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.

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:

• 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

So, there you are. I hope the curiosity wasn't killing you or anything. I'm also bringing two suitcases. NephthysWrath packed the first one for me because she can fold and I cannot, and she darn near got it down to one suitcase, but it was five pounds overweight and I wasn't quite done yet, so it was better to split it into two. (Plus, whenever I do come home, if I don't bring about 20 pounds of chocolate for my mother, she won't let me back in the house and will simply leave me at the airport. Therefore, I need to have extra suitcase space. You only think I'm exaggerating for dramatic effect.)

Right. Assuming I don't have catastrophic technical difficulties, I will see you all on Monday.

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.

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.

Can I have my deposit back?

Since I'm sitting here in the library today until they kick me out, I thought I would play my new favorite game, which is to wander through my new university's website until something freaks me out and I have to go sit quietly in a corner and bite my nails. Today, it was the library's website. I know I posted here earlier with a rant about how they use Dewey, which I hate more than I can express, but apparently it gets worse. Even though I'm a postgraduate student, I'm only allowed 15 books at a time. Fifteen. Also, interlibrary loans apparently cost lots of money. USC let me have 200 at a time as an undergraduate, and interlibrary loans were free. Fifteen books at a time is simply not going to work out for me. I need about ten books a week just to function (I can't leave the house without at least four on me) and since I can only bring about five of my own books with me (enough to keep me going until they give me my university card and I can hit up the library), and I can't buy any while I'm there, I'll be using up my entire limit on the books I require to function, and I won't have any left over for things I'm supposed to read for class. Even worse, there's the dissertation, which will also hit my book limit hard. And I have to pay for my interlibrary loans? So completely unacceptable. And uncivilized. *foam*

Peanut Butter

So, I’m not sure what to do. I’ve been completely unable to figure out what the peanut butter situation in England is. I admit that I haven’t actually sat down and demanded that Google tell me if there is peanut butter in England, but when I search for other things I keep running across conversations that go like this:

Brit: "We do so have peanut butter in England! We’re just as civilized as you Americans!"

American: "Yeah, but your peanut butter tastes like roadkill. Plus, you all talk funny."

My family actually knows people that have not only been to England, but have actually gone to the same school I’m going to, but this hasn’t been all that helpful. My dad is, understandably, reluctant to ask his co-worker about peanut butter, and my brother refuses to ask his friend’s dad because he doesn’t think I should be eating peanut butter at all (he is under the mistaken impression that he is in charge of the size of my ass). I tried pointing out that if you’re a vegetarian, and you hate cheese, there isn’t much else you can put in your sandwiches, but he has been unmoved. For this reason, I have spent all summer morosely devouring fluffernutters and peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwiches, and if this has had a negative effect on the size of my ass, it is entirely my brother’s fault.

Apparently, I have "Californian" tattooed on my forehead

My running sweatpants and shoes both gave out on the same day, so I had to go shopping. While I was there, I bought an umbrella, because I don't own one. (The Handbook for Clueless International Students said to bring one in my carry-on, so I'm going to take a wild guess here and say that England maybe has a little problem with precipitation.) I got a black purse-sized umbrella. I had the same kind in California, until it turned inside out and I decided to get rid of it. I brought it home and put it on the table, and my dad took a good look at it and started to smirk. Apparently, England laughs at my tiny umbrella. He gives it maybe a week before it also turns inside out and goes to umbrella heaven.

In my own defense, buying a bigger umbrella would have meant one less book I could cram into my carry-on.

Wait a minute, can we slow down?

While I was away for the past two weeks, lots of things happened. Enough things so that when my parents showed up to pry me out of the coast house and haul me back here, they also shouted at me for not leaving my phone on (you can understand the wonderful irony here when I tell you that my parents feel that cell phones exist only for making outgoing calls, and should be left off at all other times so that people can't talk to you). They were all good things, but they have combined to reduce me to a state of nail-biting panic.

My loan got approved. You have no idea how relieved I am. If it had been rejected, that would have put an abrupt stop to all of this. It pays all my tuition and I need every cent of it. I'm hoping the exchange rate will improve and I won't need all of it, but I'm not holding my breath. If I work 10 hours a week (my last work-study job will give me glowing references) we can just about afford everything else. I'm trying not to think about the part where I have to pay it all back. I'm hoping to pay for my PhD by some other means (grants, prostitution, bank robbery - I'll worry about that when I get there.)

I got a housing offer. They gave me one of the cheapest single rooms they have. I have to share a kitchen and a bathroom (alas, there are no heated towel rails in my future) and the dorm was built in the 70's, but I nearly wept with gratitude because I do not have to share my room. I would like to never share a bedroom with anyone ever again as long as I live. (It's a darn good thing I aspire to be single.) There are currently two people in the world I would happily share an apartment with, and I am capable of sharing a bedroom for up to about two weeks, but if I had been assigned a double, I'm afraid I would have had to kill and eat my roommate during the first week. That would probably have gotten me thrown out of the program and shipped back to America. (Okay, so actually, in reality, it is almost impossible to get a double room, but this is a big point of concern for me and I am highly paranoid about it.)

I got my International Student ID card. My mother had a fit of hand-wringing while I was away the last time and applied for it (pretending she was me) but it was actually a pretty good idea. It comes with travel and basic medical insurance (and if I die there, they have to send my body back) and it also works as a phone card. I'm also supposed to go to the AAA and get an international driver's license. This was my dad's idea. I really have no idea why he is so set on it. I have no business whatsoever driving a car in England. Some days, I'm not even sure I should be allowed to drive a car in America. Even if some catastrophe occurs and forces me to find a place that will rent me a car, I'm not sure I could anyway, because apparently the British like stick shifts (I don't really blame them, their gas prices terrify me) and I couldn't drive a stick shift if my life depended on it. And finally, I'm allowed to drive all I want with my US driver's license for a full year. Since the only time I might actually want a car is when my family is visiting and wants to look at things, my dad may as well rent the car and drive it while I cower in the back and cover my eyes. But whatever, it will take me 5 minutes.

While I was at the coast house, I had to go get passport photos taken. I need one for the visa application, one for the ISIC, and the school, for no discernible reason, wants me to show up with six more in my carry-on luggage (along with my diploma, which would cost me $100 to replace, and some sealed transcripts. I wish they said why, but I'm afraid to question them in case they take a closer look at my file and realize they didn't actually mean to admit me). Anyway, the woman taking the passport photos used a digital camera, and showed me the picture afterwards to see if it was okay. I didn't appear to have a double chin or chunks of hair standing on end, so I said something along the lines of "That's fine; it doesn't have to look good." I honestly think she would have reacted less strongly if I had said "That's great; you can't see the oozing sores at all." But anyway, the point I meant to make when I started this paragraph was that my mother, after having spent a good three hours nagging me about having to get this done before I came back, took my photos and promptly lost them the next morning. After tearing through the house for three hours and actually going through all the drifts of mail stacked precariously on the dining room table (in which she found a Netflix movie we had reported lost) she found them stuffed in the book she was reading. This would be the first phase of the nail-biting anxiety I was talking about earlier - we wouldn't have had time to go out and get more, because tomorrow morning I have to go to Newark to get my biometrics data done.

The second part of the nail-biting anxiety came when I said to myself this evening "Well, damn. The school has taken two deposits and isn't going to give them back, my flight is booked, I have a fixed address over there, my government has actually agreed to give the school a whole lot of money to take me, which means that my visa will almost certainly be approved, and consequently it looks as though I'm actually going to get put on a plane in late September and sent over there. Maybe I should take another look at the course requirements." I have to admit, I didn't look too closely at them before I applied. There wasn't any reason to. At the time, I gave myself about a 5% chance of getting into this particular school, and now that they've accepted me and I've gone back and looked at them more closely, I think in retrospect I had well under a 1% chance of getting in (particularly as I never finished my application.) I'm still not convinced there wasn't a catastrophic error in the admissions department; they're British, they might be too polite to tell me. Anyway, I wandered on over to their program website, and then spent the next 15 minutes biting my kneecaps in terror. One of the reasons I assumed I wouldn't get in was that they had written on their front page in letters of fire that I MUST HAVE A RELEVANT UNDERGRADUATE DEGREE. Consequently, they are assuming that I'm going over there with some sort of clue what I'm doing. And besides that, I didn't check their ranking in the field of archaeology, and now I find that it's ridiculously high - high enough that it kind of makes sense to just stay there for my PhD rather than try for Oxford like I was thinking I might do. So now, I'm afraid that I will get kicked out in my first week for complete incompetence. I mean, I'm smart and I work hard, but I simply have no idea what I'm doing. But, if you recall, I predicted this would happen earlier in the summer, so I'm going to tell myself to chill in a stern voice and spend a day or two in the library.

Ow.

I got another one of those scary airmail envelopes today. This one was about four times the size of the others, and it contained the university's Instructions for Clueless Internationals. Mostly what interested me was the prices. With the dollar currently being worth pretty much nothing, the price conversions made me gag. If I smoked, a packet of cigarettes would cost about $11, so it's a good thing I don't, or I would have to stop immediately. (Interestingly, if I want to keep getting some kind of coffee drink once a week, it would cost about the same. Hmmm.) A paperback would cost me about $12, which makes me want to cry. It also appears I will be confined to the university town, because I cannot afford the trains. Somebody fix the economy, immediately.

Some of it was so awesome I'm going to have to take a highlighter to it and pass it around to everyone I know. For instance, if you get ensuite accommodation, you get heated towel rails. Heated towel rails. In student housing! I have never encountered a heated towel rail in my life and I associate them with the kind of hotel I will never be able to afford. I'm also terribly amused by the way they inform you which of their buildings has air conditioning, but this is probably because I lived in Southern California for four years (although, actually, the art department did not have air conditioning, and neither did my apartment or any of the student housing I lived in, and the Californians certainly weren't nice enough to warn me before I showed up in the middle of August). I also love their photos of campus. All campus photos have to be cheerful and sunny, and it's really easy in Southern California where it looks like that every day anyway, but even I know their photos are completely contrived. It's okay, I know I can't take naps outside in the grass in February anymore.

Information that made me feel better - there are Indian groceries (I mean, I kind of assumed there were, but at least now it's confirmed) so I am saved and there will be familiar food and I can remain a happy vegetarian. Also, my mother has been freaking out lately and trying to talk my dad into escorting me over, (apparently, in her world, two clueless adults are a huge improvement over one clueless adult?) but there are people who will come to the airport and retrieve me, so that will save about $1,000 (83 paperbacks!) right there.

Anyway, I am at this very moment supposed to be calling a doctor my mother has not yet fought with to arrange to get my shots (meningitis and HPV, neither of which I technically need, but I want them anyway dammit) so I will continue this later.

I am a library nerd

My new university's main library uses Dewey. Dewey. I have not the words. Real libraries use Library of Congress. I was almost about to excuse them because they are British, and so was Dewey, and I think LC is American, but they use LC in their law library. My mother (who got her grad degree in library science) claims that Dewey is not actually that bad, but I beg to differ. If your library is of a worthwhile size, or in fact has more than about 3 books in it, Dewey is unwieldy and really less an organizational system and more a colossal pain in the ass. It just won't do. I cannot function if I have to use Dewey, and so clearly the only solution is to pack up Doheny Memorial Library, move it over there, and have it reassembled next to my dorm. The only redeeming feature of this new library (besides the fact that I am amused by how proud they are of their air conditioning) is that it has listed pages and pages of books on the Black Death that I have never seen before, and I have read all Doheny's Black Death books.

I suppose this won't turn out to be that big of a problem because I usually remember things by location, and not by code (in Doheny, for instance, the Black Death section is on the second level, two shelves over from the staircase, and near the bottom, and Jane Austen is about midway between the elevator and the back wall), so after the first few weeks I shouldn't have to put up with the codes at all, but still. I am way too much of a snot to let this go quietly, particularly since I can bring over about four of my own books and will have to get the 10 or so I require to function every week from the library.

This has nothing whatsoever to do with anything, but the rampant use of my middle name is starting to creep me out a little. USC used to just call me Antares A. Scorpius (you can feel free to believe that's my real name, if you like) but the British call me Antares Alpha Scorpius, or sometimes ANTARES ALPHA Scorpius, for extra emphasis. I normally try to pretend I don't have a middle name, so I find it unnerving. I wish they'd stop.

The past month

Random person: "So, are you looking forward to going to England?"

My mouth: "Oh, yes. It'll be great and blah, blah, blah."

My brain: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

Random person: "And what do your plans look like?"

My mouth: "Well, I figured I would get my MA before I start looking into PhD programs and yadda yadda yadda"

My brain: *foams*

In case you're interested, I'm so trashed I'm watching Snow Cake. (Actually, it's pretty good. And I guess the issue here is that I'm admitting to watching Snow Cake. And yes, it is hard to spell when you're this drunk.) How is your evening going?

Also, here's some advice for you: if it's going to be green when you throw it back up halfway through your second movie, it's probably better not to ingest it in the first place.

The British own my soul

I finally got around to doing my housing applications. My mother made me apply for housing for the full year instead of only 40 weeks, working off of the assumption that I will probably have things to do all summer. So, as long as I get full year housing (and I don't see any reason why I wouldn't) I won't be coming back. Because lord knows, even if I don't have anything to do all summer, I can't see any reason to come hang around New Jersey if I'm paying through the nose for housing in England.

In other news, I may cut off more hair. I will discuss this later.