My Travels: Wales

Lesson 54: Just don't go to Wales

I signed up for this overnight trip to Wales based on false pretenses that we would drive out to Wales, go horseback riding, and come home. Wrong. They took us to every stupid redneck village on the way there. The country has absolutely nothing going on. Their most prized possession is their town dedicated to second-hand bookshops. Hardly worthy of my time.

Lesson 55: If you do go and plan on going horseback riding, bring painkillers

I'm still in pain from our 5 hour ride, if you can even call it a ride when you walk at a mile an hour pace on a slowly dying pony. It probably could have gone faster if I gave the horse a piggy-back ride and walked the whole way. Absolutely miserable. To make matters worse, on the bus ride home, I was stuck sitting in the middle seat in the back row of the bus--the death seat if you will. Basically, if there wasn't a seatbelt and the bus were to stop short, it would be me that would have flown the 15 feet forward and through the windshield to my untimely death. Luckily for me there was a seatbelt, but the lack of seat in front of me ensured that I didn't have anything to brace myself on when the bus driver would stop short of hitting some old woman crossing the street...an occurrence that our bus was quite familiar with.

And to make matters even worse, one of the two girls who had been chatting up their friends and their parents and their extended families somewhere in Iran during the entire bus ride there and back puked when we had just 5 minutes left on the bus ride. The least she could have done was given us a bit of a heads up that she felt like she was going to blow chunks. I didn't know that people are capable of non-alcohol related vomiting. Kidding.

Still though, painkillers would have made the entire ride just a bit more pleasurable. Not necessarily anything too hard. Maybe a half of a vicodin. Or a xanax. Or even a tylenol with a smidgen of codeine. Anything that would have made me unaware that I was wading through regurgitated Welsh food when I was exiting the bus.

Day 18

Lesson 52: Screw Kevin Costner, The Fabes is the best bodyguard

So within the first few days of being in London, one of my roommates told a story of her friend who was abroad in London who got mugged at the ATM, or "cashpoint" as they call them here. I nodded and smiled and listened to her story about her friend who was probably just drunk and/or retarded to not know what was going on around her. Anywho, a couple hundred dollars went by in the next couple of weeks, and during those times I never feared for my life or the safety of my checking account. Until this one time...

One night my flatmates and I ventured off to our favorite little pub on our street, The Cock (yes, that's what it's called. and yes, I giggle like a schoolgirl every time I say it). The Fabes had been texting with Santa (see Lesson 24) and he invited her to come out with him. Being the gracious friend that I am, I offered to accompany her on this non-date in case he was a creep. However, my wallet was feeling quite thin, and seeing as I would be unable to work the streets for a couple extra quid before we went out, I decided the ATM would be my next-best option. We finished off our pints and headed for our closest Barclays, as not just any cashpoint would suffice lest I be charged tens of dollars in fees...no thanks. On our way there, The Fabes and I were discussing our defensive strategy at the ATM since it was getting quite dark at the time. Then it happened.

I slipped my card in, and just as I finished entering my PIN these two--to be as PC as possible--non-native Englishmen came up behind me and Fabes and started throwing newspapers at us. My protective instincts came in as I kept both hands planted on the sides of the ATM--elbows out and ready to kick, blocking any access to the keys and thus my precious savings as The Fabes boxed them out and we both screamed NO! NO! NO!!!!!

I think they learned their lesson. No one, and I mean NO ONE gets between a jew and her money. No one.

Lesson 53: Pizza should not crumble

Once we recovered from our ordeal and made our way to meet up with Santa and his little helpers we ended up having a pretty fun night. Luckily for me, the little helpers must have still been in the Christmas spirit, as I didn't end up spending any of my money on drinks (and I wasn't even dressed that sluttily!). 2 glasses of white, 1 glass of red, 3 vodka tonics and a pint of Guiness later, I decided that the beer goggles just weren't strong enough to make the guy who had been hitting on me for the past 45 minutes look attractive, and determined it was time to bail. I grabbed The Fabes who had already ditched Santa to dance with the 50 year old owner of the bar and we bolted. On our way to the main drag to find a cab, we walked past a stand with none other than the American go-to late night food...pizza. I was finally satisfied that I had almost sacrificed my life at the ATM earlier in the night just so I was able to purchase none other than the fine delicacy of a slice of pepperoni pizza. I handed the strangely hairy man my money, and probably would have cut off my left foot had he asked me for it. I grabbed the slice out of his hands and went to town on it like I was one of those starved Ethiopian children in those commercials with the flies landing on its cheek and the protruding stomach. I folded it in half as any New Yorker would, only for it to completely crumble and fall apart. Just as I finished scraping the last bit of cheese and tomato sauce off of my shirt and into my mouth, I noticed Santa's unattractive helper coming towards me. I grabbed The Fabes and hailed a cab and we were out of there. We made it back to my flat just in time for me to make it to the bathroom. I blame the pizza. It's just not natural for a pizza-like substance to crumble in that fashion. Maybe cornbread or some other crumbly-like bready food...but not pizza. It was offensive. And I don't appreciate it.

My Travels: Dublin

Lesson 49: Don't Talk Back To Drunk Eastern Europeans

My roommates and I were on our way to catch the bus to take us to the airport at 3am, when a guy on the same flight as me and my friends (note: I did not say my friend) happened to talk back to some drunk Eastern European men. Big Mistake. The men didn't mean any harm at first. Me and two of my roommates had walked past them with our rolly suitcases and massive backpacks when they said to us "Where you ladies going with these guys? You'd have more fun at mine," to which this non-friend of mine (who was for some reason drunk) replied with something along the lines of "go fuck yourselves." Everyone continued walking in their respective directions and we finally found our bus stop. Ten minutes later, the two guys reappeared looking for a fight. Luckily for us, my roommate's boyfriend was with us, and is actually a professional jiu jitsu fighter. Not that we needed him to protect us or anything...because if you haven't already bought your tickets to my gun show yet, my biceps and triceps speak for themselves. Jokes aside, me and my spaghetti-arms were ready to pop a cap in some ass.

Eventually they went away, but not before I saw my whole life flash before my eyes, assuming an Eastern Promises bathroom bloodbath was about to unfold.

Lesson 50: Dublin has the best burger joint so far (aside from Burger King, obviously)

Step 1: Get that dry ice packaging stuff that the Harry & Davids stuff always comes in

Step 2: Purchase flight to Dublin from RyanAir

Step 3: Go to Bobos.

Step 4: Get 2 Dubliners.

Step 5: Eat 1 Dubliner

Step 6: Package other Dubliner on dry ice stuff

Step 7: Send package to me, as well as a thank you card and any cash donations that you feel I deserve for introducing you to the best burger ever.

Lesson 51: Hold the railing

At one of the bars on our New Europe pub crawl in Dublin, I befriended one of the bartenders. Clearly my eyes (or my pushup bra) have some sort of magical power that just grasps the attention of anyone in the service industry, most of the time to my benefit. I ran out of drink tickets quite quickly, as you would when the size of shots in Europe are 25ml as compared to the generous 1.5oz I'm used to in the states, and they were watered down. However, the powers of the Victoria's Secret "Very Sexy Ultimate Pushup" noticed I was in need and came to my aid. After a few more complementary drinks, it was time to head to the next bar. As I made my way towards the stairs, I was careful to avoid the puddle of god-knows-what that was in the middle of the floor. I dodged it with accuracy. Given I was wearing 4-inch heels, my stability and precision were that much more impressive. I made it down the first section of stairs flawlessly, having taken on each step very slowly. Once I got to the second section I figured, oh what the hell, I made it down the ones before, I can do this with ease. False. With just three more steps to go, my right heel got caught on the edge of the stair (you know--on those things that are meant to stop you from slipping). I tried to catch my balance with my left foot, only to have that one get caught on the exact same "safety" feature on the step below it. Fuck. My. Life. I fell right on my knees and essentially face-planted. Luckily for me, the complementary shots made me unaware of the massive welt-like bruise setting up camp on my left knee.

My Travels: Amsterdam

Lesson 45: Always do the New Europe tours
We discovered through our hostel that there are these tips-based free tours that are given in most touristy cities in Europe. They take you all over the city and tell stories that may or may not be true...but I couldn't really care because they're usually entertaining. What's even better is that this company also usually does Bar Crawls, and if you do the tour you get a discount and free shots at the crawl. You also get a pretty sweet t-shirt that says "I survived the Amsterdamned Bar Crawl." I actually didn't though. Luckily for me they gave me the t-shirt at the first bar because after about half of the bars, I got distracted by Burger King and had to give in to the cravings for my go-to Whopper with cheese, no onions...god forbid if there are onions on that burger there will be a scene, and it will not be pretty.

Lesson 46: Don't takes pictures of the hookers
So the hostel we opted to stay at was right in the heart of the good ole "red-light district." Seeing as I can basically recite the entire movie Eurotrip, I did have a general idea of what goes on down there...simple dutch bakeries, Club Vandersexxx, and the likings. Call me naive but I just did not realize how legal prostitution is there. I always kind of assumed that shopping for a hooker would be like shopping for a good fake Louis Vuitton bag in Chinatown...(kind of frowned upon but everyone does it so it's totally okay, you just have to know where to go). Despite my ever-growing knowledge of Eurotrip, I was not mentally prepared for the "how much is that hooooooker in the windowwww??"-esqe showcasing of half-naked women between the ages of 18 and 84. Well, after the tour we did our first day there, my friends and I were taught this lesson. The hookers, despite the ever-revealing nature of their profession, like to remain as anonymous as possible, which is why they don't like pictures being taken of them. If some tourist who just can't get enough decides to go against this unwritten law and photograph one of the hookers, he will most likely be chased by said hooker and have a cup of mystery liquid thrown on him. If he's lucky, it'll just be water. Otherwise it will most likely be urine....(maybe luck isn't the right word here, maybe some people are into that... I don't know....whatever floats your boat). All I'm saying is, I witnessed it from the window of my very own hostel, and it does not look fun.

Lesson 47: Fuck with the creepers
On our second night out or so, a decent looking guy starts talking to me. He said he was from California but was acting extremely weird. He offered to buy me a drink, and I gracefully accepted--watching every move that he and the bartender made whilst my beer was being poured. While we were drinking, he started having the same exact conversation we had already had...how old I was, where I was from etc. Something was clearly off. After a quick run to the bathroom, I returned to find that this guy had bought be another drink. I told him that I was good and that I didn't want another beer, but he was very insistent that I drink it. Something was clearly not right, so when this creepy dude turned away from me to sneeze, I switched our drinks. After a few gulps of that beer and another repetitive conversation, the dude went comatose. I shit you not. His eyes sunk and his face went blank. Jokes on you creepy roofie man.

Lesson 48: Airport security in Amsterdam is seriously slacking
It is now clear to me why that Nigerian chose to fly out of Amsterdam. Airport security there basically does not exist. The sexy airport security guy was too busy eye-fucking me and my friends to notice that one of them managed to accidentally bring a couple of joints back with them. Woops.

Day 17

Lesson 43: Bring more high heeled shoes to London

So back in the states, I usually have this problem where I tower over roughly 87.2% of the guys. It could be that because in my heels of choice I'm over 6 feet tall, or it could be because I go to a school where a large percent of the population are short Jewish boys who all come from the tri-state area which has caused me to believe that there's something in the water there that has been causing the male population to continuously become shorter and shorter. Across the sea, over here in Londontowne, boys are taller. And damnit, I like it. I finally get to wear my dead sexy hooker heels and 5" boots without feeling like I'm walking down the street with my chest at direct eye-level of the boys. I'm only regretting not bringing more of my sexy ass shoes with me (mom can you buy me some new ones for when you come?? size 8.5, thanks).

Lesson 44: While London may be a fashion epicenter, some people still struggle

I've seen more people than I can count on my fingers wearing Sketchers Shapeups. Major fashion fuckups.

Day 15

Lesson 41: If you have a choice, don't go to London Met, part I

So I take classes at two different universities-- I take 2 Maryland classes with Maryland professors at rented space at Birkbeck College, and then I take 2 classes through London Metropolitan University, aka community college. At first I really didn't think anything of it--why would the University of Maryland have a partnership with a school that wasn't as well-respected as UMD is?? Seriously...why? I was talking with a girl in one of my classes and she actually said to me: "Why did you come here? This uni is a disgrace!" I didn't really know what she was talking about until I was waiting to go into another one of my classes with a different girl and the following conversation ensued:

Girl: So where are you from?

Me: New York

Girl: Like the city?

Me: A little bit outside the city on Long Island

Girl: Ugh you're so lucky! I've never actually made it to New York but I have been to New Jersey, but I know New Jersey is no longer a part of New York

Now I know I'm really in no place to make fun of British people considering a majority of them probably know more about America than Americans do about Britain, but either way I still found it difficult to not laugh in this poor girl's face. I managed to just nod and smile and not embarrass this girl in front of her friends for thinking that New Jersey had seceded from New York.

Lesson 42: If you have a choice, don't go to London Met, part II

The London Met campus where I have my classes is just around the corner from Brick Lane, and I'm 99% sure that if you walked into any of the stores nearby, they would accept Rupees as a form of payment. Nothing against that culture or that community, and I understand that the abroad experience is supposed to immerse you in a different land with a different culture, but I SOO did not sign up to study abroad in Bombay.

Day 13

Lesson 39: Never hesitate going to Church

So for the second weekend in a row my roommates and I went to Church. I was a little hesitant at first to be going two sundays in a row just because I don't want to overdo it and have it lose its appeal, but it seriously just gets better and better. This time I went dressed as a Native American--initially I was going for Pocahontas but since I didn't have a racoon or hummingbird and every person I asked to be Grandma Willow refused, I figured a generic Native American would have to suffice. I guess I should use the term Native American loosely, considering my costume consisted of a simple brown dress with a tan leather belt, braids with a feathered headband, and my fringed "Pocahontas" boots. Needless to say I turned a few heads. It could have been because my dress was so short you could see my small intestines, or it could have been that the Brits/Aussies (Church is an Aussie bar) didn't know what the hell I was supposed to be, considering they don't have Native Americans in the UK. No matter what it was, I enjoyed the attention.

Lesson 40: I am in fact a celebrity

At Church there is this large tv screen showing people in the club. Upstairs in the club there is some clever person working with the camera people to make witty comments about the people being shown on the screen. For example, a friend of mine was zoomed in on and he was given the caption of "lurker." Of course I was zoomed in on. They froze the shot and outed me as being jailbait. I was infuriated!!! The bastards ruined any chances I had of meeting anyone. The cameraman did seem to love me though--I made it onto the screen a few different times. During my post-Church McDonalds meal (which was just around the corner from the club) someone came up to me and told me I was basically a celebrity for being on the jumbotron so much. Well duh I would be on the jumbotron--who wouldn't want to stare at a 5x sized picture of me???

Day 12

Lesson 36: Buckingham Palace isn't that impressive

No offense to the Queen or any of the other royal family members (I know you're reading this Harry...) but if I were as royal as any of you, I'd want a much cooler palace than Buckingham. When we first walked up to it I wasn't even sure if it was anything of importance until I saw a sign about the changing of the guards, at which point I wondered if they did the changing of the guards at places other than the palace. Just sayin...there are some houses in Sands Point that shit on Buckingham Palace.

Lesson 37: Leicester Square looks so much different in the daytime

After having spent the first week and a half going out just about every night because I didn't have any classes or anything else to really do, I thought that I was basically a local and knew Leicester Square like the back of my hand. False. During our touristy day out in the city we somehow managed to meander our way from Trafalgar Square into Leicester Square, but I didn't even realize where we were. Initially I was impressed that they had more than one Haagen Dazs restaurants in London that happened to both be across from a TKTS stand. Given we came from a completely different direction than we had ever entered Leicester Square from, and even though I never actually said any of this out loud, I still felt dumber just for the mere fact that the thought had entered my mind.

Lesson 38: Invest in oven mitts

Day 11

Lesson 35: A dead phone does not mean someone has been "Taken"

One of my roommates, name shall be withheld, left circa 3pm with a boy who she had been recently spending a good amount of time with. All of us had met the guy and his friends and had even become so close that he had the delight of becoming my facebook friend. Basically everything about him told us he was normal. Circa 6pm I bbm'd this friend asking where she was and when she planned on coming back. Seeing as the bbm application was created for creepy stalkers like myself, I was able to tell when my message was delivered and when/if she had read it. She first responded to my initial "yooo" with a "heyyyy," after which I replied with a "where you at fooo'?" I could tell that she read the bbm, but she never responded. I then bbm'd her again but it was never delivered. It was clear her phone was off. I started to feel like a panicking mother. Watching "Taken" before I left was clearly a bad idea, because now I think EVERYONE and their mother is in human trafficking. My roommate and the guy stumbled back into the apartment around 11pm, kebabs in hand, after apparently hitting up 8 different pubs. Lucky for us they came back with some reviews and recommendations for places that we'll be hitting up pretty soon.

Day 10

Lesson 32: When the dishwasher is broken, you must handwash the dishes

Or else be prepared to deal with...

I present to you exhibit A: a moldy spoon that had been sitting in our broken dishwasher for over 2 days.

Lesson 33: Americans are dumb

So Thursday was my first day of classes, and my longest day ever. I kicked it off with my British Politics class, and was already assigned a topic for a 1-sided debate. Despite the fact that I am a gov major, I have never done a debate. Due to my lack of experience with debates, my general assumption was that there are supposed to be two different sides presented, and then you argue. Evidently I'm supposed to do a debate on my own...innnnnteresting. Anywho, my next class was my History of London class. At the very beginning our professor, who was looking quite snazzy in his blue wool sweater with a pocket con pocket protector on his arm, gave a quiz about American/world history. The questions were extremely esoteric but I still felt like an imbecile...no sir, I do not know the capitals of at least 10 sub-Saharan African countries. Sorry dude.

Lesson 34: Fun fact of the day

King George had a disease that made him go crazy and made his pee turn purple. Must have been some funky asparagus.

Day 9

Lesson 30: Always take adventures with the Fabes

When all else fails and I'm dying of boredom, the Fabes is always down to find something to do. First there was the shopping adventure through Oxford Street (where I got a FABULOUS Free People shirt for 10 pounds: see FB profile pic for details). Then there was the adventure to meet some new friends we made the night before at a student pub about 20 min away. Well when we got to this student pub (Imperial Union??) it turned out our new friend was hanging out with his Rugby friends. It was like all of the Ralph Lauren/Vineyard Vines/J Crew ads ever created came to life. And it was fucking awesome.

Lesson 31: Hangers are not locks

Every now and then, roommates will bring people back to the apartment for some G-rated fun after going out at night. Most 20-somethings usually bring home boys for a little PG13+ fun after the pubs, but no no, not us. Our post-games include endless episodes of Family Guy and South Park...duhhh. So far these people have mainly been the boys that live above us (who also go to Maryland) and occasionally some new friends. Needless to say by the time we all get back to the flat, most people are pretty drunk. So when it came time for me and Gabby to call it a night, we went back to our room and closed our doors (we have those double french style doors). To avoid being bothered by drunkards walking into our room in the middle of the night, we decided to put a plastic hanger over the two doorknobs in an attempt to lock the doors. 15 minutes later when Gabby and I were well into our respective episodes of Glee on our computers, one of our roommates comes barging in. The hanger goes FLYING across the room, and Gabby and I just look at each other. Fail.

Day 8

Lesson 28: They DO have good food here, part II
One of my roommates' dad was on business in London and took us out to this restaurant called Wild Honey. After hours of deliberation (okay 5 minutes) I decided to go for the baby cow. Despite the vast effort of my roommates to spare the life of the delicious, juicy baby cow, I simply reasoned that it was already dead, and I shouldn't let it go bad, lest it have been butchered in vain. After this strong argument, I actually managed to convince two other roommates to order the veal as well. So what if we killed an entire litter of baby cows? It was worth it. For dessert we had something that I had figured I would have had to wait until I went to France to get...a cheese platter. I. Love. Cheese.

Lesson 29: The time difference makes acceptances that much better

During this dinner, around 10pm at night, I received an email on my phone saying that I had been selected for a really competitive summer internship. Seeing as our table was 4 bottles of wine deep, I was that much more excited about it. If it had come any earlier I would have been happy, but not remotely as ecstatic as I was. I guess it could have been the mixture of baby cow, cheese, and the exorbitant amount of wine making its way through my small intestine, but after 10 minutes of beaming, it started to hit me that this summer I would be venturing into the ghettos of DC, and I started to get a bit nauseous.

Day 7

Lesson 26: The Senate House Library (my school's library) does not have wifi

Our final orientation was monday morning, and let's be real...I'm never going to the library. I walked into this orientation about 10 minutes late, was handed a pamphlet from which the woman (who looked just as miserable as us) read directly from, and I didn't have to sign any sort of attendance sheet. Absolute bullshit. The only thing I learned was that the library doesn't have wifi. Really Maryland? You couldn't get us a school that has wifi? Haiti has wifi. Ethernet cables are SO 1994. That was the last straw. Within the next 3 minutes my friends and I bolted from that bullshit and were on our way to a pub.

Lesson 27: They DO have good food here, part I

A few of my friends and I went to this one pub where we got tapas. I have to say considering I am one of the most indecisive people anyone can ever meet, tapas is the greatest invention in the history of food. We started off with some bread with olive oil and vinaigrette. Then we moved onto some massive meatballs in meatsauce, fried calamari with garlic mayonnaise, mozzarella and toe-MAH-toe salad, greek salad, and chicken skewers. It was my dream. I was finally able to get EVERYTHING I wanted on the menu for £7.

Day 6

Lesson 24: It is in fact VERY easy to get a jew to go to church

But not just any church, no no. This is the church of the antichrist. The Church is this bar/club that's only open on sundays from noon-4. £9 gets you 3 beers of your choice in a plastic bag. I immediately tied the plastic bag to my belt loops. It was so beyond classy I couldn't even handle it. One of the very first things the MC said was "welcome, sinners." I knew this was the place for me. People come dressed in these ridiculous costumes--there were smurfs, slutty nuns, mario and luigi, and one of the best--santa claus, who had one of the greatest lines: "come sit on my lap." He actually wound up being a really nice guy.

This club basically was spring break in costume. Some girls would get on stage for drinking contests but in the end they would all be topless.....don't worry, I stayed on the floor, even though I know everyone in the entire place was basically dying to see me dominate the aussies in a dizzy bat competition (the mogul wasn't budging).

This church was also the venue of my first encounter with a stripper. The "woman's" face was jacked--huuuge jaw line and just generally fugly features. At first I thought it was going to be a tranny stripper, but was slightly disappointed when it had female parts (nothing against her, I just thought that a tranny stripper would be more sinister and thus more fitting for this place than just an ugly woman stripper). I'm still contemplating the possibility that she is post-op.

In conclusion, you can bet your ass I will be going back to this place, and next time I will be in FULL costume--I figure since I brought my Pocahontas boots, I might as well put them to use.

Lesson 25: There is nothing better than a donor kebab after an afternoon filled of Fosters, strippers, and smurfs

A block away from the church was this little kebab place. There are two things in this world that I cannot live without. Tums and tzatziki sauce. I downed about a gallon of both after we left the church. I just can't help myself when it comes to cheap lamb being carved off of those big spinning chunks of delicious animal, my mouth waters up and my stomach rumbles is preparation for the demolition of a sandwich.

Day 5

Lesson 21: Haagen Dazs has food

Some of my roommates and I went to....wait for it..........The. Haagen. Dazs. Restaurant. Who the fuck knew they served food??? (evidently lots of people because they are supposedly all over the world, including one in New York...it's cooler for me to think it's only in London though). Despite the fact that that night it was roughly -87 degrees outside, the ice cream-based food was phenomenal. The only thing better than my syrup-drenched belgian waffles with pralines & cream AND dulce de leche ice cream was my Baileys double espresso with that extra shot of whiskey. It tasted like an alcoholic chocolate creamy dream.

Lesson 22: Celsius is colder than fahrenheit

Our freezer froze our alcohol. How does that happen? It wasn't even the gross cheap vodka that I usually am forced to deal with back at school (okay, so maybe I secretly enjoy being able to buy a handle for $13.99, but that's besides the point). The freezer froze Smirnoff, Bacardi, and even a bottle of gin. All I know is that has never happened in the states where they use fahrenheit to measure the temperature, so this was the only explanation we could come up with.

Lesson 23: Pulp Fiction lied

This one really, REALLY upset me. Being the connoisseur of Tarantino movies that I am, I was at the brink of tears when I walked into a McDonalds, only to see that a "Quarter-Pounder with Cheese" was still a "Quarter-Pounder with Cheese." Despite the Brits usage of the metric system, there was no "Royale with Cheese." The next time I run into Tarantino on the streets you can bet your ass I'm going to have a few words with him about that. It's like finding out there's no Santa Claus, and everyone has just been lying to you for years, and you feel betrayed and that you can no longer trust anyone. ANYONE.

Day 4

Lesson 18: Listen to the club promoters in Leicester Square

Each night that my roommates and I go out in Leicester Square (basically a cleaner, safer version of Times Square) we are attacked by club promoters trying to makeout with us slash pimp out their respective clubs to us. We had heard of this club called Verve and figured we'd go check it out. On our way there we were told by a few different promoters that Verve was not "poppin." Being the stubborn Americans that we are, we just assumed they were saying that so as to get us to go to their clubs. False. They were dead on. Not only was this place dead, but I'm pretty sure all British preteen athletic teams had just come for a post-game Indian food party......an interesting concoction of BO and various other stenches. We left immediately. There should be at least a 5 minute money-back warranty on cover charges for bars. What a waste.

Lesson 19: Not all British people are proper, and a slight reversal of Lesson 7

After our long night of barhopping and crying because earlier in the night I killed my knee after running into a door doing the "greased up deaf guy," we were on a mission to get home. There were absolutely NO cabs to be found. We walked a few blocks over hoping to find something. But still nothing. After 20 minutes of wandering around the streets of London around 3:30am (don't worry parents, it was well-lit and I was wearing stilettos that should be registered as deadly weapons) we FINALLY flagged down a cab. Before I could even finish telling the driver where we were going (they don't let you get in unless you do that) he cocked his fat head to the side and said, "ehhh Awy don't fink awy'm going in thaht dawyrection" and was off. Are you fucking kidding me??? If Eliza Doolittle could learn to speak, one might think a cabbie could, but no. Evidently cabbies go through like 5 years of training to be a driver, but they couldn't manage to teach him to pick up 5 girls in the middle of the night. After about 20 more minutes of wandering around we hailed down another cab. HOWEVER, and that is a VERY BIG HOWEVER, while I was telling the cabbie where we were going, two big bags of douche pushed through my friends as they were starting to get into the cab and stole it from us. They refused to get out and the driver didn't do shit. Needless to say they got some words and a few different hand gestures from us. I hope they crashed and were forced to suffer through a massive explosion, dying a slow and painful burning death.

Lesson 20: Knock on the door of Flat 25 at any hour of the night, someone will answer

The flat directly above us is also a UMD flat with 3 girls and 2 guys. Even though there are the same amount of people as us, their apartment is twice the size of ours. Then again if I was living with a couple of frat boys I would prefer to have as much space as possible too. But that's besides the point. Their apartment has turned into the go-to place whenever we get back from the bars at night...even when we don't go out with them. So after the past hour of attempting to find a cab home, we had to share our stories with our friends upstairs. Circa 4am we run upstairs and start knocking on the door--it was answered eventually, by a friend (who doesn't even live there). We barged in immediately and ran into our friends' bedroom to wake them up so they would party with us. After ripping their sheets off and a few minor attempts at pantsing them, the guys were game for a post-game. We didn't get to bed until 6am.

Day 3

Lesson 15: Steer clear of the late night Chinese food

I don't really know about anyone else, but after a few drinks all I want is cheap, disgustingly delicious and oily Chinese food. The bar we went to last night was right at the end of Chinatown, so we figured it couldn't be that bad. Clearly, we were wrong. When we walked in there was a sign saying that they wouldn't serve people without an ID.......we later found out they didn't even have a liquor license. Misleading bastards. Strike 1. Once we walked up the 3 flights of stairs to the seating area (they're lucky I enjoy feeling taller and superior to those outside while I eat) I started paging through the menu, only to find NO SESAME CHICKEN, NO CHICKEN AND BROCCOLI, and NO LO MEIN WHATSOEVER. Don't they know that these are the basic staples of the drunk American college student's post-bar diet??? Strikes 2, 3, and 4. I wound up having to get "egg fried rice" (scrambled eggs mixed with plain white rice) and 4 spring rolls which could have easily been someone's deep fried amputated fingers. Oh well.

Lesson 16: Subway sticks to its American roots

My 6 inch turkey on wheat with lettuce tomatoes pickles olives and mayo in London tastes exactly the same as it does at home. And it's still a 6 inch sandwich. Not a 15.24cm sandwich. Delicious. Jared/Michael Phelps would be proud.

Lesson 17: Workers here are not half as selfish as they are in the states, or maybe they're just shitty salespeople

Unlike the pretentious bastards at the Apple store who pretend there is no way to move your music from your iPod to your computer because they don't want you using someone else's freeware (even though they are huge nerds and I'm sure probably wrote that program before they sold out to Apple retail), the people in stores here are more than happy to direct you elsewhere to find something that better suits your needs. There were two different stores that weren't able to give me EXACTLY what I wanted for a cell phone plan. When I asked if there were any other stores that they thought could give me what I wanted, they just pointed me to another store--no attempt to convince me to try something a little different, no lies saying that no one would be able to give me what I wanted. I was NOT used to this. I was so ready for the used car salesman-esque attempt to convince me that what they were selling was what I REALLY needed.

Day 2

Lesson 8: Bring your own shower curtain

So the flat is awesome, don't get me wrong, but if you're going to be including all sheets, towels, and silverware is it too wrong to assume there will be a shower curtain too?? When given rules that the windows always have to be open when showering, and when the window looks directly into the shower itself, I would have appreciated a heads up before coming that I might need to bring my own shower curtain. Clearly the first thing anyone wants to do when they get off of an international plane ride is shower off the stench of stale coffee and airplane lasagna. At least give a bit of warning that I may be unknowingly performing a show for the locals if I don't have the time to get the shower curtain.

Lesson 9: Orientations are a dumb, redundant waste of my time

I understand that some people are incapable of living on their own and figuring out how to wipe their own ass, but that is soooo not my problem. So far we've had two orientations (not counting the orientations we had back at school before we left). The first one on Wednesday was from 10am - 2pm. The second one today was from 10am - 3pm. She decided to be nice and changed tomorrow's orientation from 10am - 12pm to 11am - 12pm. So far we have been given different packets at each orientation, and while I'm sure the information is reeeeeally important, I just don't think it's necessary for us to read through everything together at a rate of roughly 4 words per minute. But that's not even the worst part. She seems a bit confused--she can't decide on an accent. Make up your mind woman!-are you British or are you American???

Lesson 10: Fluorescent lighting isn't conducive to the mitigation of a hangover

Given my flatmates and I have gone to bed each night around 5am, so far each morning I wake up fine. I get up, get dressed (in real clothes!-not just sweats!), brush my teeth, grab something to eat, and we're off to the college where the orientation is. It isn't until we get to the classroom in the building that I start feeling woozy. Between the lighting, the drone of the woman's voice and her offensive assumption of our stupidity, my only real option is to curl up my jacket on the table and faceplant it, softly crying because I know I have to do this again tomorrow.

Note: surprisingly enough I'm actually excited to be writing about things I do during the day, but unfortunately I have been reduced to spending the majority of the daytime hours trapped in that nauseating windowless classroom. So I'll just continue outlining my escapades of the night:

Lesson 11a: Not all Germans are Nazis

While on line for the club we went to last night, Zoo Bar, we happened to be behind two (quite good looking) Germans around our age from a town north of Hamburg (let's just call them German #1 and German #2). I have to admit when I overheard them speaking German the first thing I thought of was "Inglourious Basterds"....("NEIN NEIN NEIN NEIN NEIN!!!".."OH YES YES YES YES YES"). German #2 was a bit tattooed up so I obviously had to indulge my curiosity and ask what the hell they said. He proceeded to ask me if I had ever read the bible....uhhh no? He seemed confused, and then put the pieces together that I was a Jew. Luckily that didn't stop him from hitting on me. Score 1 for the Jews.

Lesson 11b: Germans can dance

It must be all the phenomenal German techno and trance music that these guys grew up listening to, because I have never had the honor of dancing with someone who actually has rhythm until last night. German #2 was also impressed with my extreme knowledge of the Numa Numa song. I was flattered.

On a side note, I got a confirmation of Lesson 5. While dancing with German #2 another guy shamelessly took a grab at something that did not belong to him. Still not cool.

Lesson 11c: Germans prefer cologne to deodorant

But I guess that's Europe for you. Me and German #2 danced for maybe 20 minutes, but that 20 minutes was enough for his BO and Axe-like cologne to seep into my pores and become absorbed into the rats nest that is my hair.

Lesson 12: The French hate Roosevelt Field Mall

When we were leaving the club last night we met a French guy who had studied at Adelphi. He was not impressed with the mecca that is the Roosevelt Field Mall. I was shocked. I mean why go to Adelphi?

Lesson 13: The World Really Is That Small

Met a guy my age named Matt who's studying abroad in London for the semester as well. He goes to Georgetown and went to the same high school as my sister Perri's boyfriend Jake. I was able to stalk him down on Facebook today and find out a last name. It's scary how good I am at that.

Lesson 14: Boys Love The Fabes

My flatmate Fabey-baby is this cute little blonde thing who I absolute love. So far she's 2-for-2 nights in having guys (extremely good looking guys) come up to her in the bars and start talking. The best part is that they usually have hot friends who are then forced to be said guy's wingmen, whereupon they become inundated with my impeccable personality and great sense of humor. She's a keeper.

Day 1

Lesson 1: Always sit shotgun with the driver

On the way from Heathrow to my "flat" I was lucky enough to sit shotgun (on the leftside!!) next to our driver Trevor. Let's just say by the end of the trip we were in love. We bonded over my love for the Whopper and basically fast food in general. He loved that we (me and my roommate Gabby) were cheap dates.

Lesson 2: Phones can get jetlagged

The GoogleMaps application on my phone is taking some time to adjust. For the first 18 hours in London it still thought for some reason that it was in the US. I wasn't able to get directions from my phone until about 5 minutes ago.

Lesson 3: The food may not be that great, but the cheap beer makes up for it

Once all the roommates arrived (Carla from NJ, Alex or "Fabes" from PA, Michelle from TX and Gabby from NY) we went out for our first meal in London. We found this pub down the block from our flat called "Albany" where they had a lunch special- £5 for a sandwich and a pint. I got a "club" which was supposedly chicken and bacon on toasted bread. The chicken wasn't too bad, but the "bacon" was an interesting variety of man-bear-pig...not quite sure what it really was, but I don't appreciate it when rubber poses as bacon. Not cool. If it wasn't for my pint of beer (at 11:30am) I probably wouldn't have continued to eat it. But I did.

Lesson 4: Men in tuxedos in bars are hilarious

We met my roommate Gabby's friend Pam at the bar we were at last night, and she was walking around with a bottle of champagne. Out of nowhere these two men (probably in their 30s), wearing tuxedos come up to us and start talking. Obviously we told them we were in London celebrating Pam's engagement and subsequent bachelorette party...hence the champagne. The older/taller/uglier-version-of-Gerard Butler/pudgier of the tuxedos took a liking to me (obviously) and began talking to me about Scottish poetry...why? I have no idea. He then offered to be my tourguide for London, and gave me his card...I think I'm going to start a collection.

Lesson 5: Middle Eastern men on London dancefloors might as well be rapists

which leads us to lesson 6...

Lesson 6: It's okay to physically assault creepers in bars

Man walks up behind girl. Man grabs girl's ass. Girl turns around and gives man stink eye. Girl turns back around to talk to friends. Man grabs girl's ass again. Girl turns around and says to man, "You grab my ass one more time and you lose a testicle." Man grabs girls face and tries to kiss her. Girl smacks man's hand off her face, then smacks him across the face. Man walks away. The end.

Lesson 7: British cab drivers are much nicer than NYC cab drivers

Not much else to say about that.

That was about it for the first day. I'll try to remember to update tomorrow!