To the left, to the left.

So I failed as far as blogging is concerned this weekend. I know, there really isn't any excuse. Oh well. I will try to better from this point onward.

The London Eye was pretty spectacular, despite rain and the fact I'm afraid of ferris wheels. There really isn't a more breathtaking view than looking at any city from a raised height. I'll never get over it. :))



The Tower of London and High Tea at Harrod's were also successes. It's actually rather appropriate for one to follow the other because the thought of wearing the Imperial Crown of India is just as unfathomable as the thought of wearing most clothing items/face creams in Harrod's.

What is imaginable, though, is a weekend in York in a town that is overrun by Vikings. (Yes, Casey and I booked passage this weekend.) There's even a beard competition, guys.

Also fathomable, a weekend in Madrid visiting another very good friend. (And a few other trips to be planned this week as well.)
One more point that my mind actually grasp: living in the Pi Phi House for the 2010-2011 academic year too. :D

I could go on about awkwardness and such, but I won't. January is about to end, and I feel like I'm not making the progress on some of the resolutions I set for myself, namely loose ends of course. They will come up, but I'm not in London to have to continually snap at frayed loose ends. And the pile of books I have looming certainly won't allow such a thing. So dear loose ends, adieu. (again)

As for the next month, February is short and full. Papers, trips, etc. etc.

And as for The Rocket, our relationship is officially over. (Sorry DJ Mark, but I whole heartedly feel you are replaceable.)

xoxo, cheers & love,
D

Oh yeah, I'm still obsessed with Tower Bridge too!

Oh Tswift.

Day of revelry:
Tower of London
High Tea at Harrod's
Other revelries
(Sunshine again?!)

...I will report back.

xoxo, D

I don't want to be a Hallmark card/Lifetime channel voice/anything of that sort.

So I'm in London studying abroad. Most of you probably know this, but this was not my first choice. Last April, when we were registering for classes, I decided I would take Intensive Intermediate French at 8am Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, so that when I studied abroad in PARIS I would be at a good level of French. (I could have taken the class at 2pm, but then I wouldn't have been able to have an internship, also unacceptable.) Once I arrived in Paris, though, I was sure I would have an opportunity to really extend my knowledge because I'd be done with the required levels, and I might even pick up a French minor when all was said and done.

I didn't get into the Paris program. There were 75 more applicants than spots, so juniors got priority over sophomores. I found out sitting in the 9th floor of the library doing homework. Not ideal.

Because of the fact that I don't like not having a general idea of where I'm headed (especially when it concerns what continent/country I'll be in living in for a semester), when offered to transfer my application to another NYU location that would notify me about my acceptable (or not) by the end of the week, I made up my mind quickly. Multiple factors made Spring 2010 the best semester for me to be abroad, and some other various things made me switch my application to London rather than Prague, Ghana, Florence, etc.

By Friday of that week I had been accepted into the NYU London program. Happiness ensued.

During the disappointing Tuesday I was trying to figure out how to pick up the shambles of my life post-Parisian denial, my mom told me something that, well, is just play true. She said, "Dorothy, I don't understand why there's always such hiccups in your life."

Mom, I don't get it either, but apparently I have chronic life hiccups (hence my continuous string of failures). Often it seems that the grand plans I make seem to fall through. What I predict never happens. What I play and apply for early doesn't work out. Things inevitably change, resulting in my finding myself in very strange experiences (like the elevator this morning...uno! ooh! no!). As much as the hiccups continuously persist, I would be lying to say that things don't usually end up working out.

I wind up in a program better for me, one that might get me ahead so I can get an accelerated Master's degree. A better opportunity arises that I never saw coming. So despite the awkward sting of encounters and bizarre twists my life-plot takes, I trust that in the end it will be a comedy, appropriately ending in the manner which people have enjoyed since the days the first Queen Elizabeth was ruling over what's now the UK, with marriage and a bit with a dog (or cat in my personal case).

So as the streets of Islington clear for the evening, I send my sincerest hopes to all ya'll. I hope that you, too, keep some romanticism and trust in the Good. Yeah things get twisted and morbid, but that's no need to twist something as happy as Twelfth Night into a sad tale of poor, old Malvolio's misuse and destruction of traditional sexual paradigms.

Let the hiccups roll and wash you up on an unfamiliar beach. In mustering up a haphazard plan to disguise yourself and survive, you might discover the best thing ever.

xoxo & etc.
D

I plan things too far in advance.

I know this isn't for a few weeks still, but I think I should just get this out know. Here goes (It's short and sweet-ish because I just got home from a wonderful performance of Twelfth Night and have lots of reading, as usual. =) )

Dear couples of London,
Please keep all obnoxious public displays of affection IN PRIVATE. Those of us who are sadly not in the blissful love-drunk phase of life that you find yourselves in would rather not watch you *snog* on our way home on the *tube.* It is just unnecessary. Please keep it especially low key in the fast-approaching dooms day that will make Hallmark and other card companies millions more dollars.

Furthermore, men of London, stop dating down. (I don't mean to me rude or judgmental or racist-?-here.) You are all too good looking to be dating British girls who look like old librarians, or, even worse, trashy hipsters. This too is completely and utterly unnecessary. I know it's slim pickings over here, but stop selling yourself short.

That is all, folks.

(I got to Skype my little brother and mom today! It was as awesome as Tesco pasta!-Yeah, that's right.)

xoxo & all that is good,
D

At least I earned my pear puff today.

If I could only eat one more thing for the rest of my life, it might be the pear puffs served at a pastry shop by University of London. ￡1.50 gets you the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. I can only imagine what their gorgeous cakes look like. (Good thing we'll find out when our small "crew"- we deserve such a title -celebrates mid-semester birthdays. Even better that any pseudo-excuse will do to get us to buy cake.)

At least I earned the pastry today. I walked from Nido to St. Paul's, to Christopher Wren's Great Fire of London monument, up the 311 steps to the top of the monument, back down the steps, down to the Thames River walk, to Victoria Embankment, to campus, through the British Museum (again), back to campus, back to Nido. A pear puff was well deserved, though the view from the top of the monument was reward enough (especially considering that the walk up/down costs more than the pear puff, but only by 50p).


Built by Chris between 1671 and 1677. The stairs wind up the small column.


1/3 of the way up. (Kinda like the trek to the crown of the Statue of Liberty, huh guys?)


My favorite view from the top, mostly because it features Tower Bridge, the object of my latest obbession. Note to any man who will ever propose to a girl: South bank boardwalk, at night when the cute lanterns are on - and I saw "lantern" rather than "light" because the word is just cuter - and you two are standing understand the Tower Bridge . . . you should ask there. No ballpark scoreboards, completely tacky. Do it there, you'll get a yes.)

I listed all the walking out to make it seem long and tiring. It was, don't get me wrong. But I can't express how much I love walking here. One of my friends said I was super productive for strolling all day, but I think just the opposite. There's nothing like walking in solitude when you just want to daydream and soak up everything that surrounds you.

Walking here is different than in New York. Maybe the added sublimity and surreal atmosphere the streets have here is only because they're new and different. (I could be saying they're rotten and annoying by May, I doubt I will though.) The streets wind about and my feet just go for literally hours upon end (no iPod background music necessary!). I try to imagine who else and what characters have shared these streets with me. Evelina, the leading female in one book I'm reading, was just told about the beauty of Wren's monument in the chapter I read last night! Don't even get me started about seeing the Globe from across the river. You can stand on a suspension bridge built to celebrate 2000, look across the Thames, and there it is! The mecca of all Literature dorks! To make things even cool, though, it sits right under the TATE MODERN (my adventure for NEXT Monday). Talk about living in history.

Enough romanticizing for one evening. I'm off to read, read, read, read. (That's what you get my procrastinating and watching Grey's Anatomy, for it, like a late-night quarter-pounder with cheese, is just as satisfying here as across the pond.)

xoxo, D

I didn't leave Nido.

I haven't left my apartment building today. I'm not proud.

Lots of reading got done, though. As did a date with a treadmill, the get-together was desperately needed after a late-night trip to McDonald's last night. I must confess, it was just as delicious here as it is in the states.

This week, I am sure, will prove to be equally entertaining.

I recommend the solitude of treadmills and books and BBC.com to anyone, though. (I learned BBC.com features Greek. Hurrah!)

xoxo, D

Stephen, why don't you call me in 3 part harmony?

Sorry Jared. It was a brief introduction.

Due to DJ Tyler's failure at life, my friends and I will be reuniting with our dear pal DJ Mark this evening. My only comment on this event to come is that it shall be glorious. And there will be a party in the U-u-K for sure.

Because let's face it, I spent my entire Friday night and Saturday day reading. I will be dancing tonight.

A note regarding dancing:
I'm currently reading an eighteenth century novel for class and they do a lot of dancing in it as well. I must admit, though, the rules have changed. Boys, don't dance if you can't. I know this harsh, but nobody wants to see that. Men, dinosaurs if you will, don't either. You had fun, now please exit and go to the York. I promise you will find a much more inviting audience.

All that being said. I must continue reading for a few hours so I can fully enjoy the revelries to come.

Peace & cheers and Fish & chips,
D

"So to Greenwich I go."

There’s something relaxing about a guided tour. You can just let your feet wander and listen, maybe your mind wanders a bit too. You are immersed in the sights and atmosphere you’re seeing, but a part of you is free to both observe and explore thoughts as well.

Such was the case in Greenwich.



After getting off the boat, I wandered through green squares that great dramas unfolded in (namely those concerning Anne Boleyn and a certain May Day joust). I stood in two hemispheres of the world at once. I ate fish and chips in a pub Charles Dickens used to frequent. I walked through halls where students of the Royal Academy learned how to be gentlemen. I frolicked through an old outdoor space shouting Americanisms, mostly to do with the KeSha obsession plaguing my friends and I. I scavenged for Tudor pots on the Thames riverside.

I did not, however, have coffee. String cut - end scene.

Despite rain and the predictable java disappointment, it was a lovely day. I throughly approve of Greenwich. It’s worth the hype.





I also did a lot of homework. AND LAUNDRY! (Though the confusing UK machine took my money at first. Don’t worry mom, reimbursement is on the way.) I met a man named Dr. Who, too. He's dreamy. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be gray (big surprise there) & I will spend my day in Senate House Library.

Adieu, xoxo & Cheers.
D

(Again - I apologize for any days lacking posts.)

Nobody puts Blake in a corner.

New York City has days that are very, very cold. I remember trudging to 8am class in my sleeping-bag, hunched against the sharp and icy wind. New York has days that the cold steals any thoughts you may have as soon as you step out of the door. You can’t think at all. It’s just a dry.

Today was cold in London. The temperature, however, wasn’t lower than 30. There wasn’t a wind chill of -2. (You know, those days where weather.com says the temp. is 17 but it “feels like” -4.) The cold in London is different. It’s damper and, I think, harsher due to the increased humidity. It creeps into your bones and invades your thoughts, which then become frosted and stagnant. The bad dream that woke you up lingers throughout the morning, until the cold breaks - briefly at least.

Mid-day features a bearable drudgery when facing the weather. You can fight off the creep with an awesome deli sandwich & soup or a scone and cappucino (with real milk and sugar - skim & Splenda is so last semester) or both if you happen to have two breaks in the afternoon.

But at 4:15, the sun sets and there’s no fighting it. This is especially the case when your literature class decides to end with the following Blake poem from Songs of Experience:

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In ever cry of every Man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black’ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls:

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
(Not exactly uplifting material, dude.)

Obviously, such a predicament would leave you depressed for all of eternity. Left alone in a cruel world to pointless banter on the purpose of our existence. You wouldn’t find an answer, therefore, your horizons would forever be bleak and miserable, causing you to achieve nothing in life. Perhaps you even drop out of school and resort to street pharmaceuticals as a means of generating income. Awesome, until you’re arrested and sent to JAIL. (No one looks good in an orange jumpsuit.)

. . . Unless you happen to have the new Ke$ha album on your ghetto iPod, for dinosaurs and animals are a perfect naturalist juxtaposition to harsh urban life. You decide to put your earbuds in and go to the gym to work out. A good, hot sweat obliterates any shackles the mind may be imprisoned by. Sweating was one of the Native Americans methods of purification - it clearly works, sometimes the scenery in the gym isn’t so bad either. :)

Sykpe is dirty, well not really.

I Skyped for the first time today. Yes, the software I have an irrational prejudice against is officially back on my computer. I feel slightly dirty, oh well, I'll deal. My judgmental tendencies are merely due to the fact both Skype and skank begin with the same consonant slur.

I also went to NYUL class for the first time today. I have to say, I am mildly obsessed with the 60-some year old man that will be teaching my Shakespeare class. I can only hope the same excitement and obsession will follow after I'm acquainted with my Writing London professor (I've heard great things!) and my . . . POST COLONIAL INDIAN LITERATURE professor (I feel like that class will get a lot of air time on here due to the intensity I see in the ominous syllabus. Moreover, we had about 170 pages of reading due for tomorrow. Mostly historical contextualizing things. I am happy to say it's going on midnight here and all is both well and read.)

*Exit for short Skype session - I feel like my soul rotted some.*

Not that I'm complaining, as my father always said, "When we all sat down, [I] wanted to me the English major." I know. I secretly love pouring over pages and pages of literary-based historical theory, with emphasis on the literary of course.

Adieu, though. Sleep, and reading a little more Chelsea Handler must occur, before I set off to drastically expand my knowledge of literature (and find out how to apply to stay the weekend at a British family's house!). More to come I'm sure.

xoxo (& Cheers!), D

Your love is my drug. (Well your Food Halls are at least Harrod's.)

(I desperately need a break from my post colonial literature.)

If I could live in a magical world all to my self, I would live in Harrod's. For real. The mega-store of luxury is basically every little girl's dream. There are floors upon floors of the finest shoes, coats, coffee makers, dresses, chocolates, espresso machines, vases, tables, rugs, etc. etc. It's magnificent and a little more than slightly ridiculous.

Regardless, I got to go explore a little today with Mary Lou (xoxo Seymours!), and I may have to publicly apologize for the lack of conversation skills I possessed while in the store. I'm sorry I can't speak when my mind is buzzing from a watch to a scarf to a pastry to a truffle to a pump to a chocolate pump?!

Yes, Harrod's was serving chocolate shoes.


(CHOCOLATE SHOES!) I really don't think I need to say anything more.

Today I also had my first deli coffee. 90p and the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. (I see why Europeans walk so much, its so they can afford to have super coffee with real milk and sugar. I support this way of life.)

My delicious coffee was immediately followed by running into prime individual numero uno on the street. First a pub, now a street, next thing I know I'll be seeing him when I run off to York for the viking festival!

Oh yes folks, in mid/late February vikings take over the town of York. Due to the sad fact that Eric Northman will not be attending, my giant hope for this fabulous weekend to come is that are giant chicken legs, or some other barbaric food on a stick. :)

School starts tomorrow. I must continue contextualizing how Brits textualized colonialism in the nineteenth century. Woot.

A day late and a few pounds shorter.

I can’t skip a day of blogging, too many petty things seem to happen in a day!

Today was the first day I saw the sunshine in London since being here. I understand why people put up with the grayness of this city, when the sun does shine it’s absolutely amazing. NYU had us ride charter buses around the city today and get a panoramic tour. I have to say, props to NYU. It was amazing.



As for my other NYU event - the ‘social mixer’ - things proved to be as awkward as I expected. One of my anticipated moments of awkwardness occurred there. There really is no good way to mingle with people when you enter an overcrowded pub that is featuring a poorly-skilled DJ and pre-created circles of students standing about. Oh well. We moved on to another watering hole.



Awkwardness ensued there too. NYU is a big school, but somehow you always manage to run in to the exact person you want to avoid. (Funny how that happens in NYC, a city with 8 million people.) There’s roughly 300 NYU students here in London, a robust city of 7 million. It would seem that the chances on running into specific individuals on any given night would be slim. Maybe the forces that be just find it fun to put in me in strange situations and see what happens. It wasn’t until after my friends and I convinced DJ Mark to not only store our jackets and scarves, but also play Ke$ha and Miley, that I realized how much of a fool I was being in front on a few select NYU people (really just one NYU person to be exact). Did that stop my dancing? Of course not. To stop dancing in such a situation would be too detrimental to my overall well being. (Let’s face it, anything is easier to cope with when a good shimmy is involved.)

A note regarding the daunting trip I took to the library yesterday: SUCCESS. I have a Senate House Library card "topped up" (British slang for adding money to something - i.e. SIM card, subway/TUBE card, etc.) with pounds for the tons of printing I will be doing. Casey and I also successfully navigated the computerized card catalog system a found the obscure readings for our Post-Colonial Indian Lit. class (well, the 160 or so pages for this week at least). We even conquered the foreign copier.

Tomorrow is the first day of classes here (I don’t have Monday class though! Excluding the required seminar we all take, which doesn’t meet until next week.). My endeavors to be more swish will continue. Perhaps I will slowly become a posh expat. rather than a mere bumbling youth.

Good night & cheers. (Here's a look of Tower Bridge to leave you with. xoxo)

Silly & Stolen

It’s refreshing to know that I do things in the UK with the exact stupidity that I do them in NYC and the exact silliness that I’ve done them my whole life. Today I did one of those silly and stupid things (though it’s not like I stood in the left turn lane of a busy UK street - which is more like a right turn lane in the US - thinking I wouldn’t be honked at by cars or anything).

After a great session of helpful UK traveling tips, (Oysters may be my new favorite animal.) I had to use the loo. I spotted a sign for toilets and walked into the first one. No surprise, I used the bathroom and heard laughter outside. I dried my hands and left. As I left the stall, though, I noticed a strange trough-like steel structure. It was positioned against a wall and had water running down the back of it. “Strange. Must be a cool eco-friendly European relaxing waterfall thing. . . recycling water maybe? . . . Those Europeans, so green. . . ” I thought, and then I sauntered out the door.

Upon leaving, I discovered that the cool eco-friendly relaxing waterfall I found so inventive was a urinal. I had used the men’s restroom without knowing it. What made the faux pas better was the fact that an older male had walked up and attempted the loo (I’m trying to integrate British slang terms.) to enter while I was in the stall. My friends stopped him before he entered. His response, however, was not, “Pardon me,” waiting until I left to enter. Instead, he gave my friends an aghast “stank eye,” as one of them recounted to me, and stomped off after pronouncing, “Thar’s a woman in thar!?” (Readers: please picture the voice of Mad-Eye-Moody screaming, “It’s just pumpkin juice!” and then an American girl trying to imitate this voice when reading that. It makes it more entertaining, I promise.)

I guess the experience could have been worse. I could have had to walk over a mile carrying many pounds of books that I’m required to read. I could have had to walk the same distance again carrying a large box of drawers. I could have failed to understand a London bus map. I could have had my heart stolen over a toastie.

All of which happened today.

I’m not sure my heart can bear the strain of recalling how my heart was captured by the most adorable boy I’ve ever seen while I was enjoying a delightful UK version of grilled cheese with tomato. The group shot featured was just my excuse to get to speak to him. His British voiced reply to “Excuse me, will you take a picture of my friends and I,” was everything you could hope for and a little more. Alas, tomorrow is another day.



Tomorrow I will have my first venture to the Senate House Library, a journey that looms over me not only because it marks the beginning of another semester of camping in the stacks, but also because this building - which Orwell modeled the Ministry of Information after in 1984 and Hitler hoped to make his headquarters - is exceedingly intimidating. My venture here to get a library card, find the reservers, and conquer a foreign printer will be trying. Let’s face it, sometimes I can barely manage to used the domestic version of this small appliance.

There, however, is the opportunity for me to meet something of equal or better aesthetic value as the boy this evening. There’s a “social mixer” for the NYUL kids around the corner from our dorm in the evening. . . I’m sure there will be at least 2 more sufficiently awkward moments to recount. . .

Cheers,
D

I don't think we're in Chinatown anymore.

Today was my first real day in London. I ran errands and was oriented by university staff (Lame.). Today was also my first real shower experience. I got into my 2 ft. x 2 ft. shower (If the showers of Third North and Gramercy Green had a babies, their baby would be this shower.) and prepared to lather up. The water never got above a dull chill. Oh well, I'm clean at least and tomorrow I may have better luck.

Luckily though, I didn't get lost during my errand running. (I just forced a transition, I know.) Blocks don't exist here. After the Great Fire of London city planners considered rebuilding the city on a grid system, the idea was not accepted. While it is frustrating for me to not know which Cardinal direction I'm facing or heading, I'm content with rambling the streets for now at least. The lack of multi-level buildings that tower over the streets blocking out the sun is nice too. I, however, have not seen the sun in the UK yet, only gray clouds. Perhaps because the clouds add to the feeling of flatness I feel London has. Because the buildings cap at around 16 stories (with my dorm being a 16th floor pop out, my mostly-windowed half of the room perched on top), London seems huge to me. It stretches on and on, rolling forth almost like a plain in the midwest. 2 parts village 1 part metropolis. My perspective, however, is very green seeing that I have not had time to venture beyond my residential area. I'm positive that it, like all things, will change.

I made it around the Angel area to get a cell phone (emergency calls with free UK texting) and other necessary items such as fruit, veggies, pasta, and olive oil. After these next few days, the NYU sponsored meals will wane and I will be forced to undertake an obstacle of insurmountable measure. . . cooking! But it's study abroad. It's a time for experiencing new things. I've tried to be vegetarian multiple times in my life (kinda like keeping a blog), maybe I'll succeed. In reality, though, claiming to be vegetarian is really just an excuse for me to have one less thing to cook, meat.

My cooking situation looks more promising than my shower situation at the moment. I have a communal kitchen on my floor because there is no room for my 8 ft. x 14 ft. shared bedroom to host one. We have adorable cubbies to each of us that hold a dish, a pot, a pan, a strainer, a plate, a fork, a knife, a cup, a mug, a spoon, a cutting board, and a myriad of larger plastic utensils for cooking, some of which I have never seen before. Does any one know what a spatula with a 90 degree angle is supposed to do? I guess I'll find out seeing that I'm not living in New York City anymore.

Regardless, these are the banal thoughts I've had during my activities today. I must confess, however, that I am already hearing words with British accents. The owner of PIE joked for months that I would come back with a British accent, I fear that I may come back with one, at least at the neuro-level.

Cheers for now!

And so it begins...

I’ve been trying to blog since the 8th grade when I thought I should jump on the bandwagon and get a Live Journal account. It went pretty well until a certain AIM chat (because that’s where all great social interaction took place). One of my guy friends referenced something I had written on it. I realized anyone could read what I’d been posting and was significantly embarrassed. Don’t worry, though, it wasn't a super traumatizing event that I’ll seek therapy over. I survived.

Eventually, I graduated to a Mind Say account that I kept strictly on the down low to protect my delicate ego. I chronicled my Freshman year, focusing primarily on my attempts to gain the attention on the man of my dreams. Each and every week my self-narration cast a different 14-year-old boy into the role of leading male in the romantic comedy that was my life. (Complete with Lime Wire soundtrack.)

I tried to start a blog last summer too. I figured it was something I should do, being a Journalism student and all. I even felt a little joy upon embracing the media outlet, however, I also quickly felt like a wanna-be hipster dreaming of Williamsburg and couldn’t take me life seriously. At least I wasn’t wearing plaid, though.

Let’s face it, I am NYU student and frequent customer at American Apparel, so lately I’m recognizing that I may have to start dissolving my irrational prejudice of hipsterdom. I might be a little more hipster than I like to think and at least blogging is free and effective way to let me friends and family know I’m alive across the pond. All that being said, here’s my latest attempt to engage in the activity deemed the future of journalism. (Bah.)

The last day I spent in Manhattan was beautiful, not too cold either. It was one of those days that reeks of joy, one when your pores just soak up delight as you walk downtown, listening to an iPod. It was the kind of beautiful day that equates Taylor Swift philosophy with absolute Truth. Everything is good with the world. I guess the nice weather affected everyone because checking in at Laguardia, the US Air guy didn’t even charge me for my overweight bags.

104 lbs. split between two suitcases, that’s my life now guys. I’ve scattered some boxes between Long Island, New Jersey and North Carolina, but all of the necessities I couldn’t part with are with me. (Hopefully they’ll arrive in London the same time I do.)

I arrive in London, tomorrow morning, and then I live there for five months. (Bahah. I still don’t quite believe it.) The best part about all of this is not that my ex-boyfriend is also going but that the fact I will be a resident there for almost half of a year hasn’t hit me yet. It was surreal enough for me to move to New York, now I’m moving to England to find my next big adventure. (And the best academic semester ever! - I’m taking all Lit. classes, though both the last sentence and this abundance of parenthetical phrases creates a very cheesy tone.)

I’m not sure I would say this is the biggest adventure I’ve ever gone on. It might be, but I have a sorority sister in every class and know lots of other people going. I’m not switching universities, just continents. I’ll see my mom is April, and I’ll be back in North Carolina in mid-May. I’m not moving to a third-world country by any means, so parts of it just seem like a regular semester.

But it’s not because it’s across the Atlantic ocean. It’s in England; therefore, it’s fundamentally more badass. I also positive that once I’m there I’ll find its a very foreign and very big adventure after all. (I certainly hope so at least.)

My goal is that this will serve as an outlet to keep people in the know about what I’m up to while over here (when I’m not dutifully studying of course). It may be fun for me too, though this is all assuming I’m successful in my attempt to blog and of course have lots of British (mis)adventures.