Am I Speaking English?

I'm sincerely embarrassed to say that I haven't written anything in ages.  Why?  There is no other reason than pure and utter lack of commitment. Except maybe the reason that I don't feel I am nearly interesting enough for others to want to read about, despite what my mother seems to think.  However, I do feel that having a blog and not using it is a waste of internet space that is already highly abused.

I have to admit that when I started writing this, I had no idea what I was even going to write about, but as I sat staring at my computer I thought about a conversation I had with my house-mate, Jake,one night and the confusion that ensued.

When Jake walked into my bedroom and asked if I had a bobble, I have no shame in admitting that I had no effing clue what he was talking about.  My first thought was that he was asking for one of those weebles.  You know, those toys with the saying "Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down" ?  Of course, that thought only lasted for a fraction of a second before I realized no one in their right mind would want one of those, or even expect another person to have them.  I didn't even have enough of an idea to wager a guess, so he resorted to trying to figure out how to explain it.  Jake started making a circle with his hands and kept saying, "What do you call it?" until he said it was to hold someone's hair back.

A hair tie. Jake needed a hair tie for his girlfriend. All that effort to ask for a hair tie got me thinking about how many times that's happened to me now that I live in England. Sometimes I feel like I'm not even speaking English.

So today, when, in my upset and homesick state, I decided to go to Starbucks and saw that they had Christmas lattes, my spirits were instantly lifted. They had a praline mocha latte that I was convinced was going to make my day better.  When I asked for this grande praline mocha latte the guy at the counter stared at me and said "I'm sorry, what did you want?." I repeated that I wanted a GRANDE PRALINE MOCHA LATTE and after another quizzical look, he let me pay.

When they called out the order they say "Grande Praaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaline mocha latte". That's P-Rah-Lean for us ignorant yanks.

I swear. What assholes.

Hung, Drawn and Quartered

I hate people.

I mean, not individuals. I love individual people and have a tendency of getting along with almost everyone, it's groups of people that I hate.

Since living in England and travelling to London I've discovered a few things, most of which involve the fact that I can't stand being in large crowds and how people in England seem to ALWAYS be too close to me.

Instead of writing my two essays that are due at the end of this week, I chose to finally write another blog after too many months (let's not get into specifics, okay?) of neglecting it.  I figure it's a good way to get all the "informal" writing out of my system before I start wiring about media and television and blah blah blah.

So a few weeks ago Wesley and I spent a few days in London. An absolutely beautiful place: yes. An absolute headache: without a doubt.  Groups and groups and groups of people push and shove and wander through the streets making me not even recognize myself.

I started thinking things that were so unlike me. The old woman walking in front of me was no longer cute. Instead, I had a sudden urge to kick her cane away. Terrible, I know. I was so embarrassed that I didn't tell Wesley for at least 30 seconds.  I found myself enraged by the middle aged man who couldn't seem to decide what side of the road he wanted to walk on and I was swearing up and down that if one more person bumped into me, I was going to scream.

The underground was horrible. So many people packed into a tube shoulder to shoulder, sweating and breathing on my neck. One woman squeezed herself in entirely too close to me and then started to READ A BOOK, elbowing me the entire time. Leaving the underground was equally as stressful. I tripped and stumbled over everyone on my way out, all the while apologizing profusely while getting no response from anyone.

Wesley claims it's all like this because England doesn't have as much space as the U.S. does, which I can honestly understand.  I figured out that that is why all the isles in the supermarket always seemed to be packed full of people that are constantly backing into me. MAYBE LOOK WHERE YOU'RE GOING!  I miss the spacious isles of the large supermarkets in the U.S.

Despite all the people that made me want to cry, London was an absolutely beautiful place with a history that Americans can't quite comprehend.  The architecture is amazing and breath taking and I even got a bit of a sun burn! Not too shabby for the notoriously rainy country.

We had a wonderfully entertaining tour underneath the London Bridge that was full of information about the great fire of London. We also learned all about the traitors being hung, drawn and quartered.  After the educational aspect of the tour, they proceeded to lead us through a scare house where I screamed more than I can ever remember screaming,

We also saw Buckingham Palace where I tried desperately to get in. After all, Wesley always tells me that I'm a princess.

We ended up in a club called Tiger Tiger with my good friend, Steph and housemate, Ryan. The night was mostly like any other night out, with the exception of the waitress thinking that Wesley and Ryan were a gay couple.  She even told Wesley that she liked his purse. Asking him to watch my purse while I went to the toilet was the best decision I've ever made.

All in all we had a fantastic time, despite all the sweaty people on the trains.