Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Don't Tell The University I'm Hiding In Here
I don't have anything related to classes until Monday, apparently. However, the university has evidently decided that the best way to keep their internationals from having meltdowns is to keep us too busy to sit down, start thinking about things, and freak out, so they've given us a little booklet full of things to do, marked by things we absolutely have to do, things we really should do, and things that might be fun. (This is actually a brilliant idea, and exactly what we used to do when I was working as a camp counselor - keep the kids completely occupied until they pass out, exhausted, at bedtime, and that way there's less crying.) They're also really, really big on us joining several of their millions of societies and seem to generally disapprove of us staying in our rooms doing nothing but study. I'm doing my best, but I can only take social interaction for so long. Today everyone is supposed to go and meet up in their department and meet their tutor and all that, except apparently for archaeology postgraduates, who don't have to do anything until next Monday. I might go out later and look for free food (free is good when you keep having to double all the prices in your head to remind you how much you're paying) and set up my bank account, but for now I'm just trying to finish unpacking before I get dragged out again to do something else.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Traveling, dorms, and how some British guy almost scared me to death
I don't really remember a lot of yesterday and the day before, but I'll share anyway.
My parents got me to the airport about 5 hours early, bought me lunch, stood around and watched me check my luggage (took forever), wandered around the airport with me for about another hour, and then finally said goodbye in front of the security line. They were distinctly freaked out. I don't blame them. I was distinctly freaked out during my entire first flight and kept having the "What have I done??" thoughts, until around the time I landed in Dublin, at which point my brain decided that the best way to deal with all of this was to pretend it wasn't happening.
By the time I got to Heathrow I was in a serene daze of unreality. The university's organization there was a complete clusterfuck and it took them three hours to get us all on their transportation and start taking us to school. I stood around with my suitcases and other dazed international students for quite some time, but I don't remember most of that. I kept dozing off on the way to school, so I don't remember much of that, either. I remember staring calmly out the window at sheep and Car Boot Sales and thinking "This isn't really happening. I had my life all planned out and there was nothing like this involved. I'll wake up and it will be early February and none of this will have occured."
By the time I got to school I was filthy and mostly asleep. I got my room key and someone took me to the dorm, and some guy took my suitcases from me and carried them up the stairs for me (which was probably the best thing anyone could have done for me, because the thought of trying to get them up the stairs made me want to burst into tears). The dorm is...scary, but I didn't really have the energy to deal with it and merely went "oh. wow." I showered and went out again because I was supposed to, called my parents from the first telephone booth I saw (I only had three free minutes on my card, so it was a "Hi I'm here I'm alive everything is alright bye" kind of call), skipped the party I was also supposed to go to, bought some scary prepackaged thing in the student union (which they apparently call the student guild hall here) and passed out.
Before I left, I read that there are three distict stages of culture shock. In the first one, you are incredibly enthusiastic about the new culture and tend to write home and gush about it. In the second, you realize that things don't work the same way there and become resentful. In the third, you get used to the differences and are comfortable there.
I seem to be going through all three at once. I am wildly enthusiastic about the Ben & Jerry's vending machine outside my dorm, I'm kind of appalled by the dorm itself, and mostly everything seems okay to me. Except for the fact that I can't have anything from the library until my student card is activated tomorrow, that is.
The dorm was built about 768945067 years ago, give or take, and whenever I told a student helper which one I was in they would laugh knowingly. It's a little scary in here. It's divided up into sub-dorms which are basically giant apartments with 12 bedrooms, a kitchen, a tiny lounge (the 12 chairs and coffee table take up all the available floor space) and a shower, bath, and two toilets in their own separate rooms. The whole thing is incredibly narrow and blocked off by fire doors at random intervals. If you are standing in the hall, there's barely room for another person to get by. The toilets are the kind with an overhead resevoir that flush with a chain, and the shower is basically a closet sized room with the spout on one end, a drain on the floor, and a hook at the other - in other words, it just leads directly to the hall, which I found really weird. There's also a random room with a connected sink and tub and overhead racks, which I hope to God isn't intended for laundry. (This is what I get for saying "Meh, better to live in the cheapest dorm and save money.")
My room is actually kind of nice. It's not very large, but it's bigger than I thought it would be. It's kind of cinderblocky and the bulletin board is frankly gross-looking, but it has a bed, a bedside table, a huge wardrobe, a sink with mirror and light, a desk and padded swivel chair, bookshelves, and a carpet that really looks too nice for a dorm room. The pirate flag will cover up a good percentage of the bulletin board (yes, it was terribly important to bring!). I would actually rate it higher than the room I had at Pardee Tower, where you didn't want to walk barefoot on the rug and you had to keep kicking the closet door back into its slot (oh, USC, how I do not miss you) - everything is in good shape. Also, once I found the Ethernet slot (in probably the last place you would look, except maybe for the ceiling or down the sink drain) it hooked me up immediately without demanding that I tromp across campus and register my computer and router and wait 24 hours for Internet access (oh, USC, how I hated you outright).
I got a little activity booklet and have been spending today doing what it tells me to. I went and heard people talk about the college (of course, as all colleges do, they talked about their Most Famous Graduate - someday, I may have to admit who it is and where I am, as I'm currently having to omit a lot of funny things to avoid giving away my location), I got given free stuff, and I got my student ID. I also found out why the place took me, although the guy checking my documents had to scare the bejeezus out of me so I could. I went to show the admissions people my passport and diploma as their letter told me to, and they guy asked for my graduate anthropology degree. I beg your pardon? I have this fine arts degree here, and some transcripts, and, um...Much muttering to the supervisor ensues. It seems they admitted me because of the anthropology classes I took at the community college (and, presumably, the volunteer work at the dig) and they thought I had a diploma to verify that. Um, no. They kind of went "Oh, okay," when I explained about the classes, and they approved me for full admission, so I'm hoping everything is alright. I didn't lie on the application (obviously) so I don't know where that came from. Hopefully, there's no basis for the archaeology people to give a howl of outrage and boot me back to America.
Anyway, I have more things to do just now. I'm sure I'll have more to write about later.
My parents got me to the airport about 5 hours early, bought me lunch, stood around and watched me check my luggage (took forever), wandered around the airport with me for about another hour, and then finally said goodbye in front of the security line. They were distinctly freaked out. I don't blame them. I was distinctly freaked out during my entire first flight and kept having the "What have I done??" thoughts, until around the time I landed in Dublin, at which point my brain decided that the best way to deal with all of this was to pretend it wasn't happening.
By the time I got to Heathrow I was in a serene daze of unreality. The university's organization there was a complete clusterfuck and it took them three hours to get us all on their transportation and start taking us to school. I stood around with my suitcases and other dazed international students for quite some time, but I don't remember most of that. I kept dozing off on the way to school, so I don't remember much of that, either. I remember staring calmly out the window at sheep and Car Boot Sales and thinking "This isn't really happening. I had my life all planned out and there was nothing like this involved. I'll wake up and it will be early February and none of this will have occured."
By the time I got to school I was filthy and mostly asleep. I got my room key and someone took me to the dorm, and some guy took my suitcases from me and carried them up the stairs for me (which was probably the best thing anyone could have done for me, because the thought of trying to get them up the stairs made me want to burst into tears). The dorm is...scary, but I didn't really have the energy to deal with it and merely went "oh. wow." I showered and went out again because I was supposed to, called my parents from the first telephone booth I saw (I only had three free minutes on my card, so it was a "Hi I'm here I'm alive everything is alright bye" kind of call), skipped the party I was also supposed to go to, bought some scary prepackaged thing in the student union (which they apparently call the student guild hall here) and passed out.
Before I left, I read that there are three distict stages of culture shock. In the first one, you are incredibly enthusiastic about the new culture and tend to write home and gush about it. In the second, you realize that things don't work the same way there and become resentful. In the third, you get used to the differences and are comfortable there.
I seem to be going through all three at once. I am wildly enthusiastic about the Ben & Jerry's vending machine outside my dorm, I'm kind of appalled by the dorm itself, and mostly everything seems okay to me. Except for the fact that I can't have anything from the library until my student card is activated tomorrow, that is.
The dorm was built about 768945067 years ago, give or take, and whenever I told a student helper which one I was in they would laugh knowingly. It's a little scary in here. It's divided up into sub-dorms which are basically giant apartments with 12 bedrooms, a kitchen, a tiny lounge (the 12 chairs and coffee table take up all the available floor space) and a shower, bath, and two toilets in their own separate rooms. The whole thing is incredibly narrow and blocked off by fire doors at random intervals. If you are standing in the hall, there's barely room for another person to get by. The toilets are the kind with an overhead resevoir that flush with a chain, and the shower is basically a closet sized room with the spout on one end, a drain on the floor, and a hook at the other - in other words, it just leads directly to the hall, which I found really weird. There's also a random room with a connected sink and tub and overhead racks, which I hope to God isn't intended for laundry. (This is what I get for saying "Meh, better to live in the cheapest dorm and save money.")
My room is actually kind of nice. It's not very large, but it's bigger than I thought it would be. It's kind of cinderblocky and the bulletin board is frankly gross-looking, but it has a bed, a bedside table, a huge wardrobe, a sink with mirror and light, a desk and padded swivel chair, bookshelves, and a carpet that really looks too nice for a dorm room. The pirate flag will cover up a good percentage of the bulletin board (yes, it was terribly important to bring!). I would actually rate it higher than the room I had at Pardee Tower, where you didn't want to walk barefoot on the rug and you had to keep kicking the closet door back into its slot (oh, USC, how I do not miss you) - everything is in good shape. Also, once I found the Ethernet slot (in probably the last place you would look, except maybe for the ceiling or down the sink drain) it hooked me up immediately without demanding that I tromp across campus and register my computer and router and wait 24 hours for Internet access (oh, USC, how I hated you outright).
I got a little activity booklet and have been spending today doing what it tells me to. I went and heard people talk about the college (of course, as all colleges do, they talked about their Most Famous Graduate - someday, I may have to admit who it is and where I am, as I'm currently having to omit a lot of funny things to avoid giving away my location), I got given free stuff, and I got my student ID. I also found out why the place took me, although the guy checking my documents had to scare the bejeezus out of me so I could. I went to show the admissions people my passport and diploma as their letter told me to, and they guy asked for my graduate anthropology degree. I beg your pardon? I have this fine arts degree here, and some transcripts, and, um...Much muttering to the supervisor ensues. It seems they admitted me because of the anthropology classes I took at the community college (and, presumably, the volunteer work at the dig) and they thought I had a diploma to verify that. Um, no. They kind of went "Oh, okay," when I explained about the classes, and they approved me for full admission, so I'm hoping everything is alright. I didn't lie on the application (obviously) so I don't know where that came from. Hopefully, there's no basis for the archaeology people to give a howl of outrage and boot me back to America.
Anyway, I have more things to do just now. I'm sure I'll have more to write about later.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
I'm here!
You can all stop worrying now.
Believe me, I have plenty to write, but I haven't slept in 30 hours, not counting the times I dozed off sitting upright. You'll hear more when I'm recovered.
Believe me, I have plenty to write, but I haven't slept in 30 hours, not counting the times I dozed off sitting upright. You'll hear more when I'm recovered.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Packing List
So, I'm supposed to leave in three and a half hours (seven hours early for my flight - I do acknowledge that you should leave a lot of extra time for international flights, and that this new airport, which I've never been to, is scary to drive to - but still, my mother is insane) and I thought I would update this before I go.
What I'm apparently doing is flying from here into Ireland, going through customs there, and then flying on to England, where the school will retrieve me from the airport (good, because jetlag makes me cranky, irrational and totally unable to understand train schedules. Plus, I have this luggage.) Anyway, this Ireland thing seemed like a good idea in June when we were making reservations, particularly considering how much more a direct flight cost, but now I'm beginning to not be so pleased with it. The problem is that I think I have to uncheck my luggage, drag it through customs, then recheck it. I do have a long enough stopover to do this, but I'm feeling less than enthusiastic about it (jetlag = cranky). I'd really be more than okay with them rifling through my stuff without me, as long as I don't have to haul it around a strange airport and then wait in line to give it back, but unfortunately I don't get to make these decisions.
Anyway, I most probably won't update again until at least Monday, since by the time I get to school on Sunday I'll probably just do a faceplant on the bed. (The school has some kind of party on Sunday night for international students, even though we all have to arrive that day for them to pick us up. It is to laugh.)
Also, I will now share my packing list (with commentary!) It's going to reveal how horribly spoiled I am. I won't even try to defend myself. It's also broken into rough categories for your convenience, even though I suspect it's totally useless to everyone who isn't me.
Packing List
Bathroom:
Accessories:
Carry-on:
Electronics:
(Obviously, some of these will be in the carry-on)
Bedroom:
Right. Assuming I don't have catastrophic technical difficulties, I will see you all on Monday.
What I'm apparently doing is flying from here into Ireland, going through customs there, and then flying on to England, where the school will retrieve me from the airport (good, because jetlag makes me cranky, irrational and totally unable to understand train schedules. Plus, I have this luggage.) Anyway, this Ireland thing seemed like a good idea in June when we were making reservations, particularly considering how much more a direct flight cost, but now I'm beginning to not be so pleased with it. The problem is that I think I have to uncheck my luggage, drag it through customs, then recheck it. I do have a long enough stopover to do this, but I'm feeling less than enthusiastic about it (jetlag = cranky). I'd really be more than okay with them rifling through my stuff without me, as long as I don't have to haul it around a strange airport and then wait in line to give it back, but unfortunately I don't get to make these decisions.
Anyway, I most probably won't update again until at least Monday, since by the time I get to school on Sunday I'll probably just do a faceplant on the bed. (The school has some kind of party on Sunday night for international students, even though we all have to arrive that day for them to pick us up. It is to laugh.)
Also, I will now share my packing list (with commentary!) It's going to reveal how horribly spoiled I am. I won't even try to defend myself. It's also broken into rough categories for your convenience, even though I suspect it's totally useless to everyone who isn't me.
Packing List
Bathroom:
- Sudafed and Aleve (if these two things can't fix me, I know to go to the doctor - and I think they are controlled over there)
- DivaCup
- toothbrush/paste, floss
- contact lenses/saline solution (I was warned that saline solution is obscenely expensive over there)
- glasses
- makeup/nails
- razor
- bathrobe
- vitamins
- hair towel
- handmirror
- retainer (I still have to wear it a few times a month. It sucks.)
Accessories:
- earrings
- heels
- running clothes/shoes
- shower shoes (NOOOO! I thought I was done with this!)
- scarf, hat, gloves
- raincoat (when the Californians warned me about the terrible cold, I knew to laugh at them. When the British warned me that an umbrella doesn't always help because the wind will blow all the rain under it and soak you anyway, I figured I should take them seriously.)
- sewing kit
- hair accessories
- purse (and this was when I realized I didn't own one)
- messenger bag
- thick socks (instead of slippers, which I never wear)
- watch/rings/necklaces
Carry-on:
- underwear, shirt, socks, deodorant, soap (In case my luggage is lost)
- USC diploma, transcripts, extra passport photos (wacky things the school asked me to bring for no discernible reason)
- Handbook For Clueless International Students (which the school sent)
- International Student ID Card (is also a calling card and travel insurance)
- British money
- driver's license
- umbrella
- fleece jacket (which I borrowed from NephthysWrath when her family took me to New York last weekend, and intended to return, until her mother bequeathed it to me)
- books (I seem to be down to ten, so not all of them will be in the carry-on, obviously)
- markers and tiny fuzzy posters (which NephthysWrath gave me last night to amuse myself with on the plane)
- finger puppets (which another friend gave me ages ago to amuse myself with on the rides to and from California)
- coat (it's too big to pack and would take up half a suitcase, so I'll just carry it along)
Electronics:
(Obviously, some of these will be in the carry-on)
- laptop
- USB hub
- external hard drive
- portable DVD player
- MP3 player
- digital camera
- router (my dad has firewall paranoia; I find it best not to argue and just drag the thing along)
- surge protector
- microphone (for Skype)
- adapter
- converter
- clock radio
- cell phone and charger (it doesn't work over there, but it does make a good emergency alarm clock)
Bedroom:
- Photos and postcards
- Cross-stitching (you have to have something to do that has nothing to do with your major, so going through the library's history books is no longer an option)
- pajamas
- cookbooks (vegetarian, and with very simple instructions)
- stuffed animal (I brought Procyon the puppy when I realized Regulus the lion was going to take up too much luggage space. Yes, I do amuse myself.)
- clothes (wow, was that the least helpful item on the entire list?)
- journal
- cinnamon tea (I'm pretty sure England has tea, but this is the only kind I can stand to drink hot)
- map
- sarong (I did not pack this because I can't find it, but I firmly believe that everyone should pack a sarong)
- bathing suit
- laundry bag
- pirate flag
Right. Assuming I don't have catastrophic technical difficulties, I will see you all on Monday.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thanks for that
I'm working on a longer post, but for now I will just say this. The very best way to describe my dad, so that you can fully appreciate what it is like to live with him, is to describe what he's been doing while I've been packing. He got me an external terabyte drive for my birthday so I could put my movies on it and not have to lug millions of tons of DVDs to England. While I have been preoccupied with procuring clothes and money and a raincoat, he has been sneaking movies like Arsenic and Old Lace and My Stepmother Is An Alien onto it.
Pretty much the entire goal of everyone in my family is to annoy the living crap out of each other. He wins this round.
Pretty much the entire goal of everyone in my family is to annoy the living crap out of each other. He wins this round.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
More Packing, and The Trainwreck Keeps On Skidding Down The Rails
There isn't all that much new. I do finally have a packing list, though (NephthysWrath helped me - turns out these things work better when you categorize the items, as opposed to making one long list in which you write things down three times. Dur.) It's even marked by Things I Must Buy, Things That Are Sitting All Over My Floor (they actually aren't anymore - they're in piles by category), and Things That Are Hidden Somewhere In The House. Thank goodness for friends with tidy minds. I'm trying to take care of the last category during the rest of this week, and then this weekend NephthysWrath is going to help me buy and pack everything. (Come on - packing is much more entertaining when there are two people and pizza involved.) I'll post the packing list later. The packing lists I found online were thoroughly unhelpful, which is why I kind of had to make my own from scratch, so I figured I would throw another one out there. Mine is probably thoroughly unhelpful to everyone else, too, but I'll post it anyway.
In other news - my mother is currently fluctuating between "I thought I raised David better than this! *sniffle*" and "Why the hell is that boy so gullible?" with a side of "Couldn't he find anyone in L.A. to date?" She was beginning to calm down until he called last night and set her off again. My dad is still not home, but when he gets home tomorrow night I predict much entertainment. She currently has some sort of Evil Plan in which my dad finds some excuse to accompany David to the city. I am grateful that I never brought anyone home and that I only have to listen to this for about nine more days.
In other news - my mother is currently fluctuating between "I thought I raised David better than this! *sniffle*" and "Why the hell is that boy so gullible?" with a side of "Couldn't he find anyone in L.A. to date?" She was beginning to calm down until he called last night and set her off again. My dad is still not home, but when he gets home tomorrow night I predict much entertainment. She currently has some sort of Evil Plan in which my dad finds some excuse to accompany David to the city. I am grateful that I never brought anyone home and that I only have to listen to this for about nine more days.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Great Family Trainwreck of 2008
subtitle: Why I Am Suddenly, Since The Last 24 Hours, Wildly Enthusiastic About Leaving For England And Possibly Never Coming Back.
I would also like to point out, before I begin, that I am the only completely innocent person here, so why I am receiving waves of hostility from both sides is totally beyond me.
So my brother met this girl on World of Warcrack. (I'll pause for a moment so you can all react in the appropriate manner. Done? Good.) Apparently they hit it off rather well and have been talking daily for the past couple of months, and now it's getting rather serious and he would like to go to her city and meet her. He does have enough money saved up that he could probably manage it on his own if he needed to, but he'd rather our parents knew and approved, which is good. The only problem is, our parents are....they're....well, let me put it this way; if I were in his place, I'm not sure I wouldn't prefer being ripped apart by enraged hyenas to discussing this with them. They may be the two awkwardest people alive, plus they're sarcastic, and my dad in particular will tease without mercy. That doesn't really explain, or describe the cringing horror I feel at the thought that someday, if life doesn't go as I plan, I might have to ask them to invite my boyfriend over to visit, but it's really the best I can do. So, he IMs me first (he is currently back at school in California) to ask me what I think he should do, which I really don't blame him for, and I am as sympathetic, non-awkward, and unsarcastic as it is possible for me to be. I told him, basically, that he should call our mother and explain the situation, as I thought, at the time, that she would react better. This was yesterday.
I have to admit, at this point, that his description of the girl raised a couple of red flags for me, but as I don't know the whole situation (this is the first I was hearing of it) and I figured he would discuss it in more detail with our parents, I issued a small caution but I didn't do anything else.
I really don't think he could have blown this whole situation better if he'd tried. He called the house, I heard my mother pick up the phone, and I went upstairs to make my bed and shift the piles of England stuff around a few more times for no reason. There's no shouting from downstairs, so I figure it's going okay. Ten minutes later, my mother knocks on my door, and proceeds to blow a gasket. At me. My mother does this thing where she is very diplomatic for up to about 15 minutes at a time, and then she can't hold it in any longer and explodes without warning, and I got caught in her path. (It's always me. I don't know why.) So she apparently was very calm about explaining that she didn't think he should go because he didn't know this girl, how did he know she wasn't an axe murderer or covered in hair, how does he know those pictures she sent were even of her, all the sensible things you would ask in that situation to make sure the person is still here in reality with the rest of us. And then she dragged me out and said everything she really wanted to say to him but couldn't because she was being diplomatic - what a damn naif he is, this girl is totally raising red flags, doesn't he have more common sense than this, if he had dated more in high school he'd have a damn clue and we wouldn't be having this problem now, etc, etc, you get the picture, I'm sure.
I made a tactical error here, I have to admit. I did tell him that it was best to just discuss it with them, but my mother reacted to the fact that she had never even heard about this girl and now my brother was telling her about everything in a five-minute blurb and oh, by the way, can I have some money to travel to this other city, which won't be cheap. You need to give her time to adjust to these things. I remembered, too late, that when I wanted to apply for grad school in a different major I spent weeks carefully prepping her. If you spring things like this on her suddenly she blows up. Given how thoroughly unperceptive David is, I really ought to have warned him about this, but I just didn't think to.
The other problem is that he couldn't have timed it worse in terms of our finances. He just got an expensive apartment and furniture, we just paid my housing deposit and tuition for both of us, and, best of all, our parents just booked flights to England to visit me for Christmas last night. If you're going to ask them for something expensive, you have to time these things better or be careful how you ask, and he apparently hasn't learned this lesson yet.
So, while I was attempting to calm her down or at least remove myself from the line of fire, David was brilliantly compounding his error by calling our dad (who is away from home right now). I wasn't able to warn him not to because my mother had sprouted tentacles and was sucking me down into her vortex of righteous anger, and I'm not really sure what actually happened there anyway. David told me later that Dad said it was okay if Mom said it was okay, but as he completely failed to pick up on how Mom was mutating and growing fangs even as he spoke to her, so I don't think that's what was actually meant.
Then, once I had gotten her to let go and her eyes had stopped glowing and faded back to a dark yellow, Dad called her. She took that one in the bedroom, and by this point I was attempting to stop David from compounding the problem by calling her yet again (he's such a boy, he simply has no idea) so I really don't know what happened there, either. So, at this point, my brother is playing Romeo on my computer screen, telling me that if Mom doesn't let him meet this girl he will hate her for ever and ever omg, and my mother is standing in the doorway snarling through a mouthful of teeth like a deep-sea fish that by golly that dumbass kid isn't going anywhere until after Christmas break, and during Christmas break we are all going to visit me in England and we are going to have a family talk (translation - my mother is going to do her damndest to talk him out of it, and for some reason I have to be there). It was all rather uncomfortable. Then my mother stomped off to bed, snorting smoke and dragging her tail, I spent another half hour talking David out of any more phone calls and trying to contain the damage, and now I am really looking forward to putting an ocean between me and my family and trying desperately to think of a place to be on Thursday evening when Dad gets home, any place at all that isn't here.
So, to sum this up - my brother has a secret girlfriend, and wants to meet her, and thought the best thing to do would be to spring this on our parents all at once just as they are preparing to live on pasta for a month while they pay off expenses (not really).
Well played, Scorpius family. Well played.
I would also like to point out, before I begin, that I am the only completely innocent person here, so why I am receiving waves of hostility from both sides is totally beyond me.
So my brother met this girl on World of Warcrack. (I'll pause for a moment so you can all react in the appropriate manner. Done? Good.) Apparently they hit it off rather well and have been talking daily for the past couple of months, and now it's getting rather serious and he would like to go to her city and meet her. He does have enough money saved up that he could probably manage it on his own if he needed to, but he'd rather our parents knew and approved, which is good. The only problem is, our parents are....they're....well, let me put it this way; if I were in his place, I'm not sure I wouldn't prefer being ripped apart by enraged hyenas to discussing this with them. They may be the two awkwardest people alive, plus they're sarcastic, and my dad in particular will tease without mercy. That doesn't really explain, or describe the cringing horror I feel at the thought that someday, if life doesn't go as I plan, I might have to ask them to invite my boyfriend over to visit, but it's really the best I can do. So, he IMs me first (he is currently back at school in California) to ask me what I think he should do, which I really don't blame him for, and I am as sympathetic, non-awkward, and unsarcastic as it is possible for me to be. I told him, basically, that he should call our mother and explain the situation, as I thought, at the time, that she would react better. This was yesterday.
I have to admit, at this point, that his description of the girl raised a couple of red flags for me, but as I don't know the whole situation (this is the first I was hearing of it) and I figured he would discuss it in more detail with our parents, I issued a small caution but I didn't do anything else.
I really don't think he could have blown this whole situation better if he'd tried. He called the house, I heard my mother pick up the phone, and I went upstairs to make my bed and shift the piles of England stuff around a few more times for no reason. There's no shouting from downstairs, so I figure it's going okay. Ten minutes later, my mother knocks on my door, and proceeds to blow a gasket. At me. My mother does this thing where she is very diplomatic for up to about 15 minutes at a time, and then she can't hold it in any longer and explodes without warning, and I got caught in her path. (It's always me. I don't know why.) So she apparently was very calm about explaining that she didn't think he should go because he didn't know this girl, how did he know she wasn't an axe murderer or covered in hair, how does he know those pictures she sent were even of her, all the sensible things you would ask in that situation to make sure the person is still here in reality with the rest of us. And then she dragged me out and said everything she really wanted to say to him but couldn't because she was being diplomatic - what a damn naif he is, this girl is totally raising red flags, doesn't he have more common sense than this, if he had dated more in high school he'd have a damn clue and we wouldn't be having this problem now, etc, etc, you get the picture, I'm sure.
I made a tactical error here, I have to admit. I did tell him that it was best to just discuss it with them, but my mother reacted to the fact that she had never even heard about this girl and now my brother was telling her about everything in a five-minute blurb and oh, by the way, can I have some money to travel to this other city, which won't be cheap. You need to give her time to adjust to these things. I remembered, too late, that when I wanted to apply for grad school in a different major I spent weeks carefully prepping her. If you spring things like this on her suddenly she blows up. Given how thoroughly unperceptive David is, I really ought to have warned him about this, but I just didn't think to.
The other problem is that he couldn't have timed it worse in terms of our finances. He just got an expensive apartment and furniture, we just paid my housing deposit and tuition for both of us, and, best of all, our parents just booked flights to England to visit me for Christmas last night. If you're going to ask them for something expensive, you have to time these things better or be careful how you ask, and he apparently hasn't learned this lesson yet.
So, while I was attempting to calm her down or at least remove myself from the line of fire, David was brilliantly compounding his error by calling our dad (who is away from home right now). I wasn't able to warn him not to because my mother had sprouted tentacles and was sucking me down into her vortex of righteous anger, and I'm not really sure what actually happened there anyway. David told me later that Dad said it was okay if Mom said it was okay, but as he completely failed to pick up on how Mom was mutating and growing fangs even as he spoke to her, so I don't think that's what was actually meant.
Then, once I had gotten her to let go and her eyes had stopped glowing and faded back to a dark yellow, Dad called her. She took that one in the bedroom, and by this point I was attempting to stop David from compounding the problem by calling her yet again (he's such a boy, he simply has no idea) so I really don't know what happened there, either. So, at this point, my brother is playing Romeo on my computer screen, telling me that if Mom doesn't let him meet this girl he will hate her for ever and ever omg, and my mother is standing in the doorway snarling through a mouthful of teeth like a deep-sea fish that by golly that dumbass kid isn't going anywhere until after Christmas break, and during Christmas break we are all going to visit me in England and we are going to have a family talk (translation - my mother is going to do her damndest to talk him out of it, and for some reason I have to be there). It was all rather uncomfortable. Then my mother stomped off to bed, snorting smoke and dragging her tail, I spent another half hour talking David out of any more phone calls and trying to contain the damage, and now I am really looking forward to putting an ocean between me and my family and trying desperately to think of a place to be on Thursday evening when Dad gets home, any place at all that isn't here.
So, to sum this up - my brother has a secret girlfriend, and wants to meet her, and thought the best thing to do would be to spring this on our parents all at once just as they are preparing to live on pasta for a month while they pay off expenses (not really).
Well played, Scorpius family. Well played.
Monday, September 15, 2008
My Cousin
I should probably share more about this.
The essential problem we have is that my cousin and I could not be more perfect opposites if we had been designed that way. I am a night person; she is a day person. Most emphatically a day person. I have skin so pale you can see all the veins right through it; she has a dark tan. My hair is so straight and flat that if I am not careful the tips of my ears poke through it; she has a headful of wild curls. If I were an outside observer, I would refuse to believe the two of us were related.
Sharing a house was a terrible, terrible thing. You see, I'm not really a fan of the sun at all, or heat, or summer in general, so when left to myself I go running at sunrise, come home, sleep through the hottest, brightest part of the day, do yardwork or take a walk once the terrible yellow hurtball is below tree level, then stay up all night working on the inside of the coast house, studying, or stargazing. My cousin is a fan of lying in the sun all day and playing our grandparents' phonograph at top volume. Seeing us do yardwork together was an education, I'm sure. Since I was up against my will anyway, I sat on the patio scratching unenthusiastically at weeds and moss and trying to stay in the shade while my cousin rampaged around me, trailing thorny vines out behind her for twenty feet. Then there were the "peaceful" evenings, with me attempting to study Latin at the kitchen table while my cousin divided her time between talking at me and talking at her cellphone (it will not surprise you to learn that she comes in one volume, and that volume is Loud.)
I did go to the beach and the lake with her. I'm proud to say that on these occasions I managed to drive her nuts right back. I refuse to go to either the beach or the lake during the day, because I have to spend half an hour carefully applying sunblock just so that I can get burned anyway, and also because I refused to shave my legs just to go swimming, and no one can see your leg rug in the dark, if there were anyone there to see it. And it was my car, dammit, so if she wanted a ride she was going when I said we were going (the beach is easy enough to walk to, so it wasn't like I was being unfair.) Plus, in the dark it is easier to give the impression of listening to someone when you are really floating on your back with your ears underwater, admiring the Summer Triangle (that's one good thing about her, once you get her talking she doesn't need any input from you to continue and you can ignore the one-sided conversation relatively easily.)
There was also the spider thing. Spiders don't bother me. Normally, they sit in their webs and you sit in your chair and you can ignore each other, unless it's a wolf spider, in which case they are easily stomped on, or unless it lays eggs in my bed, in which case war is declared. Plus, having spent more time in that house than anyone else, I learned relatively quickly that if you try to get rid of all the spiders, they'll all be back within a week anyway. I really don't have the energy to commit mass spider murder every week, so I just ignore them. She is afraid of spiders and apparently could not. So, every few minutes she would shriek at top volume, stuff some poor spider in a jar, carry the thing outside (slamming the door, of course) and dump it. It grew old after about the third repetition.
There was also the various miscellany - "Why don't we take these enormous electric recliners over to the senior center and donate them?" (Because I have a sedan, you twat.) "Why don't we give the kitchen a yellow accent wall, they're so in style in NYC?" (Because the kitchen floor is a blue-gray, the opposite wall is panelled in dark wood, every other wall in the house is white, and accent walls will be back out of style in about 30 seconds?) There was the scraping of bikes against doors I just painted, the spilling of something horrible down inside a stove burner, the running of cardboard-soled shoes through the washer so that I got to spend a lovely afternoon picking cardboard shreds back out of it, the suggestion that we dip the antique mandolin in bleach to clean it, and all manner of similar things until I'm pretty sure that if I beat her repeatedly over the head with a bicycle pump and threw her in the cesspool no jury would convict me.
The very best part? Last week she sent out an e-mail telling us all what a wonderful vacation she had and how the two of us bonded so well. A clear indication that she is living in a universe perpendicular to the one the rest of us inhabit.
The essential problem we have is that my cousin and I could not be more perfect opposites if we had been designed that way. I am a night person; she is a day person. Most emphatically a day person. I have skin so pale you can see all the veins right through it; she has a dark tan. My hair is so straight and flat that if I am not careful the tips of my ears poke through it; she has a headful of wild curls. If I were an outside observer, I would refuse to believe the two of us were related.
Sharing a house was a terrible, terrible thing. You see, I'm not really a fan of the sun at all, or heat, or summer in general, so when left to myself I go running at sunrise, come home, sleep through the hottest, brightest part of the day, do yardwork or take a walk once the terrible yellow hurtball is below tree level, then stay up all night working on the inside of the coast house, studying, or stargazing. My cousin is a fan of lying in the sun all day and playing our grandparents' phonograph at top volume. Seeing us do yardwork together was an education, I'm sure. Since I was up against my will anyway, I sat on the patio scratching unenthusiastically at weeds and moss and trying to stay in the shade while my cousin rampaged around me, trailing thorny vines out behind her for twenty feet. Then there were the "peaceful" evenings, with me attempting to study Latin at the kitchen table while my cousin divided her time between talking at me and talking at her cellphone (it will not surprise you to learn that she comes in one volume, and that volume is Loud.)
I did go to the beach and the lake with her. I'm proud to say that on these occasions I managed to drive her nuts right back. I refuse to go to either the beach or the lake during the day, because I have to spend half an hour carefully applying sunblock just so that I can get burned anyway, and also because I refused to shave my legs just to go swimming, and no one can see your leg rug in the dark, if there were anyone there to see it. And it was my car, dammit, so if she wanted a ride she was going when I said we were going (the beach is easy enough to walk to, so it wasn't like I was being unfair.) Plus, in the dark it is easier to give the impression of listening to someone when you are really floating on your back with your ears underwater, admiring the Summer Triangle (that's one good thing about her, once you get her talking she doesn't need any input from you to continue and you can ignore the one-sided conversation relatively easily.)
There was also the spider thing. Spiders don't bother me. Normally, they sit in their webs and you sit in your chair and you can ignore each other, unless it's a wolf spider, in which case they are easily stomped on, or unless it lays eggs in my bed, in which case war is declared. Plus, having spent more time in that house than anyone else, I learned relatively quickly that if you try to get rid of all the spiders, they'll all be back within a week anyway. I really don't have the energy to commit mass spider murder every week, so I just ignore them. She is afraid of spiders and apparently could not. So, every few minutes she would shriek at top volume, stuff some poor spider in a jar, carry the thing outside (slamming the door, of course) and dump it. It grew old after about the third repetition.
There was also the various miscellany - "Why don't we take these enormous electric recliners over to the senior center and donate them?" (Because I have a sedan, you twat.) "Why don't we give the kitchen a yellow accent wall, they're so in style in NYC?" (Because the kitchen floor is a blue-gray, the opposite wall is panelled in dark wood, every other wall in the house is white, and accent walls will be back out of style in about 30 seconds?) There was the scraping of bikes against doors I just painted, the spilling of something horrible down inside a stove burner, the running of cardboard-soled shoes through the washer so that I got to spend a lovely afternoon picking cardboard shreds back out of it, the suggestion that we dip the antique mandolin in bleach to clean it, and all manner of similar things until I'm pretty sure that if I beat her repeatedly over the head with a bicycle pump and threw her in the cesspool no jury would convict me.
The very best part? Last week she sent out an e-mail telling us all what a wonderful vacation she had and how the two of us bonded so well. A clear indication that she is living in a universe perpendicular to the one the rest of us inhabit.
Packing
So, further updates? Well, I got my visa about four weeks ago (it only took them about two weeks to process, which was awesome), and I got back from the coast house a week ago, and ever since then I've been spending 95% of my time in a warm pink state of denial. During the other five percent, I have the sudden impression that my well-trained life has slipped its leash and is escaping down the street, with me running after it shouting desperately "No, wait, come back! I was just kidding! Can we talk about this?" and then I sit there in a cold sweat for about 15 minutes.
Anyway, I leave in less than two weeks, and I am in bad shape. I still do not own a winter coat (well, I technically do, but it doesn't fit all that well and is too short, but I never cared because, hello, I spent last year doing that thing where I dash coatless from my car to a building, and the four years before that in Southern California.) I also have no suitcase (David took both the big ones that used to be mine and left me the little gray one we use for week-long trips) and no clothes. Well, I do have clothes. I just don't intend to take them with me.
Here's the thing with the clothes. Three different people have told me on three separate occasions that I need to clean up my act and stop dressing like I rolled out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans off the floor (perceptive, you guys) and my dad put the final nail in the coffin when he asked "What's wrong with your clothes? You're wearing the same outfit I am." And indeed I was. None of my clothes fit anyway because of the aforementioned running shrinkage, and I really can't put off replacing them any longer, even though, it will probably not surprise you to learn, I hate clothes shopping. My friend NephthysWrath has offered to come along, which is good, because she has discounts, and because I don't trust anyone else to tell me that the top I'm trying on looks peculiar on me. My problem is that I have no idea what the heck my body looks like anymore - sometimes I look in the mirror and see a normal woman, sometimes I appear to myself to be six feet wide - and no matter what kind of a day I am having, every time I step into a dressing room, I invariably think "Good lord, I look like a manatee that's been squeezed in the middle," and from that point on I couldn't tell you if anything I'm trying on fits correctly or not. (I think it's the overhead flourescent lights.) NephthysWrath is one of the only people in the world I trust to tell me if my bra strap is showing or if I should really try that in a larger size, so she gets to come.
So, once I have solved the coat, clothing, and luggage issues, there are about a squillion other things I still need to deal with because I've been carefully ignoring them all summer. I have to transfer software onto my laptop because I have to go back to making do with only one computer, and I have cleverly divided all my software between the computers I use now (why? because I am a moron, that's why.) I have to locate things in the mass of boxes I had shipped back from California last year and stuffed in the garage. I have to figure out how to bring movies along with me, because I CANNOT BE WITHOUT MOVIES, ARE YOU CRAZY? (I actually have this mostly figured out, I just cannot share details here. It's taking forever, that's the problem.)
The worst part of all this is that I should be a pro at all this by now, what with going to school on the opposite coast and all. The problem is, I only lived out of suitcases for the first year, and after that I just did what every other out-of-stater did, and either had an apartment or put all my stuff in storage for the summer. I didn't have to worry about what I would do if I forgot my router or alarm clock or whatever because everything was already where it needed to be. It's been a long time since I had to remember stupid stuff like nail clippers. I'm already mostly resigned to the fact that I'm going to forget my retainer or something and have to Skype home and ask for it. It's a pain because I don't want to buy anything there until I decide if I'm staying over there or coming home after I get the Master's degree, so I can't just say, "Well, I'll be here for a while, might as well buy my own *insert item here*," as I did in California; I have to determine as accurately as possible what I need and bring it. I haven't been able to find a helpful packing list online, and every time I sit down to make my own, it gets so long and scary after a few minutes that I give up. Right now, my strategy is "piles of actual items all over the bedroom floor."
Oooh, and that part where I have to select all the books I can't get from the library or Project Gutenberg, but cannot possibly live without? Not going so well. The pile had reached about 25, none of which I was willing to put back, so I had to put them all back and start over. I'm thinking the thing to do is grab some of them as I'm leaving for the airport, because when I premeditate these things I eventually end up with 75% of the books I own.
So, there you are. Further updates as things occur.
Anyway, I leave in less than two weeks, and I am in bad shape. I still do not own a winter coat (well, I technically do, but it doesn't fit all that well and is too short, but I never cared because, hello, I spent last year doing that thing where I dash coatless from my car to a building, and the four years before that in Southern California.) I also have no suitcase (David took both the big ones that used to be mine and left me the little gray one we use for week-long trips) and no clothes. Well, I do have clothes. I just don't intend to take them with me.
Here's the thing with the clothes. Three different people have told me on three separate occasions that I need to clean up my act and stop dressing like I rolled out of bed and pulled a pair of jeans off the floor (perceptive, you guys) and my dad put the final nail in the coffin when he asked "What's wrong with your clothes? You're wearing the same outfit I am." And indeed I was. None of my clothes fit anyway because of the aforementioned running shrinkage, and I really can't put off replacing them any longer, even though, it will probably not surprise you to learn, I hate clothes shopping. My friend NephthysWrath has offered to come along, which is good, because she has discounts, and because I don't trust anyone else to tell me that the top I'm trying on looks peculiar on me. My problem is that I have no idea what the heck my body looks like anymore - sometimes I look in the mirror and see a normal woman, sometimes I appear to myself to be six feet wide - and no matter what kind of a day I am having, every time I step into a dressing room, I invariably think "Good lord, I look like a manatee that's been squeezed in the middle," and from that point on I couldn't tell you if anything I'm trying on fits correctly or not. (I think it's the overhead flourescent lights.) NephthysWrath is one of the only people in the world I trust to tell me if my bra strap is showing or if I should really try that in a larger size, so she gets to come.
So, once I have solved the coat, clothing, and luggage issues, there are about a squillion other things I still need to deal with because I've been carefully ignoring them all summer. I have to transfer software onto my laptop because I have to go back to making do with only one computer, and I have cleverly divided all my software between the computers I use now (why? because I am a moron, that's why.) I have to locate things in the mass of boxes I had shipped back from California last year and stuffed in the garage. I have to figure out how to bring movies along with me, because I CANNOT BE WITHOUT MOVIES, ARE YOU CRAZY? (I actually have this mostly figured out, I just cannot share details here. It's taking forever, that's the problem.)
The worst part of all this is that I should be a pro at all this by now, what with going to school on the opposite coast and all. The problem is, I only lived out of suitcases for the first year, and after that I just did what every other out-of-stater did, and either had an apartment or put all my stuff in storage for the summer. I didn't have to worry about what I would do if I forgot my router or alarm clock or whatever because everything was already where it needed to be. It's been a long time since I had to remember stupid stuff like nail clippers. I'm already mostly resigned to the fact that I'm going to forget my retainer or something and have to Skype home and ask for it. It's a pain because I don't want to buy anything there until I decide if I'm staying over there or coming home after I get the Master's degree, so I can't just say, "Well, I'll be here for a while, might as well buy my own *insert item here*," as I did in California; I have to determine as accurately as possible what I need and bring it. I haven't been able to find a helpful packing list online, and every time I sit down to make my own, it gets so long and scary after a few minutes that I give up. Right now, my strategy is "piles of actual items all over the bedroom floor."
Oooh, and that part where I have to select all the books I can't get from the library or Project Gutenberg, but cannot possibly live without? Not going so well. The pile had reached about 25, none of which I was willing to put back, so I had to put them all back and start over. I'm thinking the thing to do is grab some of them as I'm leaving for the airport, because when I premeditate these things I eventually end up with 75% of the books I own.
So, there you are. Further updates as things occur.
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