Time Change

Its 6:23 am in New York City and I am WIDE awake. It started as the kind of awake where you lay in bed (yes I even have a bed to sleep in here) with your eyes closed and wait for the morning sunlight to seep through your veiny lids, but then I realized there was no sun rising. I figured it must be the middle of the night. Get up, bathroom break. Check my phone. I'm not in London anymore; the sun isn't rising at an absurd hour, making sure I never over sleep.

My tickets home were incredibly cheap, especially considering I booked a three day layover in NYC, but as a result I was forced to fly AirFrance via Delta. [shit]. I was forced to fly from London to Paris, and then from Paris to the states. I know, I know; it makes no sense. The shorter flight got a  little interesting when we hit a storm. The excitement went a bit like this.

Intercom: "Bonjour, hello, we are heeting a bit of turboolawnce, just a leetle chop chop, but everyzing will be fine."

Then we fell from the sky.

I'm not one to be nervous on planes. Ever. I've done the transatlantic flight about 4 or 5 times now and have been flying nearly my whole life. I don't enjoy it but I've never been a nervous flier. But that bit of turboolawnce was more like someone handed our plane to a toddler who had just discovered he head these apendages attached to his shoulders that could wave sporadically around, and well I got a bit scared.

But the plane landed fine.

The flight from Paris to JFK was excitement free. It's impossible for me to sleep on the long flights. A combination of excitement and this feeling of being cramped keep me from ever dozing off, so I read an entire book from cover to cover. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake. Not a literary masterpiece but a good plane read nonetheless. I then flipped through the inflight entertainment. Everything was in French. When I managed to find the option to switch the menu to English, a new form of entertainment abounded. Several of their movie title translations were just slightly off. My favorite was Hangover 2. It translated to "Very Bad Trip 2." I found this hysterically funny, the two perfectly primped, gorgeous Dutch girls next to me dubbed me odd. (They slept nearly the whole flight sitting up, their arms crossed, eye masks perfectly in place. Not human.)

So I'm in the states, in New York, a bed in Queens, and its exciting. Living abroad is wonderful and London is great but it's hard to be so far away from you heart. Sometimes there's a hollow ache in my chest, one that echos down into the pit of my stomach, and I realize I'm homesick. Not just for Ohio and it's hills and trees and my family and friends, but for a country that as soon as my plane lands I feel like I'm back, I belong. New York is still not quite my home sweet home but I'm close to my heart here, I can hear it's faint beating in the distance, and I'm comforted knowing I'm only four days away from being back in the place that [nearly] fully gets me, the place that made me. Plus I'm in New York for the first time in my life, with one of the greatest friends of my life, so things don't get much better than this.

Usually at this point in my sleeptime blogging I would say I'm off to bed or something of the like, but the odds of me falling back to sleep are slim. So instead I'll tell you I'm off to Hulu (God Bless America) and know that those Ohioans of you that are reading this, well I'll see you soon.

I am the Worst Blogger Ever

I've said this several times before and I make no excuses...except I do. Work, school, work, school, publications, anthologies, travel, work, school...other than that, no excuses. So how do I summarize the past few months in one blog post? Well odds are I probably can't. (We've already discussed I am no good at this blog thing.) But below is my best shot.

1) Uni is hard. Kicking my ass hard. Add onto that the need to finish my final edits for the Chicago experimental class anthology and beginning the prep stages of my dissertation, and well it's a wonder my hair isn't falling out more than normal right now.

2) Spain. I went there. Santiago de Compostela to be exact. I went to visit my dear friend Jaime (James), the most recent addition to the group of Americans I know abroad. Summary: Santiago was unbelievably gorgeous and the perfect break from the smog and congestion of London. Plus Jaime is my writing (and perhaps even real) soulmate. Check out her blog, she's basically a genius and named her cat after Virginia Woolf. Basically she kicks major ass. [dances-with-woolf.blogspot.com]

3) Jaime [and Alberto] visit London. They came for five days...five very ridiculous days. There's no real way to summarize the insanity that ensued that weekend, but see below for two short stories to summarize the general mayhem.

Story #1: Jailbirds
My friend Jaime and her roomate Alberto came from Spain to stay with me this past week/weekend. They got in Wednesday, which ended up taking them all day because the tube was having all sorts of problems, and then were supposed to go out on the town during Thursday while I worked. First problem: I locked them IN my flat. Yes, in London this is possible.

My door has two locks (well actually four but we never lock the other two...someone must have thought at some point that my flat is in the ghetto...its not), the one is just a regular automatic door lock that can be undone from the inside, and the other is a skeleton key door lock that has to be both locked and unlocked from both sides. Major fire hazard I know. I had to work at 7:45, meaning I had to rise at 5:45 (after going to bed at about 2am) so I wasn't exactly in the right state of mind and, well, I locked them in my flat.

Cut to work where I log on facebook to read a frantic message from Jaime who informs me that they are jailbirds and also that there is no coffee in my flat and she might kill Alberto. (Jaime drinks about six cups of coffee a day as a result of living in Spain). Evidently Alberto was playing my flatmates guitar and singing some song about "stuck with jaime inside a house, she's hunting for coffee like a trapped mouse."

I manage to get off work early to go set them free, but by the time I get home my flatmate has come back and released them and they were on the tube on their way to my work....figures.

Story#2: Alberto pulls a Mysterious Houdini

Alberto is probably the most unusual person I have ever met. He''s also extremely intelligent and really funny. Saturday evening we got fairly intoxicated for Thanksgiving so I went to bed relatively early (midnight I think). At about 6am I awoke to what sounded like someone throwing a brick at my window. I assumed it was either a drunk person or a pigeon so I stayed in bed. Then the noise happened again, accompanied by a loudly whispered, "KESLEY!" I got out of my bed and opened my curtains to find Alberto standing in my front yard with a soccer ball...

Crawling downstairs I unlocked the door to let him in. He is giggling so of course I assume somehow he got high (I know of no connections in this city and there's no smoking in my house). I grumble my discontent and go back into my room and fall asleep only to have him wake me up moments later to ask for the keys again as he left his bag outside.

The next morning while Alberto is showering Jaime asked me what happened...evidently she only saw Alberto and I standing in the hallway and then saw him come into where she was sleeping giggling, so she assumed we had had a late night hanky pank of some sort) I told her about the nights events and we both decided that he must be a Houdini because I locked us IN the flat when I went to bed meaning he COULDNT get out.

When he got out of the shower I asked him 3 questions:
1) How did you get out?
2) Where the hell did you go?
3) Where did you get the soccer ball?

His answers:
1) I have no idea
2) I walked for about 50 minutes, met some old guys, smoked a spliff, got lost, then came back.
3) I must have stolen it from a yard.

To this day we have no idea how he got out....Our only thought is that maybe my roommate and her three friends came back in the middle of the night and he snuck out when they came in...but he doesn't remember.

4) My boss has been on holiday. In Mexico. For two weeks. I've been waking at 5.45 for work and closing the clinic at 9pm...with classes in between. I can't decide if I should hug her or strangle her upon her return. Hug probably, I'd like to keep my job.

5) 11 days of Mayhem. It's less than two weeks now until I am in Ohio again, and honestly my heart can't wait to be back in the heart of it all. The days leading up to this triumphant return (where no doubt my mother and I will both sob like big babies at the airport and generally make huge fools out of ourselves) are, as always, hectic. We have our work Christmas party tomorrow night, which I've been told tends to get out of hand. I guess I shouldn't expect anything less from a bunch of Aussies and Brits. Next week is the last week of classes for the semester, followed by project cramming. Then it's an eight hour flight to NYC on Friday to stay with the wonderful Jonathan Julian for a few days, and then back to Ohio on the 19th! My life is always crazy, and although sometimes its overwhelming and seems to be more than I can handle, I'm [fairly] sure I wouldn't have it any other way.

I Have Nothing Interesting to Title This.

Somehow its October. I am sitting on Claire's sofa, eating a banana while attempting to write a query letter and synopsis for a novel I haven't finished (heck, I've barely started it), writing for my poetry class, and looking up venues for my sister's wedding. Somehow it is October and so much has happened, and once again I am dubbing myself the most neglectful blogger ever. So here's a basic update.

I am homeless...sort of. I am staying with my dear friend Claire, sleeping on her comfy couch and enjoying her wonderful company. I've been here about a week now and my luggage seems to be breeding and multiplying in the corner of her living room. I'm searching for a new place daily but classes and work are preventing me from getting very far in my search for housing.

Yes, classes have started once again. This semester I actually have three classes and, believe it or not, they are  all on different days. No more one-day-a-week business like last semester, although it would be nice to have that schedule now that I have a job. I'm working 15 hours a week, in class nine hours a week, and doing homework 657 hours a week, or at least that's what it feels like. Poetry and publishing, and then a little fiction writing. And when I say a little I mean a lot. A whole freaking lot of writing is happening which is good I suppose. Include the fact that I am trying to write my dissertation novel now as well and...well you get it. I'm busy.

And yes, there at the beginning I did mention my sister is engaged. Not that anyone who reads this doesn't already know. I'm fairly positive my mother was shouting it across the city of Columbus (and over phone lines to Coshocton and Warsaw) so it would be quite shocking if I was the first person to tell you this. But yes, my sister is engaged and we are all very excited and I am the Maid of Honor so boo-yah.

School and work really do own me right now but there are several things coming up that I am looking forward to. My most favorite day of the year is coming up and although they don't seem to be as gun-ho about halloween, I refuse to not celebrate the greatest holiday of the year. The beginning of November marks Day of the Dead and, fingers crossed, I will be heading to Spain for a passionate reunion with Jaime Malloy as we partake in the festivities. And then, if you can even believe it stateside pals, I will be back in the great U-S-of-A on December 16. My feet will touch the soil of corn country on the 20th and then all the festivities that we've all been planning over skype and facebook can occur.

So for now I will concentrate on my schooling (and wedding flowers and venues and dresses and cakes) and then before you know it Christmas holiday will be here and the fun can begin. I know this is a sorry excuse for an update but I am living a demanding life. Even if my demands are only coming from boring places like school and work.

Staying Afloat

Today I started my new workout routine. I have decided that one of the best ways to combat boredom is to exercise and really, with my new job at the pilates studio where I get classes for free, there is absolutely no reason for me to not get my fitness on. I had decided that the perfect workout combination would be free classes at the studio and a few days at the swim center by school. So this morning I awoke, went to the grocery since my cupboards were bare, and then made a quick trip to the Sports Direct to pick up a one piece swim suit, goggles, and swim cap.

I came home and ate a healthy lunch, one specifically designed by myself to give me optimum energy for the laps of swimming that awaited me. Below is a picture to demonstrate my excitement and determination for my newfound athleticism that I posted to my "little sister" Kasey's facebook wall.

Overly excited.

Note the coordination of goggles to swimsuit. Yes I was ready. Or so I thought. Meeting my friend Claire at the Highbury&Islington station, we walked on to the swim center. The smell of chlorine welcomed me, harking back to childhood times spent at Hilliard's West Pool with the Crosscreek hooligans. Once I was suited up and sitting on the edge of the pool, Claire went through the basics. Stroking and rhythm, breathing, concentrating on your core. Also, concentrate on your finger tips and your arm motion and your ankles and the way your feet cut through the water. Basically concentrate on every part of your body at once. But I wasn't deterred. Summers spent at the quarry and in various friends' pools made me think that I was more than capable.

Post swimming breakdown: everything hurts. To be more precise the back of my arms hurt, the awkward space between thigh and personal zone, my abs, the muscles around my shoulder blades. I undoubtedly underestimated the difficulty of lane swimming. Often times, while trying to get the rhythm of stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe, I found my body telling my brain I was dying. A childhood of asthma attacks has programmed my body to go into spastic mode when I am even remotely on the verge of being deprived of oxygen. Basically, swimming is hard. Below is a picture of how I felt after.

Funny, I sleep just like this.

And then on the train ride home, as the ache in the back of my arms turned to a steady burning and my gym showered hair started to dry in the breeze of the open windows, I started thinking about the last couple months. Living abroad is challenging and everyone knows this. But for me the last two months have been particularly challenging. Money problems have been the root of most of my anxiety, but a bit of homesickness, boredom, and the beginnings of dissertation panic attacks all culminated to make these past two months seem almost impossible to get through. At times I felt like I was drowning. My head would pop to the surface for just a second; I would spit, gasp, fill my lungs before I plunged below the surface again. I have felt deflated and defeated. But the thing is, I haven't drowned. Somehow I've manage to tread water, float, keep myself alive as the water creeps higher and higher. 

Things aren't getting any easier and the pressure won't  let up until I get my school loan disbursement, which could be another month or so. Paying my rent terrifies me, I wonder how I'm going to put money on my electric meter, and above all this I find myself wondering if I'm cut out for this ex-patriot lifestyle. But really if I have made it this far then I can make it as long as I need to. And if I can make it as long as I need to then maybe that need will turn into a want and a real life will develop. I'm not saying I'm staying; really at this point I'm content to pack up my clothing and my memories and come back to the good old U-S-of-A. But the point is if I changed my mind and wanted to stay then I think I could do it.

I may look like an idiot flailing around in the water at the pool. And I may look even more like an idiot in my everyday life just trying to figure out how to get by one day at a time. But looking like an idiot is fine by me because I'm growing stronger.  So I'm going to keep going to the swim center (probably much to the enjoyment of the lifeguards) until I master the art of lane swimming. And I'm going to keep at this foreign lifestyle because if I've made it this far then really I think I am capable of just about anything.

Riot Riot

By now the news of the idiocy of the London riots has spread to the far corners of the globe so I figured a blog update is probably a good idea.

Last night was a little rough. I have yet to be outside this morning but I was kept up all night by sirens and periodic shouting. My neighborhood seems to be fine from what I've read, just basic looting down by the mall thats a 15 minute walk away, but other than that I think my neighborhood has emerged unscathed.

Things have gotten quickly out of hand. These kids---and I do mean kids since they're all being profiled at about 15-18---have absolutely no regard for the fact that they are destroying their own city. The looting has gotten completely out of hand. People's shops, their livelihoods, have been ransacked, trashed, some even burned to the ground. And in a city where all buildings are connected and people live on top of each other, several people have lost their homes as well.

It's spread across the city. What started in Tottenham over a questionably unjust murder, has now spread to my neighborhood next door, Stratford, Croydon, Woolwich, Lewisham, Clapham, Ealing, Oxford Circus. Reports are surfacing that its even spread to other cities as well: Liverpool and Birmingham to name two. Evidently idiocy and a disregard for humanity are contagious.

I don't want to worry my friends and family back home. I am safe, my apartment and neighborhood is still intact and really I haven't even personally witnessed any of the violence first hand. But the reality of the situation is the rioters seem to own the streets right now and quite frankly all the law abiding citizens are getting a bit fed up with the lack of reaction from the police and the government. The PM and Mayor should be back from their holidays today so hopefully a new plan will be formed.

Once again, I am fine. I'm currently packing a bag to go stay with a friend who lives in Stratford. They've been hit out there as well but less than up by me so its my better option for the time being. Plus my ground floor apartment is less appealing than the protection her high rise can offer and if I'm being honest that whole saying of "safety in numbers" is ringing pretty true with me right now.

So I'll spend the day with her, most likely eating junk food and watching movies, and I'll keep updating my facebook to let people know how I am. I'll also have my mobile so those with BBM feel free to check in whenever you want. And of course I'll be taking my computer. I'm talking to my parents a lot through this all so if for some reason you need to talk to them you can always do that as well.

Anyways below are links to some of the ways I am keeping myself informed about all of this, incase any of you wish to do the same. I'll keep everyone updated on what seems to be my second historical experience in London; its too bad this one isn't as positive as the last.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/1478157.stm

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/blog/2011/aug/09/london-riots-violence-looting-live

Places of Home

This summer has been chaotic. In the course of five weeks I have been to Chicago, Ohio, back to London, then to Paris, and back to London again. I've had new friends from Chicago visit and played tour guide with my mother. I've gotten a job, finished my first semester of my Masters, and exhausted my bank account.

I used to be a person who never suffered from bouts of homesickness. I've always been independent and have never though of myself as a home body. I've always thought that when I grew up (which I guess is now) I would be nomadic; a wandering traveller. In some ways I guess I am this. But, it seems, that at the same time this nomadic travelling lifestyle has made me realize just how much I miss home.

Now don't start to worry. I don't spend my nights crying in my room, clutching my things from home (although I do walk around in my brother's old pajama pants and cuddle in my baby panda blanket from home quite often). It's just that I spent most of my life in Ohio dreaming about what else was out there. When I thought about my future, I pictured myself in Colorado, Oregon, Europe. I longed for something different than the midwest, something different than what I grew up with.

And thats what I got. I worked my ass off and now I'm here, in this city an ocean away, a place completely different from home. And I love it, I do, but this place where I now live and work and study--this new home--sometimes just isn't enough. It seems as if it's been rainy and cold here for weeks; yesterday was the first time I had seen proper sunshine in quite a while. I constantly find myself missing things that used to seem annoying, repetitive, cliche midwest. I miss the smothering heat of Ohio summers, the way it hardly ever cools off, even at night. I miss floating in my raft at the quarry, half submerged in lake water, sipping on a beer. I miss the freckles that used to pop up on my skin from the summer sun. Recently the thing I've been missing the most is late night walks. It's not exactly safe to walk alone at night here (especially in my neighborhood) and in a city like this it would be impossible to walk at night undisturbed by other people. I miss walking three blocks back to Wayne Manor, unannounced, knowing that most likely Jon Dorsey would be there and we could porch sit.

There's a lot of things about this nomadic, european lifestyle that hadn't occurred to me beforehand. It hadn't occurred to me that I am a person who needs community until I found myself alone. Of course I had so many friends and "family" back home; I had twenty-three years to cultivate the perfect groups of friends. It's hard starting over and yes it is lonely and frustrating at times. I've made some really great friends here and I value them so much because they really are my family here. They are invaluable really, because they're all I have. Plus they're fun and smart and great to talk to. But it's these kinds of things that living abroad has taught me.

I don't regret my time here at all. I've learned that loneliness teaches you more about yourself. I've learned that Ohio really isn't all that bad (in fact it's pretty great). I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever imagined. And most importantly I think, I've learned that distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

I'm halfway through my program (not counting the terror inducing four months that will be my dissertation in the spring) and I guess that could be why I'm evaluating my experiences so fervently. I'm getting close to the point where I have to make decisions regarding my near future: do I stay or do I go? I love London and in many ways it will always be a home to me. Nothing to me will be more valuable than this experience. But if I were to honestly answer that question I would say I most likely will be coming home. I guess the main reason I value this experience so much, other than the fact that this was something that seemed so impossible for so long, is that it helped me to realize that I can have many places of home, but really there's always only going to be one home for me. High Street and Short North, IUKAhouse and Grandview, Hilliard and its suburbs; and then the hills and the country (and all my family that I miss more than anything else) on the weekends. Those places will always be my home.

So today I spent the afternoon with my dear Canadian friend Claire and we decided we could sulk for today. We wallowed and talked about what we missed most. And the we declared that the sulking was done. We're in London after all so from now on we're going to enjoy our time here. And we're planning in advance for the occasions when homesickness will creep in; we've got Thanksgiving plans (both Canadian Thanksgiving and American Thanksgiving) in the works. We're going to travel and work and laugh and learn. We're going to miss home but enjoy our time here because we know home will be there waiting for us, when we're finally ready and able to return.

Summer Shenanigans

I've been busy. Busier than usual. Chicago, Ohio, Chicago, and London in one month. I've been sleep deprived, sick, hung-over, and all around exhausted. I'm jet-lagged and worn out but have enjoyed every minute of it. And you want an update, I know. Demanding, but I'll give it a shot....but in a "creative (recycled) sort of a way. Below are a few bits of flash fiction I submitted for my class this week (I suppose its more flash non-fiction but whatevs) and one poem..they talk about what I did while home. Go easy on me folks, I've been time crunched with my writing and also have been spilling nostalgia all over the page since my visit home. Also, enjoy a few pictures posted below. Consider this a mixed media update of sort. Because I am lazy. Because I am busy. Because I am tired. And because I am headed to Greenwich in just a bit to show the Chicago kids my old stomping grounds. Hopefully this quenches your thirst for a Strangers and Mash update. Also, Jon Dorsey and his ability to accidentally make me cry like a giant baby in my car inspired a lot of what you'll read. Best friends do that.

 

 Summer Storms

It rains in both places. It rains on the streets here, on the metal, cement, and stone. It pools on sidewalks, collects on roads, runs off stairs. It drenches pedestrians, soaks store awnings, and explodes under the force of tire wheels. It slides down my windows, droplets combining on their decent, until it drips in time off my sill. It rains downtown, it rains uptown, it rains out in Hyde Park and it rains up here in my dirty neighborhood where the trash has wilted and clings to the gutters.

Back there it rains on the fields, on barns and wood fences, on plastic siding and industrial playgrounds. It forms puddles in basements, ruins the legs of furniture, scares away the cat. It beads on morning glories, the dog’s hair. It rains at Tin Apple Plaza, it rains on Main Street, it rains in the suburbs and it rains out by your house where the drops bounce of the metal of your motorcycle, tickle the hirsute hairs on the back of your neck.

Lake Effect

We left our beer in the boat as we jumped in the dark water. Everyone knew

what lurked beneath but we danced our legs in it, bobbed in its chill. Summers before coffins floated up, stayed at the surface like haunted buoys. A cemetery hidden beneath our liquid playground. They threw rocks in the water, piled them high on the site, the weight of the stones promising to keep the dead where they belonged. Forced down below, the bodies stayed as a reminder. We swam on their graves that night.

Motorcycle

It was the air that whipped around my arms, snaked around my exposed legs. It was the nail marks left on my hands from gripping too tightly around your torso. It was the fear of the s-curves that had nearly killed a man only a few years ago. It was the way I lifted my arms and extended my fingers, feeling the summer rain pelt them as I grew less and less afraid. It was the way we talked around what mattered, the way your mother hugged me, the way I squeezed your shoulder as I went to leave. It was the way we didn’t say goodbye that made it seem more final, and it was the way I cried in my car on the shoulder of the road that reminded me how much I’ll miss you.

Columbus

The weeds bite at my ankles, firm like bamboo, and cut the tops of my feet. A pile of discarded cement chunks serves as my retreat in that barren wasteland spotted with developing condominiums. They are ruining the beauty of the city’s decay, I think to myself, they are changing what I love most. But these places are only safe during the day, their beauty turns sinister when the sun sinks low and the sporadic streetlights attempt to create the feeling of safety. A fly lands on my forearm, waits there, patiently, for me to shoo it away. But I won’t because the lighting is just right and the rain has let up and the backdrop of the skyline has never looked so pretty. So I pose for you, damp but content, as you capture this image of me and the fly smiling in front of the city that is our home; our feet planted firmly in the part that’s decayed.

It wasn’t the way it was said;

it was the where.

Near the fields by the woods

at your mother’s house.

Not on high street where

lights extend across the road,

circular bulbs in arch formation.

Not downtown where

the buildings swallow us whole,

where glass and metal replace

the green of the suburbs.

It was on the drive way,

my car in your front yard

where we lit fireworks

when we were fifteen.

It was the pool in the back,

the toilet paper I threw in your trees.

It was the time Mo split her eye open,

how red the blood was when it oozed.

It was not steel and progress.

It was not that city

or this city.

It was the place of memory.

Long Overdue

I haven't written in a while and if I wanted I could offer up that its because I've been busy finishing final projects and working at the nursery, but really that wouldn't be the case. Yes I have been busy doing those things but free time was still in excess. The reality is that I was lazy.

So here is an update. Now that both of my projects are done (and before they're due I might add), and knowing that I am only working on Thursday this week, I decided to get myself out of my lazy haze and post an update.

My job had been less than thrilling, more like migraine inducing, but its a job that pays me and thats really what matters, right? The last nursery I worked at was an hour and twenty minutes one way, with 21 screaming toddlers to take care of, and other women workers who took full advantage of my low ranking on the job position food chain. I spent the entirety of my days being a herder of children, only to be scolded when one of the 21 got away from me. (While the rest of the workers were doing a whole lot of nothing I might add.)

One of the women at the nursery told me my accent was very strong and asked me where I was from. When I told her Ohio is in the mid west she responded by saying, "OH like cowboys, the wild west?!" I just said yes....no point in ruining her excitement.

I celebrated the end of my week at that branch by watching a pigeon explode at the train station. Things are never dull here.

Apart from school and work I have to admit I haven't been doing much of anything. The weather is starting to get nicer so hopefully I can motivate myself to get off my butt and go outside soon. I think some park time is much needed.

There's lots of countdowns happening right now so below is a detailed list:

9 days until Chicago
11 days until Mandy and Sneff Mama come visit me in Chicago
23 days until I'm back home
34 days until my mother comes to visit me once I'm back in London

This summers going to be crazy but I really wouldn't have it any other way. And if things work out for this weekend I may be going to Wales for a Literature festival, so expect pictures of camping and intellectual conversation to be posted after.

Can't wait to be back in good old Amurrica, friends. See you all very soon.

Recent Adventures

I know that most of you are only reading this post for a recap of my royal wedding experience, so I'll spare you the updates on my erryday life and jump right into the excitement.

I have been sick for over a week now and only got my voice back on Thursday, so when 6 am Friday rolled around I was less than enthusiastic. Madee (my visitor) and I headed out regardless to meet up with my PIC Allison, and from there we headed to Buckingham Palace to claim a spot and await the mayhem.

We planted ourselves in the grass outside the palace, making sure we could see the balcony, at around 730. Two Redbulls and two M&S wraps later I was feeling much better (or at least much more alert). We sat and talked until about 10:00-ish and from then on we found ourselves standing, talking with our wedding day friends sitting around us. The wedding started at 11 and although we didn't have a screen to watch we did have the audio to listen to. I have never in my life been a part of such an overwhelmingly silent crowd. An amazing hush fell over everyone on the lawn as we listened to them reciting their vows, only breaking the silence for periodic outbursts of clapping and cheering.

The crowd grew ansty, knowing that shortly the couple would make their way to Buckingham and walk out onto the balcony for their first official kiss. People started pouring in from all directions, crowding and cramming, but luckily my view of the balcony somehow remained intact. The couple emerged, kissed (twice, how daring!) and the family came out as well. Patriotic British tunes were sung and in the not too far distance you could hear the bells of Westminster tolling. It was, in the most corny of ways, magical.





My favorite parts of the whole experience? Well firstly it would have to be the people watching. London is rarely patriotic so it was funny to see the cup of British patriotism running-eth over. Two girls next to us wore red shirts reading, "Keep Calm, Harry is Still On," which I thought were hysterical. A group of men directly in front of us not only brought a picnic blanket and snacks, but chilled champagne with strawberries to toast with once the couple was officially wed. (Champagne bottles were popping all around us actually.) Women in Sunday hats were plentiful as well, always making for a good distraction.

But my most favorite part? Regardless of how silly this sounds, standing on the lawn outside Buckingham yesterday I realized that this was the first time in my entire life that I had been a part a positive part of history. Back home all of our recent historical moments (aside from Obama being elected) have been those of a negative association: Columbine, VT, 9/11. And I wasn't even actually present at any of those events (thank goodness I suppose). But yesterday was a moment that will be documented and written about the world over. I know that a lot of the UK dislikes the royal family but yesterday, in that one moment when they stood on the balcony, it was as if everyone around me was proud to be British.

Our parents and grandparents all have those moments in history where they can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing. Pearl Harbor, The Great Depression, Kennedy's death. This was one of those moments for me, except I'm lucky enough to have it be a happy one.

I think I may never leave.

Sex, Violence, and Fear: A Late Night Ramble

Don't go and get too excited yet readers; if you expect this post to be entirely about things of the kinkier kind, go ahead and go back to watching Hulu (damn you stateside friends).

I will admit that over the past two weeks I have been catching up on episodes of 30 Rock, and by catch up I mean I have been watching all five seasons in their entirety. I depressingly enough realized (by season 3) that I am Liz Lemon and sort of developed a joking banter about the subject with my friend Allison. Many of the episodes focus on the fact that Liz lives alone and "fails" at relationships, and often times the show jokes about the dangers a woman faces living by herself (i.e. choking to death or slipping in the shower). This alone would not cause me to post an entire blog dedicated to a specific "feminine" subject. So let's continue.

Scre4m (Scream 4 for those who prefer non-stupid text) was recently released and after watching the trailer alone in my apartment I came to a very shocking realization: scary movies are no longer enjoyable now that I live alone. The trailer itself scared me so much that I had to watch quite a few more episodes of 30 Rock before I could fall asleep (no need to tell me how pathetic this is; I already know), and then got me to thinking.

Living on my own I find myself to either be constantly terrified or constantly triple checking my surroundings so that I will not be terrified. I admittedly will cross the street when I see a group of men ahead of me on the sidewalk at night, and always walk with my keys firmly between my fingers after a night out downtown. As a woman I am constantly reminded of how dangerous my existence is, especially if I am alone. TV shows like 30 Rock not only joke about the potential dangers I face (as if men living alone don't risk choking to death or slipping in the bath) but also mock female characters who live a (mainly) solitary life.

Movies always warn us of our potential (or inevitable?) demise; its always joked that the first to die in slasher movies are black people and slutty women. More specifically, two recently released movies specifically deal with the topic of the vulnerability of women: The Resident and The Roommate. (It should be noted that both of these titles also succeed in removing the personal [noun] and replacing it with a thing, but I won't ge too caught up in this) Both movies not only portray violence against the main female characters as an inevitability, but also hypersexualize it. The movie category "thriller" exemplifies this. As opposed to the category of "horror" which brings to mind only the subject of fear, the category "thriller" gives the viewer not only the chance to be scared but the chance to be thrilled. The prevalence of excitement alongside fear is arguably what makes these movies seem so attractive to large populations of people.

This is all not to say that I think scary movies are sexist or should involve situations of sexuality and violence against men. The fact that movies and television tell these tales of hypersexualized violence against women makes it seem like something that is impossible for a woman to escape. Living alone in London, I find myself sometimes thinking more along the lines of when I will be attacked and less along the lines of if. And after being followed home two weeks after I moved here I quickly realized that unfortunately I could easily be that weak female target (let's face it, I'm five foot three and couldn't seriously hurt anyone over the age of thirteen). Add to that London's differing view on self defense (there is literally no weapon that I can carry with me, not even pepper spray) and really I am a walking target sign. I don't want this to scare my parents or make you all think I am crazy; I reasonably know that as long as I am prepared, smart, and safe, I will be just fine. But that, to me, is just it. There ARE women who ARE prepared, smart, and safe. There are women who know how to handle themselves and don't fit into this category of a vulnerable weak woman, susceptible to attack, who aren't afraid of choking to death in their apartment and aren't depressed that they haven't found "the one;" but these women are rarely shown. It's the fact that we have to be this woman that is always prepared, because the only other type of woman that exists is the one left vulnerable to physical and sexual assault, that has been bothering me recently.

This has gone on long enough. It's midnight here and I have to get up at 6:45 for another joyous day at the nursery. I'm sure I have now scared all of you into thinking that I am constantly on the verge of assault, but I promise I take the utmost caution when I go out at night and am very safe. I know this will all come off as just another feminist rant, but honestly, its more than that. These things were things I never even gave a second thought to before now and, to me, anything I don't think about deserves to be discussed. Not thinking is never good in my book.

[For those of you disappointed that I didn't update you on my British life: be patient. I will post again shortly. After some much needed sleep]

21 Degrees

Today was my nicest day in London thus far. Not only did I get up before 11:00 in the morning, but I worked on a project (productivity) and then ate lunch and sat outside in the beautiful weather with friends. Flights were also officially booked today for Chicago, meaning I am one step closer to being back in the land of the free and the home of the brave and the gloriousness of the midwest. The pieces of my English life are starting to fall into place.

My wonderful friend Marisa managed to find us both part time jobs at a nursery so I can play with adorable babies and we can both save money for deep dish pizza and Michigan Ave shopping in Chicago (she's my roommate for the trip). I currently have one week left of classes before Easter Holiday (meaning one day left of classes) and then my sistafran Madee will be here to explore Paris with me. Add to that the Royal Wedding on the 29th and the fact that I am determined to hunt Kathy Griffin down like a dog, and April is really starting to look pretty fantastic.

Unfortunately I type this with no insightful ideas in mind, no quirky (hehe get it Emily and Matt) stories to tell, no retelling of recent epiphanies; but I think that's kind of nice. It's like my life here is normal now, not in the sense that I'm taking any of it for granted or that London has lost its magic, but like I'm no longer wondering what my life will be like here once it starts, because it already has.

Oh also, shout out to the lovely, vocally talented Alison DiTommaso on this joyous day of her birth. You're one of my favorite people and I wish I could be home to grab a coffee or take you to dinner and a movie at Movie Tavern, and especially to accompany you to THE Olive Garden to watch you enjoy an unhealthy amount of Italian food that I jealously can no longer eat. Have a breadstick or twelve for me my love, and I will see you in June. French fries and beer at Lucky's will be happening before you know it.

Insert Witty Title Here

It's 1:29 a.m. meaning that the city has just begun to quiet down. Although I can guarantee that at least one more car alarm will go off before the morning, I know that I have about three hours of as close to silence as I can get here. This is always the time where I try to force myself to sleep, to block every thought from my mind so that maybe I will fall into unconsciousness before the birds and the cats begin their early morning spring time battles outside my bedroom window.

But I haven't updated in a while, so here I sit.

Progress is sometimes a slow moving thing. I've made a few more friends, all of which are somehow American, but regardless we all had a pretty good time together. I have an orientation scheduled at the Ministry of Stories, something that I am beyond excited about. And on Tuesday my professor told me that she thinks the story I submitted to class is of a publishable standard. Progress may be slow, but its progress nonetheless.

I find myself dreaming of the familiar, only set within the unfamiliar. I dream of my family and summer vacations, except we are never in a place we've been before. It's always unusual. And just last night I dreamed that I was with the most wonderful Rachel Baransi, in Mexico, sitting on an enormous marble patio. We were laying on beach towels, sweating in the sun, while little tanned and naked babies were lingering all around. Rachel kept telling me how wonderful Mexico could be, while I smiled and stared at the children's darkened bellies.

I'm dreaming of everything I want in one place. The adventure of the unknown with the comfort of the familiar. How wonderful would that be?

Except it is, almost, possible for this to happen. I skyped with my love Kara the other day and was able to see her two gorgeous children. Lilya's getting so big and baby gabbed for me, and I even got to witness one of Aiden's full blown Tasmanian devil tantrums. Today I received an email from Matty, and even though its been weeks since we've spoken, he was able to say everything that I was thinking without even trying. And then there's facebook, the looming, growing, monster of the social media. I'm fairly positive that facebook has actually managed to cause Emily Lease and I to fall in love (don't deny it Emily) and it allows me to send videos to people, because even if I can't see them it somehow makes me feel closer if I know they can see me. Technology has it's perks.

Hopefully a job will be the next step in my slow progression here. Applications have become daunting and enjoying everything this city has to offer has become expensive. But the sun is shining more and the rain is pouring less and soon it will be warm enough for sandals and picnics and pitchers of PIMMS. Soon it will be the season of park sleeping, and park reading, and park writing, and park anything. Soon it will be the season of my visitors: my mother, and hoards of friends, and then eventually the best friends of all, my siblings.

But before any of that it's Paris in April. The chunnel and hostel living and museums and wine and wine and wine. Then it will be Chicago in June (fingers cross) for intellectual stimulation, writing collaboration, and a respectable amount of shopping.

The progress is slow moving, but anything's better than stagnant water.

Sometimes Life is Less Than Exciting

It's been a while since my last post, but don't fret my few religious followers, this is an update.

School is well, school. One day a week doesn't leave much to talk about. Other than that this past Tuesday an actual fight almost broke out in my class over personal preferences regarding The Healing, which I still haven't finished. I honestly think that at some point in the near future, someone in my class is going to smack the ignorance out of one particular classmate that no one can stand. Nonetheless, nothing too interesting is happening on that front.

To file under the category random but awesome, I have made a British friend. Soly and I were on our way to a restaurant a week or so ago, one that we had heard served Mexican food (a rarity in this city). We were discussing how a classmate in Soly's scriptwriting course is working on a porno and evidently weren't being very discreet about it because a woman sitting across from us overheard. She asked if she could join our conversation, and since that never happens on the tube (people keep mainly to their kindles, PS2, ipods, etc) we obliged. After talking for a few stops we invited her to lunch with us and she accepted. So there we were, three strangers, sitting in a Mexican restaurant in the heart of London. Her name is Natasha and she teaches fitness classes and is a really great person. By the end of lunch we were all exchanging emails and phone numbers. I find this whole encounter to be somewhat unusual for the 21st century, personal-handheld-distraction-device time period in which we live.

I am still trying to find a job and am realizing that I may be searching for a while. So far I have applied to a music venue, a bar, a nanny agency for children with disabilities, and an organization that specializes in one-on-one attention for kids with learning disabilities. I've also applied at a place called The Ministry of Stories to help with creative writing workshops for children, but I have yet to hear back from any of these. I am determined though, for the sake of my bank account and my travel dreams, to find a job before spring is out.

That's about it for the european life of Kelsey Kissner. Not too exciting yet, but I am on my way to building it up into something great. And on a positive note, a day trip to IKEA allowed me to fulfill my nesting desires and decorate my flat so it feels more like home.

Also, for those of you who wish to come visit:

My summer is pretty much booked. My mom will be here the end of June through the beginning of July,  2 out of 3 of the remaining BFC members will be here in the end of July, Rachel Baransi (my sisterfran) will be here in ???, and my brother and sister are coming in September.

I am all about the visitors, but if you'd like to come, schedule for the fall if possible. My water heater can only handle so much, and the job that I will hopefully have will want me to actually work.

I have some actual social interaction planned for the next three nights. Making friends is in my near future.

Living Abroad is about Feeling Lost

This week has been challenging. I love this city and its people and the life that seems to pulse through it, I love my classes and my professors and my adorable apartment. I love the chance that I am having to do this on my own. I love that I am blessed enough to have this experience.

But things are hard. I find myself unemployed and mainly suffering from an insane case of boredom. I haven't not had a job since I was fifteen. I have never only had classes one day a week. And I've never been in a situation where I don't have at least thirty people to call to protect myself from loneliness. Most importantly I have never felt lost in the way I feel now.

I have a friend and she's wonderful and loud and American and feels like a little piece of home sometimes. We're different--very different I think--which is always wonderful--but I think I've been trying to blend with her because to have a friend seems so very special. She is Mormon, not that it matters in any way to me, and is so incredibly passionate about her faith that I find it very awe inspiring. She loves God with a fierceness that pushes her to share her faith and I find that fantastic.

But I am different. I am not Mormon, or Protestant , or Catholic, or anything. I don't even like to identify myself with the term Christian. I believe in God and the Messiah and I believe in the love that God and the Messiah put in us and show to us. But I believe that that doesn't negate the faith of another. I believe that Muslims or Jews or Atheists or anyone else is equally as justified in their own system of beliefs. I believe that most importantly God is love and where there is love there can be no evil. I struggle with organized faith and interpretations and rules and regulations. I struggle with governing bodies that determine belief systems. I question God and his teachings with every breath I take and I think that's okay. I think that to question God is to seek to know him better and I think that to not question God is to live blindly. I believe that evil has the chance to be everywhere other than in love but that doesn't mean its always there. I believe that people should be free to do what makes them happy and fulfilled as long as it doesn't harm themselves or another. And I believe above all else that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being lost.

I am completely and utterly lost in my soul right now and I think it's a completely beautiful thing. I am not a stagnant object therefore I am constantly changing and constantly needing to re-introduce myself to myself. I think this feeling of lost is overwhelming but empowering because it  means that I am learning and growing.

I am known as a person that's opinion is always known. In fact I recently fell out with the one of the closest friends I have had in years because of this. But in this situation with my London friend, I feel that I have failed at this to a certain extent. Loneliness crept in silently, like it always does, and I found myself understanding her full beliefs without divulging all of mine. Because they are somewhat unorthodox in the religious sector. Because I don't believe everything in the Bible as fact or take it all at face value. Because I don't believe that I am the one right just like I don't believe that anyone can be wrong with a faith based in love, a faith based in God, that doesn't get muddled down by the doctrines and the interpretations and the politics. I let my loneliness limit my self expression and I am slightly ashamed of myself for it.

So I am writing this honest, raw blog, as an apology to not only my new friend, but to all my friends and to myself. I am lost but I am learning and I think its a beautiful thing. And I am grateful to have met such a wonderful person here that was able to show me this momentary flaw in myself.

Academics

Classes began this past week, and luckily all of my classes fall on Tuesday. Creative Writing from 10-1 and then Creative Research (don't be fooled its still just as torturous as regular research) from 6-9. My third class won't begin until April, and then things are going to get a little hectic.

I love nearly everything about being here. My classes, my professors, interesting people, a bar inside the building where I have class...the only thing I am not enjoying is trying to find my classes. Evidently some genius thought it would be a great idea to connect three (or four, I'm really not sure) of North Campus' buildings through enclosed hallways and walkways. All this managed to do is make a labyrinth of corridors that never lead to where the maps promise they will. I am fairly convinced that hallways move themselves and reattach to different buildings, much like the staircases in HP. I have found my way successfully to class once, and by successfully I mean it took me less than 15 minutes of aimless walking to locate my room. The green zone, the red zone, the piazza, the courtyard, I mainly just walk around looking panicked until someone offers to help. I keep being told that soon enough I will know my way around, but I am starting to think it's all a lie.

I found the only Chipotle in London this week. Its located on Charring Cross Road, easy enough to get to, or so I thought. The internet failed to mention the street construction that blocked me from walking the five minutes from the tube stop to Mecca, so instead I wandered around downtown London for a solid half an hour, retracing my steps several times until a very lovely woman finally informed me it was located on the other side of construction. She then told me she had no idea how to get around said construction. Add into the mix a horrible choice of shoes, and 45 minutes later I found myself sitting back on campus, my feet bloodied and blistered, eating Chipotle that in many ways didn't seem worth it.

Note to self: buy new shoes. also, look up construction.

That's about eventful as my week has been. I received six lovely roses in a vase, compliments of my amazing Dad today. they are lovely and blooming and sitting in my front window.

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone I love...er scratch that. I'm not a Valentine's person and believe that love should be shown everyday...so Happy Day to those I love. Hopefully my next post will be less fragmented and random.

A City of Friendly People..Not So Friendly Cats

A lot has happened in the past several days and yet it feels like next to nothing has been accomplished, all  at the same time.I am officially enrolled and scheduled my classes (which are only on Tuesdays...) and along the way I met some friendly and interesting people.

The first friend I made this week was before enrollment. I walked up to the front desk of the building, put on my Miss America smile, and kindly asked in which direction I could find the room for my International Orientation. Somehow I hadn't noticed the guy next to me, which now seems impossible because suddenly he turned to me and said, "Are you AMERICAN?" (This happens a lot, to which I usually smile and say yes, while inside I want to say that no actually, I was born and raised in Yorkshire or someplace of the like.) I smiled and politely replied yes, noticing the amazing oddity that stood before me.

He was a young black man--22 years old to be precise--who stood easily well over 6 foot. None of this would be entirely alarming except for his forearms. From the wrist to the elbow of each arm lay well over twenty bracelets a piece, each one slightly different from the one that proceeded it. There were crosses and tribal symbols, chunky wood beads and African looking bangles. I stood dumbstruck by the image in front of me, telling myself repeatedly not to stare when suddenly his arm was around my shoulder as he was telling the receptionist, "Don't worry, this is my American wife. I'll take her to her room." I laughed appropriately and, because it seemed I had no choice what with him being twice my size, walked off with this completely interesting and bizarre stranger.

He told me his name was Renni, or Remmi, or something like that...I'm still no good at understanding anyone that was born and raised outside of London. He kept his arm around my shoulder, rambling on about his job as head tour guide when I quickly realized we were in windowless corridors, vacant and alone. Stupidly the first thought I had was, "My mom will be so pissed if I go missing because of this crazy guy. She told me to watch 'Taken,'" so I gripped my keys firmly between my fingers, just like they teach you in self defense, and kept my eyes peeled for possible escape routes.

It turned out he was quite the nice guy; he showed me to my room and with a half an hour to spare, so then he offered to take me on a tour of campus and help me learn the layout. I asked him about the beads, which he explained were a tribal tradition that he found quite lovely, and then informed me that he is third in line for the throne of some Caribbean tribe. (He swore to me that this was true.) We had a nice talk while he tried to explain the winding hallways to me, as well as introduced me to the staff of the building's cafe, although I am fairly positive the tour might have been more to his advantage than to mine, seeing as he kept his arm around me and introduced me as his American wife like it was show and tell day at Uni. He even had me speak with some of his friends, as if my voice was the validation that he was officially cool for knowing an American girl. He was very friendly and very nice and I am sure I'll see him around again sometime, especially since he informed me that his acting troop periodically performs in the courtyard.

I met several other interesting people as well. I talked to a man from Karachi who has a cousin in Reynoldsburg, several people from a scattering of different US States, and a blind girl from Russia, who lived in Texas for the past few years and is craving Tex-Mex food just as much as me. (We're planning a girls night out to the old Texas Embassy, now one of the few Tex-Mex restaurants in London.) I've made friends with a girl named Lauren in my program, from Florida of all places, and took her to Greenwich yesterday where we devoured copious amounts of foods from varying countries at the market.

I know that people say it a lot, but you really won't find a bustling city with friendlier people than London. They are patient and helpful and always know exactly which bus you need to take to get you to your destination.

The cats here are a different story altogether.

I came home a few nights ago to a cat meowing outside my apartment door. She was a little tiger kitty and purred when I spoke to her, but the combination of my horrible allergies and the stern rules set in place by my landlord kept me from bringing her inside. (Don't worry its not as cold here as it is back home. Its actually in the 50s and feeling a little like spring.) Then, this morning, I woke to a low, guttural sound coming from outside my window....at 9 am on a Sunday for crap's sake. When I finally acknowledged the fact that the noise was not something I could ignore, I crawled to the end of my bed, hoisted (hehe Alison) my blinds, and found a fat orange cat perched on my outside windowsill. He didn't seem to notice me and kept on with the low grunts, so I tapped on the glass hoping to scare him off. Instead he turned and looked at me with indignation and then proceeded to hiss in my face. To my own embarrassment I found myself talking back to the damn thing, saying, "Don't hiss at me, this is my damn windowsill." I looked up to the right and there perched on top of the fence was another cat, evidently the cause of the fat cat's foul mood. The cat on the fence proceeded to hiss at me as well. I was about to yell at the second cat when my brain finally began to function and I realized there was no reasoning with animals that don't speak English.

The cats haven't been back yet today but I suspect if they return tomorrow morning I will resort to throwing books at my window instead of trying to reason with them. I don't need my neighbors thinking I'm crazy this early in the game. 

Good (Soundproofing) Makes Good Neighbors

There is a peg-legged pirate with an overactive bladder living above me. I am not insane. Every morning I can hear this peg-legged soul frantically running from one end of the apartment to the other. I cannot see what he is doing, but from what I can hear it sounds as if he is feverishly cooking a hearty enlgish breakfast, beans and all, for at least seven guests. At night, while I lay in my bed, obsessively reading the last of the Stieg Larsson series, I can hear this peg-legged pirate hobble across the laminate floors and into the bathroom where he relieves himself on average for an impressive four or five minutes, only to hobble back across the flat and do it all over again twenty minutes later. Either the apartment above me is home to several people with physical disabilities, each with their respective fake leg or cane made of solid iron, or there is one man above me with an unfortunate handicap and an extremely overactive bladder.

I have never lived in a apartment before, the closest I ever came to one was during my dorm years, and even then the walls were made of concrete blocks and no one slept anyways. Last night, when I finally decided to go to bed around 1:30 in the morning, I thought about the poem by Robert Frost, Mending Wall, and realized that if the poem was to be rewritten today I don't think fences would be the weapon of choice to delineate the space that one neighbor possesses from another. Insulation, thick walls, or some form of soundproofing makes good neighbors in apartment living, and I am learning quickly that this adventure will be more challenging that I anticipated. I guess its a good thing I like a challenge.

Day One

(Written Saturday Evening...before I found internet)

This morning I took my dad to the airport, thus signifying the beginning of my solo adventure. And now, sitting here at 5:30, blaring my itunes and staring at my kitchen, let me recap the events of my first solo day of my first solo adventure.

Morning: The Importance of Hangers

I felt a rush of adrenaline walking down my street, back to my flat. I was so amped that despite the proper preparations, I decided to unpack all of my belongings and put them away. (Then end goal was to record a virtual tour of my flat for my mom…mission accomplished.) First I rearranged my room (my favorite past time) and then in a rush of excitement I dumped out all of my suitcases onto my bed. After filling the drawers of my dresser I turned to my closet, only to realize I had yet to buy hangers. Rookie mistake I suppose. Buying hangers wasn’t an option since I am completely ignorant about my neighborhood and am completely detached from the internet (except for when I visit McDonald’s, which may be everyday now). So for now, my “hanging necessary” clothes sit in a heap in my closet.

Afternoon: Movie, Dinner, and a Surprise

Nesting proves exhausting, so I decided to watch a movie after unpacking. I chose the Kite Runner, a movie I’ve owned for over a year but had never watched. I read the book a few years ago and have been slightly anxious about watching the terrible scenes I read about in the book. The movie proved to be completely heart breaking but also completely beautiful. If you haven’t watched it, I highly suggest it. But of course I think you should read the book as well, stimulate your mind and all that.

Once the movie was finished I walked to the nearest market. I’m sure the lady behind the counter could tell I am entirely new to the city because not only am I American but I was buying everything from toilet paper (the pink kind, do you remember it Greenwich friends?) to cans of soup to dish soap. (Not to mention that early in the morning I had asked the same woman how exactly I top up my electricity meter, something that seems to be common knowledge around here.)

I made dinner when I got home: a can of vegetable soup and a slice of bread, enticing I know. My OCD kicked in after dinner so once all the dishes were washed and on the drying rack, I turned my focus to the fridge. I had been told by the letting agency that it seemed to have a smell and could use a good cleaning. At the time I had no qualms with this, I never turn down an opportunity to scrub something until it smells like lemons.  I noticed the stench wasn’t improving much so I open the freezer compartment to investigate and immediately found the problem. The previous tenants had left a surprise for me,  a welcome package of no more than one bag of squid parts, one bag of barbequed chicken bits, and one carton of melted metropolitan ice cream.

Even sitting here on the couch now, the fridge still airing itself out, I can smell a hint of seafood, barbeque sauce, and spoiled milk. As much as I appreciate the gesture of a house warming present, previous tenants, a house plant would have been just fine.