Something Like That

A few days ago after a successful dinner at Nando’s, the following conversation occurred:

-I wonder if girls can go into the Gentleman’s Club.
-I don’t see why they can’t.
-But I heard that in some places it’s only for guys and girls can’t go in.
-They can’t do that.
-Why not?
-Because that would be sexist.

As we come upon the club (while we’re still debating the matter) I tell one of them to go ask the bouncers. So one of them does. The following conversation occurs:

-Are girls allowed inside?
-No.
-Why not?
-Because we’re sexist.
[silence followed by the bouncer laughing]
-Just joking. Yea you’re allowed inside.

Crazy shenanigans in England. Thus far i have booked a trip to Paris with the rest of the internationals and then a trip to London with some internationals that I meant the first couple days here and then I booked another trip to London later in March for some personal time and exploration of London.

Everyone here is incredibly nice and it’s great being part of it, but sometimes it’s also rather lonesome, because of the language barriers I suppose but also the personal barriers. These people have gone through similar things and have already bonded whereas I have just arrived, lived in a different country, went through a different education system and life in general, and yet there are still some things that are universal. Overall, it’s a pretty great experience so far. I have a to read two novels a week for my modules but that’s not too bad. I guess over time, over the term, I’m hoping I become closer friends with these people so eventually when I leave I can consider myself truly part of their little group of friends they have created.

Want a cuppa?

Because it is the acceptable thing to do I am drinking tea with milk and coffee with milk 24/7 here and I don’t hate it. It’s actually quite nice and relaxing although I don’t understand how people can drink it that fast. It’s so hot it burns my tongue! Do these people not have the burning gene on their tongues? I guess not. Or maybe their hands are specialized to cool down the tea to a perfect temperature so they can drink it in one go. I have to wait for ten minutes after the water boils before I can drink from my cup, much less hold it. Ouch, that’s hot.

Sandwiches are my new favorite meal. They are easy to prepare and have simple ingredients plus they cover every part of the food pyramid, food circle, pie chart, whatever nutritional value thing. I do believe you can find that out at myplate.gov but I could be wrong.

I don’t know if we have this in America but they have these packets of soup. Similar to how hot chocolate can be in packages, these are packages of soup in which you add boiling water, mix, and then enjoy (Seriously, that’s what the box says) and I’ve had two packets already (there’s a different name for the packet but I can’t remember right now).

This post was all about food because I need to go food shopping and buy milk chocolate digestives and I also need to buy groceries. Our freezer is full so I can only buy fresh things or things to put in the pantry. Fun.

Birds flying home

A comment on the title: I just saw a couple grey tailed birds (unsure of their name) fly into this square hole (holes are usually round aren’t they…I wonder if it’s square whether it counts as a hole?) on the other side of the river/canal. I’m guessing that’s where their nest is.

Intermission

The days are so empty. When I was walking back to my flat today I met a couple of my flat mates and as I left them to their walk I began characterizing the members of my flat to a story. I even began composing in my head but unfortunately I’ve forgotten a lot of it. I was going to write it down once I got back but there were four people in the kitchen and in my excitement I forgot about the story. Besides, if I eventually turn it into a story then I might face some copyright issues, but to hell with it. Here’s as much as I can remember (BTW the below story is fictional and is in no way representative of any real life people):

The lady of the house wears black kohl around her eyes, creating the most fierce and haughty stare I’ve ever seen. She dons naturally curly hair and a simple jumper over grey leggings. Her mannerisms are simple but complicated, and though she never explicitly gives commands she is held at the highest respect.The lady of the house does not have a man. Instead there is the loveable butler, but not so much butler as confidant. He cleans and fixes things. The man of many trades but master of none. He is tall and skinny, a physique any fit man would regret not having and his pale blue eyes are kind with the cleverness of a fox. The child, not of the lady but from his disposition, is tall and wears trousers that fall around his knees so he is crossed and waddles like the kin of a penguin. On the kitchen counter lay his belongings, cooked food long forgotten and rotting, dishes piling up into crusted pasta sauce. Eventually the confidant raises his hand and takes the sponge to them. This child parties until he does not know up from down but every night he manages to make it home. He never leaves for education. The quiet one remains in his room and can only be seen in the morning eating a bowl of puffs, staring out the window, wondering about the temperature and the weather. Then there’s me, the final inhabitant of the abode. I am the stranger, the person who has come into their life and shaken things up but barely created a dent. They are kind and feed me and introduce me to their ways. I am still learning.

There it is. It turned out differently from how it started. I’m probably not going to go anywhere with it. When I get a more regular schedule I plan on leaving and going to cafe’s and writing, reading, exploring the hell out of the UK and Europe.

The View From Up Here

From my window, which takes up an entire wall cut up into three sections, I can see the building across from mine, a twin image of white cinder blocks stacked on top of each other in a fleeting form rising to the slanted roofs of England. The English and their slanted roofs, but really, everyone has slanted roofs. The river is solemn and dry, running twenty feet deep and dark, swelling against the white underbelly of the graffiti-ed building on its opposite shore. There is a single lamp post but its light is not lost in the dark that descends too early, for there are a few yellow candles along the prison walls that I inhabit and they light the otherwise blackness.

My room is small, but large for a single. A single desk and chair, bed, and bedding pack awaited me when I arrived. On the desk was a brown box that said “UEA First Class” and I spent twenty minutes staring at it, looking into its nooks and crannies, wanting to open it but not wanting to break it. For safe keeping, you understand. There are three shelves, four if you include the counter, and then three drawers, which are all stacked in a column next to a closet that came with hangers and more shelves. My shoes are on the floor. There is a furnace and it is warm, but slow to heat. The ledge on the window is where I have placed my beauty products, because I am at a lack of space. Nothing but bags and red carpet are on the floor. When I step into my room I am a movie star.

The city has cobblestones, not good for heels or sneakers and a pain for growing calves. The streets wind up and down and left and right. The market sits multicolored and striped. British people and international people walk by. The buses are double-deckers and if you sit at the top front seats you can see the world. And the castle. It is quite boring, built of leggos.

The university is built so you are forever suspended in mid-air, not knowing if you are on the ground floor or up above. It always seems like you’re standing on the ground until you come upon steps leading down. At the pub they serve you apple sweat and lagers so thick it will melt your blood until you are a gecko stuck to the walls or the windows, whichever is nearest. But really, you’re just a stack of cards.

Hello Old World

England has been a landslide of old countries and new faces and life in between. We stay suspended in mid-air and drink apple sweat that costs two pound forty or so going up the river or down the river, not knowing which way leads us home. I’ve lost track of time and good friends and new friends and can’t reorient myself because I don’t know where the fuck I’m going. Good night, sweat world, I will greet you again tomorrow morning. I’m guessing English coffee doesn’t have caffeine in it because I am really incredibly tired even though I had a cup.