomorrow I'm getting up at the crack of dawn (before?) and flying out to meet an old friend (whom I'll codename Escondido) in Paris. I'll be there for about half of Friday, all of Saturday, and will be heading back Sunday morning.

(SO EXCITED. I didn't even have a fantastic time last time I was in Paris, but it's going to be so much fun hanging out with Escondido this weekend. It's always an absolute blast hanging out with him.)

Ode to Insanity

(Inter)National Novel Writing Month started yesterday. (Nanowrimo for short.) During the month of November, from midnight on the first to 11:59:59 on the thirtieth, thousands and thousands of people all across the world live off coffee and craziness in order to jam out a 50,000 word novella. This'll be the first year in four that I won't be participating, and yes, it makes me sad. Last year I wrote a story about a girl who dropped out of university and moved up to Morrow Bay. She met a pair of siblings that turned out to be immortal twins who'd originally been born in the ancient Roman Republic. The brother was a surfer and the sister was just... cool.

I want to participate this year, but I just won't have time. Sunshinebucket is visiting until tomorrow evening, and then on Friday morning I'm flying out to spend the weekend in Paris with an old friend. The weekend after that I'm meeting a different friend in Berlin, and in the midst of all that I still have to figure out how to keep up with classes.

(Classes are exhausting. I'm signing up for reading and creative writing classes next semester, and bully for anyone who can enjoy classes that aren't a part of their major. I miss my school-sanctioned writing time.)

Playing the tourist

The storytelling festival was wondeful. There were three women and one man who told stories—they just got up on stage and told the audience a story, simple and fantastic as that—and the women told stories from Indian myth and folklore, and the man told a Celtic myth. (His story was absolutely tragic. And he had a wonderful harpist accompanying his performance. It just about broke my heart.)

Then later than night Sunshinebucket was due in to the Edinburgh airport from Bordeaux, where she’s spending the semester. I’d given her the info for the shuttle that got me to my dorm at the beginning of the year and promised to meet her in the courtyard where they’d drop her off. I grabbed a book and went down there about twenty minutes before I estimated she would show up, just to be sure I wouldn’t miss her.

And then I stayed out there until almost 1:30 in the morning. Reading and waiting for her. And she didn’t show.

So I went back up to my room and checked the Ryan Air website for her flight details. Nothing. Her flight didn’t even show up when I put the number in. And the shuttle that was supposed to pick her up at their airport didn’t pick up when I called.

I wanted to go out and look for her, but what could I have done? Wander around the city center in the hopes of randomly running into her?

So at 2:30, I got up and began to get ready for bed, trying to throttle my panic and worry. And then my phone began to buzz. I dove for it, and it was her. :) Her flight was late, she’d had to take the city bus and borrow a phone. She was two minutes away, and I literally ran out the door to meet her.

That’s really been the only trouble we’ve had since Friday, though. We’ve been playing the tourist since then, taking pictures and visiting as many tourist-y places we can. We’ve done so much walking that we’re both exhausted. =P

Pictures to come!

Outburst of RELIEF

(Disguised as HAPPY)

I bought a pirate costume (and a pistol and cutlass!) and painted my nails black (with rainbow sparkles). I've decided not to think about Latin at all this weekend. It's Halloween weekend and there will be no more Latin until Monday. :)

(My flatmates kept remarking about how happy I was. So funny. But probably true.)

I like my new costume. It's cooler than my pirate costume back home. And I definitely wouldn't be allowed to wander around I.V. (Isla Vista, the neighborhood next to UC Santa Barbara) with a fake gun and sword. (The foot patrol there is suuuuper strict over Halloween weekend. Apparently as of yesterday no loud music is allowed in I.V. until November 4th. Craziness.

Tomorrow Sunshinebucket comes to visit! (I am going to clean my room. And vacuum. I promise it'll happen.)

I bought a mattress topper, finally. And another pillowcase and an extra sheet, partially because Sunshinebucket's coming to visit and partially because it'll just be nice to have backup sheets. (For taking them to hostels and such.) And after my lectures (yes, I figured out how to get online during my lectures, finally. =P Ce n'est pas bien.)

Melbourne and I are planning on going to a storytelling festival tonight. It's been going on all week, but of course we couldn't go--me with my Latin cramming and her with an essay due this morning. Should be fun!

Just forward my mail...

'cause I've gone to crazytown, and I'll probably be there for a while. Caffeine, no sleep, stressssss. Oh, goodness, the stress.

The weirdest part about all this Latin, I think, is that I'm just not used to not being already knowing most of what's going to be on the upcoming test. The closest thing I can compare this to is when I actually had to study for my Pompeii final, but--I mean, let's face it, that was not a hard class. There wasn't even a research paper or anything. And I haven't had a test for a class that counted toward my major since... ever?

Dragged myself to a review session this morning. Was absolutely floored to discover there are kids who know even less than I do at this point. (Although, to be fair, everything I do know I've taught myself in the past week and a half.)

Is it possible--no, not going to say it. Not until the midterm is handed in and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it any longer. There is no way I'm going to risk jinxing myself on this. =P

And afterward, I promise to stop blogging about Latin. I'm even beginning to bore myself.

Oh--well, here's a funny story. I was going up the stairs this evening--(OH NO I forgot I left my laundry in the washer!!)--and tripped. In front of an audience. It was one of most embarrassing things I've done so far this week.

Aaaand on another, completely unrelated note: IT'S ALMOST SIXTY DEGREES OUTSIDE. At night. It's taking all my willpower not to run outside and frolic. In, like, shorts or something equally ridiculous. (Especially since I just pulled all my pants out of the wash and everything's still wet.)

No comprendo. As per usual.

I stayed up too late, got up too early. Again. Forgot I had a discussion section instead of a tutorial and walked into the wrong classroom. Again.

Had a chocolate muffin for breakfast on the way to class. Again. :)

There is snow in the middle of Bristo Square. An enormous pile of it. I think it’s man made, because there’s no way it snowed last night. It’s, like, a whopping forty-six degrees out here today. (Eight degrees, for you poor confused Celsius people.)

But it confused me. Both times I saw it.

My head is going to flat-out explode if it actually snows this winter. Ka-bam, Smack brains all over the walls.

More procrastination.

(At least everyone's panicking about the Latin midterm?)

I'm not on vacation, I'm not on vacation, I'm not on vacation. (Maybe one of these days I'll start believing it... Probably the day I realize I'll have to repeat beginning Latin.) I did study some today, but I also went with a couple archery friends to do the whole tourist thing and wander through Holyrood Palace, which is where the queen stays when she's in Edinburgh. (Mary, Queen of Scots also lived there.)

I'll admit I didn't find the inside of the palace particularly impressive. There were some cool bits--a chair that had all of Robert Burns' "Tam O'Shanter" engraved onto it, a room where Mary, Queen of Scots' husband killed her Italian friend (by stabbing the poor guy fifty-six times), including the exact spot where the body was abandoned, and... um, what else? A frighteningly dinky little staircase. Some odd Hercules paintings in the king's bedroom.

We'd had enough fun hanging out on the walk out to the palace that once we were supposed to quiet down and listen to those ridiculous little pre-recorded tours (which were told by very boring voices, I might add) it was just... you know. A little difficult to settle.

Okay, we were like a bunch of high school freshmen trying to remember how to behave like adults. Having way too much fun to be quiet and learn something, to even really care about learning something, and just wanting to be entertained.

And it probably didn't help that one of us (codename: London, because that's where he did his undergrad) kept making obscene jokes. Fart jokes about the throne, for pete's sake.

The outside grounds, though--god, it was beautiful. The leaves have begun to change color, the grass is blindingly green (and perfect in all respects, since no one's allowed to walk on it) and there are so many different kinds of trees here!

Crooked view of the castle! :)

Aaannnd...

Ruins of the abbey that's attached to the palace. After a lengthy, roundabout and basically useless discussion, we're still not sure why the abbey was left to crumble while the rest of the palace has been so painstakingly kept up.

(You can also see a bit of Arthur's Seat in the background behind the abbey. It's the mountain-looking peak. Haven't been up there yet, but it's supposed to be a fantastic view.)

I love, love love this city. Not gonna lie, there's bit a bit of uneasiness/off-kilter-ness setting in, which might just be a bit of culture shock, but I am happy here. There are still some things that make my head spin a bit, there're things that still feel foreign, and I've definitely been (mostly unsuccessfully) fighting off vacation mode since I arrived, but Edinburgh is the "different" kind of life I've been looking for since I realized how weird southern California can be sometimes. I do miss home, but I'm not homesick. (Except for the sun and beach.)

This Friday a friend from Santa Barbara (Sunshinebucket) is flying in from Bordeaux, where she's studying for the semester. She'll be here until next Wednesday. I'm excited--Scotland is on her bucket list, so we're going to cram a whoooole lotta fun into a little less than a week. It can totally be done. :)

The esteemed David Hume

Oh, how we all adore him. Although, to be honest, I think I like him better with a traffic cone on his head.

Ohhh, dearie me...

Soooo... that Greek World essay that was due at four or five pm today? Yeah, it was due at noon. I didn't even realize that until about two-thirty.

(Cue massive heart attack. And a monumentally impressive sprint in my pajamas. Seriously, I'd just slipped on the closest pair of shoes--not sandals, thankfully--and I was slipping all over the place. Sort of ran into a guy at one point.)

But the course secretary didn't even blink as I handed it to her, so I figure either a) it doesn't matter, b) she doesn't care and they'll just take off ten points, or c) there was another essay for a different class due today and my essay will get put in that pile.

First option would be best. Obviously. But I'd happily take the third one, too, because then I can just argue that they made a mistake. =P

Haven't started studying for Latin yet today. (I'm going to fail that midterm next Thursday.)

Food first. I'm starving. And my heart is still going 9349875378920 mph.

(It feels like life got awfully complicated awfully fast.)

Whoa, man. Caffeine.

The world is full of details! Color! Excitement! Andeveryoneismovingtooslowly!

lol. I wish. I'm not that caffeinated, but I'm getting there. I try not to rely on it too much, but this week (and possibly next week?) I need it. I'm not going to make it through life without a pretty little stimulant.

I have a Latin midterm next week. During class yesterday the lecturer (they're not called profs over here) made it very clear that even if we started right then, it is impossible to teach yourself everything we've covered in the last five weeks. Insert silent panic attack here, because I'm so confused and so far behind that's exactly what I was planning on doing this week.

And you know how I got a hold of myself? It was a spiteful little bit of work, even though I (obviously) didn't say anything out loud. But I had a moment of, "Fine. Challenge accepted. I'll prove you so wrong you'll be too embarrassed to say something like that to your students next year."

So I've worked it out that I need to cover two chapters a day. (And by cover, I mean memorize the contents of.) Lots of memory work, but hopefully I'll be able to handle it.

Hopefully.

Other than my panic attack and general sleep deprivation, this has been a pretty fantastic week. Yesterday I received another congratulatory email from the Writer's Digest competition--which was thrilling enough in and of itself, but they awarded the only good haiku I've ever written FIFTH PLACE. Fifth place! I'm in the top ten of the non-rhyming poetry category!! Part of the rewards include fifty dollars (first time I've ever gotten money for my writing--Neil Gaiman was right, this is the COOLEST THING EVER), a copy of the 2011 Writer's Market (which is an immensely useful book if you're looking for places that might publish your work), and fifty bucks worth of Writer's Digest books. How fantastic is that? I feel so spoiled! :)

Handy-dandy wild girls

Today's been interesting. This whole week has been pretty fantastic, actually. All things considered. (The time taken to write this post is actually a major procrastination effort. =P) I received three emails this week from Writer's Digest, letting me know that I one of my short stories, Wings on Her Feet, won 31st place in their 2010 genre short story competition, and two of my poems (Morning Glory and Yesterday in the Sun) won 74th and 76th places in their 2010 non-rhyming poetry contest.

I was eating when the short story announcement came through, but I definitely screamed when I got the other two. Being in the top 100 for a contest of this size is just as immense as the competition. There were so many submissions that Writer's Digest is announcing 1,001 winners. (And as I told someone earlier, if I'd known thousands of people entered these contests every year, I probably wouldn't have.) But this is the kind of thing that will help me get published in other magazine and journals.

So, other than that, what else has happened this week? We had our first (and only) flat party. It got out of hand. I still had fun. :) Aaaand I got to spend today showing off my handygirl skills that I picked up a few summers ago while fixing up a house in Vegas, which was kind of fun. I tend to have a little too much fun with plaster. If I play my cards right, no one will ever be able to tell what happened. Which would be fantastic, because otherwise we're going to be charged an arm and a leg to replace a door.

Mostly, though, it wasn't such a terrible party. Quite a success, in fact, though later on in the evening was a bit more than I could handle. (I went to hide in my room after my friends left.) I had a healthy handful of friends show up, and I'm so, so glad they did. I had to disappear a few times to take care of different things, but it was wonderful to have people I knew to hang out with. And, of course, they kept me from completely losing my mind.

This is most of us (we should have gotten someone we didn't know to take the picture. Oops.):

Chocolate and pierced ears

It's been so cold the past two days. Icy--at least for me. The wind hasn't been bad, thank god, but it feels like the air temp has just plummeted. Yesterday I went to lie in the sun while wearing long pants, two jackets, and a scarf, and still was so cold I was fighting off shivers. I couldn't feel the sunshine at all, which was more upsetting than I'd anticipated.

So I went home and baked brownies. The kitchen smelled wonderful, I got to chow down on some chocolate, and my flatmates loved me. Life was good again.

And last Friday, I went to get my ears pierced (for the first time). With one of the bestest flatmates ever, codename Red. :) She's quite fond of piercings in general, and when I told her I'd been thinking about getting my ears pierced, she practically pounced on me. ("Really? Let's go! Today! Showers, then let's go get piercings! I'll come with!")

I'm quite pleased with the results, actually. There'll probably be at least one more visit to Tribal Tattoos off Nicholson St. before I head home. :)

October Sunshine

I get excited every time I see the water. I don’t know which body of water it is, but each time it’s all I can do to not think about the beach. A proper beach, like Torrey Pines, Del Mar, or La Jolla Shores. Somewhere you can go surfing and then lie on your towel and let the sun dry your swimsuit.

Yes, I’m suffering a bit from the lack of sun. On Thursday I sat in the grass in George Square for five minutes and let the sun do its magic. It was only weak October sunshine, and only for five minutes, but it helped. It woke me up, reminded me that it’s still warm elsewhere, and that the sun does indeed occasionally break through the clouds. I just have to pay attention when it does.

It’s been cloudy and overcast since then. But there’s no rain forecasted tomorrow. Maybe the sun will come out? Then again, maybe I’ll appreciate it if it doesn’t—I’m playing football (soccer) again tomorrow afternoon, and I’m so out of shape I’ll probably end up sweaty and overheated despite the air’s coolness.

Stolen printer paper

I bought markers and snatched some printer paper from the library. I’m going to decorate my room!

My freshman year, I started stealing a bunch of movie posters that showed up around campus and putting them up on the walls. And I had stuff from home as well as postcards and letters from friends from high school. But I started writing quotes I liked onto post-its and sticking on the bottom of my lofted bed so that I could look up and see them while studying. Hardly anyone but me sat at my desk, and when someone did they never looked up or spotted the post-its. It was like my own little secret in plain sight.

This year, though, they’re going to be in COLOR. And on real paper. :) Mega-paper, even, since the printer paper here is absolutely enormous. It looks like it’s about thirteen or fourteen inches tall.

GIANT COLORFUL QUOTES ALL OVER MY WALLS.

I’m so excited. Even if they’re not going to be secret. :)

Subtitles, anyone?

I got my first care package this afternoon, from a certain adorable someone back home. :) Candy, homemade brownies, and a packet of instant mashed potatoes. I got so excited that I opened it up in the living room while I was hanging out with a few of my flatmates, and we all ended up chowing down on chocolate. Mmm.

They thought the whole thing was hilarious. The brownies had been seran-wrapped so much that they look a bit like drugs, and as one of my flatmates said, "What, does she think there aren't potatoes in Scotland?" lol.

I love it, of course. A little bit of home in a tiny brown box. :)

Yesterday I had my first Scottish non-versation, as I'm calling it. One of the cleaning ladies (she was pretty odd) had a nice long conversation--about half an hour--with myself and two flatmates, and I have no idea what was said. None. At all. I can understand my Scottish flatmates just fine (mostly), but I could not for the life of me understand this woman. At all! So I laughed when my flatmates did and made horrified noises when they did and generally just BSed my way through half an hour of constant chatter. I was convinced that she was going to figure out that I couldn't understand her at all, and say something, but afterward one of the two girls (codename: Red, for her Hayley-Williams-esque hair) said that I'd done very well in faking it. =P She could tell, sort of, that I had, but she was pretty sure the cleaning lady hadn't noticed.

Also, an interesting observation: people tend to warn would-be travelers that people from other places (like North Africans and Italians, for example) are much more free with hugs and kisses when you greet with someone--that kind of thing. But I've noticed that while the space two people in conversation keep between them is about the same as back home, while strangers tend to stand much closer together than back home. Standing in line, for example, everyone bunches uncomfortably close together. I keep thinking someone's about to try to pickpocket me, but it never happens.

(EDIT: I did not realize there was a Starbucks in that picture until I put it up. Oops. There aren't actually very many around; I've only seen two or three. The Starbucks wasn't supposed to be the focus, anyway. Edinburgh looks like a normal, if old, city most of the time, but every now and then I look up and see these fantastic mountains just beyond the city limit. It takes me by surprise every time. And I just wanted to share.)

SUNSHINE!

It's so bright and sunny today! I've only seen one cloud! The sky is so blue and it makes me deliriously happyyy! :)

When I woke up, this is what I saw:

BLUE SKY. It rained all yesterday, and it's been gray and overcast all week. I've got this childish glee (even though I could see my breath on the way to Latin) that has left me listening to Michelle Branch, of all things. =P

An update, though: the strep is gone. Mostly. I've still got a bit of a sore throat, and I wouldn't dare try to sing, but I can talk and laugh and behave like a (mostly) normal human being again. I was on the penecillin for two and a half days before deciding something was wrong (it was) and going to the university health center and asking for amoxicillin instead. Turns out I'm not allergic, but "intolerant" of penicillin.

Whatever that means.

But I'm mostly better now. And yesterday, I spent two and a half hours in the library just to study Lain. (I'm struggling.) And then went and did archery for three hours. (Archery again today! And Thursdays, apparently, are pub night at Koko's. Should be interesting.) And last night, I bought airline tickets to meet a beautiful blondie friend from back home in Berlin, Germany, in mid-November!

Eating time now. (Black olive pizza, perhaps?) And then I'm going to find somewhere sunny and luxurious to lie down and study Latin before my other two classes.

And by luxurious, I mean, like, grassy. :)

Penicillin dreams?

(EDIT: Not sure how coherent this is. I’m feeling a little out of it.)

I had really, really, reallyreallyreally weird dreams last night. Pythons that tasted like chocolate chip cookies and clown-zombies that we had to shoot and I think we might’ve been in Iraq—and by we I mean (I think I mean) me and my platoon. I think it was my platoon, because we had a captain and we were all wearing Marine-ish stuff and knew how to use giant guns. And I think we were discussing/considering my turning into a vampire because I was the second-weakest in the group and then I’d be able to help protect us.

The butcher who dealt with the pythons was a very sweet guy, though. Italian, I think. Like someone you might imagine meeting in Chicago, though, because he definitely spoke English. I’m not sure why he was in Iraq, but he was helping his wife plan some kind of celebration. It might’ve been for a wedding reception. But I distinctly remember that at one point he held up an enormous piece of skinned meat and told her, “See this? It’s not good enough. Too soft.” And then he tossed it down on the worktable and the meat oozed the way undercooked cookie dough will when you try to get it off the cookie sheet. It would’ve been super gross, except I could see the chocolate chips in it.

Very odd.

Too many vampire stories? Maybe. I finished a thirty-three-story-long vampire anthology that tended to scare the crap out of me a few weeks ago, and I just started reading Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat, so yes, there’s the distinct possibility that all had something to do with the apocalypse scenario and the discussion about ruining my life in the long run by turning me into a vampire so I could protect people in Iraq.

But as terrible as the clown-zombie apocalypse was, everyone was nice enough to me and each other that I reeeeeally didn’t want to wake up. The captain and the python butcher especially. They were looking out for me, which is one of the most wonderful things I can imagine after spending three days sick as a dog and looking out for myself.

Maybe that’s why I was willing to consider the whole turning-into-a-vampire thing. To be able to protect the people who were nice enough to protect me from zombie-clowns.

Who were really frigging creepy and scary-looking, by the way. And I’m not even afraid of clowns.

Strep throat. Yuck.

It’s been a very long week. A very long four days of classes. I’m already drowning in schoolwork, to the point where I’m seriously considering switching into at least one easier class. (I guess the education abroad advisors weren’t kidding when they said the upper-level classes here were on-par with graduate classes. Ugh.)

I joined the archery club, though. I like those guys. They’re funny and silly and fun to hang out with.

I also ended up catching strep throat. Spent all yesterday in bed, feverish. (I never knew where I was when I woke up—kept thinking the noises everyone else was making was my little brother, or the people I’d lived with during freshman year. At one point I woke up and thought the coats I’d hung on the drying rack were dementors.) I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, couldn’t do anything (including homework or fun reading. Not cool). Finally at around five AM I managed to drag myself out of bed and to my computer to look up the times for student health.

Student health isn’t open on the weekends. I saw that on their website and was so discouraged I almost put my head down on my desk and went back to sleep. All that meant was more work, more stuff to do to take care of myself before I could crawl back under the covers.

So I called what turned out to be the “royal infirmary” (the hospital). They asked a bunch of questions, which sucked because I had to speak around my swollen throat, but they arranged and paid for a cab to come pick me up to get me there for a nine-thirty AM appointment. (I had a sudden surge of adoration for the British medical system at that point.)

So now I’m on antibiotics and tylonal and am trying to drink more water. I’m also having a sugar craving, but I can’t swallow well enough to eat yet.

You know what sounds really good, though? My brother’s chocolate chip muffins. Mmmm.

A Mostly-Calm Weekend (Part 3)

Sunday was even calmer than Saturday, so this will probably be short. (Well, that and I have my second class of the year in about an hour, and still have a few things to do beforehand.)

I went off to the Archery World Championships at Prince’s Gardens (I think that’s what it’s called—it’s the Something Gardens off Prince’s Street, anyway) to watch the women’s compound semis and finals and the men’s recurve semi and finals.

First off, don’t ever let anybody—even me—tell you that recurve isn’t as accurate as compound. It’s a little less reliably accurate, maybe, but there were still plenty of perfect sets. And both events were shot from the same distance. I don’t know exactly how far it was, but it had to’ve been close to eighty yards. Every time someone let an arrow off, it went hissing through the air alongside the stands. (SSssht!) That was cool. Even cooler was trying to imagine the sound a thousand arrows would make during some Hollywood blockbuster. :)

The scores for both men and women were incredibly close. In both instances, the difference between gold and silver was a single arrow. The American guy, Brady Ellison, won gold (beating out the South Korean, which surprised me—they always seem to win archery tournaments. =P) and the Amercian woman came in third. Apparently Brady Ellison has been doing some sort of cancer fundraiser, and his sponsors have agreed to match whatever he wins. And when he got up on the podium, he said he’d hit $10,000. Pretty cool to see someone doing such a good thing for the world. :)

Something funny I noticed—once the British woman had been knocked out, the crowd seemed to gravitate toward cheering for the American. Kind of interesting, I thought, since I’ve been told multiple times (all by Americans before I left) that they’re not so crazy about us.

Pictures of the matches to come!

A Mostly-Calm Weekend (Part 2)

After the soccer game, I went to England and Scotland's flat to hang out. (It's so nice! Every room has the most ornate crown molding.) Melbourne, who'd ditched the soccer match about halfway through in favor of lunch, came over and the guys cooked us dinner! It was maybe made with what I suspect was an overabundance of cinnamon, but it was suuuuper tasty. And the company was great--Melbourne, England (who cooked), Scotland, their other flatmate and another of their friends (whom I do not have codenames for yet, unfortunately, because the other flatmate is from England and their friend is Scottish. I should've known I was going to regret naming them England and Scotland.)

They told a bunch of wonderful, hilarious stories about their previous attempts to cook for friends (all the while hinting that they'd love it if we would reciprocate, which I still need to remember to talk to Melbourne about) and general escapades. For example, there's a girl they know who studied abroad last year and left her stuff at their place rather than put it in storage. She's back in town now, and you know, wants it back.

Except they don't have all of it. Another girl took off with her mirror, they drank the alcohol, a pillow got tossed in the rubbish bin because it was too dirty to have around. Stuff like that. They've decided to solve it by dodging her, of course.

This same girl showed up on their front stoop after dinner. I've never seen so many boys devolve into a tizzy so fast. I mean, I've seen girls do it at sleepovers and stuff back when I was ten or twelve, but three twenty-year-old guys...?

They dove out of the way of the windows, scuttled to the light switches and turned everything off, and then convinced Melbo urne to answer the intercom connected to the front porch so the girl they were dodging might, on the off chance, think she had the wrong building. Melbourne stood at the intercom going, "Hello? Hello? ...Hello?" for several (long) minutes before there was a thump on the staircase.

The guys all jumped, then turned and ran, pushing and giggling, to lock themselves in the kitchen. (Yes, there was a door.)

(And yes, they did eventually come out. But not until she'd left.)

A Mostly-Calm Weekend

So either during the party across the hallway or on the way to the club that we didn't end up going to, Scotland issued a challenge to several Chileans that were helping to host the party across the hallway. A soccer challenge.

They couldn't resist, of course. And neither could Scotland help but brag about his own skills on the pitch (field), which just made them more eager to assert how much better Chileans are at soccer than any European.

I got drafted onto the Scottish team. After having not played in about a year and a half.

Okay, honestly, I didn't mind at all. I was just nervous. I tell people how many years I've played, and they assume I'm good. Not just good, but good. After all, how could someone not play for eight straight years without getting good?

By playing like me, that's how. =P

Anyway, I dragged myself out of bed the morning after the water fight and jogged (not literally) down to the only bank branch open in Edinburgh on a Saturday to apply for an account. Then I stopped for breakfast on the way back, blogged that super long post about the marvelous three days I'd had, and got ready for le futball. Or, as I've been told it's called here, "real football."

Melbourne came with, mostly to hang out and watch but partly because I didn't know where the Meadows were. (I'm so glad she did. I never would have found them on my own.) We were already late when we left, but nobody else showed up for another half hour or so, and the Chileans canceled/postponed.

It was okay, though. We found a bunch of Spaniards to whup us instead.

They'd already been playing, though not for too long. The way the teams ended up were the five Spanish guys versus "the rest of the world" (Scotland, America, Germany and... somewhere else.)

There were six of us compared to their five players, and we definitely didn't score as many times as they did, but we played long enough and hard enough that it wasn't an utterly humiliating defeat. I held my own well enough, I think. I couldn't keep up physically (soooo out of shape that it's embarrassing), but I played smart enough that I'm okay with how everything turned out. I almost scored twice, and got injured twice. That's always the fun part. Unless you're in serious pain.

The first time, one of the Spaniards crashed into me and sent us both flying. I twisted to keep from landing badly, then rolled to keep him from landing on me. The wind wasn't even knocked out of me, but he didn't get up right away. I didn't mean to belittle his manliness or whatever, but everyone else laughed when I went, "Ohmygod, are you okay?"

Oh, well. =P

The second time happened when I had another run in with a different Spaniard. (I think.) I think he might've kicked me, or grazed me with his shoe (or something). It ached a bit, but I didn't even glance at it until another guy made a horrified face and asked what happened. Turns out I had blood dripping down my leg. Oops.

I didn't have any tissues, so I started using an old slip of paper that told how to apply for a job at the Sweet Factory at North County Fair to mop up my leg. Then, thankfully, the German guy on my team handed me a few tissues, and I got to rub hand sanitizer over an open wound. Not as much fun as it might sound like, let me tell you.

(Both pictures, by the way, are of the Meadows, where we played.)

It's only... wait, what day is it?

I have to say this once more: the wind here is freezing. It would be quite pleasant without the freezing arctic gusts whooshing through the city. (I don't know if the wind comes from the arctic. I made that part up, but it wouldn't surprise me.)

I got up before noon today! It's been an incredibly productive day, actually. I found the gym, wandered through the sport societies (school clubs) fair and shot a few arrows with a 26 pound bow (at only ten yards, though. But still, 26 lbs is more than I usually shoot), found George Square and David Hume Tower, finished matriculation (registration, getting all my classes sorted out, meeting with my academic advisor, the extremely nice and slightly portly Dr. Keith Hughes.), went food shopping at two different places, bought a plate and food storage container at another place (and spent fewer than 20 pounds for all of it!), aaand... then I went home, cleaned chicken with the dullest knife on the planet, and took a nap. Because I was exhausted.

I'm still pretty exhausted. I set an alarm, though, and was only out for a max of half an hour. It was probably closer to a quarter of an hour. Then I got up and half-raced across town (well, I thought it was across town, but it's really only about five or six blocks away) to the Tmobile and Vodaphone stores to talk to someone about domestic and international plans.

The stores were absolutely packed, and as it turns out, I'm basically screwed when it comes to phone plans. Laaaaame.

I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but according to the Tmobile woman most students in my position just have two pay-as-you-go phones: one for international texting/calling and one for domestic stuff. More incredible lameness.

The Real Windy City

This second video (below) is even harder to understand--I got up out of the depths of the graveyard and the wind just kicked it into high gear. Watch or not; it's mostly just more meandering and fancy headstones.

I got lost again yesterday. It was a little more worrisome this time--I've wondered, multiple times since landing, how to tell if I somehow ended up in a seedy part of Edinburgh. The whole city is kind of dank and oppressive and gray, and there are definitely hobos hanging around the touristy areas. I'd started thinking that maybe the university was maybe in a not-so-great neighborhood.

Until I got lost. (Again.)

After I visited the graveyard on the Royal Mile, I started walking back to campus when I spotted a map displayed out in front of a tourist center. And lo and behold, Prince's St. is not part of the Royal Mile. It was one street farther on.

The whole point of finding Prince's St. is that I was told there was both a Vodaphone and Tmobile store over there. (And as it turns out, there is also a Burger King and numerous other designer clothing stores. The Scottish do love their designer brands.) By the time I got there, everything was all closed up, unfortunately--everything tends to close kind of early over here.

BUT on the way from the Royal Mile to Prince's St. I had to cross a bridge that goes over the train station. It was SO WINDY and GUSTY. The bridge walls were about five feet up, so there was no chance I'd go over, but the weird gusting--first making it hard to walk forward, then helping me speed along, then shoving me into the wall--made me very nervous. I had to consciously restrain myself from trailing my hand along it as I walked.

After I found the closed-up phone stores, I took a different bridge back over the train station. It was only a block down from South Bridge, but when I came out on the other side the streets were considerably less occupied. No cause for alarm in that alone, but then I glanced up and realized that the street was lined with warehouses decorated with graffiti and all had broken windows.

Uh-oh. Or, more accurately, oh, shit. A young woman walking by herself at sundown through a not-so-marvelous neighborhood--doesn't that just beat all? It's everything any adult has ever told girls not to do in their hometowns, let alone foreign cities.

It turned out fine, though. Some creeper hiding in a car catcalled me, and there were some shady looking people hanging about, but I started walking back in the direction of South Bridge. Mind you, I didn't just retrace my steps. I figured there had to be some connecting street that would be a shorter distance than just retracing my steps.

South Bridge, though, ended up looming out of the clouds. Edinburgh has lots of hills, lots of ups-and-downs. The streets follow those ups-and-downs, and I'd ended up far below where I wanted to be.

So when I spotted a giant staircase leading in the general direction I was aiming for, I crossed the street and started climbing--even though it was called "Fleshmarket Close." ("Close," it seems, is kind of like "street." So, Fleshmarket Street. I just about had a heart attack, but I took it anyway.)

Aaaand the stairs opened up into a street I recognized! I'd been there the day before while I was lost! Ta-daaaa!

Although, to be perfectly honest, the stairs opened up on a street I'd taken about a dozen steps down and then decided it looked to sketch to wander down in the dark. But at least I knew where I was, how to get off that street, and how to get back to the dorm. And that's exactly what I did. I was really too rattled to stay out any longer. And my feet were killing me from all that walking.

Room Tour

Good Night

I think it's going to be a good year.

After my nap, I left the dorm (which is in absolutely terrible shape, like something out of a movie when they're trying to make a point about the awful conditions some people live in. Okay, maybe not quite so drastic, but it's pretty bad.) and I wandered around for a while. I didn't intend to be gone long, so I only wore flip flops.

And then I got a little turned around.

In all honesty, I knew how to get back, but it was such a loooong way that I kept turning onto different streets thinking that this one surely had to be a shortcut of some sort. So I actually wandered around Edinburgh for about three hours.

It turned out fine, though, even though my feet are still killing me.

Once I got back, I was trying to be productive--unpack some more, pull out the hangers I bought and start clearing the already-considerable mess I've made. I left the door open since I'd only met one other girl in my twelve-girl suite (codename Blondie). She invited me out to a club, but I couldn't remember what it was called or where it was, so I'd resigned myself to staying in and just going to bed early.

And then another girl stumbled by, whom I shall call Alaska, after her state of origin, even though she goes to Dartmouth. She's very friendly, very people-oriented. She'd been hanging out with a boy (codename: England) who is a U of Edinburgh student but who'd studied abroad at her school last year. That's where they met.

So Alaska and England were headed off to a couple different "freshers" activities (freshman orientation stuff--mostly clubs and bars on campus that were only open to freshmen, actually) and Alaska immediately invited me along. I leaped at the chance, since, you know, I'd like to get along with everyone I'm living alongside this year.

England ended up taking us the long way to the freshers' stuff, but on the way we ran into a girl Alaska goes to Dartmouth with (codename: Arizona), and at the library bar (yes, the campus library has a bar and a pool hall in it!) we met a guy from St. Lucia. I didn't have any ID on me that proved I was over 18, so I didn't drink, but we all hung out at the different bars, went to a few clubs to dance, met a few more girls from my suite, and baaasically had a jolly good time.

(Apparently, that's quite a pretentious thing for an Englishperson to say. Not surprising.)

And now it's a quarter to four in the morning.

Good night. (It was.)

Wow. Just... wow.

This has quite probably been the most stressful two weeks of my life. Packing is stressful enough. Doing it twice is annoyingly stressful. Doing it twice, then missing your flight, then showing up at the wrong gate before FINALLY catching your (my) flight is basically unbearable.

I haven’t slept in I-don’t-know-how-many-hours, so this will probably either short and rambly or long and rambly. Thank god for spellcheck. And internet connections, while we’re counting our blessings.

So! I just arrived in Edinburgh. My bed is half made. I gave up halfway through getting the duvet cover on, because it’s ridiculously enormous. Which I suppose I’ll be grateful for in a few months when winter sets in, but right now I’m just beyond caring about it. (But I have a pillow!!! I am not beyond caring about that. :) At ALL.)

There are no elevators in my building. I’m on the seventh floor. (Sixth? Maybe.) I also have two fifty-pound suitcases, a backpack, and a duffel bag. OH MY GOD SO TIRED is all I really have to say about that. A very nice French girl offered to help me get my stuff up, but I don’t think she realized how much god-awful-ness would be involved because she definitely pulled the “I’m French and don’t speak any English so I’m leaving now because this goddamn luggage weighs a ton” routine.

She was nice enough to help for four flights, though, so I didn’t call her on it.

I have my own room, which is wonderful. There’s more furniture in here than I know what to do with. For some reason, there’s another, smaller desk beneath the regular desk. I don’t know what to do with it quite yet. Maybe I’ll just… put it in the middle of the floor. After I finish unpacking and hide my suitcases. Or block the door with it?

I also have a phone. (And internet. Thank god. Again. Hallelujah and all that.) And bookshelves!

Pictures (possibly a video) to come. After I find my converter and charge my camera.

Oh, dear.

I started packing yesterday. Technically, I was supposed to start packing on Saturday, but I couldn’t quite face it. I pulled out the vacuum-free bags that make everything airtight and stuffed all my coats and sweatshirts and fluffy shirts into them and then flopped down on top of them to push all the air out. It was an exercise in silliness.

My brother and I have been home alone since Saturday. Our parents went to go work on a house in Vegas, and they were supposed to be home last night. They got too tired, though, so at midnight the house phone rings. I dive for it, praying it didn’t wake my brother, and when I pick it up all I hear is the dial tone. Then my cell phone rings (loudly), and I race back across the room (across the tile, wearing socks and slipping and half-falling all over the place). It’s my mother, of course. They ended up spending the night at some awful-sounding motel called Pete’s Casino, or Pete’s something-or-other. She walks me through how to get my brother ready for school, and then we hang up and I realize I have to be up and out the door in, like, five and a half hours.

Bleh. That said, I don’t know how high schoolers do it. I know I did, once upon a time, but I also seem to remember falling asleep in just about every class except the ones where I had to sit in the front.

This is all an attempt to distract myself from… Saturday. When I leave. Say goodbye to my dad and little brother. Get on a plane and fly to New Jersey. Spend a week with my mother, her brother, and his family. Then get on another plane and fly across the Atlantic.

Oh, goodness. I think it might be time to turn the TV back on. TV’s a good distraction.

Zepplin Zoo

This is adorable. ADORABLE. :)

Four days!

…Until the release of the third installment of the Hunger Games trilogy, of course. :) Mockingjay! I’m so excited I could puke. (That’s probably more due to overeating on my mother’s birthday, though.)

Tomorrow morning (bright and wayyy too early) I’m going surfing with my dad and his buddy. It’ll be my first venture into the water since I attacked a jellyfish (and lost). lol. There’ve been multiple great white shark sightings in the beaches we usually surf at, but I’m not too worried. I’m significantly less worried than I expected to be, actually. It’s not like sharks enjoy the taste of people, after all. And they’re just babies, the ones that are coming so close to shore. Okay, six, seven, and nine foot babies, but still just young’uns.

I also discovered over the past few days that Lili St. Crow’s third book in the Strange Angels series came out at the end of July, so I’m rereading the first two. I’ve already picked up a copy of the third, called “Jealousy,” and it’s sitting on one of my brand-new bookshelves at the moment. :) I always enjoy rereading the first of the series (“Strange Angels”), though I remember vaguely that the second installment (“Betrayals”) left me a little bewildered.

But… eh. Guess I’ll find out in a few days.

Charles de Lint's "The Blue Girl"

** bit of a spoiler alert, though it's not too bad **

I just finished rereading "The Blue Girl" for the first time in about four years (and unfortunately, only during this reading did I realize there are many, many more stories that take place in Newford). My favorite part about the story was Imogene's voice. She's brilliant and quirky and brave and fun, and of course, don't we all wish we were brilliant, quirky, brave and fun?

The adults--the parents, in particular, stood out to me as well. They weren't absentee parents, ...more I just finished rereading Charles de Lint's "The Blue Girl" for the first time in about four years (and unfortunately, only during this reading did I realize there are many, many more stories that take place in Newford). My favorite part about the story was Imogene's voice. She's brilliant and quirky and brave and fun, and of course, don't we all wish we were brilliant, quirky, brave and fun?

The adults--the parents, in particular, stood out to me as well. They weren't absentee parents, as is common in so many other YA books. Maxine's father didn't play much of a role in the story, and Imogene's father didn't at all, but both of their mothers featured relatively prominently. They were minor characters, of course, but what I like to call major-minor characters (as in, they show up and interact with major characters more than other minor characters). Maxine's mother even had her own character arch where she grew and began to recover from her divorce. It was interesting, because both mothers were very clearly supportive characters.

The best part of this story was when Imogene accepts the existence of fairies and realizes she hasn't been dreaming when she sees them. The reader already knew it, Maxine suspected, Christy knew it, Adrian knew it, Tommery knew it--it was totally common knowledge, and all that was left was for Imogene to discover her new reality. When she did, though--that one line ("It wasn't a dream.") was the single most chilling thing I've come across in I don't know how long. It was beautifully done, and it was a stroke of genius on Charles de Lint's part.

It was chilling because bad dreams aren't real. That's what everyone tells themselves, or each other, when we wake up in the middle of the night. "It's okay. It was only a dream. It's over now, it wasn't real. It was only a dream." But to discover that it wasn't just a dream, and that it isn't okay--that's one of the most horrifying things that can happen to someone.

After Imogene comes to that realization, though, the story drops off for a bit. It just isn't as exciting. The pace isn't kept up or anything; they're planning out how to defeat the bad guys and it's just unnecessary word fluff. I honestly got bored enough to think about quitting in the middle of the book, though I'm glad I stuck with it. The climax at the end is worth it.

Colds are yucky.

I’m sick. Blargh. I went up to Santa Barbara to visit school friends before I leave for Scotland for a year and basically more fun than my immune system can handle. Traveling and staying up until six-thirty in the morning and such.

Oh well. It was worth it, and I’m on the mend now, even if my sleep schedule is all wacked out. I got up at about noon today and spent the first two hours of the day writing book reviews for my goodreads.com account. Go ahead and check it all out. :) I don’t… ahem… have any friends yet, but I really love the whole concept. It’s like Facebook for book lovers. You have these things called “shelves,” where you basically categorize books as “read,” “currently reading,” or “to-read,” and you can assign stars for how good a book was and write reviews for books, talk to people that read the same things you do, obsess over pretty cover art (I’m so glad I’m not the only one in the world who does that), follow your favorite authors and what they’re reading, and even join book groups that choose a different book to read each month.

Pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. :)

And speaking of shelves, I have put up three new bookshelves in my bedroom! Okay, so only two are up at the moment and I still have to finish painting the third, but I’m so excited! I love filling up bookshelves almost as much as I love finishing books. =P

Life in the Summer

I’ve had kind of a slew of run-ins with creepy-crawlies recently. Ticks and jellyfish, mostly. And there was a spider in my bedroom yesterday, but I caught him in a jar and threw him outside.

The jellyfish, though, that’s the most exciting story, so I’ll share that one. :) I was surfing with my dad on Monday at La Jolla Shores, breaking in my brand-new wetsuit. It’s a spring suit, so it’s short-sleeved. (Winter suits, like the one my dad has, come down to your wrists and ankles.) We’d been out there for a long time already, almost two hours, when I was paddling back out on my board and managed to slam my hand all the way through a glob of slimy, globby purple stuff. I thought it was seaweed. It was gross, so I yanked my hand back out. After a second, though, my hand and wrist started to tingle, then sting and hurt. A lot—which is when I realized that, duh, seaweed’s not purple, that’s probably a jellyfish.

So I rolled off my board, got out of the water as fast as I could, yelled for my dad to watch my board, and ran off to the lifeguard station. No, they didn’t pee on it. They sprayed rubbing alcohol to disinfect it, and then told me to get back in the water because the salt would help with the swelling.

So I sat on my board in the shallows, bent in half so I could dip my arm in the water. A dinky little wave came in and I flailed and rolled off the side, then reoriented myself. Another dinky little wave came in and I fell off the back.

Yeah, I’m not so good at that sitting-on-the-board thing yet. What can I say? I’m still a beginner.

Mes Livres

(My Books)

:)

So, that Rumplestiltskin book I was talking about reading a little while back—finally finished it! (A Curse as Dark as Gold, by Elizabeth C Bunce.) It was good, but not mindblowingly spectacular. It deviated from the original story in a way that made it clear that it was still a Rumpelstiltskin story, but still made enough changes to feel fresh.

I just finished Raised by Wolves, by Jennifer Lynn Barnes. That appealed to me more than ACaDaG, even though the writing was obviously for younger readers. The story drew me in, and the main character definitely seemed fifteen. I’d even go so far as to say that she seemed more like a fifteen-year-old than most other fictional fifteen-year-olds. I kept waiting for the main romantic interest to endear himself in some way, but… well, at least it isn’t billed as a romance, because we never got anything more than how much she adored her dearly beloved werewolf boy. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him—I get it, but I never figured out why we were supposed to love him.

The alpha, though—Callum—her relationship with him was fantastic. It was deep and complicated and believable. Her reactions to his actions and decisions and their history together was totally realistic. I ended up liking Callum more than the love interest.

And now I’m reading Lament, by Maggie Stiefvater.

…

OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS WOMAN SO MUCH. She makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes (but not too often, thank god), and I just want to SQUEEE over her books but I’ve been trying SO HARD to contain myself!!!

!!!

I first read her book Shiver (which is another werewolf book) late last year. I was at school at the time, living in a dorm where space is severely limited (especially bookshelf-space), but I liked Shiver so much that I decided I couldn’t part with it (i.e., send it home to San Diego). I kept it on my shelf for the whole year, even though it’s kind of a fatty hardcover. (Think, like, Harry Potter #2 or #3. And yes, that is how I judge how fatty a book is. =P) My FAVORITEFAVORITEFAVORITE bit—and yes, it makes sense within the context of the story, but I don’t want to spoil that part—is the Rilke translation:

“Again and again, however, we know the language of love, and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the staggeringly secret abyss in which others find their end: again and again the two of us go out under the ancient trees, make our bed again and again between the flowers, face to face with the skies.”

Oh. Mygod. I can say with an uncommon sense of confidence that that’s one of, if not the absolute, BEST pieces of writing I have ever read.

And yes, after finishing Shiver (which was, as you might have gathered, fabulous—I can’t wait for the sequel, Linger, that is coming out in FIVE MORE DAYS), I went online and devoured as many Rilke translations as I could find, and even briefly considered learning German so I could read his original poems.

So Shiver is why I picked up Lament. I started it today. I intended to have a productive day and work on my UK visa paperwork and do some writing, but I should probably have known better. Lament is awesome. I love the characters—all of them. Dierdre is totally realistic in her reactions and mannerisms and the feelings she has when she interacts with Luke. She’s totally relate-able, even though this totally unique thing is happening to her. Luke is badass and still incredibly endearing. And I wish James was my friend. He needs a hug. <3

The only reason I’m writing this right now is because Lament got so intense I couldn’t take it. I had to take a break, mid-chapter, because my mind was going to explode.

And I’m not even halfway through yet. :)

I LOVE MAGGIE STIEFVATER. She’s the latest addition to the list of people authors I want to be like.

…

—Whaaaaaaat is going on!? It just started raining outside!! Rain! In Southern Cali! In JULY???

It must be the end of the world. That’s the only explanation.

Juuuulyyy

I finished my story and got it in on time. :) It’s been about two weeks since the deadline came and went, but I’m still quite pleased with myself. I went to the gym in the morning, did a final read-through and edit, and then submitted it—all before I headed off to work. It was a good day (except for the work part).

Yesterday, I went down to La Jolla Shores and surfed for the first time in a year. Couldn’t find anyone to go with me, so I just went all by myself. I’m pretty terrible, but there were probably three different instances where I managed to stand up (crouch) before the wave ended. The first time I managed it, all I could think was, “Ahhh, so this is why surfers keep at it…”

And this morning, after I got back from the gym, my mom and I got all my housing for next year sorted out and paid off! I’m so glad that’s taken care of—one less thing to worry about, you know? I’ll be living in the largest of the res halls at U of Edinburgh, and will probably be surrounded by first years. It wasn’t my first choice—or second or third, really—but I’ve only heard one bad thing about it (that it’s noisy, since it’s next to a huge street full of bars and clubs). Everyone I’ve talked to who lived there last year had a really fantastic time, so I’m not real worried at all. Ear plugs are such a small investment. ;)

Le fin (almost!)

I’m SO close to finishing my latest short story!! I’m so pleased with it—I’m currently at thirty pages, and have only about a short scene and a half left. (Which is really, really good, since I’ve got fewer than two thousands words to go before I hit the max word count. =P) I’m calling it The Stiltskin Forest, and it’s based on—you guessed it!—Rumplestiltskin. It’s verrryy twisted when compared to the original Grimm story, though. There’s a curse that turns people into trees, and a Green Man (like in Celtic/Pictish/etc. mythology) and a sister that glows in the dark. :)

(I can’t remember how much of that I’ve said before. Bear with me if I’d already told it all.)

It’s a good thing I’m so close to finishing, too, because I plan on entering it in VCFA’s (Vermont College of Fine Arts) Katherine Paterson Prize for YA and Children’s Writing, and the deadline is Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. Gulp.

It’s okay, though, because the contest judge is HOLLY BLACK. ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS. :) I wish I could participate in VCFA’s MFA summer residency program this year, because both Holly Black and Gregory Maguire (author of Wicked) are going to be the authors-in-residence.

I’m so starstruck just thinking about it, though, that it’s maybe a good thing I can’t afford to fly out to Vermont. =P HOLLY BLACK AND GREGORY MAGUIRE. Oh my gosh.

I only know about VCFA because I spent some time last summer looking at MFA programs, and they have a good YA and children’s lit program. It’s rather difficult to come by those. And so I requested some info, and now I’m on their mailing list. They’ve got Holly Black and Gregory Maguire coming out to be the authors-in-residence because the theme for this summer’s residency is FANTASY. Oh my goodness. VCFA is definitely sounding like my kind of program.

Is it really childish to just add that I really hope I win this contest? I probably won’t, but let’s just give me a moment to dream. First prize is a thousand bucks and publication. Ooohhhhh man, that sounds good.

To be honest, my biggest concern regarding my story is whether or not HB will fully consider it to be YA. There’s no cursing, violence, sex, or gore, but… well, most YA books have a teenage protagonist who’s dealing with growing-up stuff. And the miller’s daughter in Rumplestiltskin has a kid by the end of it. And yes, I loveloveLOVE coming of age stories—maybe because I’m the right age to relate?—but mine isn’t a coming of age story. It’s about struggling against the uncontrollable situations and circumstances that life throws at us. It’s about making the best of those situations, but also trying to change them for the better.

That’s important, too, and shows up in a lot of other literature. I think it’s an important lesson that demoralizes a lot of people as they go through the whole process of growing up, but even in real life, things don’t have to stay a tragic and disillusioned mess.

Rumplestiltskin

So as it turns out, Rumplestiltskin has already been updated and rewritten in the form of A Curse as Dark as Gold by Elizabeth Bunce. And she won the William C. Morris Debut Award for it.

Oh, well. Mine’ll be just as good. =P

I haven’t actually read it yet, but it’s in my pile of books to read this summer, and it does look like it’ll be good. From the summary on the back, it sounds like it keeps very close to the heart of the Rumplestiltskin story—the main character is the daughter of a miller (her last name is Miller, even), there’s a shadowy stranger making promises and offering to help, etc., etc., but in this case her father isn’t a terrible parent that sells his daughter to the king. He’s just a dead guy that leaves his daughters in the middle of a terrible debt they can’t hope to pay off by themselves.

Awards do tend to boost my confidence in this regard, but in this case, A Curse as Dark as Gold has been on my list of titles to read since it was first published in 2008. And now it’s in paperback! Much cheaper. Can’t wait to start it. :)