I am...

quite frankly, a shit blogger.

I forget about this thing despite my mother frequently reminding me on my facebook.

I also forget how much of my family reads this thing. So, yeah. Language. Sorry.

Hmm -- what's been on? I am headed to Dublin in about an hour, should be exciting -- new accents, fabulous.

I have a cheerleading competition in a week. Hooray.

Oxford term is over, so we're in our self-contained course now. Oxford term being over means essentially everyone is gone, which I dislike.

I only have three weeks left for now, and while seeing my family will be lovely, I really wish I could stay for the summer term. There are balls, and renting boats and floating down the Thames drinking Pimms & Lemonade (Sprite), and Summer Eights (rowing) and all sorts of fantastic things. I checked to see how much it would cost to push back my flight home, but I'm guessing I cannot talk anyone into paying the $300 for me to push my flight back and then give me money for necessities, like alcohol. I mean food. Food. (Dear family: that was a joke. Please do not slaughter me or send me to rehab. I need neither.)

Looking further into graduate study -- I believe I will apply to Oxford for English, History and Women's Studies (Augh, such feminist connotations. But it would be a good entrance into a Phd/D.Phil in history or english with an emphasis on women -- particularly women in the Tudor era.) and then University College London for Publishing.

Essentially, I am planning to just stay in school forever. Unless I can find someone to pay me for existing.

Ack!

My apologies for the relative silence -- sometimes it feels like everything is so day in, day out that there is no sense in posting, and others I just get caught up in it all and neglect my blog.

I went to London for the first time this weekend, and I am, quite frankly, obsessed. I have never thought of myself as someone who would be happy living in a huge city, but I find London to be utterly exhilarating.

I am simply ready for my life to begin -- it seems we, as humans, always get this way when we're on the cusp of a major life change. I remember regarding college as "my life beginning." I suppose what I'm looking forward to is simply more college for the moment, but regardless. I would love to skip this next year and just move to London with Erin now. In reality, I'd like to skip all the scary logistical pain-in-the-ass aspects of moving to London and just get there. But there are graduate schools and scholarships to be applied for, loans to be taken out, visas to be obtained, flats to be rented -- blah. The idea of being (somewhat, hopefully pretty please not until I'm out of graduate school) financially independent is TERRIFYING. But I've come to realise it's coming sooner than I'd like, so I'm making some attempt at managing my money like a big kid.

I even made an excel spreadsheet! If that's not adult, I don't know what is.

Bit (okay much) Better Mood

So, this will be a short post, as it hurts to exist at the moment.

But, I am thrilled to be back into the world of cheerleading -- granted, on the other side of the Atlantic, but fantastic nonetheless.

I'll tell you though, hurling my legs up to my head was a lot easier forty pounds ago -- yikes.

I'm certainly a touch rusty, but cheerleading isn't quite at the same level here as it is in the America -- it's certainly still badass of course, but it hasn't quite reached the level of American cheerleading. I have to learn how to do a "splat," which I'd never heard of, but it's essentially a front tuck where you land on your behind. So I still have to throw my own feet over my head, which has never been my favourite activity -- I much prefer throwing someone else's feet over my head. But I obviously get to do that too.

Which, I believe at the moment my body has grown new muscles so they can hurt.

But I have such an adrenaline rush from it all. They also have socials, so I'm going out with a group of Oxford Sirens this evening.

Quite quite exciting in general!

I likely should not be writing a blog at the moment, as it likely will not be witty and therefore terribly dull.

But, I feel like writing a blog, so write I shall.

Upon leaving to study abroad, I was told over and over it would absolutely change my life. I kind of ignored everyone, figuring that there is no way it could have that profound of an effect on me -- I've moved every three years to a new place my entire life, I've experienced quite a bit, the simple act of living in a different culture for a few months wasn't going to have any profound life changing effect.

But it has. Coming over her has opened my eyes to so many different possibilities I feel as if I need to take advantage of, lest I feel I haven't truly lived my life and lived it to my full potential. Unfortunately, the trajectory my life was on wasn't exactly one which would allow me to take advantage of a lot of these opportunities.

So, I had to make some changes. And those changes sucked, continue to suck, and will probably continue sucking for quite some time.

Those changes opened up limitless possibilities, but brought with them anxiety and fear and hurt. For all the new opportunities opened, they are other opportunities that were closed.

I am trying to redefine myself, as, just that, myself. Myself/period/blank space.

I suppose growing pains don't stop when you physically stop growing.

Misadventures, and perfume!

Alright, my apologies for the silence.

So. The nose misadventure.

Roughly a week ago, I was horseplaying with one of the people in the programme. After getting a few respective jabs in, I wound up with my hand pinned behind my back and was informed I was now helpless. I, of course, disagreed, and informed them that if I so pleased, I was more than able to utilize the rather pointed heels I was wearing. Upon hearing this, I was tossed away, at which point I fell and decided the best solution would be to catch myself on a chair using my face.

For the record, that was not the best solution.

After bleeding profusely, it was decided that the general swelling and cuts on my nose warranted a trip to A&E (Accident & Emergency, otherwise the Emergency room). Ruth (the Junior Dean, essentially and RA) and Nora (my former roommate) took the always-pricey black cab in order to get there, which should have been my first hint it was NOT WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE (more on this later).

So we get there, get all checked and sorted, and commenced in debating the heroes in Austen's novels until the nurse called me back to take my vitals and attempted to stave the bleeding. I asked how often he saw stupid injuries such as my own from students who are supposed to be some of the best in the world. He laughed and said he didn't want to comment, but was well versed.

So I was sent back out to wait for the doctor, at which point Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" came up in the conversation. Of course, we all begin singing it (Lest this seem too strange, the only other person in A&E was a tramp escaping the cold), until Nora points out one cannot sing such a song without performing a kickline. So, of course we began to perform a seated kickline.

At which point the doctor comes out to retrieve me.

I suppose this could be made worse if he were, say, Dr. McDreamy, but she was... a she. I was surprised by how young she was though, I later found out from a friend studying medicine it doesn't take nearly as long to become a doctor here as in the states. Granted, it doesn't take as long to get any degree, as they largely eschew general education requirements and allow you to focus on the subject at hand. Which makes no sense at all. None. Not a bit. cough AMERICAN UNIVERSITIES GET ON THAT cough.

Anyways, at this point I was growing quite panicky over having a malformed nose, and expressed such fears to the doctor. She informed me she had rugby men that "did this to themselves every other week" and she always "got them set to right." I informed her that she could send said rugby boys my way after their treatment, and let them know I could sympathise. (She laughed, she didn't think I was creepy. Thankfully.) The way she said that I was still quite young after looking at my chart seemed to have a bit of the sentiment that this was a bad time for this to happen to me, as I had yet to snatch a husband or something of the sort.

Anyways, they then paper-stitched me and informed me, oh, the only care I have to take of it will be not to get the stitches wet for a week. Simple task, being that they're IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FACE. Thank God CMRS has those removable showerhead things, otherwise I may have gone unwashed for a week and no one wants that. Anyways, they told me ENT would be in contact and sent me well on my merry way to sleep.

But not to sleep. Because we decided chips & cheese were warranted after our ordeal. So I went up to the Kebab Van, bleeding, at three in the morning. They kept handing my napkins -- I'm not sure if it was more kindness or their hearts or more don't bleed on my damn van.

Anyways, fast forward a week (in which I received lots of stares and a free margarita for my pains) to Monday, when I had to return to John Radcliffe Hospital to meet with the ENT doctor. I knew the hospital was in Headington, and that Headington Road was a five minute walk away. So I glanced at where on Headington the JR sits, plotted my route, and then Tess and I ventured out, forty-five minutes early so that we would have plenty on time should we get turned about somehow or cannot find the office in the hospital.

People, let this be a lesson. THAT MAP KEY SITS THERE FOR A REASON. Because otherwise, you come home going "My God, why the hell did it look so close? I trekked for over an hour over three miles. That is not walking distance at -1 degrees (C, of course) and 9:30 in the morning. Upon hearing that Tess and I WALKED to the JR, there a collective cringe.

However, the doctor informed me that there is some swelling left, and despite there being a "slight step" there was really nothing for them to do, as the point my nose is at now would be considered a successful outcome of the procedure they would have done, which would have been putting me under and "manually manipulating my nose" (slamming it back into place with their hands). So, in not so many words, they told me that I should be happy with my nose considering I had slammed it into a chair, and stop being such a vain little git. Hopefully the little bump that's left will disappear soon.

So that has been my current excitement. Oh, and today I purchased rose scented perfume in the prettiest bottle from my favourite boutique ever, Aspire (click the link to go to their online shop! Not near as gorgeous/delightful/fantastic as their actual store, but you can get the general idea.) Last week, I got the flower off this necklace as a ring. (The other two link to the products I purchased.)

The perfume is Cath Kidston, and I highly advise you take a glance about her website, everything is gorgeous -- for you sewers/quilters, there is even an extensive variety of BEAUTIFUL floral fabrics that are fun and floral without seeming too old.)

Marrrr.

New blog forthcoming.

Nose is broken and I am generally ouchy and a bit cranky.

Grade

I received my first grade today, a B+. My tutor also said my essay I turned in today was much better than the one I got back. Hoorah.

Chips and Cheese

Have discovered the joy that is chips (fries) and cheese with chili sauce and fresh onion.

Will never eat anything else again.

Also, need to join a gym.

Update

My apologies for the lack of posting, much of what has been running through my head lately is both of little interest to the public at large and also inappropriate for posting on the internet.

Scholarly endeavours have begun to more thoroughly set in -- I am as of the moment writing an essay in preparation for my tutorial concerning the significance of the title of "Sense and Sensibility."

I've figured that I need to budget my time better here -- my general approach to scholarship, which is Facebook for hours then work like mad right up to the wire -- are far more stressful here, and while generally I flourish under stress, the degree of stress is just too much with that approach here.

Speaking of budget, it's amazingly easy to spend massive amounts of money over here. So feel free to send cash.

Joke.

Ish.

I'm looking into coming back for next semester as well -- as much as I miss Nebraska and will continue to do so, I just don't think I can experience Oxford as well as I'd like in only one term. Not to mention, it would be fantastic on my resume. My grandmother isn't particularly keen on the idea, however, I fail to see the incredible difference between me being in Nebraska and me being here -- either way, it's not as if I can pop in for supper.

Homework.

For those concerned I am doing too much pubbing and not spending enough time on academic endeavours, kindly read the following and prepare yourself for discussion:

http://www.cscs.umich.edu/~crshalizi/Mirandola/

Particularly focus on why Pico uses defensive language. Why would this be seen as a radical, offensive idea in the fifteenth century? What implications do Pico's ideas have for the relationship between God, man and nature?

Otherwise, I will continue to skim the dull academic matter and focus primarily on things that are entertaining, like experiences at the pub.

Fine Dining, This Time with a Touch of Tongue.

So last evening, the plan was to stay in, with the express aim of saving money.

Anyone who knows me, however, knows how incredibly hard it is to tempt me into going out when I've made up my mind to stay in.

(Hint: not very.)

Me: I'm staying in this evening. I need to save money.
Alexis: Oh come with us, we're just getting dinner and a drink. I love spending time with you!
Me: I hate you. Also, I'm going to go get dressed.

Since we were just off to dinner and a drink, we all decided dressing up was not necessary. For those of you who know me as I am in the States, you know anything that isn't Nebraska sweats and an APhi shirt is dressing up. That, however, has had to change, as I have seen perhaps one person wearing sweats they entire time I have been here. And I thought that they looked sloppy. Because people do not wear sweats here. Nor do they seem to be too incredibly fond of trousers.

Which brings me to two side notes: Pants are trousers, NOT PANTS. Pants are underwear, and people feel really weird if you talk about them.

Side note within a side note: This evening, at the pub, I looked down and noticed my pint of cider had left a ring on my jeans. To which I said, ''Damn, there's a wet ring on my pants. TROUSERS.'' Of course, I do this the one time I'm out with actual Brits. He looked properly shocked until he figured it out.

Real side note 2: British fashion. Girls here seem to think slightly long shirt means acceptable to wear with tights (or, in many cases, acceptable to wear. END SENTENCE.) The girls here dress... provocatively, to put it nicely. They also love glitter.

But oh yes, I believe up there... no, no, further up there. Scroll some more now. Brilliant. Yes, way up there I began a story, which I will finish down here. Stop scrolling.

Well maybe a bit more.

ANYWAYS. So we went to the Red Lion to have a sip and a bite, but they had since stopped supplying things to bite, so we just got a pitcher and took in the local wildlife. Then we went wandering in search of food, and stumbled upon a pizza kitchen and went in there. We got sat at a booth right on the corner with the huggeee window. All goes well, I order some prawn -- which is a distinctly unappetizing term for shrimp. I don't know why the word bothers me so horrendously much, but it does. PRAWN. I feel like it should be said in a raspy, demonic voice with glared eyes.

But yes. So first we witness this man who is stumbling all about. We're have a good giggle, and talking of how we don't think we've ever been that dr -- OH MY GOD DID HE JUST PASS OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET?! (Side note: him being in the street wasn't cause for concern, because they whole street/sidewalk divide appears to get confused here.)

So, Mr. Drunken Man is laying in the middle of the street (we had a fantastic view of his ass, pants only half covering it) and NO ONE IS EVEN BATTING AN EYE. Finally two guys come up and get him on his way, I suppose...I can't imagine he even knew what his way was. But he left our view from the window.

Then, we have the boys who came up and were banging on the window. This had happened a few times throughout the meal, so we ignored them like good little girls. Then. THEN. He LICKED the window. He LICKED the BLOODY WINDOW to get our attention.

Then he left. And I was left eating my prawns with saliva dripping two feet from my head as a horrible reminder of the debauchery that had just occurred.

Today is interesting, if not as entertaining.

I had my first proper English tea! I had a little pot all my own filled with English Breakfast tea, in which I put two lumps of sugar and cream. I also got two scones (which aren't quite the same as scones in America -- these looked like english muffins, had a biscuit consistency, but were sweet.) with clotted cream. I haven't quite figured out what it is, but it's delicious. Something like butter.

So we had our tea, I read and fell asleep atop my textbook AGAIN, and then we went to auditions for Oxford University Light Entertainment Society, or OULES. Alexis convinced me to go give it a try, since I also wished I had gotten involved in theatre. So I went, and I found the people involved to be quite fun, since of course we went to the pub after auditions. Wednesday is when we next meet, and I suppose when we see if we were cast.

Anyways. I have a favour to request. If you're reading this, post some silly little comment in the section, just so I know the who's reading thing. So go on, de-lurk. Cheers!

Fine Dining

So last night, one of the funniest things yet happened. A bunch of us are sitting around at the Red Lion, a pub with nice cheap mixed drink pitchers, with two British guys and an Australian. So one of the British guys turns to me, and the following exchange occurs:

British guy: So, have you been to the McDonalds here yet?
Me: Er, yes, actually. (What? After a few drinks we wanted Big Macs (Aleks and Alexis) and McNuggets (me). Sometimes you need something other than chips and cheese.)(Chips being fries.)
BG: What did you think of it? Was it different than in the States?
Me: Not really. Although we don't have onion rings at our McDonalds. (Seriously American McDs, get on that.)
BG: Isn't it like a kind of nice, established restaurant over there?
Me: Confused expression, mouth slightly agape.
BG: You know, not just like, shitty fast food?
Me: (In between dying of laughter) Are you being serious?
BG: Yeah, I really thought it was like an actual restaurant.
Me: I'm sorry, I'm not mocking you, but everyone else needs to hear about this.

So I then proceeded to turn and tell all my fellow colonists what had just gone on, to which we all had a good laugh. So. There we have it. Apparently the British think McDonalds is a quality restaurant over in the States.

So we went out last evening, to the Red Lion and then to the Bridge. Perhaps it's better on Monday nights, but I found it to just be kind of expensive and full of creepers. Not my favourite, I like Thirst far better.

Foreign Language Study Program

I am now displeased with the fact that I was ineligible for most study abroad scholarships.

Most the scholarships are for foreign language.

England, in some instances, speaks a foreign language.

Anywhere I order a bacon, mozzarella and pesto panini and get whatever the hell meat was on the panini I just ate, is obviously not speaking English.

I don't think delicious, crispy, fatty bacon exists in England. Just this weird salty ham cut.

THIS PLACE HAS NO BACON, I'M TURNING AROUND AND LEAVING.

(Not in actuality, I still absolutely adore Oxford. But seriously, this no bacon thing is a strike. I REALLY LIKE MY BACON.)

Charms

So, today I was sworn into the Bodleian Library, which is Oxford's library and the second largest in the UK, with over 8 million volumes. If you know me at all, you know that alone is enough to get me to squee in delight. However, add into it that the fact that the room we were sworn into the library in is apparently the location at which they shot the charms class scenes for Harry Potter. I'm sure most of you know that I've never seen the Harry Potter movies (only because I love the books so much and feel they will ruin them), but after being in Oxford I really feel as if I have to see them, so much of the movies are filmed here.

It's fascinating -- it's like walking back in time, into Hogwarts, and in the present all at once.

Matt- Turns out they do have a first folio as well. Also, a Gutenburg Bible!

We also received a tour of St. Peter's College, the college our program is integrated into. It's fabulous -- they even have a little bar in there! I suppose because the drinking age is only 18. Side note -- funny enough, a French guy was telling my friend Alexis and I all about the drinking age in America last night. He didn't seem to realise we were American and knew all too well. Moving on. They also have a common room, where they hold Bops -- which are costume parties. So I can just pretend all my lovely APhi ladies are there with me.

Anyways. So after that we had our first lecture -- it's certainly going to be a trying semester academically. It was almost hard to wrap my head around what he was saying concerning Renaissance philosophers and humanists. I'm quite excited to have my limits tested so thoroughly, however. The way they do courses is kind of wonky as well. My large course has about 8 people in it, that's my Shakespeare Seminar. My Austen and Witches course are both tutorials, which means I'll meet with my tutor one on one once a week, and then the rest I kind of do on my own. He assigns me reading and work, and then we meet weekly to discuss it. So you essentially teach yourself. I have my seminar and meeting with my Witches in Early Modern Europe tutor tomorrow.

Other than that, tonight my newly-made friend Jessica and I went to the White Horse and the Grand Room for some drinks, since she had yet to go out in the UK. The White Horse was cute -- it's supposedly haunted by a witch whose broom stick was found upstairs, and they refuse to touch it for fear of provoking her ghost. But we left rather quickly, not due to spectres, but because there were only three people in there -- and two of them were quite engrossed in one anothers tongues. So it was one Pimms then off we went.

We wandered around for a bit, hunting for somewhere that was a touch more exciting. We stumbled across this place called the Grand Room, and were tricked by the mirrors lining the walls -- we thought there were far more pople than there were. I'm certainly not sad I got tricked, however. All the cocktails were half off, and man did they have cocktails. I got an Elderflower Fizz, which was delicious, and a Watermelon Martini in which they used actual watermelon.

Well, being that it is 0330 I should probably head to bed. Cheers!

Good Morning Starshine

So, this is just going to be a quick post. But, I've figured out that if I want to actually be present in the British culture, I'm going to have to become a morning person.

Everything closes incredibly early here -- I'm not sure if there's a single 24-hour convenience store in the whole of Oxford. The mini-grocery store around the corner that's ''open late'' closes at 11. It's insanity!

Oxford

Well, I've been in Oxford for near 24 hours now... I have to say, I absolutely adore it. Posting may be slightly spotty, but mainly because I want to ensure that my posts are at least somewhat entertaining to read, rather than me just repeating my schedule with a few elaborations.

The flight over went rather smoothly. At first I was a touch frightened because I had a child to the side of me and one behind me. If you know me, you know my feelings toward children are iffy at best, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to be surrounded by them for a seven hour flight. However, the one to the side of me was a young Londoner named Oliver, and I have decided that I could never nanny for a British family because the children could literally get away with murder. They'd ask me if they could go throw a rock at some poor old woman's head and I'd be slightly inclined to say yes just because their accent is so bloody adorable.

The use of bloody brings me to a side topic: I LOVE BRITISH SLANG. Why are our slang words not near as creative as the Brits?

But anyways. So the flight was not too rough, I took an ambien and slept straight through it. Fell asleep of the coast of main, awoke off the coast of the UK. I really think that was a good plan, because I do not feel jet lagged in the least. It's already weird for me to think that it's 7pm at home, it feels like incredibly late.

Which brings forth another observation: everything closes phenomenally early here. Even a lot of the pubs close around 11 or 12. I suppose there are a few that close at 2, so that's fun. I've only been to one pub -- The Eagle and Child, which is apparently famous for being a meeting place of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien. I had a Pimms and hot apple juice, it was phenomenal. I also have been really enjoying the cider.

After that everyone wanted to just grab some drinks from Sainsbury's and bring them back to the common room at St. Michaels Hall. I must admit, I was a touch disappointed, I really wanted to go explore the Oxford night life a bit more. I suppose I have a full term to do so. I'm excited to see what Oxford is like once the students return. As much as I adore most the others in the program, I do want to be more integrated into the British culture. As of the moment it's kind of as if we're long-term tourists -- just hanging out with other Americans and such. It's kind of like moving America to England.

But all in all? I absolutely adore Oxford. The shopping is PHENOMENAL, there's history at every turn, and it's gorgeous. I do love America, but nowhere do we have an atmosphere like they do in the UK. It's certainly something I could get used to.

Dulles

So I'm camped out on the floor of Dulles waiting for the British Airlines check-in counter to open. I got here far too early for my flight (4 hours, to be exact) so that Matt could beat the atrocity that is D.C. rush hour. I mean, I don't think waiting in D.C. rush hour to get me here later was asking too much, he's already driving near eight hours today to get me the airport. Can you believe how selfish he is? (In case you can't pick up via internet, that was sarcasm.) At least they have free Wi-Fi until January 15th, sponsored by Google. I adore Google at the moment.

I may have overpacked -- I have two rather large duffles, a questionably large carry-on, a backpack, and my purse. I'm sitting on the floor literally surrounded by baggage.

Kind of funny, apparently there is a group doing a semester program in Uganda, and they kind of surrounded me. It's entertaining, because they all appear to have some tag or something that indicates their program, and since they're all surrounding me people keep introducing themselves to me. I'm kind of curious as to whether or not there is anyone else from CMRS on my flight -- apparently most of the people in the program are from St. Mary's college in Maryland, so it would make sense that someone else would be flying out of D.C.

My apologies that this post isn't very witty or organized, the Uganda people are all talking around me, which makes it rather difficult to write a nice, coherent lovely blog post.

Glorious Return

MY PASSPORT HAS RETURNED TO ME.

I refused to do ANYTHING all day (granted, it is only 1, but regardless) for fear that I would miss the UPS man. My mother warned me, often the UPS man does not come until after five, to which I said I will sit here and do nothing until he comes, because everyone knows if I say, go to the YMCA at 11, it will be the day that the UPS man comes at 11 and DON'T YOU KNOW IF I MISS HIM EVERYONE DIES?!

But I also refused to take a shower, watch tv, or anything. Have you ever noticed it seems like the more important the doorbell ring is, the quieter it is? It's like it has a special UPS setting so that it's barely noticeable to all in the house. And the UPS men don't try very hard either. I think they get paid per missed delivery. In actuality, I'm betting people bribe them with large wads of cash and/or favors to retrieve their packages off the truck when they miss the "delivery attempt."

Ahem. Onward. So I bolt from my bed, nearly throwing my laptop across the room and directly into the wall, and run downstairs to answer the door. (Whether or not I was screaming "passport passport passport! the entire way down will be left to mystery.) (hint: I was.) And I opened the door whilst exclaiming "Oh thank God, that's my passport and I travel on Wednesday." The UPS man commented about good timing, but started to look a bit weirded out when I told him if he wanted he could have my first born child or I could always kiss his feet. (Okay, that one actually didn't happen. I only offer my firstborn children to ticket agents, not UPS men.)