To Be or Not To Be (Accepted)

It's been a hard day's night. And day. And year.

2012-01-27T13:46:00.001-05:00

This is me a few months before my fateful trip across the ocean.

Sweet faced and innocent.

And sucking down a latte .

I don't know if I've shown my face on this blog before. Well if I have, you get to see it again.

Yes, it's been a hard year. More than I think I ever expected it to be. A lot of things have happened, and changed, and I think it would be crazy to try and spell it out all at once, so this is more of a highlights post, so you know what I've been up to.

First, you might notice that my blog is different. I tried to post something on my old blog with the library background but couldn't. I also couldn't respond to any comments either, so I got the new template which is simplistic, but I figure the less decoration around my words, the better. They need no window dressing.

Second...this blog still exists, which means that I am still in England. Yes, you can convey your shock and disbelief, trust me, I'm right there with you. I finished the post-graduate diploma I came here for and went right into the MSc in Forensic Psychology. I am on my way to 'livin' the dream'. Sort of. I'm even at the same school which is comforting and at the same time, a total nightmare. That will come in a different post.

Thirdly, I work in public relations now. Yes, me, the person whom no one should ever trust to speak to the public/media on anything, has been appointed a permanent job in public relations.
It doesn't mean I can stay here, it just means it is a permanent, part-time job (which I do love) while I study. It brings in mad money, yo.
Well, 'mad' might be putting it a bit strongly. But I don't have to use my mother's bankroll just to survive on ramen noodles. I work for a little place called QAA which is, for those who aren't in the know, a regulatory body which assesses and safeguards the standards and quality of higher education institutions in the UK...

Did that sound political and cagey? Yes, it should. That's my media relations training. I've learned never to speak absolutely on QAA's exact position, but yet at the same time to tell people what it is that QAA does.

Moving on. Things that have pretty much stayed the same:

1) I do still love it here, some of the time.
2) I do still find it annoying as shit to live here sometimes.
3) I'm still struggling with the number of differences between my culture and this one.

Things that are different:

1) I moved, out of that horrible ghetto fleahouse flat into a beautiful home with a lovely landlady/housemate who is a co-worker. She's amazing and there cannot be a more sweet, considerate landlady on the face of the planet. I lucked out, for rizzle.

2) Lost a little of the poundage, without actually doing anything. Which means it's from stress that I've lost weight...which is odd since stress is supposed to keep the love-handles on ladies. But no, I've dropped a dress size, and apparently still going. Love the fact that I can wear some clothes from the high street now, pissed that the nice clothes I already own are baggy on me, and I'm too lazy to have them tailored. Still, yay for the lighter Tiff.

3) I'm in love. But not in a relationship. For a hint on who it might be, take a look back to last April, when I mentioned something along these lines...don't worry, I'll do a new post spilling all the most humiliating details.

So summing up, this has been the hardest year of my life. I've never expected it to be so hard. I look back at it and honestly wonder how I lived to see this year. I've got about a thousand more gray hairs, and feel every bit of my 29 1/3 years.

And look what I've found here: A Day of Truth ( think this is #16):
Someone or something you definitely could live without.

I think over the last year and a half, I figured out that I can live without a looooot of stuff. A car. Regular access to the internet. Decent mexican cuisine. Decent Italian cuisine. Pronouncing the word Aluminium/Aluminum (and yes, they are spelled two different ways) I even figured out how to live without a friend, because I lost a couple of those in the process. What's really funny is, I can live without my home. I don't need America anymore, as a sort of 'safety net', so if I can't make it here, I can go home...I can't go home, because THIS is my home. America feels like the place I visit family. But it isn't the place I go home to. I can live without you, Lady Liberty. And I feel like I've been liberated.

Me, a few weeks ago. Life Happened.

I've been shamed--and I'm back.

2012-01-23T05:50:00.001-05:00

*Looks at blog, blows thick layer of dust off*

*sneezes, coughs*

Yes, it's been a while. More than a while, because it's been almost a year since I've blogged.

I've been thinking about coming back to post for a few months now, and never seem to have the guts to...until Mr. P from Delicious, Delicious, Delicious commented on my last post a couple of days ago and quite rightly shamed me into action.

*by-the-by Mr. P, I made your Bizcocho cake again the other day and thought about emailing you on how awesome it turned out*

So much has happened. It's been...well, I guess I will have an update post pretty seperate from this one, because this it will take some time to tell my life for the last 8 months in a somewhat condensed form.

This however is a quick note to say, I'm back. I won't leave my beloved blog to stale out again.

~Tiffani

The Upside of Anger (No reference to the film...other than that one just there)

2011-04-27T06:16:00.000-04:00

Today I'm talking about Anger.

It gets a bad rap, you know. There's "anger management" therapy, and passive-aggressiveness, hot-headedness...all negatives. But I've become a fan of anger. More specifically, letting it out. Recently--and by recently I mean Friday--I suffered from a sort of personality break. When I stopped being "Sweet Accommodating Tiffani" and became "Bitter, Angry Honest Tiffani" It's sort of where, you've been pushed to a point where its almost mentally damaging to be polite and keep opinions to yourself, because you've been doing it for so long. I'm definitely at that point.

Like if someone thin tells me that "OMG, like, I am so fat!" one more time, I will tell them they are fat, and if they would quit bitching and actually do something about it, like I am, maybe they wouldn't feel so fat. Then I'd probably punch them in the face. I'm at that point.

Or, if someone cuts in front of me in line, no matter if they are 80 years old and arthritic, (no excuse for treating me like I'm invisible), I will tell them--politely of course--to fuck off. Unless you happen to be blind, .

Or, if one more person hears my accent and asks me "Oh, so you're from America then?"...I have no idea what I'll say. Probably something insanely ethnocentric and arrogant to get them to piss off.

As I've said, keeping anger inside, not a good idea. I've got other ways of channeling of course. I go swimming now. It's obviously good exercise, but its a place where 1) no one really talks, because you're too busy keeping pool water out of your nose; 2) everyone's there for the same thing, and is in their own world and 3) It provides a way to work out your aggressions without lifting weights, or running or anything that might break a bone, or really strain your back in the process.

Okay, so I've engaged in a new romantic situation...well, really, it's kind of in the planning and development stage at this point. But I like the guy, seems nice and, actually doesn't seem crazy...I wonder how long it will be before he notices I'm off the cuff. I've gotten worse at hiding it this year than ever. My ability to cover up my neuroses has slipped. Damn therapy, that's what it will do to you.

ANY WHO. Onto the most pressing issue of the week:

THE ROYAL WEDDING!!!

Aren't they cute? Seriously, I wish I had friends this sweet looking.

Everyone is nuts about it. Someone once told me that the English have no national pride...that it's seen as 'unsavory' to be so patriotic. They compare it to the nuts in the South who have the Rebel Flag sketched on the back window of their pickup truck. I kind of get it. Why show pride in a nation that's caused a lot of shit in the last 2000 years in history? It's also done a lot of good, but who remembers the good stuff?

But national shame seems to have taken a holiday this month with Prince William and Kate Middleton's wedding coming up in just two days. Union Jack bunting is up everywhere, and you can't turn your head without seeing the floating disembodied heads of the country's next set of Royal couples. I admit, I did go into a bit of a buying state...Union Jack napkins, pens, Kate & William keepsake coasters. Really it was an excuse to buy Union Jack anything, really, because I love the pattern. And I love the fact that the wedding becomes a national holiday. Like they knew it was pointless to have people working because they'd all end up calling in 'sick' to watch the wedding anyway, so just make it a holiday, and the country can shut down in a calm, calculated style.

So that's what's up this week: Anger has a positive side, and the English people finally show some pride.

Ciao, Everyone!

Psychology: The Science of Freaking People Out

2011-04-10T06:44:00.001-04:00

The title really has nothing to do with today's post, but I just really want that on a t-shirt. You know the types that are like the 1950's cartoon man with all the "Beer: Helping Ugly People Have Sex" slogans...well, I want this on a shirt. I'd probably wear it all the time, it'd get smelly and start to wear thin at the arm pits. Probably a good thing I don't have it.

Anyway, so after last week's mini-rebellion of the UK government and its fascist, imperial stance on immigration control I have decided not to complain about it anymore. Complaining here won't change what's happened, so I have to roll with the punches. I will find a way around those rules. To that end, I decided to start Stage 1 of Plan A. I have 3 plans, and Plan A isn't the most important or even the most viable, but it's the one I need to start first.

Plan A: Get Married By August of Next Year

Okay, it might seem a little crazy. I'm not inclined to disagree with you. But, considering the job market, the new immigration laws, and the fact that I REALLY don't want to go home, this is an actual option. Get married, stay in the UK. I don't plan on getting a Green card Marriage, so no one report me to UK Border Agency, please. But I am actively looking now, as before I was sort of meandering about.

I'm considering doing the Internet dating thing. It seems like I have back luck with men of the British Realm in real-life, so perhaps its better the virtual way. I'll let you know what I decide.

Alright, so now, I am going back to my last assignment of the year (hooray!) and try to enjoy some of the sun that has graced England with its presence.

Happy Sunday.

What this country needs is an enema (from its self!)

2011-03-27T06:59:00.001-04:00

So I'm back. I had a nice long blog about how it sucks to be an American female in England, but that rant has been put on hold for an even BIGGER rant, which totally takes precedence.

Before I continue however, let me say, it's nice to be back. Even if I am only half-way back. Because trust me, I still got a mountain of work I'm ignoring this Sunday morning in order to vent here, and don't have time to devote all my former energy (such as it was) to my beloved mouthpiece. So. Rant.

You all know I'm here for education, as part of grand scheme to live and work here in England. I had a nice, easy plan. Get educated, get the post-study worker's visa, get a job, get sponsored by said job, live out the remainder of my life in Jolly Ole'. Done.

That plan was going smoothly along until about 3 days ago. The UK Border Agency, which I am now calling Merchants of Deception (MOD squad) put out changes to the student visa/immigration regulations. The government 'claimed' they are making sure that international students get the benefit of studying here, focusing on studies and not be clouded with other issues which translates to: we don't want no more dirty immigrants coming in and stealing our jobs. And they call the U.S. ethnocentric? If they wanted students to concentrate on studies then keep them out of the pubs, work doesn't matter since most of us couldn't find work in the shitty recession England is still wallowing in.

So naturally, they've changed a shitload of stuff that effects people already here, and those who are interested in coming here. Here's a basic rundown:

1) They've hiked all the student visa fees up (including the one to extend your student visa for another year) to insane prices. As an example, last year, the fee to extend the visa was 220 GBP, steep, yes. This year, the price has changed to 357 GBP. At today's exchange rate, $567 USD. Almost 600 dollars to extend my visa so I can continue the education at a school I'm already at. WTF, seriously.

**Side note Probably should have mentioned that I got accepted to the MSc Forensic Psychology programme here at UoG. Good news, but my happiness balloon is kind of deflated in the midst of all the hot air these fat-arsed government tools are dolling out**

2) Restrictions on how many students get to come in the country this year, cutting it by half. Not applicable to me since I'm already in here, but still blows either way.

3) And this is the worst of all: as of April 2012, they are disbanding the post-study workers visa. Basically, the post-study worker visa allows international students to look for work/get work for two years in the UK. It was a pretty nice scheme, in my opinion. Here we are, paying out double what the English kids are paying for tuition, and we get a chance to earn some of that money back through working and simultaneously boosting the English economy. I think of it as a nice exchange. So this means that when I graduate from the MSc next year, I won't have that option. The only option I would have for work, is if to get a job where someone sponsors me.

Not that hard, right? I'm qualified with 3 degrees once I finish, speak a couple of languages (learning Hindi right now) and have global experience within my field. Who wouldn't want that?

But for the REALLY bad news:
4) Immigration laws for the Tier 5 Skilled Worker visa now state, quite clearly, that jobs should be given to internationals only if a 'settled worker' cannot fulfill the post....

Well, what British national who has studied the same freakin' subject I did couldn't fill the post? NO ONE, that's who.

What this boils down to: I have virtually no chance in hell of getting a job in the UK after I graduate. They can take $10,000 of my money for education plus my living expenses and but won't give me a job so I can alleviate the massive amount of debt I've got against me? The UK government can kiss my ass. I don't care who reads this. This rant is fully justified.

So. After all that astonishment, I had a real sit-down with myself, tried to keep myself from jumping on a plane back home after this year was done and go somewhere like Stockholm and thought through my options, which as you can see, are slim. And came to a decision: I need to get married.

Well, truthfully, it wasn't something I came up with by myself. I was at a networking dinner on Friday for graduates, and told all these potential employers about the visa changes, and they in return told us stuff I'm sure they weren't supposed to: the government is giving out less and less sponsorship certificates to companies/agencies than ever. One company official told me that they had 10 certificates for sponsorship, and the MOD squad asked for seven of them back. Which left them with only three chances to find international skilled workers, which in their industry actually matters. At the end of every speed networking session during the dinner, they all said the same thing: Get married to a British national. Its the only way you'll be able to stay.

I thought they were joking at first, but one woman actually offered to set me up with a few men she knows!

Encouraging that they think I can get married to someone easily enough. Several people called me 'adorable', which usually would piss me off but in times of crisis you have to work with that's given to you.

At this point you might be thinking that I'm just ranting and that this is a temporary idea from crazy Tiff. No. Not this time.

After careful calculation, I believe I need to have a marriage proposal by December 31st of this year. That way the process of having a nice long wedding looks good to the Immigration people. It doesn't look like I'm just marrying for the green card.

Which, I'm not sure if I'm not just doing it for the green card. I think I'm going to have to make a choice. On whether to be a good person and try to find love and most likely, fail. Or...be a person who gets what she wants from life, no matter how that's arrived at.

Okay, done ranting. Aren't you glad to stuck around followers to see what would happen next? I'll keep you updated on my plan of action.

Blog shut down--only temporary!!

2011-02-08T13:10:00.000-05:00

DON'T PANIC.

I'm just closing down the blog for a few weeks because I will literally not have time to do any outside writing. In fact, it took me a week to get to this point on this blog because of my tight schedule, hence the justification.

Don't worry, I will be back soon with tales of my success/failures of graduate school.

Now, I have to go back to my soul-sucking post of graduate research and writing.

Much love!

~Tiffani

Out of Towner

2011-01-28T16:04:00.000-05:00

Ah...the sigh of relief, the thrill of excitement.

Yes, I am heading out of town this weekend. After a highly productive but extremely full two weeks of school, I am going on my first independent weekend trip out of town. More over, not just out of town, but out of country...

Okay, well, it is Wales, which is only an hour away by train, BUT still a separate country from England. Cardiff to be exact and I am pretty excited. I really needed to get out of town. I was starting to get that restless feeling, like if I didn't leave I was going to gnaw off my own arm and possibly go on a killing spree through town.

It has been a rough couple of weeks. And to be honest, Cheltenham men have strained me to the breaking point. I am truly sick of them all. And, it may not be just Chelt men. I have a suspicion that English men have this inability to make a direct move on a girl. So backhanded.
Why even give women signals, when you don't follow through? Are you expecting girls to hurl themselves at you and pee on you, marking my territory like a cat? *sigh*

Not how I do things, Cheltenham men, sorry.

Among a lot of other issues I'm going through which I'm craftily saving for my therapy session (yes, now in therapy like any normal cosmopolitan girl) I figured I just needed to get the hell out of town. So Cardiff here I come.

My objective is to go away and have a nice, quiet weekend. But, as I am touring the city with Sarah and Beth, I will probably come back with a piercing of some kind, married to a Welshman who doesn't remember my name and a goat in the hotel room. Yes, we are the female version of The Hangover Crew.

Have a good weekend peeps!

I can be my own hero! and....Day O' Truth's Back!

2011-01-19T12:32:00.000-05:00

So...where did we last leave off? Oh yes, I was considering packing it up and going home because my grades from first term couldn't have been lower. FAIL.

I knew that I had valid reasons for being really concerned and not wanting to either waste my time, money or the opportunity to do my postgrad work here in the UK, I went to two of my tutor to ask their advice. Both pretty much said the same thing: Don't go home, you've already done half a term and haven't failed, and you will improve now that you know what the university expects. Both said they would look at my graded papers, decipher the extremely vague feedback my other tutors gave me,and promised that I could come to them when I got my new assignments to build a comprehensive 'essay plan'.

So, based on this, and the fact that I really don't want to go back home with the Scarlet Letter 'F' on my forehead, I decided to stick it out. Not really that great a reason, but it's at least a reason. Perhaps when I get into the swing of things again from school I will get some motivation in me. I definitely will take my study time more seriously. Structured plans. I'm talking beyond anal retentive here.

I received a new, shiny calendar for Christmas from a friend and will be blocking my time accordingly.

But this isn't the reason for this blog (but I knew some of you were probably holding your breath in suspense for what was happening, so I figured I'd let you know). The reason for this blog post is, I have figured out something really important today. I am my own hero.

Oh my God, that's really freaking arrogant Tiff. WTH.

Yes, this is exactly what I myself said. I walking down my street after a 3 hour session at the learning centre doing the final paper for the first term when I suddenly asked why I could never find anyone to fit my standards of what is a hero. Or at least a truly admired person. I went through all these traits, accomplishments, even faults which make a hero an even greater hero, when I realized...I was describing myself. I was exactly what I was looking for

Yeah, pretty arrogant, I admit it. But it actually made me feel TONS better. Not because I am an egomaniac and needed the boost, but because I finally figured out why I could never find someone whom I could look up to. I was looking for me.

And now, for a bit O' truth (because its been a looooooong December):

Thirty Days of Truth, Day 15 Something or someone who you couldn't live without because you've tried living without it.

So going beyond the easiest and most obvious answers of food, oxygen, shelter or sleep I would say...

Music. I have learned, quite the hard way, that I can live without my parents as most of you know. I would have never thought that something so big as losing a parent would be bearable after a year, and yet something as trivial as music be the thing in the world I couldn't live without. But it is. I did try, just to see for a week not to sing or listen to music. It was hell. I went into the worst depression ever. I couldn't have believed that this was such an important part of my life, but it was actually like trying to quit heroin. And I failed. Music is my oxygen, my drug of choice and I am happy to be called an addict.

30 Days Of Truth

(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (~~15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.~~ (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

This whole experience can blow me. For real.

2011-01-14T14:03:00.000-05:00

So, I've gotten back my grades from my first term. To be completely frank, they are dismal. I'm talking C's, here. I've not gotten a C in my entire university career, not once. And, I have to have a certain percentage to pass my course this year, and based on what's happened with these papers, it looks like this will be the same this term.

So, based on that, I am re-thinking whether I want to stay here, and study, or go back home. It's big, I know.

I'm not making this decision yet, until I've spoken to my course leader. But, it may be time to give it up. Before I waste more time.

Equestrians, strapless bra fails and other misgivings: A New Year's Eve Review

2011-01-04T17:33:00.002-05:00

Dear Lord. New Year's Eve was, without exaggeration, Epically strange.

As far as I can remember, it was the first time I ever attempted going out for New Year's Eve celebrations. Mostly because the thought of thousands of other people, decked out in much more en vogue clothing than myself, drunk and making fools of themselves made my stomach turn. But I thought, I'm in a new country, let's see how things work in the UK.

I got dressed, straightened my hair which lasted about 10 minutes in the moist night air and then began fluffing up in a steady fashion throughout the night. I looked a little cracked out, to be honest with my glittery make up and 80's hair band-big hair. But, apparently, that was much admired from the looks I got. I went out with my friend Roxie, which was the only normal person I encountered all night. Our plan was to hit one club called Vodka Revolution (awesome name for a club, right?) and then hit Subtone, an electronica/trance/drum & bass club to finish the night. We didn't end up going to Vodka Rev. because some of Roxie's friends from her Equestrian Club (all guys, which I thought was weird) were at the Slug & Lettuce, so we met them there for a pre-party drink. They all seemed like, nice, normal if somewhat pompous Englishmen. I mean, they belong to an Equestrian club...they have to be a little pompous. That is where we left normal city, got on a bus for Loony land, headed for City Centre. Here are the highlights of my very strange night:

1) My strapless bra failed about halfway through the night which left men plenty to look at and, as an extra bonus, easy access to touch. I bent more than one man's hand back because they got too grabby. I was really surprised at how grabby men seemed to be. I'm used to the rapey looks, but some guy actually beat my boobs like a drum while passing me. I would have definitely have grabbed his anatomy in return if I had not been so stunned by the act. WTF.

2) The guys from the Equestrian club got into a fight because--and this is the ACTUAL reason--they wanted to sit next to me on the couch, but a man and his girlfriend were next to me, and they wouldn't move My left foot got crushed, and I ended up with a weird scar on my forehead that reminded me of the red slash on the doors in The Village

The question is, how did I get this mark? Cursed?

3) I kicked a guy and a girl out of a bathroom stall because they were having sex in it and there was a queue 10 women long.

4) The music, for the most part was cool. I will visit again, hopefully when there aren't so many freaks out to play.

5) The one downside: in one of the basement rooms, the club had Karaoke, and every single person had the worst possible voice for the songs they picked. Epically bad.

6) A Random guy took my house keys from me, and stuffed them in his trouser's zipper. I had to fish them out...of course I spilt my drink down his pants and threatened to light it on fire with my friend's lighter, but I got it.

Epic. Truly. I chose to find this set of occurrences amusing. Sort of how people choose to find digital dancing babies adorable, instead of frightening.

Oh yeah one final note: I've passed my one year blogiversary. I have no idea I had so much crap to spew. Thanks for reading. I heart your face. Totes.

Meet My Double

2010-12-28T18:37:00.001-05:00

Hope everyone had a nice Christmakkawanza. Yeah, I kind of threw everything in there, just in case. Mine was fun, actually, very fun which surprised me. I would have thought that come Christmas Day, despite all my "Oh it will be so nice to have a quiet, drama-free holiday for once" talk I would have sunk down into despair and gotten drunk on spiked eggnog and sobbed into Christmas dinner. But, I actually had a quiet, drama-free day and was really happy. I think the secret is that I wasn't with family or close friends, besides Ranjeet and Ranjeet is the easiest person in the world to get along with. I spent it with virtual strangers, and as such everyone was polite, funny and not willing to cause any trouble. Why haven't I thought of this before? It probably runs great the first year, but each year afterward will be lonely and depressing. Anywho, back to my topic.

This is Frasier Crane. He is my fictional, long-lost twin-from-another-completely-different-set-of-parents. You may know him from his self titled show, Frasier, or more likely from his first appearance on Cheers.

He is my twin for a few reasons, but the number one reason? He over analyzes the crap out of everything. Hazard of the trade, really, being a psychologist so I can't really blame myself or him. But this is why he can't have a successful relationship of any kind, or be satisfied with his achievements in life or any other number of things. He over thinks things.

I realized this is exactly like me. Today I got an email and phone call from a friend. He's a classmate at my school and we have casual friendship: couple cups of coffee, we seem to meet each other on the High St. once or twice a week, and the occasional email about how shit our statistics course is. So this phone call, and subsequent email is probably just a normal, friendly communication...but I started analyzing one sentence, just one from each of these communications, and suddenly I have this fear that he wants me to bear his children.

Okay, a little extreme but still...I spent hours, literally hours re-hashing our convo this morning and thinking of all the syntax, and phonology and blah, blah blah psychology babble blah.

I went over it so much that I now have no idea what he meant by anything, and I've made what was an easy, comfortable friendship and turned it into an obsession. This is my and my fictional twin Frasier's greatest fault.

So the problem is I have no idea how to fix this little issue, so that every time I have any communication with anyone at all, I automatically look beneath the surface to see what they're REALLY saying...like I can't trust what anyone is saying at all.

That is messed up.

Alright, I've had enough exposure for today, I guess the post ends here. Have a happy New Year's everyone!!

Snow? Check. Bitter Cold? Check. Stress and lonliness? Check.

2010-12-16T12:06:00.000-05:00

Ugh ohmygodihatethisweeksomuch....

Once again, school has kept me from posting. And I have a few things to post on. Random stuff really.

1. My uncle's brother died last night. I'm actually pretty upset by it. He was a decent man, and it makes me think of his children and how much it must suck (for lack of a better word because I'm sleep deprived) for them to lose their father just before Christmas. And it also makes me angry that there is yet another good, decent man gone from this world too soon while other vile pieces of shit live on. One of the huge injustices in this world.

2. I got a job. Then I quit. Then I got another job. I was the Thai Family place and thought I might be able to get a hold of work after a while, but on Monday it became evident by clumsiness and inability to follow orders that waitressing just wasn't for me. But I got a job offer the same day from a temp agency. More money, not so stressful, familiar territory: receptionist work. Yay for money.

3. I'm spending Christmas alone, it seems. Well, mostly alone. I'm staying in England over the holidays, more for lack of money to throw down on a plane ticket home than anything else. But my housemate Ranjeet will be home so perhaps it will be a nice, quiet easy, stress-free holiday, for the first time in the history of the world.

4. I had to take an extension out on my research experiment because I got mega sick. I used that once-in-a-school-year emergency two day extension, so I was technically supposed to be done yesterday, however thanks to the incestuous student pool in which I swim, everyone I know, including myself got sick. So now, I'm here at the IT suite, still sick, nose spurting out snot like Niagra Falls and it just starting to pour a pleasant mix of sleet, snow and bitter winds outside trying to finish these tests in SPSS before Friday night. And I still have to go out tonight and see Ellie Goulding DJ at a local club. Which is weird, because if you know Ellie Goulding, you know she's not a famous DJ, shes a singer, and a damn good one at that. But I'll be damned if I am going to miss the chance to see her in person for a £3 cover charge.

Anywho, back to statistics. SPSS is the devil. It's an incredibly complicated statistical output software program that was designed to drive me insane and I have to run a series of tests on my data, but my data comprises of two 'conditions' at two levels, so I have to run each test 5 times, once for each condition/level and then once for all inclusive. It takes time and energy. So what am I doing instead? Updating my blog. Way to get the priorities straight.

5. I found out that England has its own version of Jersey Shore. Its called "The Only Way Is Essex" and it is, in my opinion, 50 times funnier than Jersey Shore. There are still fake tans, fake boobs, dumb girls, dickish guys and copious amounts of alcohol being consumed. They just do it with a whole new level of tackiness and a really thick English accent. I love it. I can't wait for the new season to come on. Go youtube it, you won't be sorry.

Yeah, I've taken enough time from my statistics crap. Catch you after the term ends!

School, sleep, eat. Rinse, Repeat.

2010-12-05T07:13:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. Where have I been.

It's been a hot minute since I checked this blog. I feel incredibly bad because one, I feel like I let the small but dedicated portion of followers down, and two, I'm sure I wouldn't feel so incredibly pent-up with frustration if I would just use the blog as it was meant to be used.

So I'm doing that now, I guess. I've been working on my psychological research experiment for my Statistics class. I was in a real panic, actually for a month before I submitted my proposal. Yeah, I had to submit a real life proposal of design and analysis methods for ethical approval before I can even start collecting data.

I won't bore you with the details of my experiment because I'm lazy and trying to explain it all is incredibly boring. I sort of wish I was telepathic so that I could just zip the information into people's heads, and I could just continue on my way.

So, as stated, I was in a severe panic about my project. Every time I would think about something to test I would consult ethical guidebooks and find that simply giving people coffee to test mental stimulus is 'changing body chemistry' and isn't allowed by student researchers. WhatEvs.

When I finally got down an idea that was okay, I was so nervous meeting my professor for approval that I was in serious danger of yakking all over his desk. I think he saw I was turning green and took pity on me. I would have seriously lost it if he had stamped my approval with a big fail. As it was, it was approved and even gained a "it's certainly interesting, this construct of yours" before I left. So after I got that approved, I started working over time to build my test up, and get enough participants together. So that's where I've been mostly. And now, as I am currently working on my report for said experiment, I will leave you with a little Day of Truth.

Day of Truth, Day 14- A hero that has let you down (letter).

Dear Whitney Houston,

Oh dear. Where do I start? I really can't believe how far you've fallen. I loved you when you first started out. So young, innocent, fully of life. So unpretentious, with your model looks and absolutely stunning voice. And then you met him. Bobby. Mr. 'My Perogative'. And your life went down the tubes. You turned to drugs and became just another cracked out diva. My mom cried for your when the news broke about your drug habit. I thought you were made of stronger stuff. I really thought you were a cut above the rest. I think that its the fact that I placed so much confidence in that and was wrong, that hurts as much as anything. Now, I can't even hear your voice without being let down, even if its incredibly beautiful. You were my inspiration for my own singing. I had to look elsewhere, after that.

Just thought you oughta know.

~Tiffani

Thirty Days Of Truth
(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. ~~(14) A hero that has let you down. (letter)~~ (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Giving it up

2010-11-25T11:42:00.000-05:00

Its Thanksgiving. Turkey Day. And I am absolutely in the worst emotional place I have been in years.

Why, you ask? Because the man I love has just started a relationship with someone else. *Bobby as I called him. His real name is William. The same as my father's.

I didn't really expect him to wait, or to even return my feelings as strongly as I felt them. But I did not expect him to move onto someone else so quickly. And to have felt his complete absence from my life since. That is what hurts the most.

After a very long, intensely painful night which was almost unbearable I came to the realization that:

1) This gives me the freedom from keeping myself tied to a country which I no longer feel is home to me and

2) The situation I put myself in, I will never allow myself to be again, ever. No matter what, I cannot go through the pain I went through last night. I won't survive it. Absolutely, without a doubt know it will be the end of me. So I am, from this moment choosing to be single for the rest of my life.

People may think that I only say this now, because of what's happened but the truth is, I have been feeling this way for a very long time, even while I had these feelings. But I've fought against it, because I believed that it might still be worth a fight to have someone who loves me, and to build a family. But I am now certain, as certain as I can be, that that kind of life may not be in the cards for me. It might not be what's best for me.

I could change my mind, its true. But for now, the episode with loving and losing William has me decided on this course.

Into the Lexicon and DOT Day 13

2010-11-21T08:26:00.001-05:00

So sorry for the lack of posting. I've failed you, I know. I've been holed up in my flat for the last week doing research and so basically nothing exciting happened and I didn't really want to write anything when I don't have something of substance (or more likely, entertainment value) to write on but thankfully today showed up, armed and stupid.

I was talking to a friend from mine back home on skype this morning and she suddenly stopped talking and looked at me funny and I was all, "What?" Thinking I had a huge boogie or something embarrassing that was embellished by my computer's camera angle. This is how I found out I have a new language that only about 4 people in the world currently understand.

Skype Friend: What the hell was that?

Me: What?

SF: Uh, the shizz you just said. It made no sense, you do know that, right?

Me: What did I say?

Apparently, I came out with the following words/phrases (she, like a super nerd wrote down everything she didn't understand):

Deuces!

That's lush

S.T.U.P.

'Gloss'

Superleek

bramance

All this was said in a single sentence mind you. Truth be told, looking back at what was said, I'm surprised I understood what the hell I was saying:

Deuces: In reference to the Chris Brown song, whenever someone does something particularly cool, or is leaving the area, Deuces is our word. It takes both the meaning of 'I like that' and 'peace out'.

"That's lush": Said whenever there is something I really like, materially. As in, a hat, a skirt, a piece of steak...you get the idea. This is some sort of Birmingham slang I've picked up from my housemate Laura.

S.T.U.P.: When I was trying to be 'smart' and use the acronym STFU because my friend Beth was using too many textorgrams (brb, omg) in her actual speech and it came out S.T.U.P. I censored myself even while being a smart-ass. Fail.

'Gloss': The extremely shortened version of the county in which I reside: Gloucestershire aka 'Glos.' Only people in Gloucestershire county know this word; you say it to someone from Yorkshire county and they will probably think you mean the finish on a car.
Superleek-I heart leeks. The leek here are ginormous, like from a mutant leek farm. They are also highly phallic in shape. I started singing Super freak as Superleek and now the phrase randomly comes in whenever there is an awkward silence that needs to be broken. Superleek to the rescue.

Bramance: Beth and I wanted a phrase to come up with to define a super-close female relationship, similar to a bromance, and this naturally lead to bramance. We're kind of surprised it hasn't been used yet. We're also trying out womance. We'll see what kind of response we get.

Sooo, anywho enough of that nonsense, now onto a much needed Day O' Truth. Deuces!

Day of Truth, Day 13

Thirty Days of Truth, Day 13-A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days.

Obviously, the last two years have been the hardest I've had in my life. I broke up with the first real love I ever had, and my father died. Not exactly singing along to Julie Andrews and her flock of yodeling children. Dido was traditionally the artist I went to when I had some sorrow, but I couldn't use her last year. I think I was afraid of tainting the music with such a deep sorrow that I would never listen to it again. So instead, I listened to film scores. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and The Horse Whisperer to be precise. These scores seemed to bring peace to my troubled mind, or let me grieve the way I should have. It made me think that I could possibly love again, or that I needed to let go of the dead. Both were hard concepts to swallow down, but they were a little easier with this music.

Days Of Truth
(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. ~~(13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days.~~ (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Tea Time Ladies!

2010-11-13T10:26:00.000-05:00

So on Thursday, after the completion of the first horrific essay, my friends and I decided we were going to treat ourselves to a proper 'English Afternoon Tea'. We found this classy little country hotel just outside of town that serves afternoon tea to the public so we hopped on the bus and headed out.

Despite the fact that a full afternoon tea was around £12 per person, it was pretty nice. My friends and I are kind of rag-tag when it comes to etiquette, so before we got to the place we decided that we were going to have to set up some rules so we don't get kicked out, or get the stink eye from the other patrons.
And thus:

The Rag-Tag Ladies Rules of Engagement for Afternoon Tea

1. Dress like you're meeting your grandmother. We felt that based on the website pics of the hotel it wasn't a place to sport a new ultra low-cut cowl-neck sweater and pleather mini-skirt from Primark, unfortunately. We all got on respectable tops and and clean bottoms and tried not to look like a bunch of loose women with our make up. Less is more.

2. Use 'inside voices' and don't talk about stuff that would normally make a priest run screaming from the confessional booth. So basically, we were pretty much silent. We talked about the student riots this week because the raise in university tuition fees, and about how excited we were about tea. Pretty much all any of us felt safe talking about.

3. There will be no gratuitous use of the passing of natural gases. One of us in the group is notorious for shattering windows with her belches so we pretty much had to decide she had to choke it down. Or, try to blame it on the old lady the next seat over.

4. Always point pinkie fingers up when sipping tea. We felt this was perhaps the most important one rule of all, and when any of us broke this sacred rule we shouted 'pinky!'...and then remembered to use inside voices.

5. Try to use the phrase "oh that's lovely" whenever possible. This seemed to be the thing to do because if we ever heard anyone else in the tea parlor raise their voice above a whisper it was always the exclamation of, "Oh that's lovely!". It worked pretty well for most of our stilted conversations:

"You've got jam on your skirt" "Oh that's lovely"

"Did you hear that Lindsay Lohan might be back in rehab?" "Oh that's lovely"

"I think they finally caught that serial rapist around the campus, actually" "Oh that's lovely"

See? Works almost every time.

6. Try not to hog down the food like we were neglected stepchildren. This was especially difficult when they brought out a pile of fresh-from-the-oven scones, a huge bowl of Devon clotted cream, smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches and a selection of the best looking chocolate and fruit tarts ever seen. We looked down at the pile of food, then back at each other and we all sort of saw the starved gleam in our eyes. Thankfully, we started by piling jam and cream on our scones and then slowly tasting the other little bits and bobs.

**Side note: if you've never had Devonshire clotted cream and jam on a freshly baked scone you haven't lived. Seriously, as close to sex in Heaven as you could possibly get**

7. Don't try to sneak food home in napkins, you will get caught. Thankfully, the gentlemen who served us had somewhat of a sense of humor (an anomaly in an English country hotel) and turned his eye while Sandra quickly stuffed the last raisin scone insider her bag. No doubt if I had had room in my bag the rest of that chocolate cream tart would have made its way home with me. Now that we know how good the food is and that its actually not that costly to do, we'll probably try not act like kleptos.

And tea is served!

The week from hell

2010-11-07T08:02:00.000-05:00

I know I haven't written in a week, but I've had a good excuse. It has been the week from hell. Its the worst week I've had in recent memory and definitely the worst week I've had since I've gotten to the UK.

Here's why:

1) My essays have been sucking out my soul. For real. I have been doing nothing but eating, sleeping and research/writing for this cognitive neuropsychology paper. Yeah, that whole thing is a subject on which I have to write about. I would say for every 4 hours of research I get 100 words written down. Its a 2000 word paper. I'm on the last leg of it today and I will not leave until I get it done. Or, the staff at the learning center throws me out. Its not due until Wed., but I have other projects coming up and I really can't waste any more time on this paper. Graduate school work sucks.

2) I had a disastrous re-entry into the dating scene. So this guy asked me out, he seemed like a nice guy, stable, good job and fairly attractive. He asked me out and then 10 minutes prior to our date, texted me and said he couldn't make it, due to 'getting caught up' with his son. Because he had mentioned his son, I figured it was of some importance, and so wasn't really upset just disappointed. I was already at this pub when I received the text which sucked. But, fate threw me a second chance: the guy sitting across from me offered to buy me a drink because of my cancelled date and we ended up having an informal date right there the entire night. This man, though slightly older than myself was friendly, polite, handsome, rich and happened to really find me interesting.

...What's the problem, then?

Well, he ended up having Titanic-sized personal baggage, which I won't repeat here because for one its not my business to share and two no one would ever believe me if I told you what was in his past.

After that night I received a message from Mr. stable saying that the reason he couldn't meet me is to have 'tea' with is son. Not that his son was sick, or that his ex-wife couldn't pick him up on time, but that he had to have 'tea'.

*Hands for anyone who thinks that's the lamest excuse for cancelling on a date EVER?*

1,2,3...yeah, I see everyone's in agreement. I pretty much decided that he was a tool and de-friended him from facebook, the modern day kiss off. Of course, not before telling him that his excuse was the lamest thing I had ever heard and that if that's how he prioritized things than it's no wonder he's single. I pretty much wrote off trying to date anyone ever again. Sometimes, the best chance for company is to be alone.

*sigh*

It gets worse than this, trust me.

3) My laptop's power cord has decided to die. This means that, though my laptop is working just fine, I can't use it for very long because the power will die. To replace said power cord here in the UK will cost me £40-60. That's almost $60-85...for a fucking plug. I tried ordering it from Amazon.com (where it is the more affordable $10) and Amazon.com will not ship internationally, I will have to go to Amazon.co.uk but, lo and behold they don't have my power cord available. Big surprise, the way the week has been heading. Because of this new development I am now having to work from the library all day to get this essay done, which thankfully I saved on three separate drives. And its cold, because they don't think psychology students need heat to function in their section of the library. Asshats.

4) My housemates have turned into complete slobs. I have been putting up with it for the last few weeks but with everything else that happened this week I lost it on Thursday and threw a hissy fit worthy of Naomi Campbell. I did everything short of actually assaulting my housemates, however I did break a glass against a wall in order to avoid throwing it at their heads. They pretty much avoided me after that.

5) Still no job and no money. It's getting ridiculous. I am now completely tapped out from my loan money and have started siphoning off money from mom/brother/sister-in-law, which I hate. And I have tried applying for every job short of go-go dancer and still nothing. What happened to retailers needing seasonal help?

:/End rant.

Dia de los Muertos

2010-11-01T08:46:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow is the Day of the Dead. Sounds gruesome, I know. For those not in the know, it's a holiday celebrated in Mexico to pray for and remember friends and family who have died. I never celebrated it before because, obviously I'm not Mexican. But now that my father has died, I sort of feel like it might be nice to. My mother would automatically think that I am dwelling on the fact that he is no longer here on earth and that I am being morbid and not really mourning--and then moving on--from my father's death. And she might be right on some small scale, but really...should anyone move on from a parent's death? Is that something people can actually do?

I don't think I will. Of course, I'm speaking from the perspective of someone who had loving parents, so I can't really say for anyone who's parents were absolute scum, but for me...my father is half of me. He helped create me. He loved me, and his physical features, as well as his personal dispositions--introversion, stubbornness, temper--are easily apparent in me. So how can I really 'get over' the death of someone who has had so much influence in my life? That would be like getting over half of myself, which is crazy. I'm not refusing to accept his death; it's been over a year. He's gone, I know it, I've dealt with it. Sort of.

So remembering him tomorrow is not only to honor his memory, but to remember myself too. To not forget where, and from whom, I came. If I forget that, I risk losing part of myself. So tomorrow, I will pull out a great feast off all dad's favorite dishes, try my hand at pan de muerto, pull out old photos and remember William Russel Diggs, Jr.

No Halloween, I don't heart you

2010-10-28T21:40:00.000-04:00

So by the the title you can safely assume that I don't like Halloween. This is true, but what's weird is that I love Autumn. I would normally say 'Fall' but the peeps in England don't understand that, and think I mean it's funny when someone falls to the ground...which, lets be honest is sometimes true. Back on point.

I love the crisp Autumn air, the smell of burning leaves, trees turning brilliant colors, turtlenecks and wool sweaters and pumpkins. But, I don't really like Halloween. When I was younger it was my mindset to be against it for religious purposes. There is a lot of freaky, next-level shit that goes down on All Hallows Eve, and people take credit for being part of Satanic cults when this stuff happens, which, I found out is not usually true (there are always disturbing exceptions), so then I defied my religious axiom and started partying, but never dressing up. This I figured, was just going too far, though I love being in costume. If it was socially acceptable I'd be dressed as some sort of Sesame Street or Cartoon character every day for class. But then I noticed a lot of stupid stuff goes on and I ended my brief love affair with the ghoulish holiday. Here's what bugs me the most:

1) People are always expecting you to dress up. I love dressing up, but why is it a hard and fast rule that I have to spend money I don't have on some outfit that I will probably never think is cool again for one night? At least with a wedding dress I would probably always treasure it. Chances are with a Halloween costume it would be ripped and stained with someone else's puke by the end of the night...though that still might be the case in the wedding dress. Whatever.

2) It's an excuse to drink to dangerous, alcohol-poisoning levels. You want to drink, drink. But don't think just because you're dressed up as the Man of Steele it enables you to drink an entire keg by yourself and that you won't end up on an ambulance gurney by the end of the night. Idiot.

3) People think you're a poopy-pants if you don't 'celebrate'. Just because I have no wish to partake in a night in which I spend money on a costume, get my hopeless expectations up about hooking up with a hot guy dressed as Tarzan and spend even more money drinking than I normally would have done doesn't make me a poopy-pants. What it does make me is a little smarter.

4) Kids expect you to give them free shit. Little kids, bigger kids and teens come out in force to rot their teeth with copious amounts of sugar coated treats and demand you supply them with their next fix. And then egg and/or flame-doggy-poop your front door if they don't get it. Little shitheads.

5) People dress really stupidly. Sometimes it's funny, like guys who are toilets or in really good drag. But then you have people who dress up as a slut and try to pull it off like they are Madonna in her youth. Or really dumb, complex costumes that people will never get. Or people who put their kids in horrible costumes like,

"I'm smiling because I had to wee and couldn't hold it. At least no one will know under all these clothes."

Or infinitesimally worse:

"I'll be in therapy for the rest of my life.Historical re-enactment my ass."

So you understand why I really can't do it anymore. It just ends up pissing me off. But for all those who do enjoy the fun and festivities of Halloween, have a safe and happy holiday!

Day O' Truth, Day 12

2010-10-26T18:25:00.000-04:00

So I thought this post should just be a DOT post, since I've got a lot of research I'm doing, plus I'm taking pictures of all my housemates for my new blog post, as well as my house, which needs to be cleaned like crazy so I'm not burning with shame at the pitiful state of my bedroom. So here we go.

Day O' Truth, Day 12- Something people never compliment me on.

There are tons of things people never compliment me on, but the one thing I wish people complimented me on, was my goodness. I'm a good person, and my compassion, patience and sense of justice (yes, I do possess those qualities, I see you giving the computer screen a sideways glance) flows into every action I take and people never really see it. I'm sure people know I'm a good person, I wouldn't have any friends if I wasn't. But it's something people don't truly understand about me. In fact, I would say only about 2-3 people on this planet really understand how deep those qualities run. I wish more people would know. Not for my own sake, but because maybe, if they saw that I had those qualities, it would restore just a tiny bit of faith in the human race in someone who's lost it. Let's face it, the human race is losing its sparkly image more and more every day and people are starting to think other people aren't worth a damn. That's an insanely slippery slope. If someone saw these qualities, perhaps they would think they exist in others as well. Or, perhaps I'm wrong and people really do see it in me, and just aren't saying it. But how will I ever really know, you know?

Thirty Days of Truth

(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Things the UK Has Taught Me, Part III

2010-10-23T06:25:00.000-04:00

I've been in England for about a month now, and it's starting to get that 'homey' feeling. I know where to go to get cheap pasta, laundry powder and chocolate (Poundland) which grocery cashiers to avoid at the Tesco Metro (Old lady that smells like stinky cheese) and that I have to put the washer on an extra spin cycle in order for all the water to come out of my jeans (inevitable). Home.

The biggest thing the UK has taught me so far is that I can make a home anywhere. Granted, I did choose a lovely little spa town with a low crime rate, excellent shopping and easy access to other major towns in England, but I still made it home. It's not just a place I'm stay, I live here now.

Other little not-so-serious lessons learned recently:

1) I have a really posh British accent. It's pretty convincing, according to my English friends. I've been practising my accent because I'm tired of people looking at me when I speak. These looks range from intrigue and amusement to outright disgust. I get more to the line of disgust than anything else.

*Ugh* Another American Yank scum.

Like I am the source of their discontent. Blow me. That American enough for you now?

2) I tend to think all English guys are hot, no matter if they are attractive or not. This is probably more due to their accents and charm than anything else. And the fact that they think I am an awesome American. They heart me. Flattery is sexy. I'm actually a little pissed at myself for falling for this accent trap, though. I know not every guy is be Prince William, but there is just something about English (and Welsh) accents that just makes me weak. Blech.

3) Teachers endorse masturbation. In class yesterday my lecturer stated that to decrease stress, people should find an activity to do with their right hand, because using just the right hand helps alleviate use of the right temporal lobe of the brain, which deals with stress, fear and sadness. Having that part of the brain in use all the time damages brain tissue, potentially help bring on forms of dementia in old age. She said that it was up to us which activity would work best...but we knew what she meant. Masturbation = happiness. Scientific fact. Now go tell all the disapproving parents in the world that masturbation could extend the life of human beings.

4) Jon Thorton is sexier than Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now, I know that doesn't seem possible, but trust me, the gruff lead character in North and South is one foxy number when he's portrayed by Richard Armitage. Rough, handsome, passionate, hardworking and clever. Darcy, well... pales in comparison. I have videos to back up my claim:

Bringing Sexy Back Richard!

Now I'm off to work on my essays, and to get my sexy on with Richard Armitage. Have a good weekend everyone!

Tick tick tick tick tick....and a little Day O' Truth

2010-10-19T15:19:00.001-04:00

I changed this morning.

I was in the shower this morning, thinking about really nothing in particular casually wondering what its like to have a baby boy, as one of my friends has just been blessed with their first child and suddenly:

BAM!

It starts without ANY warning: My biological clock started. And I mean, really started. And the longing I felt to have that experience was like someone punching me in the gut. It's not even like I want to become pregnant and then give birth, it was just the position of being a mother that overpowered me. Having the clock start was almost how a period starts, only it was ten thousand times the 'awareness' factor.

At almost 30 years of age this wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fact that I think love is one, big, cosmic joke the universe has played on humans since the dawn of time.

And that according to some people, I have less of a chance to becoming a wife and mother than being blown up by terrorists.

Honestly, I thought I had been built without the clock. I was perfectly content just being someone's cool Aunt Tiff who would let them drink spiked eggnog at Christmas and would definitely approve of them dyeing their hair purple on one side, all the while getting trashed on mojitos and sidecars.

But not someone's mother. But it's there. And just thinking about having a child, any child in my care and being able to give them love, makes me misty-eyed.
Vomit.

Yes, I know, really mature, right?

And now, I know that coupled along with that is the linked desire to be someone's wife. Which, uh I have always proclaimed would be the last thing I would ever do. I am no man's wife. I might be a long-term partner, but there'd be no way I would sign into a constricting, binding contract which people don't take seriously at all any more. I would rather be in a long-term, committed relationship that isn't gift-wrapped with legality.

Except...that I kind of do? It makes no sense. These two desires have come together and there isn't really a way to separate them. So now, I've got these two heavy desires weighing down on me, with no boyfriend or sperm bank in sight and no way to fill the fresh little hole in my soul. It's absolutely disgusting. Okay so maybe I'm freaking out. I'm entitled.

Thirty Day of Truth Day 11-Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

This is inevitably my smile. People are always commenting on how sweet and approachable it makes my face. I probably consider this my greatest asset, physically. I can usually make any person's day brighter by smiling. Even total asshats melt a little when my dimples show up. I honestly think this is why I have sailed through life without having to deal with an extraordinary amount of shit from the customer service world. Or why I get free stuff, or get discounts, or...just about anything I really set my heart on. It's a dangerous little tool, my smile.

Thirty Days of Truth

(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

You mean...its Do-It-Yourself? and other conundrums.

2010-10-14T19:40:00.002-04:00

School is now in full swing. It is week three and people are already pulling together study groups and conducting research for their final essays/projects/experiments. I haven't really gotten into how my school is doing because...I really don't know what I'm doing.

Here's the thing. My school schedule is like this:

Monday: Investigative Methods

Tuesday: Lifespan Development

Thursday: Investigative Methods (seminar)

Friday: Individual Differences AND Cognitivescience Neuropsychology.

Doesn't really sound like a whole lot right? Well, here's the thing about university, and I think in particular graduate school in the UK: It is completely Do-It-Yourself. There is no hand holding. They give you a 'reading list' in which to choose from one (or more, whatever) of 10 textbooks. They then pull up a PowerPoint slide each lecture--which is actually available online--and talk to you for two hours (yes, two) about the slide, giving almost no additional material along the way and only answer a few generic questions. Then they give you an assessment sheet, and tell you to hand in an essay/project/experiment in December.

And that's about it. No help given. No guidance. It is completely a surprise to professors when people ask for help. They are not there to teach you, make no mistake. You are there to teach yourself. That is how they view the school system. Which I can understand to a certain extent...but that doesn't work with someone who's had tete-e-tete's with her professors on a weekly basis every term for the last 10 years. I feel completely in the dark and also, because there is only that one large essay or project due at the end, like I am perpetually behind. Like I'm missing something vital by not handing in some arduous assignment every couple of weeks. DIY education is not a language I speak.

Enough about school, trust me as the next couple of weeks wear on, I'm sure I'll have lots more to talk about. Or not, I might have thrown myself into the River Thames in a moment of complete and utter despair (just kidding, kids. No one Baker Act me!). There are lots of other completely weird things that I can't get past. Conundrums, if you will:

#1 I can't get rid of this cold/flu-.I've had this cold since September 27th, the first day of class, and apparently when the Black Plague decided to make its grand re-appearance in Europe. I've tried every conventional (and non-conventional) method I know: Endless cups of tea with honey and lemon, keeping my body pumped with a steady supply of paracetamols, drinking gallons of O.J. and water, eating ginger root and spicy foods to flush out my system...nothing works. I finally gave up and called the doctor's surgery (what the Brits call a doctor's office, though no surgery is performed there) and they pretty much said to just let it ride its course. After two weeks, I'm pretty much done letting the influenza virus have a free ride in my body. However:

#2 To get rid of the cold, I have to drink poison. Or, at least it tastes like poison, carefully disguised as sweetened milk. My Indian philanthropic housemate Ranjeet (oh, trust me, you will be getting to know my housemates more later) mixed up a cold and flu remedy from back home which consists of milk, honey...and about a pound of ground turmeric. Ever wonder what turmeric tastes like on its own? Well, it definitely has garlic notes in it, if anyone cares to know. And turmeric is very darkly colored so the drink was bright yellow and looked radioactive. He looked and made me drink most of it right then. I really hope it works because there is no way my body can handle drinking another one of those babies.

#3 My landlord wants me to die. There are several damning pieces of evidence in favor of this allegation: a) I live in the attic where there is absolutely zero heat coming through my radiator, and probably never will be. b) the stairs to my room are so small and so spiral-y that only a contortionist with Cirque de Soleil would be able to maneuver that without claiming serious risk of injury or death. I've already missed a couple of steps...one false move and I am flying down two flights of stairs straight to my death c) the toilet seat in my bathroom is broken. I'm the only one who sits down in this bathroom (we have two in the house) to do my business and every time I manage to half slide off the toilet seat straight into the glass partition of the shower. I really don't know what will happen if I sit down a little too quickly or forcibly. I've had to re-think the way I hit the potty now. Pro-active instead of Reactive.

#4There is more than one way to cook a faggot. If you don't already know, faggots are a combination of unwanted portions of meat, namely heart, liver, lungs of beef or pork that have been ground together pushed into a ball and then covered with breadcrumbs. I tried to get a picture but my search on the Internet didn't really bring any...family friendly results up. Any who, these are usually fried. Sometimes covered in gravy, sometimes not. Sometimes not even fried. But almost always served with peas and mash. This is perhaps the greatest conundrum of all. Why is there such a meal in existence and why is it called a faggot? Seriously, is there nothing else that this could be called? Like Haggis balls or something? Some thing that doesn't make Americans visualize a whole other event when it says on a pub menu, "Faggots swimming in our homemade gravy, served with peas and mash just like down home"?

#5 My mom sent me a text today. Not really such a conundrum for most, but it is puzzling because as great as she is with computers, and very advanced concepts, and ideas and has a ton of very important duties, she is a child with her knowledge of technically advanced equipment. When she said she wanted an Android, I almost talked it out of her:

Me (condescendingly): "Mom, its a lot of new-fangled applications and its a touch screen, and you really won't be able to dial the numbers..."

Mom: Stop being condescending. I can handle it. Now someone said I could get the Kindle book downloaded on here...can I get the Bible too?

Me: Mom, seriously, let's just go back and get you a nice, basic phone. You won't have me to call when your phone does something weird, like turn on.

Mom (stubbornly): No! I'm not Aunt Patty, I can handle new ideas. The man over at the counter will just walk me through it...

Which he did...and after only 2 short hours, she felt comfortable enough to leave the store with an Android in her hand. That was a few months ago and she basically just used the phone for GPS and calling. That's it. But now, apparently, she can text. And shop online. If my mom ends up trying to 'friend' me on facebook I will go off the deep end.

Alright, I'm now hacking up most of my remaining lung matter so I can't write anymore. I'll have to save the Day O' Truth for another day.

Adios, and Vaya con Dios.

I need a sugar daddy. Or a job. Preferably the sugar daddy.

2010-10-10T12:13:00.001-04:00

So I've been waiting for about 3 weeks to get my student loans in...which occurred a few days ago. Nice and pretty sitting in my new UK bank account...except that it was about $500 or $600 less than what I was expecting. That is a lot of money for an out of work college student. I mean, that's a serious shit.

I needs me a job. Or a sugar daddy. Really, my school work is horrible this year, so a sugar daddy would be preferable. I could make some rich ageing millionaire with a pre-existing heart condition very happy.

One thing you might have noticed (if you're a regular follower) is the new presence of an ad by Google floating on my page. I signed up for Google Adsense to *try* to get some extra cash in. I'm not supposed to pressure my followers into clicking or anything, so this is my attempt at NOT GETTING YOU TO CLICK THE AD BELOW! Seriously, don't feel pressured. This one of many small last-ditch attempts to earn money honestly, because getting a job here has presented a bit of a challenge.

Trying to get a job is actually pretty hard when the customer service level in the country sucks. I love England, I really do but if I had to choose one thing to hate it would be the customer service skills of the British people. Its as if having common courtesy wasn't common sense. The concept that you actually have to treat your customers like they aren't pieces of shit wasting your time so that they come back to you doesn't matter.They won't ask if you need napkins (not extra, just any at all). They won't ask if you need a refill of your drink. They wait about 256,045 minutes before they will come around after you've finished eating and ask if your done. And then another 56,000 to bring you a check.

And the British customers take it. I, being a entitled, arrogant Yank, don't. But it doesn't really make any difference. That's how the CS world is, and how it will remain. Even asking for applications so I can get a j-o-b requires an over dramatic *sigh* a languid toss of hair and walking gruelling 15 feet from the till to the other side of the counter to pull an application out. It's almost too much for them to bear.

Thus, why I needs me a sugar daddy. Quick. Morals and high standards are all well and good, but they don't put a grande latte in Tiffani's hand at the end of the day.

Moving on from the subject of money, I woke up today and had a self-actualization moment that I am in England, living and going to school. I actually did it. It wasn't like I didn't know before, of course, but it was the realization that hit from every part of my body.

Like a map you're reading from a large park or campus and it gives you a little red dot and says, "You Are Here" and you suddenly understand exactly where you are. I am here.

Feeling Lost (There's a double meaning in there) and DOT Day 10

2010-10-05T12:15:00.002-04:00

I had this sort of block this week, on what to write. I can't really build a cohesive thought on anything I've done, even though a good deal has happened. I think its because I'm a little lost, mentally speaking. I'm not quite stable enough in where I am to really get a handle on what is actually happening in my life. It's pretty frightening, really, to not have an idea on what your life is.

There are some random things like:

1) My housemates and I have the neighbors from Hell. We're pretty sure that the person my housemate saw who climbed into his bedroom window, stuck his hand out towards his study desk and stole his Lost DVD set is the kid next door. And we were also told by the cop who came to report on the incident that the mom is probably working it on the street. They're loud, bang doors, scream and curse so loud and hard it would make Jerry Springer's ears burn and we're pretty sure that there is a fair amount of ass-kicking that goes on in the house, but we're not sure if its the kids doing it or the adults. Yeah, seriously, it's bad. When young, first year male partying college students have a problem with the noise level, its way beyond inappropriate.

2) Someone asked me today for professional advice. Like, as a psychologist. I'm not licensed and my degree however proud of my accomplishment I am does little in the way of preparing me for counseling sessions. But, the person was so insistent that I obliged. And I helped, which I almost don't believe since I'm pretty bad at being personal with people. Showing soft emotion makes me itchy.

3) I'm a lot smarter than I thought I was. The people I hang out with, particularly the international students want to know about psychology. They think it's interesting this is a field which you can 'study' and not just research. And they ask me complex questions about various aspects of psychology and suddenly I'm not only talking about pop culture and the effect of it on the moral fabric of society, but how myelin production in the brain can help produce faster response times for positive behavioral patterns as they are being built in neuron pathways...
Did you catch that last sentence? That makes sense. And pretty sure all that stuff I said belongs in a brain surgeon's medical textbook. I already knew that stuff. I remembered that stuff. And as soon as I say this stuff, its like, "Was that me? Holy crap, I'm smart!"

**Side Note: You see how out of it I am? I just cut this blog post off at the knees, and didn't even notice. I had to come back a day later and catch it. WTF. I need to get it together**

Thirty Day of Truth, Day 10- Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn't know

Uh, I don't really know. Over the last ten years, I've really learned about what I want in a friend, and how much I am willing to put up with/aside to make the friendship work. I think that happens with every person. So I've slowly filtered down my friends, as I discovered irreconcilable differences that would make it almost impossible to be friends. I think there maybe a couple of people who I can't connect with and because we share many of the same friends, it's sort of a point of courtesy to be friends with them. But I don't really have anyone in my life that I really wish wasn't in it. I've already done my cleaning up in that department.

Thirty Days of Truth

(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just ~~drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.~~ (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Day O' Truth Day 9

2010-09-30T05:21:00.007-04:00

Thirty Days of Truth Day 9- Someone you didn't want to let go, but just drifted.

I would say that honor belongs to my friend Matt. Or, at least he used to be my friend. He was, for lack of a better word, a soul mate. We were so alike in our personalities, jokes, interests and quirks it was like we shared a consciousness. You'd think that might have gotten sickening after a while, but it only got more awesome over time. We could be in a restaurant having dinner, see something interesting and just look at each other and know what we were thinking. It is one of the best experiences I ever had with another human being. But then he started dating bad women. Women who were possessive and needy, jealous and suspicious of his female friends and eventually, he got caught by one who has held on for years, and has slowly but surely siphoned off all contact with his old friends, until he is just another friend on facebook and nothing more. I didn't want to let go of the friendship and for months I tried, pulled, and screamed with my other friends to keep him in his life but he just didn't try. So we all let go. And we drifted, until he is nothing more than some guy I know who reminds me a little of my former best friend.

Thirty Days of Truth
(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (~~9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.~~ (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Things the UK has Taught Me, Part II

2010-09-28T04:41:00.000-04:00

1) My shoe size is two sizes smaller. This is a sort of balance from my clothes being instantly two sizes bigger. I went from a size 9 to a size 7. I feel pretty awesome about that, even if I know I didn't magically trade in my bear claws for delicate cinderella feet.

2) Donner meat does not come from one of Santa's beloved Reindeer. I was shocked to see 'donner' kebabs or pitas in every takeaway shop in town. WTF is up with Cheltenham folks that they are hard core about eating deer meat? Never mind the fact that I totally forgot that Donner and the rest of he jolly flying crew were a creative writing burp in history, and not actual beings. Turns out, donner stands for lamb. As in gyro meat. Which, kinda sucks because they don't serve it with feta, olives or takiziki sauce, which in my mind is a crime against nature. If you're going to slaughter a lamb so that it can become part of a gyro, the least you could do is slather it with taziki sauce. That's like throwing salt on a would otherwise

3) People can conceivably put any two objects together and call it a pub. Among the usual Iron Maiden's Head and O' Neill's pub, you have pub names like, The Frog and Fiddle, or Hare & Dove. My personal favorite: The Slug and Lettuce. I mean, seriously? Is it that easy? Stick two completely unrelatable objects together and suddenly you have yourself a proper working English establishment. I wonder what mine would be. Perhaps The Pup and Spear. I kind of like that actually.

4) My body hates the UK climate. Yeah, I've got one nasty sore throat and slight fever. This is the kind of thing that could turn into Scarlet Fever or something horrible if I don't take care of it. I think the best medicine is...beer. Call me crazy, but I think I nice strong malty beer would kick the germs right out of my system.

5) Being Welsh means sounding like a drunk Jamaican. Or, perhaps its just my Statistics for Psychology professor. Either way, I think I need a translator. Which is sad.

Since I'm a little under the weather, I thought I would post this now, and then at the end of hte week, when I feel a little better, give a real blog post, that's actually amusing. This was just filler to trick you all.

MWAH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!

Okay, now I think we can add a slight case of delerium to the list.

Puppyland and Day O' Truth, Day 8

2010-09-24T09:03:00.001-04:00

Welcome, Welcome, Welcome to Hogwartz School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Monday was, most likely, the most ginormous waste of time I have ever experienced. I learned nothing, other than that my patience for irrelevance is pretty f*ing low. I also learned that I hate people who are 10 years younger than myself. Unless by some miracle, you happen to be cool. Or Michael J. Fox from the future, either way.

Welcome to Induction Week. I am a graduate student. It is reasonably supposed, then that I would be with the post-graduate induction ceremony for my course.

Except that I wasn't. No one in my program was. We were all fobbed together in the undergraduate induction for the College of Natural and Social Sciences. Why? Because our program fell through the cracks. It is a 'graduate diploma' which means that while you had to have a degree to get into this program, that a percentage of the classes we take are undergraduate.

The 1st Years were scared, whimpering kids. Each and everyone looked overwhelmed and agitated, like puppies coming into a new home. That's when I started calling them puppies. Seems wildly appropriate, seeing how the last week has played out.

So, after the official induction into ~~Hogwartz~~ the university, that was pretty much it for me. I wasn't an undergraduate so I wasn't forced to do some lame fresher 'group think' project that involved treasure hunts. So basically, I've just been walking around town, looking at shops, meeting people for coffee and tea...like I'm some high society woman who doesn't have anything better to do than to do just make small talk.

I really can't wait for school to start.

Day O' Truth Day 8- Someone Who Made Your Life Hell, or Treated You Like Shit

This could be the longest list in the world. A lot of people treat me like shit. Way more than the norm, I'd say. Like I have a sign posted on my forehead: "DOORMAT, WIPE YOUR SHIT-COVERED SHOES HERE"

But the truth of the matter is, is that I allowed it to be that way for a long time. I allowed to them to walk all over me, and to treat me like shit, because I never thought I was worth more than that. So really, the person who did made my life hell was me. I treated myself like shit because I allowed others to do so, something I strive everyday to overcome. To gain the actual knowledge, not just vague inclination but the truth that I deserve better than that.

Thirty Days of Truth
(1) Something you hate about yourself. (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Things The UK Has Taught Me, Part I and DOT Day 7

2010-09-21T04:44:00.002-04:00

It's been a pretty eventful couple of weeks. I've been lots of places (London, Letchworth, Cheltenham, Bath and Stonehenge) seen lots of things and met lots of people. So far, I am not regretting my decision one bit. I love it here much more than I thought I would and grad school doesn't seem as if it will be the end of the world kind of tough. Pretty much jumping for joy on that last one. But there is much more learning to be done than just inside the classroom. Here's what I discovered this week:

1) People will ask, but not ask you where you're from. It's just an opening for them to tell you about themselves. Example:

Some British Person: So you're from America, then?

Me: Yep

SBP: Yeah, I thought that was right. I have a cousin who moved to Texas/Seattle/Random city in the Mid-West a few years back. She's married now with two children. You know, she rang me up just a few days ago...

and on and on it goes.

Why they feel that the tenuous link they share between me and their cousin is a justification for them telling me about their lives, I won't really understand. At least their nice about it.

2) Clothes shopping requires therapy. Any American woman who goes into a store to try on clothes will immediately notice that a) they are now two sizes larger than they were in the U.S. and, b) the current 'casual' British style is to wear some sort of top along side ultra-tight, ultra-thigh-dimple-revealing leggings or tights. Anything deviating from this style will get stares. Lots of them. Even armed with the knowledge that she hasn't gained two dress sizes in weight in under a week, her self-esteem will take a few hits walking into a store.

3) Don't ask for adjustments, substitutions or eliminations of any kind when ordering food. Waitresses, cooks and barmaids will temporarily go brain dead. It takes them a minute to understand that you are asking for something different than what they are selling. That you think you have the right to change what was and what will be after you leave. It physically hurts them to try to write down the thing you want. Even if it's just to have the mayo on the side.

4) The British don't hate Americans. Except when we're behaving like arrogant pricks. Don't start talking about how things are done better in the U.S. and how you can't believe they haven't 'caught up' yet. If you liked it so much there, get your ass back across the pond. For realz.

5) Everyone seems to be pregnant, or recently recovering from giving birth. I would say a fair amount of the time I definitely over-dramatize things in life, this, however, is not one of them. When I walk down the street in Cheltenham, of the 20 or so women I pass in 60 seconds, at least 15 of them are either heavily pregnant, or have just given birth and are taking their child out for a post-delivery stroll. I started noticing it a few days ago, and thought maybe I was just near a Motherhood store or something on the Promenade, but nope, it was everywhere...young, old, rich, poor, married or single...everyone's pregnant or was just pregnant. What's weird is the fact that based on the ages of the kids in strollers and/or the protruding stomachs of expectant moms, it's a new phenomenon, like last year, the people of the city just decided to say the fuck with contraception. Weirdness.

6) I'm *Huge* in Germany. Okay, not really. But German people love me. That's for real. I have spent a lot of time with the IC (international crew) of the University of Gloucestershire in the last week and while I have made a lot of new friends from a lot of different countries, it's the Germans who seem to have strapped me to them like I was a stray puppy in need of love and social acceptance. Not complaining mind you, but it becomes evident in photos:

Sandra and Linda, two lovely Germans seated right behind me on the bus to Bath and Stonehenge

Again, with more Germans

The rest of the day's photos are just variations of this one. Me sitting down having lunch, pointing at some historical figure...what can I say, they love me :)

Day O Truth, Day 7-Someone who has made your life worth living for.

Er...okay, so this might sound bad, but...no one. I mean, I don't really live my life for anyone, besides myself. I know plenty of people who I couldn't imagine my life without, but I wouldn't say that I any one of them makes the difference between whether I get up and go to school in the morning or if I throw myself in front of a bus. You know. That's kind of unhealthy. I know some people might have said I felt this way about the Ex, but no. That's not how it worked. Thanks for feeling so confident in my ability to be a normal human being, though. I really appreciate that.

Thirty Days of Truth

~~(1) Something you hate about yourself~~. (~~2) Something you love about yourself~~. (~~3) Something you have to forgive yourself for.~~ (~~4) Something you have to forgive someone for.~~ ~~(5) Something you hope to do in your life.~~ ~~(6) Something you hope you never have to do.~~ (~~7) Someone who has made your life worth living for.~~ (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Separation anxiety rears it's fugly head.

2010-09-18T14:10:00.001-04:00

So I guess I have a little bit of free time on my hands this weekend and thought I'd post a little something before induction started Monday. Cheers :)

*nomnomnomnomnom*

*crunch,slush*

contented sigh

*crinkly sounds*

Oh, what's that sound, you say? That would be the sound of me inhaling a piece of See's Old Fashioned Candy and throwing the wrapper away. Mom gave me a box of their candy and stuffed it into my suitcase while I wasn't looking. She's McGyver. Or Helen Keller, only for going in blind to an overstuffed suitcase and finding infinitesimally small amounts of space in which to shove countless tidbits into my luggage. I don't even want to know how she managed to shove a portable cupcake holder, a 12 count jumbo muffin tin and Oprah's Greatest Recipes in a suitcase that was already praying for it's life.

So I made it a point to call my mom the instant I was able to once I left Heathrow. When afternoon rolled around, Lena dutifully handed over her mobile and said in her very Engliest of English voices "Go on then, and give your mum a ring she must be gutted not to 'ave heard from you by now."

I called, and assured her that everything was alright and that I was safely in the custody of Lena and her dad, riding through a quiet and sleepy English town. I told my self that she really needed reassurance that I wasn't freaking out and that everything was okay. I wanted to be sure she was okay too. Losing your other half really can't be easy. I mean, really, we were Laurel & Hardy, Lucy & Ethel there for a while. It must have been hard going back to a lonely house, even if it was just for a couple of weeks until Jon and Keshia arrived.

So on Saturday, I really didn't get to talk to her, too much to do. Sunday, Lena and her Dad drove me down to Cheltenham, and left, and I forgot to call mom to let her know I had safely arrived in town and that my accommodation was up to par. Monday rolled around and I was feeling pretty guilty so I walked up to High Street and got myself a new cell because the crappy one I bought from the U.S. just wasn't having it in this strange land. Then I had to wait for it to charge up and was finally able to give it a go around 11pm, 6pm mom's time.

I called once, it went to voicemail. Not surprising, she has to dig it out of three separate containers to get to it. I let it go and tried again...nothing.

Frustrated, I tried Jon's number....straight to voicemail.

A small nugget of fear settled down in my throat. WTF is up with my family? They haven't heard from me in days and I just moved halfway across the world and they aren't surgically attached to their cell phones? Somein' ain't right.

Then I tried Keshia who would undoubtedly pick up once she saw the foreign number...except she didn't.

I tried mom again, and then once more...nothing. The panic was completely set in by this point and I had almost convinced myself that some horrific tragedy had befallen them all like they were all driving to meet each other someplace for dinner and crashed in some horrible freeway accident or someone was in a coma and everyone else's phones were off because they were in the hospital, and I was already calculating how fast I could book a train back to London and snag a last minute flight to D.C., blood pressure rising to absurdly dangerous levels, and I tried dialing, one last time to my mom...

*ring*

*ring*

*ri-*

Mom: Hello?

Me: OMG WHERE HAVE BEEN I TRIED CALLING YOU 80 CA-TRILLION TIMES JUST NOW WHAT THE HELL IS WITH YOUR PHONE????!!!

Mom (in an infuriatingly calm voice): Oh, hi honey! I was on the bus and was riding through a dead spot. And then I forgot to check who the call was from. Sorry.

Yeah, so I guess I was a leetle more tethered to mom than even I knew. What an arrogant little puss-bucket I was thinking I'd be above missing my mom just because I was busy being transcontinental. Idiot.

Side Note: Oh, for all you 'yanks' who have no idea what a High Street is, it's like the center of town, where one person goes to do every things, like run to the bank, go shopping, hit pubs, the post office, etc. It is the busiest part of a town, aside from whatever huge shopping centre has been placed on the outskirts, or reversely in the exact center of town. Whatever appeals to the masses.

The Best Of Me

2010-09-14T08:41:00.000-04:00

I think the United Kingdom has it in for me.

So Thursday, thanks to the UPS fuck up, I managed to get my passport with accompanying visa a mere 7 hours before my flight, which blows balls. But I made it on the plane, after paying a hefty fine for excess weight. Honestly I think the woman at the counter cut me a deal. She could smell the desperation on me, and charged only about a 60 extra dollars, which rocked since I was overweight in every single bag. That is where my goodluck ran out. For one, I chose the seat that was almost at the back of the plane. I guess I should have known with "Seat 57H". Then I managed to be squeezed in between not one, but two screaming toddlers. And then the seat belt was so fucking small the size 12 girl sitting next to me had a hard time squeezing in. I managed to perform a miracle of engineering by squeezing my fatty middle to the other parts of my body to be able to click the belt. I will never fly economy again, I don't care if I have to sell my plasma for a month to pay for it.

As bad as that experience was, it was nothing to the nightmare the immigration line was. It's a little too painful to talk about fully, but here are the highlights:

1) Standing in line for an hour moving at a glacial pace
2) Being smashed together with other non-UK/EU passport holders like it was a United Nations summit in Hell.
3) Being grilled by border agents like I was defecting from the KBG.

Its was seriously the worst airport experience ever. Add to the fact that my phone would not work at the airport so for almost two hours my friend Lena and her father were stuck waiting at the entrance thinking that I had missed my plane or that I had gotten abducted at the airport. Which are very reasonable assumptions, knowing myself.

I'm going to go into a whole lot of detail yet about my first week here, but...

Since I will be doing an insurmountable amount of work in the next two weeks, I don't really think I'll have time to do a whole lot of blogging. But that doesn't mean you should be without your daily dose of my schitzophrenic babbling. I know some of you count on it as your source of humor in life.

So I thought a "Best Of" post was in order. I have over a hundred posts after all, and who wants to swim through all those to find the ones that I thought were the best of my ~~insanity~~ creativity. The following posts are some of my favorites:

Grad School = Educational Prostitution

You can go home again...and watch locals get crunk

Hurry Up Before Your Uterus Dries Up!

Maybe its something in the water?

There. That should keep you busy for a while. I'll be back when Welcome Week and Induction Week are over.

Hasta Luego.

Adios, America

2010-09-09T07:24:00.001-04:00

This is the last post I will be making from these fair shores. I have spent the last three days ass-deep in clothes, cookbooks, jewelry and photo albums trying to decide what goes, what stays...and then deciding again and again until I've wheedled down my wardrobe until it somewhat resembles that of the cast of Oliver Twist. Plus, I still don't have my passport with student visa.

Don't panic. Its at the UPS customer center waiting to be picked up. I guess "Next Day Air" doesn't mean quite what it used to.

*sigh*

The first of many sacrifices and trials.

There are things I will miss about America, things I am just now thinking about, like:

1) Bath & Body Works' scented anti-bacterial hand gel. Apparently, hand gel only comes in a neutered scent. My English friend Lena is constantly amazed that there are scents like 'white citrus' or 'vanilla sugar' de-funk your hands. I realized last week I guess I'll miss it too, because I bought enough small pocket-pacs to disinfect a scrappy band of Third World rebels.

2) Netflix. This hurts, bad. I was all excited about finishing Mad Men Season 2 (yeah, I'm a little late to the party) when I realized as I returned the DVD in the mailbox this morning that I was going to have to empty my DVD queue. I still have the Netflix instant of course, but Mad Men will have to be shelved for another day.

3) Coco-cola. Yeah sure, they sell it there, but it tastes different. Darn the EU/UK and their corn syrup restrictions

4) Processed cheese product. I really never ate that much of it before but still...it's probably up there with corn syrup as contraband.

5) My mom. Yeah, I'm still tied to her with an umbilical cord. She doesn't even know.

What I won't miss is the constant bitchiness, sense of entitlement and severe superiority complexes I see waltzing down the street and having to deal with it every day. That, and the sudden fascination America seems to have developed over anything New Jersey in nature. Really not going to miss that.

Ugh...this is a really boring post only because I have had like 5 hours sleep in the last 3 days and am so postal I'm about five seconds away from being a lead story on the nightly news. But this will be my last post this week (maybe) until I can get my self together.

Wish me luck, no children sitting next to me on the plane and lots of hot English guys scrounging for my attention.

Adios, America.

Visa--don't leave home without it! and Day O' Truth Day 6

2010-09-07T13:26:00.002-04:00

Ha ha!!!!!!

Finally got my visa application approved today. And all it took was me ripping the British Consulate a new one on their facebook wall (yes, really) and a call from my Maryland (U.S.) Senator, Barbara Mikulski...who says politicians can't be useful?

*Deep, humongous sigh of relief*

And now, for some honesty.

30 Days of Truth, Day 6- Something You Hope You Never Have To Do.

I think most would probably hope they never have to choose between life and death. But I have already had to make that decision when my brother and I had our father removed from life support in August of 2009. That is one of the hardest things a person will ever have to do, and probably one which most, unfortunately will have to make with someone they hold dear. I kind of hope I don't have to do it again, but like I said, the barn door of that reality has already been kicked open so I know its out there.
Something I do hope I never have to do is make a choice of whether I can ever love another person, or just be alone. Because I can feel that it might one day be an issue. I can see that my career and my ambitions in life would be too much for someone to handle if they want to be on the traditional 'family' track. I hope I can always have the option to have both. I'm not an either/or kind of a girl. I'm a "why can't I have both?" kind of girl. That is the way I want it to stay.

Thirty Days of Truth
(~~1) Something you hate about yourself~~. (~~2) Something you love about yourself~~. (~~3) Something you have to forgive yourself for~~. (~~4) Something you have to forgive someone for.~~ (~~5) Something you hope to do in your life.~~ (~~6) Something you hope you never have to do.~~ (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Which Roommate Will I have?

2010-09-04T19:30:00.001-04:00

I've gotten my house all squared away for my upcoming year in England. Pretty nice place, fully furnished and it comes with utilities included at a reasonable rate. Nice neighborhood, 5 minute walk from campus. All sounds good right? Well, there is where my good luck is likely to end. I have had my share of roommates and most of them were, let's face it, 5 shades of horrible. In fact, the best roommate I ever had was my very first one in college, Stover. Stover is now one of my closest friends and I love her to death especially since she put up with my shenanigans with grace and patience. Beginner's Luck I guess. Since then I have been cursed with some of the worst roommates ever. Not all were bad, mind you, but most, yes. Here's how I categorize them:

#1 The Neat Freak-Seems like a great roommate to have right? She'll always have the house presentable for guests. The bathroom toilet will never be suspect, and you're pretty sure she won't be throwing any crazy parties because she cares too much about staining the carpet with Guinness. Wrong. This is the roommate who has supplied every room of the apartment with coasters and she will give you the stink eye if you so much as think of putting your can of coke down without one. She has clearly marked each and every trash receptacle in the place. She has a wall hanging on the wall of the bathroom that says, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle please be neat and wipe the sink". She basically makes your life a a sparkly, shiny slice o' hell. On the upside, you will never be embarrassed to bring anyone home because you live with 'Slothman', roommate #2:

#2 "Slothman". The Neat Freak's worst nightmare. Slothman doesn't understand the concept of picking up stuff that you've set down and finds nothing troubling about the petri dish his bedroom or the kitchen have become. By the end of the year, you will only have a passing memory of what your carpet used to look like You will either end up letting his slothfulness go because you refuse to bow to being his slave, or you will pick up after him because you want to be able to have friends over without having to explain the smell of death.

#3- The Drama Queen- "Like, Oh My God, I can't believe this. How could she do that to me? I don't understand why there has to be so much drama in my LIFE?" Hmm...that's the statement you'll hear the most from her Majesty of Bullshit. What the Drama Queen fails to understand is that she is the perpetrator of her own misery. She secretly likes it. At first, because you may not know this roommate as a D.Q., you may feel actual concern or empathy. But you will soon learn that anyone who calls bullshit 'drama' is a Drama Queen.

#4- Slap Happy- As in, if you don't cut the 24 hour musical-type-happiness, I will slap you. We get it. Life is a freakin' bed of roses for you. You are pretty, smart, well-rounded, not sunk in poverty and have, like, the bestest boyfriend of all time. Bully for you. Please, keep your sunshine, chirpy birds and Carpenter's lyrics in check, before the rest of the house scalps you in the middle of the night. For real.

#5 Creepy Foreign Guy- This is more likely to happen overseas as the international student population in England is quickly rising. This guy will not look you straight in the eye. He will smile creepily, and then disappear. You might see his shadow float up the stairs in odd hours of the night, but otherwise his door will remain closed and locked at all times. You start to wonder if he eats, sleeps, shits or showers at your place since there seems to be no evidence of it. Then one day, you'll see him at an underground club hanging out with completely gothed out people who look as if they are using him for a group wine-tasting later and you get even more creeped out. You think to yourself that at least he's quiet...but then you remember that's what all the neighbors say when they find out they've been living next to a serial killer.

I'd say, with my luck I'll probably have all five living with me.

Here's looking at you, kid

2010-09-02T09:11:00.001-04:00

So it's my last day of work. I walked in to find a big gift bag and card already sitting in the chair at my cubicle from one of the women in the Director's Office, Levon.

I'm actually kind of surprised people are making a fuss over my departure. I've only been working here just over a year, and I'm a student intern, not an integral part of the office structure. But here they are, throwing me a huge party at Carmine's around the corner, and gifts and free lunches/coffees have been given to me all week. People seem to be sad and overjoyed for my success at the same time, as if they've knowing me for years.

On Tuesday, I sat down to have a beer with Mike* and told him of the Director's Office throwing me this fancy lunch today and didn't really understand why people were making a fuss over me. It didn't make sense.

Basically, it went like this:

Me: "I just don't get it. I'm a peon, a glorified go-fer. Why go through all this hassle? I'm not an irreplaceable fixture. I'm a student intern. They knew eventually I'd leave."

Mike: "You are an irreplaceable fixture, Tiff. Maybe you've spread a sea of sunshine and happy futures and hope for all those you're leaving behind and this is the way they are commemorating that gift. You stay with people. It's how you are. No one forgets you Tiff."

Yeah, I gotta say, it was pretty nice hearing him say that. But he isn't the first to say it. I've heard it many times before and truth be told I don't really know why it fails to sink in. I just think of myself as some ordinary girl, not amazingly good, or brilliant or anything, just normal. Or, maybe a little neurotic, but normal for the most part. But apparently, that's not how I affect people. People think of me as the Sun, Mike said it himself.

I guess that's a good way to look at moving on: You are the Sun, moving forward to another day.

*Name Changed to Protect Identity

P.S. -No Day O' Truth Today, Because This is Enough Truth For One Day.

Have Suitcase, Will Travel & Day O' Truth Day 5

2010-09-01T08:09:00.003-04:00

So every morning I wake up in a cold sweat. Why? Because I still don't have my student visa. They have it held hostage in some sick game of torture the would-be grad student. But they just don't have my visa, they have my passport. As in the original, not the copy. Turns out along with giving them my hair, blood, fingerprint, facial and ocular samples, I had to hand over my passport too.

It's a fucking student visa people, not Black level clearance with the CIA, Jesus.

Basically, I'm a nervous wreck. It's is just over a week now that I will be flying out and the UK Border Agency (UKBA) has yet to send out a letter, an email or a smoke-and-flare signal to let me know that I either got approved or denied for a visa. If I got denied, really, no big deal I can appeal the process from England. But I have to have my passport. What really seals this whole ugly process in is the fact that no one can understand why I am having such a freak out. I usually hear:

"You're so lucky to have this opportunity! I wish I was young and single, I'd do it like you're doing it!"

"You must be so excited! Wow, ENGLAND!"

"It will be hard work, but so worth it in the end!"

blah, blah BLAH.

Then they look at me as if I have three eyes growing out of my head when I say that I'm not really all that excited. They don't understand exactly what I had (and am currently doing) to get ready. This grand scale move doesn't happen just by wishing it. It takes money, time, filling out endless piles of paperwork and even a little of your blood to get this going. Not to even mention trying to skim your possessions to half it's size and trying to figure out exactly how you will live on a quarter of your yearly salary where the stuff costs nearly twice as much.

Farewell Starbucks, it's been nice knowing you.

Plus there is the ever looming ~~hysteria~~ ~~fear~~ concern that: This might not work out. I might fail.

I am a pretty positive person for the most part, but faced with all of that, would you be peeing your pants with excitement? I didn't think so. That doesn't mean that I am not looking forward to the experience, I am. But that feeling takes a backseat to all the bullshit I have to swim through to get there.

Day Of Truth Day 5- Something You Hope to Do In Your Life

I could say that I want to make a difference in the world, and that's certainly true. As popular as the field of forensic psychology is, most who get into the field know its not a celebrity cash cow, where you are glamorized and immortalized for your awesome profiling skills. Usually, FP's are behind the scenes, quietly doing their duty to make the world a little bit safer. I could also say that I want to loose this pesky weight, and finally be able to just live my life, not live my life as an overweight person, but just a person. That is also true. But both of those things come together in one profound hope: I hope I become happy with who I am. That is a wish that many have and never have granted. But it is one that I will try to achieve until the very last breath I take. I want to be happy just to be me.

A Guide to Running Away and Day O' Truth Day 4

2010-08-30T07:50:00.002-04:00

Run, Do Not Walk To The Nearest Bordering Nation

For those who have just crawled out from underneath their caves to join this regularly scheduled program, I'm leaving the U.S., in less than two, count 'em two weeks. Expatriate City, baby. It's not like America hasn't given me a great run, in fact, I know exactly how privileged I am growing up here. Freedom from oppression and sub-standard drainage systems is definitely a plus. Way to go America.

But I decided a long time ago that my home wasn't here. It was in England. It was kind of like how baby orcas can find their way back to their parents after being let loose as babies: they just know. That was a load of crap, I have no idea if adult orcas shuffle their offspring off on some mission to test their GPS skills. But it sounded good, huh?

To be honest, I have no idea really if England is home. For good, I mean. I could go there, decide I absolutely hate it this time around and come right back on home. I doubt that will happen but you never know. I have had a lot of people ask me how you begin to undertake such a thing. I tell them for me, being single with no family to take with me its like starting from scratch. You know how people will say, "Let's start from scratch"? This is scratch. That's not usually a good answer, but I have gotten a few lessons learned out of this experience and I figured I might as well write it down, in case anyone ever wants to get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.

If you or someone you know are in the same position I am but have no idea how to start your own little expatriate journey follow these steps:

#1-Find out where the hell you're going. Gotta have a destination before anything else. I decided on England, but you may find that Latvia sounds pretty good. Whatever you decide, make sure that you can live there without a high risk of having your head blown off by passerby. Just sayin'.

#2-Get some mad cash so you can bankroll this party, yo. Governing officials are not going to officially let broke-ass people into their country so they can leech off the system. I had to show 'financial independence' for the Motherland, and so do you. Make sure you got the cash:

This should be your friend, always by your side.

#3-Don't expect it to be all fun and games, children. I totally know that beyond sharing a common language, England is totally different than America. For instance, there ain't no 2nd Amendment to argue about. Which, I kind of hate. As much as I dislike guns and think that its easier to obtain one on the black market than it is to score tickets to a Lady Gaga show, I will miss having the option of whether or not I get to own a gun. I plan on wearing this shirt whenever possible to shock the local natives:

But seriously, I know that culture shock will abound. In fact I think my university has a seminar about it for the "GC" (Global Crew aka The weirdos from the international student camp)

#4- Don't assume that because you are American you will have it easier than other immigrants. Yes, you will be an immigrant. That's a concept Americans don't think about when they want to move to a different country. They think of themselves as expatriates, or 'world citizens' or some other elitist bullshit title they give themselves. But immigrant? No. You know there is a little voice in your head that says

But I'm American...I'm not an immigrant. That's for those 13 member families from China who arrive here on a sweaty disease-infested boat .

You know that's how it goes for most. Heck, in the beginning I was a little like that. But I've been humbled by my experience going to the Immigration Office in Maryland so I could files the paper work for my visa. You are a number, another person trying to 'make it' in a country where there are natives trying to make it, and they really don't need your sorry ass their taking away opportunities away from their own people. But, they will still offer you the chance to get yourself together and make a life there. Its how most countries do it.

#5- Know exactly how you plan to get your stuff where you need to get it- This is the biggest fuck-up I have experienced in this journey. Research the shipping companies. Ask people you know who ship stuff overseas how they do it without going into bankruptcy. Check, re-check and then check again. When packing, ask yourself if you really need to have all those clothes or that 1,000 beer bottle statue you made in college shipped overseas. Then do it again and again until you have a fourth of what you started with. People usually only use a fourth of their goods the majority of the time anyway. If you can give it, sell it or trade it for something you need, do it.

#6- If someone asks you if you're a God you say YES. Okay, not really. But if the border officials at the airport stop you and ask you why you are trying to get into the country, you need to have a firm, logical answer. I'm going to graduate school. That's a firm answer, I have documents and junk to prove it. You just showing up one day with all your worldly possessions and saying 'I'm finding myself' will not cut it. You need to have a "I'm working with such and such company" or "I'm here doing a photo essay for a magazine" Or, something that will not make the UK Border Agency throw your ass back on the first plane to New York.

#7 Make sure you can really deal with the goodbyes. Saying I and Love and You...and then Goodbye is one of the hardest things any person has to do. Make sure you're really ready to do that, because once its done, its done. You have to turn and leave your current life behind. Take it from someone who knows.

Day Of Truth Day 4- Something You Have To Forgive Someone For.

I am the kind of person who forgives pretty easily for most things. If someone pisses me off, chances are I've already forgiven them within the next hour. However, there is one thing that I have not been able to forgive in all my 28 years: I have not forgiven the men in my life who suck (ed). My father, while he was a good man, and I loved him immensely made some dumb-ass choices in life. He wanted to be his own boss but would never make the right choice on how to do it. He wouldn't take care of himself and only started to really care after the damage had been done. Same with my brother. His greatest problem is that he is a chicken-shit. He is one of the most brilliant minds I have ever seen, and he completely gave up using it. Having an Einstein like mind and letting it go into atrophy is a crime against humanity in my opinion. The reason he does it is because he is afraid. He's afraid to fail and he's afraid to succeed because then people will continue to expect more of him. That's how it works for me. But I'm alright with that, because I always meet that challenge. And he could do if he would just grow a pair.

It really, truly angers me how shitty the men in my life are. And why they can't get it together like me, or my mother. I messed up early in my twenties by dropping out of Marshall, I acknowledge this. It's alright to mess up when you're young, you usually have time to correct it. But I was able to come back around and get my degree and now continuing on until I become a doctor. That's my goal and I will have it. I'm not at all that brilliant like my brother or father so why couldn't they get it done? If I admit the truth, its not that I don't forgive them for not ponying up to life like they should have, it's that they didn't and then expected me to pick up the slack. For my sake, I do need to forgive them, and then move on with my life, without being their support.

Thirty Days of Truth

~~(1) Something you hate about yourself~~. (~~2) Something you love about yourself~~. (~~3) Something you have to forgive yourself for.~~ (~~4) Something you have to forgive someone for~~. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

A plea to my student visa and Day O' Truth Day 3

2010-08-27T21:50:00.000-04:00

Dear UK Student Visa:

So I know you've been away. I get it, you need time process stuff. Its a big thing, me moving overseas. Its a commitment not to be entered into lightly. But baby, I need you come home. I need you in my life, visa. I promise I'll change when you get here. I will clean and pack and be more attentive. I promise, my priorities are totally in order now that you've gone away.

I know you don't want to come home until everything is all squared away, but...I've given you a month to get your stuff in order. You know that in two weeks I need to leave and you've got my passport. The original, not a copy. I know you're not trying to be emotionally draining, but I can't eat, can't sleep at night until I know you are here, with me in the side pocket of my carry-on luggage. Come on, visa. Come home. You won't regret it.

Thirty Days of Truth Day 3- Something You Have to Forgive Yourself For.

Well, this is hard. I have a habit of being entirely too self-critical and it takes me a long time to forgive myself of any misstep. That's the Virgo in me, I guess. There are a lot of things I've done wrong in my short life. Nothing too crazy like become addicted to heroin or kill anyone while driving drunk, thank God. But I still have things that I have never really forgiven myself for. The one that sticks out right now, is that I have never forgiven myself for being a shitty daughter. Except, that I wasn't. I have so much guilt over not taking care of my parents, but I am slowly, very very slowly coming to the realization that:

That. Wasn't. My. Job.

I wasn't a shitty daughter, I was a normal daughter. I did normal teenage stuff. My room was dirty. I complained whenever she asked me to cook dinner. I resented the fact that I was supposed to help my grandmother when I got home from school. But I was loving and for the most part respectful. I don't know where I cemented the idea that for a little bit, parents take care of children, then the children take care of the parents. I think this is a true statement, but it shouldn't be happening at age nine.
I think this whole 'I'm the caregiver' thing started when my father asked me a few minutes before hopping into a moving van with my mother (who had just finalized their divorce) to be sure to take care of her, that she needed me. I took that as the absolute truth and my sole duty as a daughter. It was unfair of him to say so. Today, however I am now 100% in caregiver mode for my mom, but not because she needs me to be, but because this is the way I am thanking her for her generosity of letting me come back home after a failed stint in The Real World in Florida. And, yes a little bit of that care-giverness in me springs in from the guilt of being a bad daughter. Except, I wasn't. And it's time I started ~~forgiving myself for~~ realizing that.

Thirty Days of Truth

(~~1) Something you hate about yourself~~. (~~2) Something you love about yourself~~. ~~(3) Something you have to forgive yourself for~~. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Speak Your Mind and Day O' Truth, Day 2

2010-08-26T09:13:00.001-04:00

Do ever wish you could just say what's on your mind? I mean, really?

Whenever someone asks me what I'm thinking, I always say "nothing much".

I would love to say what I'm actually thinking:

"I was just imagining how it would be to screw your brains out."

"You are such an old-fashioned, prejudiced fool. I wish people were allowed to shoot you like injured horses."

"Why do you think its okay to be a whore?"

"You need therapy. Intensive, In-patient therapy. You are crazier than a shit-house rat."

"What the hell, dude? Did you even look in the mirror this morning or did a crazed ex-fashionista take revenge on some poor soul by dressing them in the most hideous outfit of all time? You couldn't give that outfit away to a naked bum."

If I really said what I wanted, I don't think I'd have many friends. Or a parental unit. Or a job. You have to kind of suck it up, its how the world works. No one admires honesty nowadays. Oh, you may be thinking, "No, really I do. I always encourage my friends to be honest."

But what if you were trying on a wedding gown and you loved it? I mean really loved it, and your friends basically shit all over it? This is what happens on the show Say Yes To The Dress. It's the one reality show I will sit down and watch because: 1) It's not scripted, In other words, it really is just a mini documentary of women who try on wedding dresses 2) It is a perfect example of how people really don't want to hear the truth when they should hear the truth:

So, what do you guys think of my dress? Really, I want you to be totally honest.

Yeah, sure you do. You don't want them to honestly speak their minds...I mean, look at their faces. They are about 5 seconds away from vomiting on that dress. If looks could kill marriage dreams, that would be it. No one wants to really speak their mind. I'm convinced. However, because I'm a glutton for punishment, tonight at a dinner I'm having with Mike (from the saga that is plaguing my life right now) I will be speaking my mind 100% Zero filter. Just to see how it goes. If I come back alive, I might report on it.

Thirty Days of Truth

Day Two- Something You Love About Yourself

I guess I do have a lot of things I like about myself. I have a pretty good sense of humor, I'm usually pretty happy. I think if I went on a date with myself, I'd enjoy it. I mean...I know what I'm interested it, I would know where to take me to eat, I would never have to worry about whether I was dressed nice enough for myself, and I know exactly when and how to end an evening. Sometimes the best chance for good company is to be alone. Alright, so that sounded like a whole bunch of bragging, but really it was to get a feeling for what I really love about myself.

I love my foolhardy insistence of Faith. Faith in true love, in destiny, in life after death. My faith in people. Even though I see evidence everyday--especially because I work where I work-- that humanity has taken a serious nose dive and that people in general are increasingly becoming pieces of shit, I have this persistent faith that, if I am a decent human being, than there must be others out there. And if others are out there, they could help create other decent beings. I have faith in the perpetuation of the Humanity in the Human Race. It's this faith that makes me live each day as if it were on purpose.

Thirty Days of Truth

(~~1) Something you hate about yourself.~~ ~~(2) Something you love about yourself.~~ (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

100 Posts and 30 Days of Truth

2010-08-23T14:23:00.005-04:00

Guess what?! It's my 100th Post! Yeah, I can't believe I had so much to say either. I honestly thought when I started this little venture that I would post at most every couple of weeks. Now I have draft after draft lined up waiting to be published. I only wait because I like to give readers a few days to look and comment. People got busy lives, I know I can't comment on every published post from all of my followers, even the ones I hard-core stalk.

I was planning on a huge giveaway for this post and it would have been great as I have tons of books I haven't read yet that I need to get rid of for the move to England in a couple of weeks, but,well... I got busy and a little lazy and then by the time I realized this was my 100th post, it seemed a little late to be organizing something like that now. But have no fear. On my one year blogaversary I will be hosting a giveaway...and it's on December 20th so it will be extra nice for the holiday season. Happy Kwanchristmakkah, y'all

So for my 100th post, I decided it's time I buck up and publish this:

Thirty Days of Truth

I got this project from Lorraine at Late To The Party. I figured out that I have this compulsive need to share intimate details of my life with as many people as I can, and this has the facade of being vaguely therapeutic, so I figure I'd go for it. Everyday I post this (and it will not be consecutive calendar days, Tiff got too much to do in the next few weeks to be trying to do this every day) I will reveal another Day O' Truth. This little list will have be crossed off so you can see my progress. And here we go!

Day One- Something You Hate About Yourself

*Sigh*

I mean, I have to actually wheedle it down to one thing?

Well, I guess I should look at this literally. I don't hate a lot of things. Hate is a strong word. In my opinion it is used a little too liberally today: I hate you. I hate that outfit. I hate that show. It gets a little ridiculous after a while. How is anyone supposed to believe when you really hate something when you cry wolf all the time? I'm stalling, I know.

I have a lot of things I am dissatisfied with, but the thing I actually hate about myself is that I am fat. I hate being fat, I hate everything that is associated with being fat. Because I am not a fat person. I am a healthy, normally-sized person in a fat girl's body. I don't eat fast food. You will not see me scarfing down a family size bag of Utz's Sour Cream & Onion chips in one sitting (although they are my crack). I do not know the flavors of Ben & Jerry's intimately, and I do not have any couch fibers fused to my ass. I love hiking and swimming and salsa dancing until dawn. I am active, and eat relatively healthy. But I'm still fat. And I hate it. I hate it every time I get on the bus and people avoid sitting next to me like I've got the words "I've got Herpes, Ask Me How" tattooed on my forehead. I hate it when I sit next to someone on an airplane and they actually say out loud, "Why do I always get the fatties assigned next to me?" I especially hate it when I go into a dressing room and it becomes a test of my sanity to not come out with red, angry tears about how I have find another decently made dress that isn't a mu-mu because this one won't fit past my dock-sized hips. Yeah, being overweight isn't healthy. That concerns me. But those everyday stabs of my self-esteem make me hate being fat. HATE IT. I know I'm not alone in this hate, but it seems that all the skinny people out there really don't understand that you can't lump everyone together in one box, just because we have the same problem. The origins of the problem widely differ. So that's my truth.

Thirty Days of Truth

~~(1) Something you hate about yourself.~~ (2) Something you love about yourself. (3) Something you have to forgive yourself for. (4) Something you have to forgive someone for. (5) Something you hope to do in your life. (6) Something you hope you never have to do. (7) Someone who has made your life worth living for. (8) Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit. (9) Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted. (10) Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know. (11) Something people seem to compliment you the most on. (12) Something you never get compliments on. (13) A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.) (14) A hero that has let you down. (letter) (15)Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it. (16) Someone or something you definitely could live without. (17) A book you’ve read that changed your views on something. (18) Your views on gay marriage. (19) What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics? (20)views on drugs and alcohol. (21) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do? (22) Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life. (23) Something you wish you had done in your life. (24) Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter) (25) The reason you believe you’re still alive today. (26) Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why? (27) What’s the best thing going for you right now? (28) What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do? (29) Something you hope to change about yourself. And why. (30) A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself .

Love on a TiMER

2010-08-21T18:02:00.000-04:00

There is this movie on netflix called TiMER. Basically it's about this woman who lives in a world where there are love timers implanted into people to tell them the exact date, hour and minute they will come into contact with their soul mate.

Can I just say, that a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soul mate is the greatest invention that I wish was actually possible in the history of the universe, ever. It completely takes the guesswork out of love. No more serial dating, no more whoring your way through men you think are the one with no absolute certainty as to whether they are your soul mate. It's a done deal. All you have to do is play your life out as you normally would while you wait.

Alright, I know there are a few problems with this scenario.

Like, what happens if your soul mate happens to be a sex addict and cheats on you anyway, timer be damned? Or, your one true love dies young and your timer is left blank? What are you supposed to do then? There are only so many people in the world who don't have timers so are you going to dive into that ever shrinking pool of potentials?

Is that what happened to Ooma, the lead character in TiMER? I'm only halfway through the movie at this point but so I'm not sure how its all going to play out, but that's totally a possibility. The guy in question also could not have a timer implanted yet, so that's also a possibility. And what if your soul mate isn't physically appealing to you? What if he's too skinny or too fat? What if she's too tall or has a limp from a hit-n-run accident? What if you're straight and your soul mate is the same gender? What a clusterfuck that would be.

I guess the deal with this soul mate thing is, in the end, you are destined to be together forever, and love each other. Physical boundaries don't just fade; they are decimated. Kind of a nice message in a twisted, sci-fi kind of way.

I really don't think that that is the point. I think the point of the movie is that you shouldn't be planning your life around something that has been pre-destined for you since the moment of your conception. Life isn't like that, it takes dips and turns into places you wouldn't have dared dream about entering. And, that you should take life's curves like they are supposed to be: unexpected.

But that's not what I want. I want that timer. I have been wasted by love. Literally wasted, and I'm not the worse of those around me. But I am too old, too tired and too shattered to be believing in something that is uncertain. I want that tangible knowledge. So that I don't have to continue being trashed by men, over and over again, because what I thought was soul-mate material was really nothing but another example of my inability to recognize The One. So maybe, I won't ever be able to tell if someone is The One. Maybe I've already met him or her, and don't know it. Or maybe I think I know it (Bobby) but it's just too much, too soon.

What if I need that certainty, that assurance that my heart isn't completely fucked up? I guess I'll never really know the answer to that question.

Updates on everything.

2010-08-19T10:07:00.000-04:00

Update #1- My university's international student office officially sucks. They didn't give me a crucial financial aid form that I needed to include in my visa application. Yesterday I got a scary email from the Visa office in NY saying that my application stands to be refused if they don't get this document in 7 working days. I was pissed, needless to say. I'm giving the office until 10:Am my time to get this shit worked out, or I am calling them. If I have to call, in the middle of the day on my cell phone with international call charges...someone's head is coming off. Don't fuck with my plans.

Update #2- I stopped packing. I really just gave up. I don't even feel like doing anything at all to do with this move. I feel trapped, like I've made this decision and now I have to stick with it because I bought a plane ticket and spent thousands (yes, thousands) of dollars getting everything I need for my life over there. I am working so hard and I really don't think this process should be so hard. Maybe I'm used to things just falling in my lap, but I spend every night working on things related to this move. I read guidebooks, study material on the laws of the UK, pack (or I used to), organize my stuff into take/sell/give away piles...it never ends. And I plop down at 10:30 or so every night exhausted. I'm fed up with the entire fucking process.

Update #3-I have two weeks until my last day at work. I'm actually sorry to see it go, this is a quite, relatively easy job and I have a nice boss and a nice co-worker. It's the best job I've ever had. People are starting to do the whole "I'm going to miss you so much! You'll have to keep in touch." Its like senior year of high school all over again. All I need is a yearbook with my horrible senior portrait looming inside. Pearl, the receptionist has told me that she thinks that I need a going away party. I really don't feel the need for one because, aside from her and Donna, I don't really know that anyone else in the Director's Office really likes me. I'm quiet, and I don't gossip, so I haven't been 'included' in the social circle. Yep, just like high school.

Update #4- So I've totally fallen off the get healthy bandwagon as of late. Its been stressful. Usually when I get stressed out or I focus on something with a fierceness, I lose weight because I suck down black coffee and my stomach is the first thing to go when I'm stressed so I never eat, or I eat stuff my tender intestinal tract can handle: hot and sour soup, mashed up carrots, some melon. Plus plenty of chamomile and peppermint tea. But that didn't happen this time. I did what every other female does and ate her way into further anxiety and depression. I don't understand the switch in habits, but in any case I am back on track, which I posted about on In It To Gym It (which I don't think my post has been published yet, but you should check out In It To Gym It anyway. It rocks my world). I've been feeling kind of low about my weight and reaaaaaaly insecure about my looks and I was in the makings of a serious case of sociophobia when yesterday, I was waiting for the bus to take me home from work and the driver of a bright red double decker tour bus cuts from the left lane on Pennsylvania Ave to the right lane on the corner just to talk to me. Though I was really, really embarrassed, especially since he kept waving and saying "Hi!" in a weird nerd/sexy voice and the entire line of professional men and women waiting with me for the commuter bus home turned and snickered at me (omgsooooemabarrassing) I was a little flattered and mollified about my appearance.

Update #5- Alright so...I know people have been wondering what's been going on with the Bobby situation since I wrote the "I've been compromised" post. Well...I'm not really sure (oh, wait, I forgot. He said if I was to ever write about him again I should use the name Mike instead) So where we last left off, Mike and I were headed to church together.

It was actually a pretty nice experience. Even though Mike can't sing at all, his voice has a subtle deepness to it and the vibration of it warmed me (in a non, sexual way, but just a 'wow, that is so nice' kind of way). So after church, I pluck up the courage to tell him I know he read my post and I know it was him who wrote the awesome but anonymous comment on my post.

I cannot express the level of amazement I felt when he basically told me, he knew how I felt about him even before that (I guess I wasn't subtle) and...he isn't opposed to the idea of seeing where our relationship might lead. Even while I'm in England.

*insert shocked and awed facial expression here*

He said that he has a lot of issues right now that he's dealing with--which in the last few weeks he has told me a great deal about--and that while he wasn't exactly sure how deep his feelings for me run, he would be willing to see if our friendship turns towards a relationship. He wanted to stress that no matter what happens that he will always be my friend because he says ours is already a strong friendship, and he doesn't want to lose me, whatever happens. Then he hugged me, because he knew how horrified and embarrassed I was at this whole situation, and told me to forgive Jaime for sticking her nose in my business...which I have.

I forgive you Jaime. Though still a little bit peeved at you.

So now...we've been hanging out and I feel like he's letting me into his life, bit by bit. I'm inpatient so I've been asking all these questions, trying to get at the core of him. I'm afraid of scaring him off. I feel like, I'm not even close to being good enough for him. Maybe that's not completely right. Maybe I don't feel like some parts of my personality aren't good for him. And they are the parts of my personality I hate and want to change, so I'm not looking to change for him, but for me. Like I'm way too dramatic, and I'm sure it drives him crazy as it drives me crazy. I don't know. I don't want to scare him off with my neuroses. Because he's coming into my life when after I've experience a tragedy and I'm not the same as I was. Maybe for the better, but definitely partly for the worse. I'm trying to get back to the place where I was moderately mentally stable, but its hard. I don't want him to have to deal with that shit. Who wants to deal with a neurotic girlfriend?
So that's where it is now. We are hanging out, talking, generally getting to know each other. No pressure for anything else, which frankly I really needed. And I find that every day I spend with him, or the more I talk with him, the more I want him in my life. And that's a great feeling.

Updates finished!

Video spotlight: You can be my hero!

2010-08-17T09:16:00.002-04:00

A quickie post because its deserves its own little 15 minutes/days/months of fame.

If you haven't seen the Bed Intruder remix video, then watch this first:

Click here for the original news clip

Then here

525,600 Minutes.

2010-08-15T08:22:00.000-04:00

One year ago today, my father passed away. I'm not here to re-hash the hell I went through during that weekend in which I was alone, without my mother (on a cruise) or brother (in NYC having his own breakdown) with me to deal with it. I can't talk about it. I don't remember most of it, because I was on auto drive or, perhaps as with any severe trauma, I've blocked it out. What I am doing is talking about today.

I still miss him, every minute of every day. There hasn't been a moment when something doesn't remind me of him. The pain is a little less, but in some ways more because now I've reflected on an entire year of my life that he wasn't around for. Major things have happened to me this year, beyond his death. I graduated from college, something that took me 10 years to accomplish. I managed to get straight A's the entire last year I was in school, and I ended up with Cum Laude Honors. Really don't know how the hell I managed that. And now I'm getting ready to go to graduate school in another country. I went on two vacations and started a blog, all without him here. It still feels a little like he was just here, and at the same time like he has been gone for decades. So it feels as if I am living in two different time spaces simultaneously, which in all the Sci-Fi films means the universe would collapse upon itself and be destroyed. So I better snap out of it.

And even though I'm so angry at him for not taking care of himself the last 20 years of his life, and robbing me of moments I should have had with him, my wasted, broken heart will love him until time itself lies still.

I wasn't sleeping there, for a while. I'm not sure if it was the change in seasons or the change in myself but I couldn't get more than 3 hours of sleep a night, including the 40 minutes of half-awake dozing I catch on the commute to D.C. But it is slowly coming back to where I can get 4 or 5 hours even of interrupted sleep at night, plus that commuter sleep. I guess it was just too much for my brain to put away at night.

That's the way the rest of my life is going too. It's better. Now, there are only some days where I have to run silently to the bathroom so I can hyperventilate. And it's been four weeks since I have one of my tortured sob sessions in the shower, the only place I feel protected enough to let go.

I have noticed that I started having these conversations with Dad in the bathroom and I only realize I'm having them out loud when I'm halfway through the conversation and I then I get weirded out because I don't want to end up like this guy:

Running up and down the beach talking to his dead wife while the woman in the photo looks on trying to decide whether or not to commit him.

I started laughing again. Even though my friends tell me it's not like it was, it's definitely better than the cold, dead automated-smile I used to give whenever I thought it was socially appropriate to do so. It will never be like it was again, of course. There is a sort of innocence people have whether they are 6 or 60, before they lose a parent. People told me I used to be like a second Sun, bursting with energy and happiness, spilling it to everyone I met. Sure I had off days just like everyone else but my happiness was one untouched by a great human tragedy. Now my happiness will probably always be just a little bit dimmer. Every time I laugh, I remember my father isn't physically here to share in my joy. It will probably be awhile before that feeling goes away.

525, 600 Minutes, 365 Days, 1 Year. They are all the same length of time, but each carries a different weight with those grieving the loss of a loved one.

TMI Thursday--Reverse Time line from yesterday.

2010-08-12T08:33:00.000-04:00

Now (7:48AM): Ughhh.....fuckmesomuchwhatthefuckwasIthinking.....

Body is shaking, head throbs. Lightning storm at 7:30 in the morning isn't helping.

5:55AM- Awaken to the sensation of a large beagle licking my toes. Check surroundings and find I've ended up on Courtney's couch with Page, April's dog...April doesn't live with Courtney.
In my hands rests a half eaten ham sandwich, which freaks me out because that's how Mama from Mama and the Papas died, and then I realize I have no fucking clue who ate that sandwich. It could have been the dog. Bite marks seem irregular. Now cognizant that the sound that woke me up is my cell phone alarm clock. I get up, realizing I'm still drunk, and turn off my phone before I wake anyone else in the house up. I get up take a shower noting multiple bruising on my arms and legs and a throbbing in my left knee, turn on the coffee pot, hoping to God that there is coffee already in Court's machine. Realize that my skin smells of a mixture of booze, grass, dog shit and really stinky cheese, even after I shower. Douse myself in tropical coconut to mask scent. Drink coffee, stumble out of the house wearing yesterday's work clothes, board the metro train. Decent D.C. workers look at me with disdain, knowing I reek of some unsavory odor. Fuck 'em all.

12:04AM- Drunk, stumble out of April's mustang. Still texting Bobby about the Green Day concert, which fucking rocked. Someone mentions going to the stop-n-shop and picking up sandwiches...memory becomes fuzzy at this point.

11:40-ish PM Last night- Courtney at the wheel of April's mustang, getting lost because of Sheila, the Australian GPS system kept getting us to turn on closed roads. I curse the D.C. area Highway Safety Commission for putting random construction sights up so that there is gridlock traffic on I-495 at midnight. On the point of passing out, but manage in my half sleep to talk about the Arizona immigration law, terrorism in Spain and the population of Aetryians in the D.C. Metro area (WTF, I'm asleep and I do this shit?)

10-ishPM- Lost for 40 minutes from going to the bathroom, I stumble around the lawn of the concert trying to locate my friends. April keeps telling me that she's near the white tent and the rock, and I tell her I'm near the rock and white tent and she isn't so what the fuck does she want me to do? Turns out there are identical white tents AND giant-ass rocks around the entire Nissan Pavilion. Fuck. I've walked about 1/4 mile in the wrong direction of my friends. Climb to the top of the grassy hill, get on the blacktop, and promptly stumble on a crack in the path, and hit the pavement hard, cracking my knee and doing a huge face plant. Somehow have managed not to spill the 13.00 dollar Miller light draft cup in my hands. Security helps me up, and I notice a small dark red stain bleeding through my jeans at the knee. Fuck, fuck and more fuck.

??????PM- Am standing in front of the concessions stand debating on the merits of a carb or no-carb diet with the cashier who has just given me a giant pretzel with cheese sauce. With pretzel still in hand, head to the bathroom to pee, which is completely flooded with who the fuck knows what all over the floor. I choose to just believe it was water. Manage to stand and pee without soiling myself, while eating the pretzel and singing along to "American Idiot" which is piped into the bathroom speakers. Consider going back to concessions for second beer.

8:somethingorother PM-Rocking out to Green Day, flushed with heat and a good buzz, dancing around on the lawn, and get sucked into a mini mosh pit from a group of scrappy kids young enough to be my children. Tossed around like a rag doll while one kid tries to grope my boobs. Drunk text everyone in my phone book that I love them, including Bobby who I really shouldn't say that to.

7:13PM-Realizing that no one can bring in outside alcohol into the Pavilion, Courtney, April, April's brother Eric and I decide to each chug our beers while walking from the parking lot to the entrance of the lawn. I stumble on the gravel lot, and note that I should watch how much I drink because I might get hurt.

Back to Now (8:24AM): Slowly sipping iced coffee, trying hard to get rid of the lingering drunkenness while I write this post at work before my boss shows up. Boss is fortunately an hour late to work because the metro is having power issues due to the storm. Realize that I'm waaaay too old to be having the shakes and sitting here reaching for a more cohesive memory and trying not to look like I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday and do the walk of shame even though there was no shameful act other than being drunk, falling on my face and letting a dog lick my toes.

KISS is Satanic-Jewish and other bits from this week

2010-08-11T07:32:00.003-04:00

So this has been one HELL of a week/2 weeks. I think Hades might have actually been a nice vacation from what I went through. Most y'all know what went down, so I'm not going to reiterate on that.
Anywho, moving on. I Fedex'd my complete (sort of) visa application out last Wednesday. I had what I think was enough solid evidence to show I had a house, money and the education to go to graduate school in England. We'll see. In about a week or so I should either have a visa in my hand, or I will get a scary phone call.
Started another round of packing. You know how hard it is to properly pack textbooks so that you maximize space for lots of books but don't overload the box so that it falls apart during shipping? I do. I'm so tempted to just shove everything in a giant barrel drop it in the ocean and see if it makes it to shore. I think this is the one part of moving that I could truly live without. If I move again, I will just pay someone to do it.

Now that the visa package is on its way to be processed, I'm starting to think about other stuff. Mainly, what will I do once I finish school? There are several reasons I'm thinking on this, but I will have to find another place to live once school ends, And I don't know if I want to come back home, or get temporary housing and get an internship/volunteer/get a regular job for the summer until I get the next leg of education. That's stuff to ponder over.

My brother and his fiancee came down from NYC last weekend for his birthday. It was pretty much the weekend from hell. Here's why it sucked:

1) My brother had a breakdown every time my dad was mentioned. I tried to stop him from talking about it, but he would persistently bring it up, and then cry. He did that while we were in the middle of a restaurant having lunch.

2) My brother and his fiancee were puke-inducing with all their lovey-dovey shit.

3) My brother had zero consideration for anyone else on the planet except his fiancee. He would take the car without telling anyone how long he'd be gone or where he was going. He would eat all the food, and not ask if anyone actually wanted any of it. He would spend hours soaking in the bathtub. WTF.

4) He teased me constantly with wet willys, noogies, ear flicks and any manner of irritating things that a kid would do their their 5 year old sister, not something a 35 year old man does to his almost 30 year old sister.

And then there was dinner. Jon's birthday dinner was, by most standards, a success. Everyone showed up who was supposed to, no one came late, no one died of food poisoning (like they would, I'm a damn good cook).
But once you got past the basics, things made you cringe like:

1) My Uncle Bill's girlfriend Lorraine who wasn't wearing a bra, and really, really needed to.

2) My brother having the worst verbal diarrhea imaginable, saying things like, 'fuck you like an animal' repeatedly while in the presence of my mother, God's personal assistant here on Earth.

3) My family arguing about whether KISS was Satanic, Jewish or both. Either way, for my mother it, 'was a shame, their parents must be so disappointed about how they turned out'

4) My mother emphatically putting pork in every side dish to flavor it, even though she knows Lorraine doesn't eat pork and I told her she was not going to like it, and then Lorraine making the biggest fucking stink about how she could only eat the potato salad...which she took a huge tub of home, so obviously wasn't that bad.

5) Everyone asking me why I don't have a husband yet, why I am going so far for grad school when I can do it right here, and why do I want to be a forensic whatchamacallit for anyway?

6) Someone casually dropping into the conversation lancing puss-filled boil-like bubbles on their body as we are all eating dinner.

!!!!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!

If there is one thing I'm grateful for in this whole mess its that there wasn't an outsider there to witness our disgrace as a dysfunctional family.

Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not grounded. Electrically, I mean.

For the last month or so I have had major problems with my computer and printer. First my computer wouldn't turn on. Then it would inexplicably shut down at the worst moments like it there was a poltergeist sitting lying in wait for me to be doing the most important work of the day that I hadn't saved yet. Now, my printer won't print, has orange 'repair' buttons glowing that switch from "Paper needs replacing' to "Loose plug" neither of which are the case. I've had the printer replaced three times in the last two weeks, and the Facilities Department swears they give me a new one every time, but this keeps happening. Lance the IT Guy has seen the inside of my cubicle more than I have in the last month. He said I might not be grounded, and he'll make sure I have a different model printer today, which I do and that if it doesn't work, then I have an electricity problem with my body. His exact words were, "you might have an....electric personality?" said in the Dr. Evil/Austin Powers voice. That deserves a sigh.

*sigh*

Anywho, that's been what's happened this week, for the most part. I'm not quite ready to talk about something else that I've been dealing with just yet.

beLIEve in this.

2010-08-09T22:17:00.000-04:00

the greatest thing you'lL

ever knOw

is just to loVe

and be loved...

in rEturn.

Why is that so hard?

You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings (but not really).

2010-08-05T09:58:00.003-04:00

I heard a co-worker say recently how much that song had meant to their life, and how they'd be a completely different person without ever having heard that song.

Really? I mean, Really? I fail to see how Bette Midler's one and only 'hit' single could have impacted your life in such a way...unless perhaps you had gotten pushed out of an airplane while this song was playing and some random sky diver had came in and scooped you up from certain death.

How High Can An Eagle Fly, Really?

Anyway, it got me thinking about all the songs that have been in the background of my major life moments. Most are good or funny, but some are sad too. And while I don't think any one song has irreparably changed my life, there are songs that have made a little bit of a difference in how I see the world.

Songs in absolutely no order whatsoever:

The Song in Which I First Experienced Rock Music-: "Peaches"- Presidents of the United States of America

I was in 8th grade, sitting down on the gym floor in school, eating a tequila-flavored lollipop with a worm inside that Tanya Prosct had snuck out of our house. That was the moment I started coloring outside the lines. It was a beautiful sight. I never went back to that crowded little box where only Jodeci or Mary J. Blige lived.

The Song in Which I First Ran From The Cops: "Dammit"- Blink 182

When your underage and drunk at a Halloween block party that you're not supposed to be at because you have a huge test in your International Political Strategies class the following morning and the cops show up to bust the party goers, what are you supposed to do?

Run like hell while Blink 182 is still piping through someone's jumbo house speakers, ~~steal~~ commandeer your friend's car because she left her car keys with you, 'the responsible one' while trying to dump all your Halloween candy out of the door because you're so trashed you don't know candy from jello shots and take off, leaving your friends stranded in their matching Mario and Luigi Bros. costumes with the dust of the car trailing behind you while you race back to the dorms so you can pee.

After that, I pretty much made sure I wasn't ever that trashed again...I threw out Halloween candy. That's like, sacrilege. And I probably shouldn't have stolen a vehicle either.

The Song For Which I Peed On Myself : "The X-Files" Theme Song-Mark Snow

I was 10. 'Twas the night before Cinco de Mayo and all through the house, not a creature was stirring...except a huge ass giant bat that had snuck in when someone left the front door open the following night! I was sitting in the chair and I had to pee really badly but I didn't want to miss the beginning of X-Files and I knew the commercials were about to end and all I had to do was wait until the theme song started playing and then there'd be a commercial break. Well, the theme song started, and I had the TV extra loud and the renegade bat, which had up until that time been resting peacefully on the back of the TV Credenza suddenly shot up and out into the living room...and made a bee-line straight for my head...

Five minutes later, after I had stopped whimpering I replayed what had just occurred: I lept up, promptly wetting myself, ran into the kitchen to my mother and brother screaming bloody murder. They looked at me, then my pants and the dark stain that was slowly creeping down my legs with astonishment, when the bat followed me in, presumably to finish me off. My brother, despite being over 6' and very sturdily built screeched like a girl, and threw a moldy grapefruit at the bat, which the little bastard swiftly dodged, but was promptly smacked down by a wide broom. After crying over the creature's untimely demise, my brother swept the little corpse out the door. My family was a witness to my greatest humiliation because of that song, and they never, ever forgot it.

The Song To Which I Lost My V-Card: "Colorblind"- Counting Crows

Yeah...so, it was totally like that scene from Cruel Intentions where Ryan and Reese (which I just realized is that song that was playing during that scene, which I think is hysterical now that I've just used this example) are doing it for the first time only I'm not a skinny blonde and my boyfriend was not trying to win a bet so he could sleep with his nasty-ass stepsister. But, it was life changing. My virginity wasn't so much as 'lost' as maybe thrown out of a speeding car.

The Song Where I Realized That Reality Television Was The Devil: "Behind These Hazel Eyes" - Kelly Clarkson

I think it was also the moment when I realized that as much as I thought Kelly Clarkson was a tool, she wasn't nearly as bad as those that would follow in her pre-marked footsteps. Was I ever right.

**Side Note: I actually really like Kelly Clarkson's voice, girl's got talent that's no joke. But the American Idol demon has sucked the soul from her music, my personal opinion

**AND NOW FOR SOMETHING

I SHOULD HAVE POSTED A WHILE AGO**

So, a few weeks back, Hershey Kissez at This is The True Story gave me a blogger award! I have been so busy, and a little lazy that I forgot to post it sooner. This is the Sweet Blogger Award which I really don't think I deserve, but people keep persistently telling me I am sweet. What the fuck do they know anyway?

The deal with this is that I'm supposed to name 10 people on my blog who I think deserve this award...truthfully, I don't know if I could come up with 10 blogs that I follow who I would categorize as 'sweet', and I hate playing by numbers anyway so I just thought I'd go with these:

April at: http://suaviloquy.blogspot.com/

Jane Marie at http://isuck-atthis.blogspot.com/

David at http://diamondkt.blogspot.com/

Jenamie at http://notesfromalabprincess.blogspot.com/

I want to say, I think these are sweet, awesome bloggers. But every single blog I follow is awesome, or else I wouldn't be following you. I don't follow losers. Hershey's blog is actually pretty sweet itself, but I didn't know if I could award the award who gave me the award in the first place, so I left her out. But go check her blog out if you're tired of my trash and want something refreshing.

So I posted this a little earlier than planned because my brother and his wonderful fiancee Keshia are in from NYC for his birthday (today) so I probably won't be able to post anything until Monday.

Have a scrum-diddliumptous weekend!

**Side Note: I really need to go back to school. I just realized I spelled the word beneath all wrong. I am such a tard

Secrets to tell

2010-08-03T13:30:00.004-04:00

**I changed my blog layout again. I like this much better. It's symbolic of sorts, since this is what I'll be looking at for the entire first year of my graduate life. Welcome to my ~~prison~~ palace of learning**

And now back to our irregularly scheduled program.

I kind of like the idea of telling secrets. It's a stress reliever. Like throwing a stack of dishes on the ground or biting a pillow. It releases some chemical that makes it easier to breathe. I know that it seems I may not have many secrets left to tell after all the info I have spewed on this blog, but I still got a few aces up my sleeve.

1) I love it when pretty people fall on their asses. Especially when they are in the middle of their 'I'm hot shit and I know it' walk. That's what you get for being drunk and wearing stiletto ankle booties, dumbass.

2) I love it when things are destroyed. Like buildings, homes...I like natural disasters because there is a ton of footage of some home being swept away by some crazy mudslide. The best thing Discovery Channel ever did was creating Destroyed in Seconds.That way I can DVR all the destruction I want. Yeah I'll admit to it being a ltitle sick. In fact, its even sicker because my mother's home was destroyed by a tornado, while she was in it. I'm glad she wasn't hurt, but...I would have loved to have been in the middle of that.

No Match for Mother Nature.

3) The smell of gasoline turns me on. I have no idea why, but it is the world's greatest aphrodisiac. Forget chocolate and oysters, just bring me a can of regular unleaded, baby.

4) I really can't stand kids. I mean, really. Honestly, they are cute and cuddly and they do show you affection but they suck the life out of you. Everytime I go somewhere, or plan something, kids come in and literally sucker-punch all the fun out of it. Maybe I'm immature and I still have the mindset of my 20-year old self, but that's how I feel. I know from this statement that I'm pretty much guaranteed not to be a mother. I'm okay with that.

**Side Note: So, there are about 2 kids which I personally know and love that are the exception. Issac, Christopher, you handsome sweet devils, you know you are and how much I ~~despise~~ grudgingly accept loving you.

5) I get physically ill at the thought of people being murdered. I'm talking dizzy and lightheaded. This should be a secret because what kind of forensic psychologist would I make if I couldn't even handle the thought of murder, let alone seeing it with my own eyes? An out of work psychologists, that's what kind. I gotta be brain-washed or de-sensitized or something before I get into the work sector and it becomes a problem. Why didn't my parents act like any other parent and plant their kids in front of violent video games as electronic babysitters? I could be so much better off.

6) I would have absolutely no problem marrying soley for money. I mean, it would have to be a two-way wide open street. He would have to know I was just marrying for money. And in turn he could marry me for something else...perhaps a cover because he's gay. Or as a cover because he's a secret agent, slowly eradicating the world of evil. That would work for me. I definitely couldn't do the whole prostitution thing. Marriage based on love? Please, show me one of those successful ventures.

**Side Note: I feel compelled to say that I know many successful marriages so really its just bullshit I was spewing. I'm just bitter and resentful that I don't have anyone permanent in my life at the moment.

7) I unapologetically eat onions, garlic or heavily spiced food when I go on a date. Or even before a date if there is no food involved. I figure if this guy has the nerve to try to kiss me after he knows I've been chomping down on roasted garlic hummus all night, he's got some moxy. And, he'll probably be okay with morning breath too : )

8) There is a small and disgusting part of me that really wants to be a housewife with the 2.5 kids, picket fence and adoring husband. I love the life I've chosen for myself, I really do. Deciding to become a forensic psychologist is absolutely one of the best things I've ever done and I cannot wait to get my career off the ground. But I know that in me somewhere, there are some remnants of housewife-genetic material that has been passed down to me that makes me want to live at home, cook, clean be a productive and nurturing mother. Which makes the rest of my modern, independent self want to vomit.

And I really don't feel like sharing anymore today so the list closes at 8! If you have any secrets to share, my fellow readers and want someone to post them anonymously here, send me an email and I'll gladly make this your electronic confessional.

*I'm here for you, my child*

I've been compromised

2010-08-01T08:52:00.004-04:00

Here's what's gone down. You may remember this post I put up a few weeks ago. If not, click the link and get re-acquainted with my softer side. I got a pretty good response from it, actually. It's very, very personal. More personal than I have ever allowed myself to be, EVER. And I mean that. I'm not a leave-your-heart-raw-and-vulnerable-on-your sleeve-at-all-times kind of girl. Raised by a Marine, that's just not how it went in my house.

So, you can imagine how big of a step this was for me. The only reason I felt comfortable enough to post it is because this blog is not read by people I know in real life, with the exception of my good friends Heather and Jaime, and they know the situation anyway, so it didn't matter. The post was really just a sounding board for all the bottled, crazed intense feelings I was feeling, there was no filter to them, as you can see.

After I wrote that post, and further dissected my own feelings, I had made a decision not to tell the guy. There are many reasons why, but lets just say I really didn't want to put us both through hell and leave it at that.

If you are wondering what the heck I mean by that that means that you didn't read the post. Go back and read the post, seriously.

Fast forward a couple of weeks to Tuesday, and Jaime is coming into town from South Carolina for one night with her mom. I generously offer my home as a place to crash for the night and agree to host a impromptu dinner so that a few of her hometown friends can all come together and see her. Since Bobby (oh, I decided to call my guy Bobby for the sake of his anonymity, since mine is shot to hell) knows Jaime** as we all went to the same high school, I felt it would be okay to invite him.

So, dinner party goes pretty smoothly. But all night, Jaime keeps probing Bobby about whether or not there is something beyond friendship happening between us. Even though I'm a little pissed, I can't do much about it, other than be a helicopter hostess and hover over their conversation the entire night. Eventually the party breaks up, and Jaime, her mom and I turn in for the night.

...Or so I thought.

The next morning I'm at work and I call Jaime to make sure she's on the road and doing okay. You can see where this is going: The night before--I really don't know how she did it when I was right there with her at the computer the entire time--she pulled a serious Benedict Arnold. She sent him the link to this ultra serious post via Facebook. This post that basically said I love him and would change my entire life's plan to stay in this country, be with him and bare his children.

I cannot express the level of pissed I was. She said she was helping, but what she really did was take my choice away from me. My choice to tell him was mine. This is probably the worst kind of betrayal I've ever experienced. Not so bad as far as betrayals go, I know, but still bad. There was no way in hell I would have shown Bobby that post if I wanted to express my feelings for him. That would freak out the most grounded of men. I literally felt like she had stripped me naked and flung me out into the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue while the presidential motorcade cruised by.

When I realized exactly what happened, I flipped. I turned to Lena, who now knows everything and was possibly the only one to talk me back from passing out:

Me: I can't believe this shit.

Lena, calm and reassuring: I just read your blog....the last few weeks worth of them! Gotta say, you are a really good writer :0) So, on your blog, where you wrote about finding love....do you know who the anonymous person was who wrote that lovely comment? And does everyone have to be a member to write a comment? I really need to get into this social blogging lark, considering I barely use fb anymore. Do you use twitter? I run one of the guardian's twitter accounts.

Me (To myself): What anonymous comment?

Another bomb: He left a comment. If you already hadn't figured out which one, see here:

Anonymous said...

And to you, star crossed lover, I'd say that love is a tricky thing, and a dangerous label. More often than not, the feelings we describe as love are nothing more than admiration, lust, respect, intrigue, fascination, or any of the gambit of emotions that another human being can conjure up inside of us. The problem with defining any one of these as love is that love isn't just one, but instead it's all of those things, and even still so much more. I believe that under normal circumstances a relationship is founded on having a few of the pieces of the puzzle known as love, and with a little luck the rest are discovered along the way. Otherwise the relationship eventually comes to a halt, or trudges along a lot further than it should. My point is that with knowing someone for such a short period of time, and never having been intimately involved, romantically involved, or plain-Jane-everyday life involved (i.e. taking care of each others every day needs), it's nearly impossible to know that you've found actual love, and not just a few of it's building blocks. That isn't to say that I know your situation at all, and you may very well have stumbled upon what most of us spend a large portion of our lives looking for. I'm merely stating that time is the best decider concerning matters of the heart. Time will not only test, but strengthen genuine love. Time will also tear apart what isn't actually love. And therefore I propose you tell the lucky lady/gent that you'd be interested in seeing where that road leads, and see if they reciprocate that interest. Or you can keep it bottled up, and spend the rest of your days wondering what could have been. It's your choice, and one you'll have to live with. So choose wisely, and good luck to you in your quest.

Yes it's an anonymous comment, but at 2:17 in the morning and Jaime sent this post to him in the wee small hours? That is beyond random.

Side Note: Isn't that like, the most perfect response? Honest and yet kind, clever and intelligent and insightful. Just another reason to sigh over this whole fucking mess.

Five minutes after reading the anonymous comment:

Me: HOLY SHITE, HOLY SHITE, HOLY SHITE! I think the Anonymous guy is Bobby. Almost positive. Jaime who knows the situation and was the one staying at my house yesterday AND who follows my blog SENT that post to Bobby via facebook. I wrote the part about his dark sandy hair, but he really doesn't have sandy hair (according to him) so I guess I'm really bad with categorizing hair colors and...that is so not the point.

Me, Hyperventilating: And then....and then....and then this morning at like, 2:17AM WHEN HE WOULD MOST DEFINITELY BE UP BECAUSE HE WAS ON-CALL ALL LAST NIGHT that comment came in!

Lena: Oh. My. God!!!

Me: I have been in the bathroom trying not to hyperventilate. I sent him a text, Lena. THIS MORNING. Just a thanks for coming to the dinner and his response was completely status quo....

WHAT THE FUCK??!!

Lena: !!!!!!!

Things have calmed down since Wednesday. My breathing is pretty much under control. I gotta say, though, this is some serious high school-like drama. I think I'm more pissed about the fact that it is so high school than anything else. But it's not like I set the drama train rolling. This is an secret blog, and it should have stayed that way.

I feel 14 years old, because that's what 14 year olds do, they tell the guy their best friend likes that she has a mega crush on him to stir life up and at 27 years old am way too old be having to deal with this petty-ass shit. Friends are supposed to know better by now. Or, perhaps I'm expecting too much of the human race. But I digress...

So now, here we are today. It's Sunday. In an hour, I will be heading out to go to Church. With Bobby. He invited me to his church the day after the dinner party. After he read the post. I cannot fathom a reason for this, not even in the most hopeful of scenarios would inviting me to his church be just something a friend does for another friend. So I figure, he either:

A) Wants to pray for my sorry-ass soul because I'm so frightfully pathetic

or

B) Wants a public place to sort this whole shitty mess out, somewhere where I won't feel comfortable threatening the life of my friend Jaime and will control the urge to sob uncontrollably when he tells me he is disgusted by my ill-placed affection.

Oh yes, Jaime. I am still 100% pissed at you. One Hundred Percent. My blog was compromised by someone I trusted. I have no idea what to do about it. I have no idea if Bobby is reading this now, he might be but really, how much worse could it be other than expressing that I am in love with someone who at best thinks of me once a week?

So, I'm off to see the Wizard. I may or may not come back with a missing heart. We'll see.

** Yeah, Jaime's real name is Jaime, she didn't deserve one lick of anonymity for the shit she put me through this week.

The real post graduate survey

2010-07-29T08:09:00.002-04:00

So Kaplan sent me this survey last week about how I feel now that I've gone onto the high life (ha!). I filled it out like a good little girl with the appropriate multi-choice answer, which I hate. Here are the questions, and my answers below are what I really should have put down:

1) Did the educational program meet your expectations?

Considering that starting out I thought on-line college was for the most pathetic of brain-damaged pond scum who couldn't even hack it at a state college, yeah, I was pleasantly surprised I learned something other than what I could have picked up off a YouTube video.

2) Overall, I was satisfied with my experience at Kaplan.

I got my degree. That was some level of satisfaction. Could I have done without the constant stress of having douchebag professors who were out to ruin my academic career, and a school server that went down when I was taking a final? Yeah.

3) The education I received at Kaplan is relevant to my current goals.

My current goal is to have a longer-term kind of goal. And to figure out just who the hell I am in this life. So no, I don't think Kaplan's education could help with that. Thanks for trying, though.

4) I would recommend Kaplan University to Others.

Meh. I mean, it's not shitty UMUC-online, but it's not as if this is the Mercedes of online schools. It's more like a Toyota Prius. Great for those who want a sturdy education but can't pay for the really good stuff.

5) I have plans to seek additional education.

Uh, yeah. Like I could get a job as a forensic psychologist with only a BSc under my belt. Might has well have handed me a "Class Clown" award for all the good it will do me in getting a well-paying job in my field.

6) I am considering Kaplan University for an additional degree.

Alright, listen. It is not like I don't appreciate the degree I've got, I do. But can you make me a doctor with a highly regarded, highly specialized education in 3 years? I didn't think so. I'm nexting you Kaplan, get over it.

7) How satisfied were you that Kaplan University helped you meet your program outcomes.

Kaplan didn't, I did. I was the one who had to get special permission from the Dean of the University and give up one of my transfer credits at Marshall to override some ridiculous block you had against letting Forensic Psychology majors take Psychological Profiling CJ 433

Seriously, WTF?

If I didn't bitch and complain, that block would still be in place and those complacent little sheep that were my classmates would not have even had the initiative to look beyond the pre-set 'degree plan' to see that there were amazing class options that for some inexplicable reason, weren't accessible to us.

There we are Kaplan. Read it and weep.

A letter to the duchebag who calls in bomb threats.

2010-07-27T15:57:00.003-04:00

Dear Duchebag Bomb Threat Guy:

I totally understand your need to be thrilled by life. I get it, everyday comings and goings can become monotonous.

But you got quit this shit, right now. I am so fucking beyond annoyed with your game of leaving suspicious packages, and calling threats to the nearby Starbucks. You leave tired, cranky, federal law enforcement personnel trapped in a building they loathe to enter in the first place, with a bunch of rowdy ex-cons who don't have nearly enough polite patience as we do. You are so lucky none of the ladies in this building have found your ass, because you'd be strewn across 5 states by now

If you are going to call in a threat, why there? What could your objective possibly be? A lifetime supply of coffee? Or is it that you're too chicken to do it someplace that will get your ass killed real quick, like the Capital. You know its like, right there, down the street?

Seriously, are you a disgruntled ex-employee? That'd be a first. A pissed off Starbucks 'team member'.

Listen here, duchebag. If for any reason I see you, and catch you in the act of threatening not only my safety but the safety of my beloved Starbucks you better pray the FBI can somehow hold me back because I will be stapling your hand to your ass so cannot make anymore dumbass phone-in bomb threats that leave me running late for a dinner party of which I am hosting, you sick fuck! Please go into a hole and fuck yourself.

Much appreciated,

T. The Destructor.

Office Do's and Don'ts

2010-07-26T16:23:00.001-04:00

There are just some things that should be obvious when you share a workspace. Things that common courtesy should keep you from doing or saying. Unless you were raised by total duchebags, which is not really that much of a stretch with some of the people I have worked for in the past.

Before I go on, I gotta say, I interact with a pretty good group of people as far as work goes. There are no Michael Scotts or Liz Lemons in my office. Which, as entertaining as that would be, would probably be pretty shitty to most everyone else on the floor. That doesn't mean that there isn't a nuthouse variety of personas cruising the Director's Office. Sometimes...there are no words for the shit that goes down on this floor. I've catalogued all the most frequently seen, and totally wish I had the guts to print this out and post it on the door. Here's what I'd say:

Do's:

Do...Say hi to me. I'm a person and when you walk through the door, sneer at me and then don't even bother to acknowledge my existence with a passing wave, it pisses me off.

Do...Keep your voice down. This is an old, crappy building and the walls are soft and thin enough for me to wipe my butt with so pipe down. Everyone can hear you laughing, or talking about how much work your supervisor gives you, probably even your supervisor. Don't be an idiot.

Do...Try to be a little less creepy. I'm talking to you, creepy-older-janitor guy. You constantly tell me how good you'd treat me if I was your woman, and how pretty I look. Probably wouldn't be so bad, if you had all your original teeth intact and didn't say it every day followed by an extensive eye-rape of my tits. Leave me alone.

Do...tell me when things are happening before they actually start. I'm not a mind reader, so I have no idea when you are expecting 12 VIPs to stroll through the door in a congressional meeting and you need me to help you serve food or make a 1,000 copies of a yearly fiscal report. Tell me before the shit actually starts going down. And don't get all pissy when I'm not available to assist you. I do have things to do from my own office that don't include trailing your every move.

Don'ts:

Don't...Assume I'll be your fucking pack mule every time I leave for lunch. Don't ask me where I'm going. I'll end up lying to you, and say CVS or to the bank or something. I'm tired of being polite and taking your to-go orders. I am trying to get in and out of the heat in a decent amount of time before my face melts off and you want me to grab your lunch too, plus a pack of Virginia Slims at the stop-and-shop next door? Fuck that. I have a half hour for lunch, you have an hour. If nothing else, it should be the other way around. Ask what you can do for me for once you lazy S.O.B's. Get up off your ass, stop playing solitaire and run your own errands.

Don't...Leave the bathroom funktifed if you've dropped a load. Seriously, there are room sprays all over the Women's restroom use them, for God's sake.

DO NOT...Tell me how pretty I am and ask me why I'm not married with 2.5 kids yet. Don't look at me as if there is something wrong with me because I've failed in the so-called "American Dream" by your standards. How about if I ask you why you're divorced and can't get another man to touch you? How do you like them apples?

Don't... leave the copier/industrial stapler/scanner broken and assume the next person will fix it, and then go to another and use that one. Soon you'll just keep breaking things like some Technology Midas and I will have to roam 8 floors for a damn copy machine that isn't blinking for a service technician. You can't use it right, then stop using it. And, if you can't use a machine that my 3rd grade cousin has mastered, get the fuck out of the office. Let us bring in a chimp.

And now from the cubicle...

2010-07-20T08:33:00.001-04:00

So, I haven't really written a lot about my work in this blog. Truth be told, it's not something I can actually write a lot about.

It's all very *hush hush*

Otherwise I'd be flooding my blog with bits about my work life because sometimes the shenanigans that go on around here are too extraordinary to believe. Seriously, if I didn't work for the Office of Professional Responsibility in a federal law enforcement agency where national security/privacy/congressional legal sanctions weren't a risk, we'd have one hell of a reality show. But I can't relish the carnival that is my job, because Big Brother is Watching. For serious. I'm sure the IT department has got a tag on this blog, to see what the hell I'm writing about. Even as a lowly student intern, I am privy to sensitive information. In fact, I had to have a security clearance to get hired. They were still clearing me for my job 8 months after I started working and my appointment usually only lasts a year. So you see why I can't really go into specifics.

What is the Office of Professional Responsibility you ask? Basically it's an accountability office that all federal agencies have that 'investigates all allegations of employee misconduct' . Basically, our employees show their ass, we catch it. Usually it's small potatoes like getting a traffic citation or sending chain-letter emails out.

But there are times when people do CA-RAZY shit. I'm talking crazy. Like being a ring leader in a ponzi scheme, or setting up a fake UA test for our clients that have been jailed for drug usage. And that's just the tip of the iceberg: DUI's, assaulting spouses/parents/naval officers... the list goes on and on.

Anywho, the point to me giving you all that background is to tell you what's going on today. We have a *new* database system for recording all incoming cases, ones that are just preliminary checks and then ones that end up as full investigations. And I am getting busy entering in all of our case information.

*When I say "new" I mean that the old database was there and working fine until it magically disappeared one day and now I have to rebuild the database back up from scratch...all 200 investigations and countless preliminaries. Yay for me.*

There are a series of check boxes for various frequently used misconduct reasons. Like:

Arrest of Employees (that's #1)

Forgery of Letters

Improper Use of Government Credit Card

Misuse of Official Position

Physical Harm to a Fellow Employee

Revocation of parole due to rejection of sexual favors (actually a frequently used reason)

Workplace violence

These are just some among the type of things we see on a daily basis. At first I was blown away by it, but quickly realized this is normal with peeps in the law enforcement world. They are just as bad as those they supervise, if not worse. Hell, at least the parolees will hold a damn door open for me. And they might be transvestite-crack-addict-prostitutes, but they are upfront about it. There are no cloaks.

And, just like I have a gag order for my blog, I can't speak about anything I see or hear with anyone that is outside the 3-man Office. It also makes me a pariah. I'm a friendly enough girl, but when people see me and they think they are behaving badly they staighten up. Like I'm some cop who's caught then at speeding or a hall monitor out to get them for loitering. Sometimes, people will try to be sneaky about what's going on in my office, trying to get the low down. They corner me in the elevators so I can't escape. It usually runs like this:

Them: "Hey good morning, how are you!"

Me: "I'm good, thanks."

Them: "So I guess you guys are keeping pretty busy up there, huh?"

Me: "Uh huh."

Them: "You know the whole accounting team is just shocked about what Linda did..."

Me: "Oh, really?"

Them: "...We're just not too clear on the particulars of what it means for our office. You know, new delegation of authority and all..."

Me: "Yeah, that's a pickle. See ya later."

It's a mission trying to make it to the 12th floor every day.

So now, I'm stuck in my cubicle, entering in information that I have entered before with people coming up into my cubicle every five seconds being the nosiest fuckers ever disrupting my daily routine of staring blindly into space.

I love my job.

Bits and bites

2010-07-15T08:05:00.001-04:00

1) I absolutely hate people who talk about themselves in 3rd person. It makes me want to whip out my DSM-IV and diagnose them with dissociative disorders. It also makes them sound like they think they are so important their name has to be used in an objective light. Tiffani is a good student. Tiffani likes Red Stripe Beer. Tiffani like Mexican food. You see what I mean? It sounds like I am one giant advertisement for myself. Arrogant as hell.

2) I've just about had it with the whole Superman's 'secret' identity. How freaking secret could it be? All these shows make no attempt at actual subterfuge. Lois & Clark, Smallville, etc...Clark Kent pulls out miracle after miracle in plain sight, and he has the nerve to say he's keeping it on the down low. I just saw an episode of Lois & Clark where he beat Bo Jackson at one-on-one by floating through the air and placing the ball in the net. Way to keep that secret Superman, good job.

Let's not even go into Lois Lane. For the so-called best investigative journalist on the planet, she is absolutely clueless about her partner. Someone seriously should have checked her for mental impairment. Right in front of your face honey.

3) Then and now (Studying abroad): A lot has changed in the last 8 years since I went to England for a student exchange program. Remember back in the day when it was all easy to get onto a plane? Without dogs sniffing in various orifices of your body and performing a strip tease just to get past security? I went in January of 2002 just before the new wave of security detail got installed at airports...my parents were actually allowed to get past the front door to wish me well. I'm lucky if after 10 seconds of stopping the vehicle at the departure gate to get my luggage out of the car we don't have DHS Nazis swarming the car and yelling at us with megaphones.

Now, I have a student visa application process that takes a month to complete and the British Home Office (aka UK's version of DHS) decides it wants hair, blood and fingerprint samples before I'm able to get on a plane for school. Umm...can we say secret government cloning FTW?

4) Recently, I can't seem to meet anyone in the office without having something in my mouth.
I know what just went through your mind, dirty children.
When people stop by my office, I'm taking a drink of some kind or my breakfast/lunch still being masticated. It makes me look like a freaking pig, but its these office workers that have some kind of timing curse...you come by at 7:45 in the morning or at noon, there's a good chance that I will be having a meal...so don't look at me as if I am building weight for the U.S. Women's Sumo Wrestling Team.

5) I have a stalker. I always wondered how people could become obsessed with other people, it's something that has always puzzled me, and kind of pissed me off. I'm in the forensic psychology business, you'd think I would have gotten it by now. My stalker calls me at least 4 times a day, leaves voice mails every time and will not leave a single Facebook status uncommented. I'm sure if the stalker knew where I lived or could drive I'd be getting the pause-n-fly drive bys too. I'm too nice of a person to tell my stalker to piss off, so the pathetic cycle of obsession continues. I'm not sure why I was targeted either. I'm not that interesting. Certainly more troll-like than most. As long as I don't end up a caramel-colored set of drapes in her home, it doesn't matter.

That's all, folks!

Confession of love.

2010-07-12T08:18:00.001-04:00

Someone I follow recently had a post up about how grateful they were to have found love. I've been keeping some stuff inside and someone told me to stop internalizing and just get it out there. This is the safest place I know to do that, because of my friends don't read this (there is however, Heather who will undoubtedly call me immediately after reading this declaration) so it provides me with some anonymity. So here it goes. A confession.

I like you. A lot. That's really hard for me to admit, because you know I'm leaving. Eight weeks from this Friday, and that's it. There will be no relationship because I can't stay here and you can't go.

But I still want you. Like a ice cold drink of water on a scorching summer day. Like air that was missing from my lungs for just a little bit too long. Like that first perfect cup of coffee on a crisp winter day. You know how much I love coffee : )

You're beautiful, and flawed and sweet and you care so much about a person in such a short amount of time it doesn't make any sense. And every time I talk to you, I never want to stop. On the phone and I hate the telephone. You're funny and sarcastic and forgetful. You don't see dividers like race or sex, you just see strength and beauty. You drink too much.The way you look at me makes me not ashamed to be me. You speak to me as if my opinion matters. As if I am truly an equal, not some woman to pacify and dominate. You talk to me about having loved other women, but that just makes you more awesome in my eyes. That you've loved and lost and been heartbroken and still try to love again.

I just want to hold you, and wake up next to you, and feel your dark sandy hair through my fingers and have your callused fingers caress my face and rest my head on your shoulder and rest. Every day, for the rest of my existence. And I would thank God for it.

I said you care so much about a person so soon but really it's me. I'm in love with you. I almost talk myself out of it like, "What are you saying Tiff, you've only known this guy for a short while, you can't base love on a few conversations and chance encounters." Because that's crazy, falling in love after a few months of sporadic contact. Sometimes I think it's only because I'm lonely and heartbroken about losing the only man in my life who has ever loved me unconditionally, my father. But every time I think about it, the word is there, there is no other way to describe it. The feeling envelopes me every time I think your name. L.O.V.E.

You don't know any of this though. You don't know all these feelings and it would probably scare the hell out of you if you did. You only know I care for you, and me just telling you that cost me a large amount of security and control. I also won't know your feelings. I know you care for me, but that is all I will ever know, because if there is some crazy, insane chance that you loved me, I wouldn't know what to do if I knew that.
I never understood in movies how people could throw away lives or careers for a chance-ey thing like love. Even if they did believe in it. How could someone just change major life plans for something as fickle and as bound-to-fail as love?

But I think I would do it, if I knew you loved me. But knowing you, even if you did love me, you would force me to stay on track because you would think my happiness and my chance at living a full life is more important than whatever you wanted. Yet another reason to be heartsick over you.

It hurts so bad to think of the little time I have left with you. And though it's not as if I am inhabiting another planet, it feels like the same incredible distance. I'm so split on how I feel about you, so my head is confused. I feel so lucky to have found you, and so scared that once I leave I'll lose you. I have no right to you, I know. But I want you to be mine, because I'm yours. Even if you don't know it, I'm yours.

Its about time for some updates.

2010-07-08T08:33:00.000-04:00

It's been an eventful little week. And it's only Thursday.

A few updates so far:

1) Uni. of Glos. admissions office finally churned out my unconditional offer letter, which has all these complicated immigration numbers on it so I can apply for my visa...

2) ...Which I did on Tuesday! Remember how I freaked out I was about it? I mean, a 67 page 'guide' on how to fill out a visa probably would have freaked out anyone. It turned out to be totally unnecessary. It was probably the easiest form I've ever done online. I've had online pizza delivery forms that have been more complicated. That was step one. Step two is to take that form,plus my precious letter, passport and some courage and give my 'biometrics' to the immigration center in Bethesda on the 16th. Which to them, 'biometrics' means hair, fingerprint and blood samples. I hate people drawing my blood from me. My veins are so tiny the nurses invariably end up piercing me 10 times in my arms before they give up and go for the one and only visable vein on my body at the base of my hand. That shit hurts. Step 3 is to get a confirmation certificate of my prodding and then sending my application form, all supporting documents by mail to the British consulate in New York. Then, after they receive it, my visa should be processed within 5 days. I am a little freaked out though now. I've paid for my visa fee, sent in my application, made an appointment for the biometric stuff...its like, real now. I'm actually doing this. Before this time I kind of operated on a 'this is only in theory' platform to keep myself from really losing it about the grand-scale life change I'm about to make. But now that I've plopped down $300 for the visa (yeah, it ain't cheap) it is now really there, no longer theory, but practice.

3) I'm pretty sure I found a home! I finally got someone to show me pictures of a place she found, which looks good and is the cheapest house for rent I've come across and it includes utilities! Plus, a 5 minute walk to my main campus. All I'm waiting for now is a contract to sign. But I've made it clear that I want it. Like a fat kid wants cake. I WANT IT!

4) I packed my first box yesterday. Winter coats, something I can send to Lena in August, and it won't matter. It was actually pretty sad. As soon as I folded up my last coat and tucked it into that vacuum clothes bag-thing from Wal-mart and taped up the box, I cried. This is more than just a simple move, you know? I will be completely starting over. From scratch. When people say scratch, this is what they mean; this is scratch. (Have I said that on here before? I'm sure I have but I'm so out of it I have no idea)

5) I turned in my resignation letter today to my boss. It's the federal government so you have to give them at least a few months notice that you'll be shipping off. Unless you get caught in some horrible scandal and 'resign' quietly to avoid criminal prosecution (that's my day job people and yes, it happens a lot more than you think). I feel really bad because I actually do like the work I've done for the agency and I really like my boss and my one and only co-worker. They are good, decent honest men. They don't patronize me and I've always felt like I am an integral part of the team. I think my boss had some idea that I was going, after all my position is the student internship for the office and I could only stay there if I were continuing school. I just thought when I applied for the job that I would be staying in the country. Remember, I operated in a theoretical mode. He actually seemed very pleased about me going to England. His wife is from England so I think that softened the blow. he started talking about day to trips to Bath and trains to Paris and in the course of our conversation I'm pretty sure we planned his next family vacation.
So that's it so far, I'll be sure to give another update on how the collection process goes down at immigration...that is one crazy ass sentence. Me, an immigrant.

It's a card game, ante up!

2010-07-06T11:23:00.005-04:00

I've been hearing this phrase a lot lately:

"Stop playing the race card!"

We all know this phrase. It's used when someone thinks someone else is whining about something that's not being done for them, and they think that race has something to do it, when in actuality, it may not be.

I consider myself to be pretty lucky, as far as a black/native American woman goes. I don't remember ever having been turned down for a job because of my color, or treated poorly at work because I was a woman. I did not get turned away from a fancy Beverly Hills boutique because I don't look like their regular clientele.
I have a pleasing manner, and a sweet smile and on those two things I've been able to float through life pretty much unscathed by racial profiling, prejudice or racism. In fact, I think I walk away giving people better opinions on women/black/native Americans then they started with. I'm awesome like that.

So, I have no real idea what people before me (or even right now) are going through as far as racism.
However, my parents and grandparents gave me in-depth histories of my people's oppression through the ages, how hard it really was to instill forced complacency and lawfulness masked as real change to make me understand that the world may have changed considerably in a short amount of time, but it's far from perfect.

So when I hear this phrase, it completely pisses me off. Granted, I know a few people who do use the excuse of racial profile/discrimination/prejudice to get out of some truly duchebag-like behavior. They deserved to get called out. Racism does not excuse you acting like a whore or embezzling from your boss. That's not what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about people who say this, and then go and complain about how THEY don't get treated well because they aren't some minority. These people say things like,

"Why don't we have White Entertainment Television?" (WTF are you kidding me? Laguna Beach, The O.C. , In it to Win It? Those shows and the networks they play on have nothing more than a nodding acquaintance with showcasing something other than Rich, White America. Fuck off).

"I can't get scholarships because I'm not Black/Native American/Random Ethnic Minority." I feel so sorry for you. I know it's not like you can get scholarships based on actual merit, because you don't have any. The scholarships built for minorities (who do deserve it) to go to college are there because they Never. Had. That. Chance. Before. You did, so stop your bitchin'. There are still plenty of scholarships out there for southpaws, those who want to study microbiology and people who can open a banana with their toes.

"No one can get anywhere in this company until all the minorities get raises or promotions. It's so unfair!" Perhaps you're right. But you know what else is unfair? Up until the 1990's, disabled people could be thrown out of jobs or restaurants simply because they didn't 'appeal' to the public. Or, maybe you are a serious slacker and are dealing that race-pity-card because you think the status-quo behavior of sitting on your ass 8 hours a day playing online poker should be enough to secure you a corner office.

They waggle their superior little fingers in people's faces telling them that race doesn't matter anymore and everyone is equal (delusional) and then go and play the very same card they look down on us for using.

Stop playing the race card? I'll stop playing it when you stop dealing it, you hypocrite.

Oh, the things I would do to you, cashmonkey

2010-07-02T16:32:00.002-04:00

I'm not a socialist. Or a communist. or Anarchist. In fact, I claim no political affiliation or doctrine whatsoever. Team Switzerland as my girl Bella would say.

I felt that I kind of had to write that little disclaimer because apparently, what I will say next is either socialist or communist in nature.

*whatev, kids*

I don't really get the concept of money. I mean, I get it, but...not really.

This is how the world sees money: a physical form of the world's free-trade market strategy that helps human beings survive and thrive in their daily lives by trading this physical form for goods and services.

How I see it: Slivers of dyed wood, stamped, cut and sent out to people to trade for good and services....that were once backed by a shiny lump of rock called gold. Paper, backed by a lumpy rock. Who decided that this was worth something?

You see, this is what I don't understand about the world being 'in debt'.

HOW can you be in debt when there are thousands of trees just sitting around waiting to be chopped up and used as our precious currency?

Yes, I know exactly what will happen...the same thing that happened during WWII in Germany: people will be using wheelbarrows full of worthless cash to buy a loaf of bread. Or in my case a grande latte at Starbucks. "Man cannot live by bread alone." Even God understands the addiction of gourmet coffee.

But I think you know what I'm sayin':

It don't make no sense, y'all.

So despite my appeared 'devil-may-care' attitude toward money...I'm obsessed with it. Like, all the time, day and night. I see it in my morning coffee and throughout my day. I even dream about it while I'm asleep, mostly about how I could whore myself out to desperate sailors at the Navy Yard that have come home from long tours in D.C. and get some serious cash. Well, obviously, there are other bonuses. But the cash is always what I remember waking up. To be honest, I hate it. I hate that my life is now consumed with the thought of money. Just like any other person who doesn't have any. You know how people always say that those who are obsessed with money are the ones who never have it? That stereotype is 100% true.

But really the obsession stems from the concern over my budget. Meaning, I have none. I recently took a quiz (from the blog carnival-fest this week) about how my financial strength is compared to others my age. Anything below a 40 pretty much stinks. I scored a sorry-ass 30. At my age, I should be at least a 60, even 50 would have been a decent showing.

This cannot happen in England. There's no room for me to float money around like I've got it to spare. I have no cushion. If I fall there will be a sharp financial spike waiting to sever my spinal cord, no soft pillow that helps me as I get up.

To that end, I've decided to create a budget to work around this stupid concept of modern currency we seem to hold onto, and so I stop freaking out about the money.

Grad school ain't cheap. Damn sure isn't cheap in the UK, and it sure as hell ain't cheap now that England has brought about a massive overhaul in its budget.

I had a *little* bit of a breakdown over it.

I mean...5% increase on VAT? Tuition increase for schools? Freeze pay for 3 years for public sector jobs? Higher income tax?

Who wouldn't freak over all that change at once?

So, I guess I need some help. Moneywise. Because I can budget simple bills, but thinking in long-term investments, margins of error, and 'worst-case scenarios' requires facing up to my current financial status. Plus lots of high-school level math, which hurts my head.

Even thinking about how much that kind of math planning I will be doing for the budget hurts me. But I'll work on it.

This is the point where you butt in and tell me about all these little tricks about how to manage money. And how to save money. And how to plan for stuff if and when the shit should hit the fan. And, if you should happen to know a fleet of sailors just coming in to shore. Ya know.

Californication

2010-06-29T15:32:00.000-04:00

Finally! It took some time, but I got the pictures developed from California.

Highlights of Cali:
I was a little nervous when I finally did land. My bestie Heather and I hadn't seen each other in a long time, about 3 years. She got married to Marcus (privately, with no one present) and moved out to California from West Virginia. She missed my father's passing and my graduation from college. We both missed major life changes of each other's lives and so I was really wondering if we would still be the mackin' soul sistas we were back in our college days.

What was I worried for? It was as if no time had passed. We made the same jokes, ratted on how jet-lagged I looked and instantly wondered where the best place was to get me hammered.

This is a love that even time lies still for.

So, Saturday evening we headed out into San Dimas and Heather and Marcus shuffled me off to Shogun, which was awesome. And also in a strip mall. But I quickly learned that was the 'thing' in the Greater L.A. Metro Area. Everything is in a strip mall, from S&M stores to children's day care centers.

Shogun was quite possibly the best hibatchi-style restaurant I have ever been to. The Geisha waitresses had on robes made of M&M patterns or Nascar Legends. The signature drink Geisha, knocks you on your ass after 3 three sips and you are only saved by the mountain of food you will comsume at the communal table.

Well, okay, not really for me. I had a lot of food and I was still a little glassy-eyed when I walked out of there.

The offending Geisha, and serious boobage

Here are the interesting little bits from the rest of the time:

1) I went to Big Bear Lake on that Monday. This little lake sits about 7,000 ft. above sea level, and we have to climb a steep, winding road for 37 miles before we reach the town of Big Bear Lake. The scenery was majestic, but holy poo on toast, I almost peed myself when Brandon, the hubby of my other California friend Kameron turned those corners. I'm pretty sure I used a year's worth of Hail Mary's going up the mountain side. Here's a few pics to give you an image.

Real purty, right?

So anyway, we make our way to the top. I expected to see a few dirt roads, peppered with some modest log cabins...uh, no. There was an entire town up there, including highways, gas stations, supermarkets...there was even a Starbucks up there. If that's not a sign of a civilized society, I don't know what is:

Me all elated to have my caffeine addiction fueled.

2) I rocked Laguna Beach, y'all. I brought a little coffee to the cream, and apparently the natives loved it. If you aren't familiar with Laguna Beach, its a small beach front town, hidden away behind some barren mountains and desert. It's like a treasure hunt for water. But once you get it, you got it baby. It was the site of the MTV show Laguna Beach (although I never saw it, sorry MTV) about rich snobby teens, and the beach itself is famous for surfing...

Me rocking the beach on Thalia St.

WTF Moment of the Trip: See this surfer? While I was frolicking in the surf, this guy was concocting a plan...

He surfed right up to me, so fast that it was a guaranteed collision and I was so unsure of this dude's path projectory I was forced to stay still. He lept off his surf board, which promptly hit me in the ass, knocking down into a huge freakin' wave. His response to my near drowning? "You know what surfer's like better than surfing don't you? BIG TIIIIITIESSSSS! I was actually hoping your bathingsuit top would come off while I surfed."

Actual words spoken to me. Then he just walked away as if he'd asked me for the time. WTF for real right?

Of course I hit Hollywood, but it was so crowded on the street I could only get a streetside photo of the famous theatre and starwalk.

Oh! I almost forgot about my celebrity sighting! I was on Rodeo Drive, window shopping and torturing myself through Chanel, Prada and my beloved Ferragamo (I could swim in Ferragamo purses and flats people. Make me a pool, and fill it. I'd call it a life). Heather wandered into Michael Khors when who do I spot?

Yes, that my friends is Lori Laughlin...Rebecca from the hit TV series Full House. And you know what? She looks exactly the same in real life. Gorgeous. I was actually kind of pissed...I would have hoped that celebrities really looked ordinary when not airbrushed or filtered through flattering film cameras, but I guess they really wouldn't be celebrities if they looked normal like the rest of us.

I didn't take any pictures. In fact, I ignored her completely. This is my gift to the celebrities of the world. They entertain me, I pretend they don't exist if I should see them in real life. I think she appreciated it. She knew I recognized her, but as soon as I turned away and started purposefully examining the latest MK jean collection, she stopped tensing as if she were about to engage in the Running of the Bulls. On her way out, she kind of half-smiled in my direction, and then zoomed out into the street.

What a vacation. So much to tell (and conceal) but these are the stories I can tell without my bestie getting pissed at me.

one last picture of me and my gorgeous, perfect soul-sister Heather. (I somehow turned orange while on vacation. Like Cary Grant with an afro. Really disturbing.)

Uh....what?

2010-06-28T15:06:00.001-04:00

Someone, through casual conversation reminded me that I've got approximately 8 weeks to move out of the country. I think they were just trying to be nice saying I have all this *free* time to get shit done but...

Uhhhhhhh....what?

*Heart pounds, palms sweat, blood pressure soars*

Holy poo on toast. How did it suddenly become 8 weeks before the big move? Weeks, not months any longer...

8 Weeks to Go and...

...I still don't have a place to live
...I still don't have an unconditional offer letter from the university I am attending...
...with which is necessary to apply for the UK student visa...
...which I obviously haven't applied for yet.
...I haven't packed anything. Or shipped anything to my one and only precious English soul-sista, Lena.
...I haven't bought any trans-continental gadgets that I need.
...I haven't fixed my laptop, which is the single most necessary piece of equipment for my life as a grad student.
...I haven't saved nearly enough money to live on for the year (not quite as scary as I will be a fucking hounddog looking for employment).

Uhhhhh........what?

Moving Drama

2010-06-23T14:30:00.006-04:00

***I know you all are probably looking for California stories, and I promise and soon as I get my camera memory card to a shop to get it onto a CD and then upload this baby at work, you will have stories. But this is one that I would send out, to keep the hunger at bay. Enjoy***

Moving is difficult, almost anyone can tell you this.

Picking out a new place to live, looking it over making sure you have enough space, trying to remedy all the problems of the old place with the new spot you've chosen, making sure you're not in the ghetto or right by a major airport. Then there's the packing, selling, good-willing various items, deciding what goes in which category, not to mention cleaning, and renting a truck and/or threatening relatives and friends to help move you...it takes a lot out of a person.

Now, imagine trying to do all this, when moving to a different country. You can't personally look at houses or apartments, you really don't know the neighborhood of anywhere near the place, or if you will have enough room to get all your crap in. You are blind and really putting your trust in someone else so that you end up with a home. It's a terrible feeling, I mean scary.

The pictures these landlords or potential other roommates send you could be of some fly little flat that their successful, older cousin's have that they wish was theirs. They have all these pleasant-sounding street names: Wadsworth Ave.,Old Bath Road, Keynsham Street which trick you into believing that you being thrown into a charming little cottage, finely furnished.

Like this

The reality is, I could end up living in a crack den.

Exhibit B

Granted, in the English countryside, I bet even the worst slums of the city look like pleasant little June-Cleaver suburbs. But still, the possibility is there. It's happened before (always research why a brand-new 4 bedroom house with hardwood floors in Tallahassee was $300/month/person).

This is basically what I've been doing since I graduated. Searching for 'university approved' accommodation. Besides seeing the specifications of a house in relation to what I need, there is a whole other rental system going on over there.

I think they purposefully use words and phrases to confuse me:

"Deposit protection scheme"

"Council tax"

" No off site, but off street parking." (WTF does this mean? isn't this the same thing?)

"Confers with NICEIC certification"

Then there are things that are common in English accommodation that I have to get used to like:

1) Most places only have a washer, no dryer. Or, a dryer but no washer. Rarely are these brother and sister together.

2) I have to pay to have a television in my home. Not cable, not a satellite dish, but the actual television. A TV license. Like it's so hard to operate a television, it requires special training and a certificate. Like an extra little addition on a driver's license:

"Class A driver, needs glasses to operate vehicle, can properly steer a remote control towards a television screen"

And finally, things that make choosing hard:

"Room to let with four 1st year females" (Oh, hell to the naw).

"Rent paid 3 months in advance, each quarter, plus 200 GBP due at signing" (What in the name of God, do you think I'm made of money?)

" Pleasant 30 minute walk to campus" (I know I am all about In It To Gym It, but please...grad school textbooks are not light. 30 effin' minutes? You must know I'm fat and need to work the love handles off).

For now, it's a blind, stumbly rat race, we'll see how it ends up.

Its good to be home.

2010-06-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

So I'm back from West Coast slummin'.

It was, in a word, amazing. And, perhaps also, unbelievable. Southern California is totally crazy, it's like a whole other country.

But I'm not going into that just yet. I just wanted to let everyone know, I'm back, and there will be lots to talk about in the next few weeks, about Cali, about Grad school and a bunch of other things which have have crossed my existence in the last few weeks. Be prepared.

California Love

2010-06-10T08:58:00.000-04:00

Ahh, Hollywood! The land of Stars, Elegance....Arnold Schwarzenegger!

Soon to be My Land (at least for a little bit).

Here we go Kids, It's Hollywood Time!

In a few days, I will be embarking on the original Sin City, Los Angeles. Going to go visit the bestie and bestie's hubby for a week. It will be the first time in many, many years that I have laid eyes on my beautiful Scarlett (those who know me and my bestie understand the true soul-sista love of these fine ladies):

Scarlett & Mammy, Together Again

It will be week of sun kissed beaches, living barbie doll exhibits, and best of all, undying affection and devotion from the one who loves me best. I gotta tell you, I've been love-starved for a while, so this vacation is truly an oasis in the desert.

A little bit of debauchery, but nothing on the scale of the graduation party two weekends ago. Which is good. Too much of that kind of fun would probably risk imminent death. Or a spot on the Jerry Springer Show, either way, the result is bad. My one and only goal for this trip is to somehow meet someone famous, hit a wild cast party, and end up with said celebrity on MSNBC caught on video doing something really stupid, like breaking into a doughnut shop (but not really. That was lame, dude.)

So, I'll be gone, and most likely not be posting anything on the blog, so don't think I forgot about y'all or anything. Trust me, when I get back, the game is on for Grad School Madness. Stay tuned.

I might as well hang it up now, right?

2010-06-07T14:28:00.004-04:00

So I just came across this old article while searching for references to Michelle Obama arms.

Yes, I was really searching for that. What? She has killer arms, don't say you didn't notice.

Anyway, I came across this article about the prospects for marriage--what I've dubbed the meat market-- for highly educated black females. Whatever I claim as far as percentages of Native American ancestry, I do consider myself to be at least partly African American, and I know that the world sees me as such. Except for the Census Bureau. They got their shit together on this one. Not the point. The point is, the prospects aren't looking good.

At All.

WTF? That is TOTALLY untrue!

You know in Sleepless in Seattle there's that running joke about how a woman over the age of 40 has a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than getting married? This is what this article is alluding to. Michelle Obama may be the IBW (Ideal Black Woman) who has it all but apparently that is a pipe dream for most successful, educated black women. More than likely, as a educated African American woman, you'll be sitting at home, childless and spouse-less, cuddling with your Master's or Doctorate's diploma instead.

And for me, these chances are even slimmer, given the fact that --for right now--I am overweight, AND extremely shy with boys AND I don't give head. (which, judging by the thread happening over at 20SB, is a huge dealbreaker for guys). So really, I'm more likely to be killed by a terrorist at Disneyland riding Space Mountain with Walt Disney himself than to be married.

*Freak out moment*

This information doesn't come from a Cosmo Love article, this is from YALE UNIVERSITY. People don't lie about sociological studies when they're from YALE. There is serious academic credibility, which is what makes me so unnerved.

So basically this article is saying, that either I can stay dumb and marry, or become educated and kiss a life of wedded bliss goodbye. That is a huge WTF. I mean, it really, really upsets me that this is the choice of my life. Although, to be fair, it isn't surprising.

My mom told me when I was first starting college, that she hoped I would go to Europe and live. I asked her why she thought that was such a rad idea, and she plainly told me that it probably wouldn't be possible to get a husband here in America. Not as an educated, cultural, well-rounded black woman. Too many men black, white, purple, whoever would be intimidated by me. She said it would be better to be in the UK or Europe where the men don't care about that. Now, I really don't know if men in Europe do care if black women are educated or not...but I have seen the romance repellent that is my education in action.

I get looks from guys all the time, so I know its not that I'm a potato sack in the looks department. But if someone actually tries to get to know me, as soon as they hear 'well, I plan on being a doctor' they freak the fuck out. I don't really see that happening with any other group of women, you know?

I guess what really upsets me the most is, I kind of knew that when I decided on this career path. Forensic Psychology isn't a cushy job. You could end up working cases with the FBI, CIA, or a police department, or more commonly work in a prison or a mental health facility. It's possible, but hardly likely, that someone in this profession ends up teaching, or being an administrator or policy maker for law enforcement agencies or court systems. You work with criminals, often dangerous criminals (after all, Profilers profile violent crimes, not things like prostitution or embezzlement) and there is always a risk of you not coming home.

Would I really want to put my family through that? My father, even though he never actively said so, was really disapproving of my career choice because of the risk. Can hardly blame the man, his youngest child and only daughter throwing herself in the path of crazed, criminally-minded individuals doesn't exactly warm the cockles of your heart. Plus, if I was good at my job, I'd always be away working on a case, or at some job with late hours, and kids and hubby would be neglected. There are enough dysfunctional families in the world without me adding to it. I always saw it this way: I am in this field to help the world. That is more important, on the grand scale, than me having a transient wish for a family. I have my mother and brother and friends who are like family. That can be enough.

Anyway, even though I know I said I really wasn't ready to throw down a picket fence with a man and call it a life in this recent post, it actually physically hurts to think that the odds are against me ever having companionship That the choice to whether I want a family gets taken away from me because I choose to have an education and better myself in the world. I am full of love to give and the thought that I may never get a chance to give it is thoroughly depressing.

Epic. That's all I have to say. Epic.

2010-06-05T14:37:00.001-04:00

So my graduation party shindig was last weekend and by God did we throw down. I guess after extended periods of absense when a group of michievious women, anything can and does happen. We started out with a day at the National Harbor, watching possibly the tackiest wedding/sweet sixteen party (not sure which) photo session. The bride/Sweet 16er had on a tiered feather light pink gown, and her bridesmaids had on what looked like hot pink lingerie pieces. The men in the party had on tuxes, but I think even their shirts were the light pink of the gown. I have no right to be dissing anyone's style of course, seeing as how I fail on my clothes 9 times out of 10...but I digress.

So after that, it was a night in D.C. at Clyde's and then 18th Street Lounge, which is HIDDEN. I swear, we practically had to walk through a old wardrobe and past Narnia to find it. Super secret. Then on Sunday, leisurely cook out at my house with an make your own taco bar, and strawberry Margaritas. Yum. All in all a fantastic party celebrating my recent graduation.

Some highlights include:

Melanie and I watching this video about a hundred times:

Can I just say, if you haven't seen this video before, where the hell have you been?

Me singing the 'Box in a Box' lyrics every five minutes. Oh, all right. Here's the this video too.

Check out the serious singers hand. That is perhaps the funniest part, besides the beaver. And, if you don't know why this is funny, you don't deserve to.

Me going pantless a few times during the weekend, once at Clyde's (no, you don't get to know THAT story. Some things shouldn't be told.)

Phrases consistenly heard last weekend:

"Don King doesn't wear pants."

"Are you doing number 3, 4 or 12? We know it's not number 1 or 2, so just tell us."

"You don't choose your soul animal, your soul animal chooses you."

"Can you check to see if the smurf ran across my pants again?"

As I said, Epic.

I would have pictures posted, but because they are really pretty crazy, I'll only leave you with this little shot I snapped outside of Clyde's. I am totally blowing this up and getting a cool frame. I think I might be a closet artsy-fartsy photographer.

PSST! I'm doing the Oprah List...pass it on!

2010-06-03T11:22:00.001-04:00

LiLu, the fantastical woman herself, did a recent post--as in a few hours ago recent--on what she doesn't do, which I guess comes from a list of what Oprah says she doesn't do--and here I thought Oprah did everything. Since I have absolutely no imagination at this point in my life, I will be shamelessly copying this list, of course substituting my own don'ts on the list. Observe:

Tiffani...doesn't do Shih tzus, Chihuahuas, Poodles or any other 'precious' dogs. If I have a canine in my home it's going to be one that helps protect the fort, not one that needs a day at the spa, capice?

Tiffani...doesn't do small talk. You see me in the elevator, just pretend I don't exist. Don't ask me where I got my handbag or if I saw the Wizards play. I don't care.

Tiffani...doesn't do sugar-free anything, unless it's actually without any sweetener at all. If I want something sweet, I'd rather it be from something natual like honey or sugar cane than created out of a lab. You know what else is created in a lab? Meth. Get the correlation here? That shit is toxic, people. Why don't you realize this?

Tiffani....doesn't do children. Of any age, nationality, or gender. Nor am I likely to. Not mom material, though I'd be a fantastic Auntie, 'cause the kids gravitate towards me like I'm covered in high-frutose corn syrup. Weird.

Tiffani....doesn't do guys named Jon....anymore. I learned my lesson. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice...I'm the stupid ass fool who thought that you shouldn't let names rule over your love life. WRONG. The name Jonathan in any intimate context is obviously not Kosher for me. I guess that means Johnny Depp is out. *sigh* Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.

Tiffani...doesn't do jelly beans. Or licorice for that matter. Just thinking about those vile, chewy specimens makes me gag. EWW.

Tiffani...doesn't do American cars. Totally unpatriotic, I know. But I've had way too many vehicles blow up, break down or crash for it to be just a coincidence. Despite Toyota's super-sized fail, my Highlander has been a dream. Of course, I really want a Volvo. You know the old saying "Save a Volvo, ride a Cullen"--uh, what? That wasn't supposed to slip out...

Happy Thursday Kids!

gone.

2010-05-31T06:38:00.004-04:00

.

My friends just left and I am sadder and lonlier than I have been in a long time.

That's it.

.

Party Down D.C.!

2010-05-25T15:47:00.001-04:00

So in a few days, my friends from the Wild and Wonderful state of West Virginie (said just like that) will be making the 8 hour trek to D.C. for my graduation party weekend!!! The car ride alone I wish I could be a witness to, having almost been driven off various cliffs by my friend Tits (real name Ashley, but we only use that name in the company of parents) on our freshman year holiday drives home, and been road-stalked by some Marines with Melanie in her gloriously orange Bug. The fact that these two will be sharing a car together for 8 hours along with the beautiful and serene Stover, is bound to have a story when they make it in Friday night. I've successfully bribed my mother with a stay at a hotel room in the 'dorf so she will not be a hostage to a house full of rowdy inappropriate women coming in at 3:00 in the morning looking for late night munchies.

I also got a killer party dress custom made by p1xie on Etsy, and who has a blog journaling her beautiful creations. It's totally Mad Men worthy. Wait to you see me all dolled up in it. Hotness. You can see the dress here or here.

Please be sure to check out p1xie's shop on Etsy. Trust me, there is no way you won't want to clean her shop out.

There will be tons of ~~drunken~~, ~~embarrassing~~ creative photos of my friends as we celebrate the 10 year struggle between me and academia. As usual, we will try to behave normally, but by the end of the night someone will be swinging from the rafters.

I can guarantee you that this weekend:

1) Someone will end up throwing my boxing nun puppet Sally at someone else's head.

2) Stover will be the only one of us sober enough to drive home from the bars on Saturday.

3) Melanie will rearrange my house on Animal Crossing, plus dig pitfalls all around my house so I immediately fall into one when I start playing again.

4) Tits will get wasted, drunk dial her common-law hubby Jason and laugh at a decible that only dogs can hear and shatters glass.

5) Courtney will go around telling everyone how much she love us, then in the middle of dancing, take off the beautiful $28.00 pair of crocheted tights she put on and throw them in the trash.

6) Stover will get hit on more than any of us at any place we go to, that's just how etherally beautiful she is. Plus, she'll probably not be blotto like the rest of us and be sickening to others by our increasingly obnoxious behavior.

7) April will try to buy everyone 'one more drink' until the bar tender catches on and throws us out on our asses.

8) We will all say we wish Heather and Lena were with us.

8) We will thank our lucky stars that none of the men in our lives could come out and view this disgusting display of heathenism :)

9) I'll most likely end up sleeping in the bathtub, as it becomes a place of refuge after a night of drunken frivolity.

I can't wait!

Life may pass us by

2010-05-22T22:35:00.004-04:00

"The sun will keep rising and setting, whether we want it to or not."

- Marilla, from Anne of Green Gables

I found out a few days ago that a couple of my friends are pregnant. This is for both a very happy moment as they've both been trying with their perspective husbands for some time to be pregnant. One is due in September (I'm hoping it shares my birthday) the other in January.

It suddenly dawned on me as I was going through their baby registries that no matter what, I will not be here to share their memories. Once I hit the road the 1st week in September, I will be officially living in a different country. I will be in grad school hell --granted a hell I've chosen, but hell none the less--and unable to share in this life changing moment from two very good friends. It made me quite sad.

Then, seconds later, another reality check: I won't be here for a lot of things. I won't be here for my brother's wedding if he decided to elope. I can't just hop on a plane to Vegas to be their witness. I won't be able to see my friend Ashley graduate this winter, after she and I have worked so hard to finally get our degrees after 10 years of trying at it. I'll miss graduations and wedding and birthdays and births. I'll miss my friend's annual beach vacation in Florida or Myrtle Beach. I'll miss my mom's retirement.

So many moments that I will be sacrificing for my goals. But even as I sit and contemplate that, I know that I could be missing a thousand moments like those and it still wouldn't change my mind. Because those are other people's moments. Not mine. I am not married yet, I don't have kids, I haven't got a career to retire from. In order to gain those moments in my own life, others must be lost. I knew this was the deal I'd signed on for when I decided to make this move. I just have to remember that the next time someone calls and says, "I wish you were here".

Random story for the day.

2010-05-20T13:29:00.000-04:00

So I was in line at my beloved Teaism today, grabbing my usual Salmon bento box and I noticed a serious trend: the people in line were fucking pretentious as hell. Seriously. All I heard on either side of me was,

"Oh, I just got back from a trip from Uganda to study the effects of globalization on a small tribal village"

or:

"Oh, France was simply breathtaking! We went to Provence you know. So quaint with their little goat cheese farms. Henry actually got to make some of the fresh chevre! I've got pictures on my desktop; I'll send them over"

or, the most annoying one of all:

"I just found this fabulous fair trade coffee labor program called Coffee without Borders. You know the day labor for those coffee farms in South American is just horrific. I totally plan to buy all my beans from there" (okay, so it wasn't really called coffee without borders, but it was equally pretentious)

"That's really great. Where did you hear about it?"

"Oh, from Susan. Down at the Measurements Gallery? I dropped by to show her my new Hermes bag."

WTF??!!!

It was like one giant pretentious-palooza. It wasn't like these things were spoken in a spirit of 'lets humbly share information about my life', but in a spirit of 'lets show the world how culturally more advanced I am compared to you.'

So it made me stop and think: was I pretentious? I was right there in that line with them. Certainly nothing to the level of these jackasses next to me, but still... I wonder how I sound to the people in my office. I am the resident 'explorer'. I have lived in and visited other countries, I have a unique degree under my belt, I love international food, and I love learning about things outside my own narrow little circle. It's not like I randomly spout little nuggets of pretentiousness. People ask me things. And then, they look at me as if I've said something bizarre:

"What's a bento box?" Where's Liberia again?"

*giant sigh*

I was at Teaism solely because I wanted decently priced, decently made Asian-fusion cuisine. That does sound a little pretentious, but I mean, even the most uncultured boob can like Indian take out every now and then. Good food is good food, you don't need a degree or a fully stamped passport to appreciate it. All you need is an open mind.

And this too, shall come to pass

2010-05-18T19:46:00.000-04:00

I got my hair done! (I refuse to say 'hair did', because it grates against my grammatically correct upbringing)

I said I would 'do it (lame pun intended) and so I did. Its a drastic change...

Before:

After:

Behold, sexy highlighted, non-chia-pet resembling hair...and wait until I do it 'natural"....freakin model worthy.

Totally not bragging about my beauty because I'm far from perfect, however just bragging about Carolyn, my awesome hairstylist. You rock Carolyn!

How do you guys like the hair?

Recipe Time: Huevos Racheros, perfected.

2010-05-16T16:53:00.003-04:00

So this might not be the most appetizing picture, but let me tell you...this is by far one of the best recipes in my collection. I could eat this at least twice a week and not get sick of it. It is from a cookbook called The Cafe Pongo Cookbook, which I actually got for free, by accident. A few years ago I was buying a collectible cookbook based on the show Frasier, for my mom who loves the show. I purchased it from a seller on Amazon.com but instead of that book showing up, I got the Cafe Pongo Cookbook, which was autographed by the author. I alerted the seller who sent me the right book and amazingly told me to keep the Cafe Pongo book for free...he obviously was insane or not into cooking or he would have never given up this jewel.

Anywho, I have been trying to use more recipes from this book because the first two I tried from there (one of which is part of this recipe) were excellent. I tried Huevos Rancheros a few weeks ago on my mom and you have never seen two women devour food so fast. This was the best breakfast-at-dinner meal I've ever, EVER had and I have had breakfast all over the world in wonderful places like Rome and Amsterdam. But this was it. So, I thought I'd share this lovely little recipe with you. The secret is the Santa Fe black beans, so don't just replace them with plain canned beans, trust me, the effort is worth it . I wish the restaurant was still open, I'm heartbroken that I can't go into the Hudson Valley area of NY and check it out. Okay, onto the recipe.

Huevos Rancheros, a la Pongo

6 good-quality corn tortillas

2 cups Santa Fe Black Beans, recipe to follow

1 1/2 cups homemade or store bought fresh salsa, not jarred

1/4 cup caramelized red or vidalia onions

4 oz. grated or sliced cheddar or Pepper Jack cheese

6 eggs, cooked any style (I prefer poached)

Flat leaf parsley and/or fresh cilantro roughly chopped

Sour cream

Directions:

Foil 2 large cookie sheets and place corn tortillas on top. Set oven to broil on HIGH.

Spread beans over the tortillas, spreading them to the edges to keep the tortillas from burning. Spread 1/2 cup of the salsa and onions over the beans. Cover everything with cheese.

Broil until cheese is deep brown. Top with the eggs, parley and cilantro. Serve with the remaining salsa and sour cream.

Santa Fe Black Beans (This makes a lot of beans, so feel free to cut this in half)

1 large Spanish onion, minced

1 garlic bulb, minced

2 tablespoons olive oil

10 cups canned black beans, drained and rinsed

Enough Burgundy wine to completely cover the beans (or any robust red wine will do in a pinch)

2 tablespoons chili powder

2 tablespoons dried oregano

2 tablespoons salt

1/4 cup Durkee's hot sauce, or any preferred red hot sauce

1/4 cup balsamic vinegar

Directions:

In a large heavy pot over medium heat, saute onion and garlic in the olive oil until translucent. Add all remaining ingredients except balsamic vinegar, stirring from the bottom to make sure all ingredients are thoroughly incorporated. Bring to a slow rolling boil and cook until the beans are a dark rust color, about 30 minutes. Stir in vinegar, and simmer for another 10-15 minutes. Serve hot.

Dating dilemma

2010-05-11T10:21:00.000-04:00

**Well, I said I didn't have anything to write about, and look what God gave me: drama!**

Alright, so I like a guy. He's a nice stable guy, with a stable, ordinary job. As far as I can tell, no real drama in his life. Pretty sure he likes me back. He's thoughtful. He made me a mixed CD of all the good rock/alternative I've forgotten about in the last 15 years or so. It was like revisiting high school and college again without being all painful and traumatic. Plus, he's easy on the eyes.

*Ugh. I hate saying it like that, like I'm some 12 year old with her first crush. "I think he LIKES me likes me" Jesus, get a grip.*

Anyway, though there aren't any waving red flags as to whether or not he's attracted to me, I have a fair amount of confidence that there's a spark.

Here's the rub folks.

I'm going to England for grad school. Most everyone knows this. I'm hoping to stay there and practice. Become a dual-citizen, all that jazz. In essence: I'm not coming back. So, I told myself when I decided that I was actually going to follow through with this plan that I wasn't going to engage in any dating whatsoever. I would have probably love some casual social activity, but I really can't trust myself to just keep it casual, and vice versa. People who date me tend to 'carry me with them always' as some ex once said to me. That doesn't sound casual.

So, axiom number one, no dating. Wasn't so hard when I was neck-deep in textbooks and trying to actually get into a UK grad school. Now that I've accomplished this, I am starting to notice the outside world...mainly how guys notice me. I kind of had tunnel vision, where all I could see were powerpoint presentations and grade point averages. Once I wiped the film from my eyes, I in turn started to notice guys.

So returning to Mr. Stable. Mr. Stable is a really nice guy, and he's funny and subversive but not crazy. And I find that I really want to get to know this guy better, which does not often happen. I'm picky. But my axiom is there for a reason: once I leave, that's it. I'm not coming back. Do I really want to do that to myself, or a guy I like? Why date some guy and get all attached when I know it has to end? I mean, I won't change my mind. Unless the UK disintegrates into the ocean, I'm flying over. And staying there. But there is this annoying little piece of my humanity that flicks my mental ear and says what if I am passing up the chance for the greatest love ever? God, that sounds so female and pathetic, but I know that's what girls think when they are faced with a what-if situation with a guy. That thought is always in the back of our minds.

Then my oh-so-chipper analytical self counters with the usual, "fuck off, I'm never getting married or having kids, and love is transient anyways, so are you really going to risk losing your focus for a few moments of perceived-but-not-aquired happiness?"

This is what I do to myself. But there is just something about this guy that makes me want to take a closer look. I can read people fairly quickly, and I know if there is more to them than meets the eye, whether that's good or bad. It's what I do, what my psychology training has instilled in me. But this guy, I have a feeling that there is an intensity of emotion, and thought (the good kind) that I'm just not seeing. And it bugs me. I want to figure it out, I need to figure it out. I would be happy just having another friend because friends can be friends forever, and it doesn't matter if you live across the street or across the world: they can still be a friend.

I don't know though, that this 'just friends' thing can work. You know how some men and women are never meant to be 'just friends'? My ex and I are like that. We're never really going to be just friends no matter how much we pretend otherwise. It's not possible. And I don't know if it's possible to do with Mr. Stable either. You kind of know, when there is a deep well of emotion that would be unleashed, even when you are just early aquaintences.

God, I don't even know why I am having this conflict in the first place, I'm leaving. All I need is a giagantic smack in the head. That will set me right.

Blank

2010-05-09T08:44:00.000-04:00

So I've hit a wall. Got nothing to talk about.

I'm totally tapped on things to blog on. I don't know if it's because the drama of school is over so I really don't have much else going on, or if I think the small little every day stuff is insignificant to talk about.

Whatever this is, it blows. This blog is a creative and therapeutic outlet. I can't afford therapy, and I hate talking to my friends about all the crap that goes on in my life, because honestly, I hate to hear from other people. And it's not like my life is all happy-go-lucky, so what gives? I've got lots of things going on, but just not stuff to blog about?

Take this weekend. I am building a patio for my mom outside her backyard as part of her Mother's Day present. I enslaved a few friends and we got the majority of it done, and I'm pretty please. Sore, can barely walk and smelling like a horse barn, but pleased. But other than what I just told you, nothing to really write home (or your blog apparently) about.

So, I wonder how long this little block of mine go for. It's like, unless I don't have something traumatic or dramatic happening, I can't write about it.

That right there is a prime reason for me to have therapy.