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.)