Pictures worth at least a couple of words.

Because my blog is super text heavy, I've decided to upload a few of my favorite pictures from my travels. My recap was really cursory, so a couple of captions will add at least a little more detail.

Before I get to the actual pictures, this is my favorite bib ever. Shame I had no baby to buy it for.

Me and Oscar. Awesome. (Pictures with me in, taken by Kate.)

The Famine Sculptures in Dublin, to commemorate all of the Irish who emigrated during the Famine. Fantastic sculptures, but really awful to behold. I cried.

Kate on top of the world. We climbed up the Crags in Edinburgh. I still hate hiking.

The Opera House in Budapest. Hulking, like all of the other structures there.

Part of the architectural decoration at the Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister in Dresden. I love him.

Notre Dame and her buttresses.

Market Hall in Krakow, with a stage for something being erected. Around this were a bunch of cafes and people eating outdoors. So, so pleasant.

There's a tradition that says if you stick your feet in the ocean while you're in Ireland, you leave part of your heart there. Kate and I have done so, and I, at least, will be returning (despite the wind and rain).

I have approximately 23934819861 more pictures, and I promise that I will post them on Facebook someday. But right now, this can suffice.

We all want something beautiful.

I'm going to say right now, this entry is going to do the Highlands absolutely no justice. There aren't words strong enough to actually describe the sort of landscape up there. There just aren't. Maybe if you were to listen the theme to Jurassic Park or Lord of the Rings with your eyes closed and imagine the landscape evoked by that music (minus any possible dinosaurs or hobbits), you could sort of get it. But probably not.
The tour of the Highlands started here in Edinburgh. We took a bus for three days of gorgeous countryside and awesome Celtic myths. I saw mountains and castles and fairy knolls. Also, more sheep and deer than I've ever seen in my life. The guide was a Glaswegian named Tony, and I absolutely fell in love with him haha. It helped that he looked remarkably like Damian Lewis and was impossibly charming and funny, as Scotsmen are wont to be. But yeah, besides Tony being a great guide, the tour had all sorts of other upsides. Mostly, I plan to make enough money to buy a house up there (the going rate for a one-story, modestly sized house is half a million $) and then completely withdraw from civilization. It's overrated anyway.
I don't really know how to write up the trip. I think it's better told through pictures, which I'll post on Facebook eventually. Sadly, I don't have pictures of everything because my camera batteries are sort of waging a war of attrition against me. They've ceased holding a charge for any longer than, say, 5 minutes of use. Fucking frustrating.
Anyway, as I said, the tour was three days. We went from here to Loch Ness and spent the first night in Fort Augustus on the edge of the loch. For the next day, we drove up to the Isle of Skye, where we spent the night. The Isle of Skye might as well not even be earth. The landscape up there seems completely alien, for a variety of reasons. I was basically looking out the bus window and thinking that I was further from what I consider real life than I ever had been before. That night it snowed, so there was a nice coating of snow on everything for the ride back down to Edinburgh for the next day. Abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous.
I know, I'm a total cop-out. I honestly have no idea what else to say about it. If you want some things to Google, to sort of piece together what I saw for yourself, I can give a list:

• Glencoe
• Eilean Donan Castle
• Culloden
• Inverness
• William Wallace Memorial
• Commando Memorial
• Loch Cluanie and Loch Lochie
• Portree (there's video of an exploding whale if you look hard enough)
• Doune Castle (where part of Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed)
• Ben Nevis
  

Maybe Google will have some pictures for you. It really is all in the seeing of these things. Though plenty of them also have amazing stories, both historical and mythical, attached.
Part of the absolute charm of Scotland is the regard for and love of the landscape. The Scots really, really love their country, and they have been enduring some of the worst weather in the world for thousands of years because of this love. The Highlanders especially exemplify this spirit, because it can be a miserable life up there. Especially in the winter and especially when there were no modern conveniences. It's sort of astounding to think about the things that people will put up with to stay where they are. The Scots enjoy what they call "hill-walking" or "going for a wee wander," which is actually hiking. I've learned that understating things is sort of the Scottish way. We went for a wee wander in Glencoe on the first day, and if I'm going to live in the Highlands, I am for sure going to need to get in shape haha. I am so not a hiker. And Scotland's hills are actually mountains, so yeah. I'd be perfectly happy being a sheep farmer's wife. It's not a bad life, when you wake up everyday to the most beautiful countryside in the world (I haven't actually been everywhere in the world, but I have no reservations about that sweeping statement).
And then I returned to Edinburgh to find that my 18 year old cousin is apparently engaged, fueling my current burning desire to retreat from everything. How did I find this out? Through motherfucking Facebook. Here comes a big, long diatribe, so get yourself a drink or something. It's actually sort of shocking to me how hurt I am by this, but there you have it. I'm changing my life's ambitions because of it. I was considering, following my earlier deep introspection, moving back to the East Coast after graduation because of the disconnect that I'm feeling between me and my family. Not anymore. I will be applying to grad schools here in the UK, pretty much exclusively I think. I probably sound completely irrational, but it mostly feels like my family has forgotten that I exist. It's stupid, I know. They're all so proud of me, talk about me all the time, blah blah blah. But my cousin, who has lived next door to me for all 18 years of her existence, decides to get engaged, and nobody sees fit to tell me this for two months. I have to find out from an update to her fiance's Facebook. Excuse me, what? I talked to my cousin last week. I talk to other members of my family every goddamn week. This is big news, guys. The sort of thing that I would like to know about, if only to voice my disapproval. Because I absolutely disapprove. This is going to change my life as well as theirs, as selfish as that sounds.
Basically, the way I see it is this. Ashley, my cousin, has been dating Ben, who graduated high school with me and was a friend of mine, since spring of my freshman year. So for two-ish years. Fine, whatever. I don't particularly like Ben, as he's always been basically an irritation for me. We agree about nothing, I think he's a fool. His dad's a priest, and he wants to be one too. He's changed religions (from Presbyterianism to Episcopalianism), I think mostly to win over my family. He'll say that it was after deep introspection and lots of searching blah blah don't care. Not the source of my deep-seated dislike. My family also dislikes Ben, for basically the same reasons that I do. He's opinionated, obnoxious, and foolish.
Ashley drags him along to all of our family functions, and, if there's one thing that should be known about my family, it's that they like to tear outsiders apart behind their backs. Maybe not the most noble trait, but whatever. We love each other and try to keep each other from being stupid. It's sort of like being part of a clan, with the inherent distrust of outsiders. Someone who has married into the family will probably forever be criticized, for one thing or another. Examples: being neurotic, being too overbearing, treating a dog like a child (my uncles are excellent fodder for the Lynch tribunal). So Ben doesn't stand a chance, is what I'm saying. He's already been a topic of discussion whenever I've been home, and I'd rather not have to talk about him for the rest of my life. I'd rather not have to see him for the rest of my life. He disturbs my hard-won peace. I know, I sound completely awful and selfish saying all of this. He makes my cousin happy blah blah blah. She's 18. She wants to go to med school, and she's still only a freshman in college. Ben's a junior, and he still lives with his parents. I don't know when they plan to marry, but I'm afraid that he's going to ruin her potential. She's a smart girl, but the women in my family do stupid stuff for love. Like marry idiots.
I genuinely like going to family functions. Have done for my entire life. Ben has made them more difficult than enjoyable. I sort of predicted that this would happen, but not so soon. I expected to have time to wean myself off of using my family as a source of peace. But fine, this is the way it is now. Ashley and Ben will get married, and I'll be the absent achiever. Talk about a person who can't deal with change. I'll probably seem like the jealous spinster, and I'll be forced to endure the wedding to avoid having people say mean shit behind my back. This is an odd side of me, I know. I'm not doing myself any favors here.
I just wish that someone had thought to tell me about this. If I had a fortress of solitude, it was my family. It may seem weird to be so upset about something happening in my extended family, but as I said, clan structure. My cousins might as well be my brothers and sisters for as often as we saw each other growing up. I can't make a distinction between immediate and extended. We all live next door to one another, for fuck's sake. I said before that home was no longer feeling like home. This just sort of clinches it. Growing up sucks, really. I wasn't ready to give up the peace that I felt with my family.
In better news, Doctor Who is back. This is how I will get through everything.

If anyone asks, you got in a fight.

First, my horoscope for the day:

Don't let the current hesitant attitude of yours extend into your emotional life, because it's taking enough out of you already trying to work out which way to go with it all. A discussion with an informed friend helps you regain some clarity regarding your current situation.

That'll come into play later. I just wanted to get it out there for right now.
This weekend was London, obviously, and oh. my. God. This will be mostly incoherent, because I'm mostly incoherent. Also, there's reading/note taking that I should be doing for a presentation that I have to do next week, so of course I'm avoiding that. I predict a long post. Maybe even with some feelings, for your added enjoyment.
Thursday night: Whisky society meeting. Got pleasantly drunk, chatted with a few people, learned that The Sopranos = the international perception of New Jersey. It was amusing getting shit about that from an Irish guy and a Swedish guy though. Then, I came back here and packed for London. Drunk packing is a lot easier than normal packing. I already knew that, but it bears repeating. Of course, you then spend the whole journey there wondering what you might have forgotten in your stupor.
Friday: Train to London left at 11. It's approximately a 5 hour trip, through Newcastle, York, Doncaster, etc. Basically, farms and sheep. And the occasional nuclear power plant and cliff overlooking the sea. England is a beautiful country. I did the travel parts with the girl that I've been going out and doing stuff with every week, so it was an enjoyable ride. When we got to London (King's Cross woo), we successfully navigated the Tube to get to our hotel. I then successfully used a map to navigate the above-ground walk to the hotel. I was so proud of myself, you have no idea. The hotel was questionable, but USC paid for everything, so there are no complaints here. Ashley and I dropped our stuff off and then went to look for a bakery that her friend who was studying in London had recommended. Some more successful navigation meant that I got a delicious cupcake, and then we went back to the hotel to wait for dinner. More people from our group had arrived at that point, and we ran into 3 guys from SC as we were walking into the hotel, walking out. That detail is mostly pointless. Setting the scene. Anyway. More people. There were 3 of us in my room: Ashley (the girl that I've been hanging out with), me, and Chelsea (whom I'd met at the welcome dinner, and is a Tri-Delt). No en-suite bathrooms, whatever. Sitting in the room waiting for it to be 7pm so we can meet the USC UK liaison (John Sharkey, a nice British guy who enjoys getting drunk with us and spending USC's money), there is a knock at the door. I answer it, and a guy asks for fire in French. I realize he wants a lighter, say sorry, and move on. A little later, a greasy looking Italian guy (not racist, totally accurate description) knocks on the door with a bottle of champagne and asks us to drink with them. Uh, nope. Sorry. Finally, time for dinner. A group of us go to a pub, since there is an hour before our dinner reservation, and the guys drink while the girls (some of the London students joined us) talk. Pansy, I know. For dinner, we go to a brasserie attached to a hotel near ours (I have this thing against restaurants attached to hotels, ask me about it sometime if you have time to listen to me complain), the food takes forever, we get through two bottles of wine before the appetizers. There are 9 of us eating. Two more bottles appear later. I know this is nothing compared to typical 4 people/5 bottle parties, but I was drunk enough that the food went from passable to delicious. After dinner, some of us went back to the same pub that we were at before, while Ashley and Chelsea went back to the hotel and went to bed. This is the sort of hotel where you have to turn in your one key every time you leave, so there had to be some strategizing about how I would get back into the room. Apparently, pubs in central London have last call at 11pm, so it was an early night. Getting back in the room was fun though, because everything was noisy, and I, of course, was trying to be a quiet drunk.
Okay, to be perfectly frank, I'm boring myself. There's something that I actually want to talk about, so let's just move on to that.
See that tag at the bottom that says "geology?" I have completely and inexplicably fallen in love with an SC geologist. This is why my horoscope is at the top there. If you're reading all of this, consider yourself an "informed friend," and discuss. Because, as you'll soon see, I am over-thinking this, per usual. His name is Glenn, he's a junior, doesn't live in the Rock House but knows everyone else there (which, duh. There are approximately 12 geologists, and we know everyone in the Rock House). When I walked out of the hotel to meet the rest of the group out front before dinner, he introduced himself and promptly explained to us how he'd received the nice looking gash and bump above his right eyebrow. Apparently, he got to the hotel, got ready to go exploring in the few hours he had before dinner, and promptly got hit in the face with a door by a non-English speaking porter. He then had to go lie down for 2 hours, to stop his head bleeding and throbbing. Seriously. Immediately, I am endeared. He sat next to me at dinner and at the pub afterwards, so we talked a lot. His mom is from Jersey, and he grew up going to the Jersey Shore every year (though he lived in Baton Rouge until his senior year of high school and then in Texas). The universe is somehow responsible for this, obviously. And I've inserted these tidbits of info here, because it matters to Saturday's events.
Saturday: Woke up early for breakfast (which I'm not even going to discuss because it was the worst ever). Ate, Glenn came down and sat with me and my roommates. Had an hour between breakfast and when we had to leave for the Globe Theater tour, so my roommates and I went back upstairs and watched the news. British news, even on Saturday mornings, far surpasses anything on American stations ever. We left the hotel, and I spent the rest of the morning strategically positioning myself as we were walking in our big group to the Globe and getting intensely jealous when anyone else was where I wanted to be. Guys, this is rapidly becoming terrible. I'm going to need to tone it down. Anyway. We toured the Globe, which was awesome. I would really like to see a play there because, as the tour guide said, it's like being inside a giant wooden instrument. The acoustics are unbelievable. After the Globe, everyone else had time to go off and do their own thing. Ashley was going to go off and meet her friend who was in London, which she of course invited me to do. I said I'd think about it, we all went to look at the exhibit that's attached to the Globe. At the end of that, there was a partial group meeting, one of those "anyone else want to do what I want to do" things. Glenn mentioned the British Museum, which we'd been talking about with some Arch students at the pub on Friday night. Obvs, when he asked if anyone else was up for that, I said yes. Another kid was going to go with us, but then decided to go with Ashley instead, as she was going to do stuff outdoors, and it was a gorgeous day. The universe is in my favor right now, apparently. I will have to continue to sacrifice babies or something (less funny because it's kind of true, disregard). Glenn and I went looking for the nearest Tube stop, met a singing porter who advised us of a better route and sang snippets of Neil Diamond and Johnny Cash for us, found the better route, and promptly got lost exiting the Tube. The Tube is awesome, but the maps are only really handy underground. Once you get above ground, you're on your own. So we had a mini-adventure, involving walking in a great big circle and being rude to a lady handing out Scientology pamphlets in front of the Scientology Centre. Like being in LA, but with the wrong spelling. Finally, we figured out where we needed to go, did so, and rewarded ourselves with Korean food for lunch- satisfying a serious craving that I'd been having. We then went to the British Museum, and I'm really not sure that I can actually talk about it. It was everything that I'd hoped and more. For those who don't know, I put on my USC application that my dream job was curator at the British Museum.
After the museum, we had to get to a theater in Piccadilly Circus for a play (The 39 Steps). Cue another adventure. Once again, Glenn and I got off the Tube and went the wrong direction above ground. Quite a team, really. But we got to the theater with like 5 minutes to spare, so, success. And our seats were next to each other (well, one apart, so I just took the empty one next to him since it was a small part of our USC group that had all of the seats around us), and the universe is again on my side. At the play, I ran into a girl that I'd studied with in Dijon, so we talked the whole way to, and then through, dinner. Made tentative plans to go back to Dijon in our free time this semester, which will be super nice. It'll be nice to hang out with her again when the other students come up to Edinburgh later this month. Glenn tried out his more exciting injury story on her at dinner, telling an involved tale about a Scottish pub and supporting an English team. We helped him make it more believable. On a semi-related note, Glenn lives in a "flat" with 11 freshmen guys (it sounds like a suite, really), and he was saying that they want to have an "around the world" party that weekend, because his flatmates have become obsessed with that idea since he mentioned it one time. Hilarious.
Post dinner, people once again got to do their own thing. Most of us had been drinking at dinner (I had two Sapporos, as it was a trendy Asian restaurant), so obviously the drinking had to continue. Glenn, two other guys (John and Matt [also in T.O., though I've never had class with them]), and I went to a liquor store, bought shitty wine, and went back to the hotel. They showered, I watched some NCIS, and then we reconvened to pregame before we decided what we wanted to do for the evening (it was approximately 8pm at this point). They all shared a room, along with the one other guy from my program that went down to London, and he came in as we were drinking and said that he was staying with some friends somewhere else that night. Sweet. We headed out and essentially got off the Tube at a completely arbitrary stop, chosen by Matt. We walked for like a block and found a pub that was actually open until 1am. Our evening was decided. And what an evening it was. Tequila shots were involved. Matt's from Boston, John from the Bay Area, so it was the sort of mixed group of Americans that makes for great times. I should mention that the Tube closes at 11:30, which we knew going into this. At midnight, we were all wasted, so we decided to go back to the hotel and finish our shitty wine. We walked forever, ended up back in Piccadilly, and had to say fuck it and take a cab because we never would have gotten back otherwise. The driver offered to sell us weed ahaha. We were drunk enough to say no. We got back to the hotel and stayed up until I don't even know drinking our wine. Either 4 or 5am. Glenn got into bed and John put shaving cream on his face. Ah, boys. I laughed harder that night than I have in months. It was so nice. And drunk. Jesus. In total, I had the 2 Sapporos, 3 pints and a tequila shot at the pub, and 7/8 of my bottle of wine (we each got our own at the liquor store, because we knew it was going to be one of those nights).
Sunday: Woke up at an ungodly hour for breakfast again, still drunk. Ate and packed everything up, left our bags with the front desk, and Ashley, Chelsea, and I went and saw Westminster Abbey and then Kensington Gardens. It was another beautiful day, so we really just wanted to do stuff that would allow us to walk around outside. I then got hungover, so the sun and mild weather were nice. Went back to the hotel, picked up our stuff, and headed to King's Cross to catch our trains. Ashley and I had one half an hour later than Chelsea's, so we spent our extra time taking a couple of pictures at the Platform 9 3/4 thing that they have. So cute. 2:30 rolled around, and we started the long ride back to Edinburgh. I pretty promptly passed out, because, yeah. 3 hours of sleep will do that. It's funny, because Ashley and Chelsea were both like "How are you awake right now?" throughout the day. Band has trained me well. When I got home, I waited forever for my mom to call so I could go to bed, and she didn't. So I finally called her at 11:30 and said wtf, basically. Thanks, Mom. We took care of all of the involved stuff for the apartment application for next year, and she told me that my family is still looking into coming over here during Easter. Then I finally went to bed at around 12:30.
Today: Skipped my 9am Buddhist Art lecture, and I refuse to be blamed for that. I needed the sleep, and attendance at lectures isn't kept. And the class powerpoints are put online, so it's really not even that academically irresponsible of me. Went grocery shopping. Went to my other class. Worked for a little while on the presentation that's due next week, since the library has recalled the book that I need to do it with (so annoying). I have until Thursday to read 150 pages. Easy. I had Indian takeaway for dinner, which was delicious, and I have leftovers that will last forever. Good day.
That's a run down of everything in my life. The things that need slightly more depth still are 1) Glenn and 2) my family visiting.
1) Glenn: I've said a lot already, but I think another thing that bears mentioning is how easy it is to talk to him. There were very, very few awkward silences of any sort while we were hanging out. Some of that was because I was talking too much out of nervousness, as I do, but he talked too. There were a few times where one of us would say something and the other would immediately say that they were just about to say that or were just thinking about that same thing. That means absolutely nothing, but it's so rare for that to happen with someone that I've just met. And it was random stuff, like how it seems that there's no unspoken rule for which way you should step when you confront someone going the other way on the sidewalk here (seriously, there seem to be a lot more awkward run-ins here, and not just between foreigners and Brits, but Brits and Brits too). We have sort of plans to go to a football match here on Sunday, as you Facebook stalkers have probably seen, so I'm pretty excited about that. Okay, enough of him for now.
2) My family: I am so stoked (yes, stoked) that my family are probably coming to visit. It's really a shame that they can't come any other time, as that's part of my Spring Break, and I've had to tentatively cancel my plans to go to the Iberian Peninsula with Lena (seriously, sorry again about that), but I think it will be amazing to be able to show them around here. It always makes me sort of sad to know that I've done more extensive traveling than my father has, because I feel like it's something that he would enjoy so much. When he was young, he did a lot of traveling in the US and some in Canada, but he's never been to Europe. So much of my personality and so many of my interests come from him that it's an opportunity I would love for him to have. My brother is supposed to go to Germany with his class next year, and if that were to happen with my dad still never having been to Europe, I think it would secretly destroy him a little. He's very proud of us and glad that we've had the opportunities that we have, but can you imagine your children both getting to do something like going to Europe when you haven't? It's probably terrible. My mom went to Czechoslovakia in high school, so she's seen a little bit, but this is something else entirely. They're looking into airfares now, which is good. Approximately 2 weeks ago, they were fairly set on not coming. I have no idea what happened back home between then and now, but I'm glad it did happen. I sort of suspect that my dad keeps pushing this, which, good for him. This is the home of golf and Scotch, after all.

I am being so ridiculously sentimental right now. Holy fuck. I'm sorry for making that so long, but it was a bunch of stuff that I'd like to remember forever. Well, some of it. The rest is stuff that my horoscope said that I should discuss. If you read all of it, do what I do and blame the universe. Now I really do have to do some work. I'll put pictures up tomorrow, I'm sure. I'm too tired of typing to do the whole captioning thing right now. Something else for you to look forward to.

And Erin's back on AIM for me to harass, so that's that. Peace, fuckers.

- C

EDIT: Since I've been asked already, and to head off anymore stealth photo requests, here:


Far left, guys. And yeah, all of my pants are too big now. We'll not even get into that. Also, I am apparently tall-ish. Hah. Sweet. Posting this picture makes me feel slightly less creepy than stealing one from Facebook would. Next time you see Brad, get him to log into Facebook for you or something. Tell him it's research. They are obviously friends.

Further comment responses: No, Erin, I haven't found a boy for you yet. Unless the Scottish economist will do.

<3s.>

Adventures of the religious sort.

Okay, so here's the thing: as much as I am a non-believer, church is a comfortable place for me. I know what to expect, generally, I know what's going to happen next and what the people will be like. And when I say church, I mean the Episcopal church. I was raised going to church on Sundays and major religious holidays. I was an acolyte and then a lay reader, I was baptised and confirmed in my grandmother's church of choice (Church of the Atonement, a tiny congregation in the town where she was born all of a million years ago). Church is safe. I even enjoy church, at certain times of the year/when I'm in certain moods. Lent/the Easter season is my favorite. Like spring, it's all about rebirth and making things new- a fresh start, if you will. So, while here, I've decided to go to church, as I was saying.
Most of the reason that I don't attend services in the US, besides the part where I'm way too busy/tired on most Sundays to bother and the fact that I don't have a car, is because religion in the US terrifies me. People who go to church regularly are becoming more and more the type of person that lives for religion. I'm not interested in that. I think that it makes people one-dimensional and boring, in addition to making them ignorant of most other things that make up a life worth living. Not everybody, but yeah, my feelings on all things religious are well known.
Here, it's much different. Religion isn't about abstaining from things and depriving yourself of worldly pleasures and not enjoying your time on earth. Religion, like everything else in Scotland, is fun. With that said, I went to a young persons' group meeting for the church that I'm planning on attending last night. The meeting was at a pub and was really just a small group of people who were willing to make me feel welcome. We talked about "church" for approximately 5 minutes the entire night. Other than that, we talked about everything else under the sun. While drinking. After the pub, we decided to go to CC Bloom's, which happens to be a gay nightclub. Yeah. Everyone's welcome in the Episcopal church. At I don't even know what o'clock, I left the nightclub with a girl named Alice, and Tom, an economist (ahaha) who are both in their mid to upper 20s. We went back to Tom's flat for "coffee" which actually ended up being a bottle of wine and some scotch (my first woo). I haven't been so drunk in a long, long while. I don't actually remember going to bed, though I do remember walking home.
Anyway, Tom's flat is in New Town, which is the other side of town. It's very wealthy, as well. Imagine the type of townhouse where you would expect to see a rich Victorian family, and that's Tom's flat. The person who owns it is the heir to the position of head of the Clan Cameron, though I didn't actually get to meet him. I assume that he's Tom's age or a little older.
Today, I got up and went to church (still slightly drunk, not gonna lie), which was a good way to pass the morning. There was a coffee hour afterwards where I met some more people and bought a ticket for the Burns supper and ceilidh that the church is hosting next Friday. Again, something terribly exciting to do.
And that has been my weekend. Also, I haven't been to church since last Easter, and I figure that I could use some spiritual cleansing after last semester ahaha.
I've heard that the weekend back home was passed with debauchery and insanity, so well done. Until next time, send me emails.

- C

Why haven't you left yet?

Until approximately yesterday afternoon, I was hoping to be on last night's 10pm Continental flight to London. I have an epic tale [as befits my epic nature] about why I have not yet left for the UK, as I'm sure that anyone who knew my original plans would like to know why they changed. And hey, I might as well document the good with the bad.
On one of my flights from LA to Philly after the Rose Bowl, I made the mistake of picking up a Spirit Magazine (Southwest's in-flight magazine). The Libra horoscope read: Stay home this month. Leaving will be stressful due to travel snafus. I paraphrased, but you get the point. Sure enough, my flight from Nashville to Philly, the final leg of my journey, was delayed. Well, damn, thought I. This does not bode well. I arrived home, an hour later than I was expecting, and with the knowledge that my passport had not yet been returned by the British Consulate-General in NYC. You see, in order to make my trip overseas easier, I decided to apply for a visa. With a visa, I will be able to pass through customs with ease (hopefully), among other benefits. Unfortunately, the visa process took longer than I thought/advertised. The Consulate-General's website reads:

We aim to process the majority of mailed applications within 5 business days regardless of which visa you are applying for. However we would advise all applicants to make their applications a minimum of 14 days before their proposed date of travel. This is particularly important during the busy holiday periods at Christmas and the summer.

Ok, fine, did that. Thought it would be fine. Silly me. I received an email saying that my visa application had been received and that it could take 5 working days to review. Oh no. So I attempt to call the Consulate-General the day after I get home, in order to inform them of my increasingly urgent situation. Unfortunately, it is IMPOSSIBLE to talk to a real person in that office about visas. And I'm serious when I say IMPOSSIBLE. You try: (212) 745-0200. Enjoy the switchboard voice, she's all you'll hear for about 15 minutes. The option that their website provides is calling an outside company, for $3 a minute or a $12 flat fee. They also let you know beforehand that this company can't tell you anything about specific applications, just give you general suggestions and advice. Thanks, British Consulate. You're so helpful.
I call that company, spend most of my call time on hold, and finally get to talk to a woman who says that she can send an email marked as "urgent" for me. Oh, good, because I have every confidence that they read their email regularly when elsewhere on the site it says that they take an average of 22 days to return emails. Uh huh. But what else could I do? I had her do that, said thank you, and freaked out. Things were looking more bleak. As my mom said, "What a cluster." I spent the night packing, not knowing if I would actually be leaving the next night or not.
After some deliberation, my dad agreed to drive to NYC first thing in the morning the next day. Note: I live about 2 hours away from NYC, depending on traffic. Sometimes it's less, but often more. We left at 8am and made good time until Hoboken. Which is how it always goes. Fortunately, my dad's GPS suggested an alternate route that saved us about 45 minutes of sorrow trying to get into the Lincoln Tunnel. Seriously. I was astounded.
As a quick aside, my dad hates driving in cities, NYC most of all. It's contrary to his driving style. So for him to do this for me, when we have no guarantee that this venture will be at all fruitful, is nothing short of the ultimate show of love. And I am incredibly grateful for my long-suffering father indeed. Most especially for what comes later.
We get to the city, find the Consulate, park. At this point, it's approximately 10:15, and we haven't eaten or done anything but drive since early that morning. Upon entering the building that houses the Consulate, we find a line of three or four other guys arguing with the security guard, an old Caribbean man. They are all apparently having the same problem that I am, and there is nobody in the entire building that we can talk to. Cue terrible feeling of doom. The guys in front of me had no luck, so of course I didn't either. We gave up after approximately 5 minutes, because what else could we do? Storm the Consulate? Nope. It was time to drive the 2 hours back home, after walking back to the car. My dad, because he is a phenomenal human being, said nothing, making this experience slightly easier for me. I did, however, cry for the next hour and a half, because I was more frustrated than I've ever been in my entire life. That, and I'm a woman. Whatever.
When I got home, I checked my email to find one that said that my visa application had been approved and had a UPS tracking number. When I tracked the package, it said that it had been billed on Jan. 2nd, but had no further info. I called UPS, they started an inquiry and found out that the package was just sitting at the Consulate, ready to ship that night. Um, WTF GUYS. So I think that my visa had actually been issued on Jan. 2nd, but they waited until last night to ship it. THANKS. AWESOME. The girl at UPS told me that it should arrive on Monday. Great, so I officially have to change my flight to London and then the connecting flight to Edinburgh. Which is what I spent yesterday afternoon doing.
Besides damages for emotional distress, I maintain that the British government owes me about $900 for last minute flight changes. Yeah, thanks, guys. Great working with you.
Barring any further unforeseen catastrophes, at which point I would probably have to take this semester off (because I am not, in fact, made of money), I leave from Newark at 6:55pm on Tuesday. At which point I will have missed orientation and my first three days of classes. But hey, whatever, I'll figure it out. At least I'll be there.
On the up-side, I get to be home for my dad's birthday tomorrow. I can tell him that I have nothing but gratitude for his existence, because that's the truth.

And that is the terrible story of why I am still home, bored.
Because it might come in handy, my exact flight info is as follows:
Outbound: Virgin Atlantic Flight 3118 (operated by Continental) departing Newark at 6:55pm Jan. 8th and arriving London Gatwick at 6:55am on Jan. 9th.
easyJet flight 703 departing London Gatwick at 10:30am and arriving Edinburgh at 12:00pm.
Inbound: Virgin Atlantic Flight VS0001 departing London Heathrow at 4:00pm Jun. 30th and arriving Newark 6:40pm Jun. 30th.

And now that I've told you all sorts of stuff, there are things that I want to know from you.
1) Who's planning on reading this?
2) Anything specific you want pictures/descriptions of?
That's really it. Just trying to cater to my audience and make this more exciting for anyone that chooses to read this. But yeah, seriously, if you comment, I'm more likely to update.

- C