Cake Mix

Aaaand here I am promoting someone else's blog again:
Cake Wrecks

We have the good:



The bad:



and the ugly/weird/deer in hell:




I went through EVERY post last night instead of sleeping.

It was totally worth it.

Professor Snoodgood

I haven't updated in a while, I know.
School has been busy, and when I have down time, I like to zone out in a book or play Snood on the computer.
Which reminds me, I think Snood causes hallucinations because I see Snoods in front of my eyes when I blink or look in certain directions. Probably not okay.
One of those "isn't life funny" things:
When I try to write "slut" in a text message (of course, I'm not actually using this word in a text. I'm just, uh...remembering how to spell it. Yeah. I would never use language derogatory to women.)
my T9 spells "plut" and then recommends the word "plutocracy."
I feel like there's irony in there somewhere. Maybe something about rich sluts, I don't know.
My first issue of the newspaper came out yesterday morning.
It's pretty scary, realizing I have hard evidence of my status as editor-in-chief. I can't hide now. It's my paper and I have to take responsibility for the good and the bad. And the ugly typos that still get through the editing process.
Anyway, that's all I have to say.

Clever title

I sometimes forget how hard it is for me to be vulnerable.

Today I had a reminder, when I felt like I was prying open my chest, and I was uncomfortably aware of how everything inside it ached and burned and prayed not to be stabbed.
I know it's not easy for anyone, but why is it really hard for me?
It's good, healthy, blah etc blah, to talk about feelings and address issues, but sometimes I can't and don't want to.

I'm starting to feel again, and it's strange and uncomfortable.

Dinosaur Tales

I'm a fan of this music video:




Also, I'm Ray Bradbury's lost soulmate.
I just discovered:
"But as for now I accept the fact, and proclaim it quietly, that without dinosaurs my life would have been nothing at all. Dinosaurs started me on the track to becoming a writer."

13 Going on 21.

Turning 21 isn't really that exciting, save for it makes me sound older than 20.
It's true, though, isn't it? 21 sounds so much older than 20. Turning 22 will sound even older.
My "big night" consisted of dinner with my mom and dad, followed by another Prison Break marathon. But not before we all had an argument that turned into a let's-talk-about-our-feelings, why-don't-you-tell-us-how-you-feel, you-know-you-can-always-talk-to-us-about-anything conversation. (Hi, mom. Yes, I know you read this.)
It feels weird that it's summer, because after Oxford ended and I traveled the globe, trying to slowly make my way home, it felt like it was time to go back to school. In fact, I would have willingly gone back if it meant finishing college earlier. Instead I have a whole summer in front of me, when all I want to do is get senior year over with.
After being in Oxford, I feel really unproductive if I'm not writing a paper or reading for a gazillion hours a day or walking half an hour just to listen to some boring lecture on the British economy and then walking half an hour to get back home. Sitting in the jacuzzi at home makes me feel brain dead compared to what I was doing this past semester. I'm trying to tell myself that what I'm doing and where I'm at right now is acceptable, but it's a strange adjustment. No one's expecting excellence from me in the categories of secretarial work or sunbathing.
I think I'm coming out of the transitory phase of being abroad to being home right now. I didn't enter the phase until I was in New York, 3ish weeks after actually leaving Oxford, and then one day, WABOOSH, I'm crying into my pillow WAH WAH WAH I MISS MY FRIENDS I MISS MY ROOMMATES I MISS LIBRARIES AND SCONES.
I still miss scones, and I still miss the people I became close to, but it's fading more lately.
I have realized I'm still angry about some things I thought I was almost over, and I'm almost over some things I thought I was angry about.

FEELINGS. I'm talking about my FEEEEELINGS. Is everyone proud?
Thank you.

edit: There's no way for me to mention Oxford without feeling or sounding pretentious, so I'm pretending to ignore the fact that it bothers me.

The sequel is called Arrogance and Racism.

Today was the end of everything.

I had my last art tutorial this afternoon. We had our British history and culture exam on Wednesday. I am

D

O

N

E

!

Tonight was a Pride and Prejudice marathon night (the BBC long version), complete with tons of snacks and scones and sugary sweetness. It was a nice finish to my morning, which consisted of trying to get through the rest of my giant books on Surrealism and conjure up a paper on Giorgio de Chirico and Rene Magritte before 2 pm.

But now I am free. Tomorrow I am sleeping in and reading books and doing whatever the hell I feel like doing. Which will probably consist of eating chocolate at some point.

Monday is our last day in Oxford. Which I'm getting my head around, because it's so strange to think I'm out of here in about 3 days. We have a "final symposium" on Monday, where everyone talks for about ten minutes each on one of their tutorials, and we're all having lunch at Pizza Express (which, contrary to images the name might evoke, is actually a nice restaurant).

Tuesday I fly out to Spain with Daniel and Amanda and we're in Barcelona for about 4 1/2 days. Ironically, Spain was the last place I wanted to go while I was abroad, but I'm actually looking forward to it. There are sweet museums that feature Surrealist art I just studied, and there's a Dali museum, too. And the beach. The beach is good, too.

After that I fly back to Oxford to collect all my crap, fly to Germany for about 3 weeks, and then fly to New York, stay there for 10 days and then FINALLY get home.

I miss the sun, I miss the beach, and I miss the beauty of Palos Verdes. How cheesy am I?

I have hair dye in my hair and it's time for me to go wash it out...Au Revoir.

Here's a picture of Brit and I doing something.

My life in pictures

Bino, Janel, Ryan and I went to a Verdi musical concert over by the Bodleian Library, and afterwards decided to take some family portraits. The results? As follows:

Port Meadow is just down the street from my house. Pony time on a whim? Count me in:

Sunday, we went to the Black Country, famous for its coal mines. And black soot emissions. Wow, was that ever the most interesting place I've been to.

(No, no it was not).

However, Janel and I were called a floozy and a hussy, respectively, by the school mum. We had fingernail polish on, which qualifies us as such, I guess. And Ben and I volunteered (unknowingly) to be reprimanded in front of the class. Best part of the day, I'd say.

And we press on.

Hello, all.
Sorry it's taken me so long to update. This post will be followed by one of the ever-favorite "My life in pictures" post.
Lately I feel like someone dumped about 3 tons of bricks on top of me and I'm trying to climb my way out or carry them around or somehow deal with having a copious amount of bricks on my person. In other words, life is hard.

The learning part is the good part. I love what I'm studying, especially the modern art part of it. I've been looking at Mary Cassatt, Edgar Degas, Eduoard Manet, and other Impressionist artists, as well as reading about Avant-Garde art and feminism and sexuality in modern art. I'm finally studying something I've been wanting to learn about for at least 5 years. My tutor and I meet at the Ashmoleon Museum and go to the print room and look at original prints from the artists I'm studying. Last week we looked at original Degas sketches and, like OMGZ, it's absolutely amazing to think I'm holding and looking at something Degas once touched.

Apart from that, life hurts right now. Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks, right? My heart feels like it's full of toxins, and everything I'm feeling keeps bubbling over.
Because I'm so much more vocal than most people about how I feel, it seems like I'm the only person around who is a mess. I feel so much more broken than everyone else, when I know I shouldn't because everyone is broken. I'm so tired of feeling. Sometimes I wish I could take my heart out of my chest so I could cease feeling. But is feeling what keeps us alive? What keeps us human?

I'm struggling. I'm okay, but I'm struggling.

Can we really find all that in London?

Note to self:
Spell check entries before posting.

Well, yesterday was London calling.
Oh ho, I'm so clever, using the name of a song by The Clash to describe my adventure. That's never been done before.
Ben, Janel and I got separated from the group, so we clung together for the day, and I had a very enjoyable time with the two of them. Even though I love everyone here, it was nice to be away from them. Sorry if that sounds terrible; it isn't meant to be insulting.
London consisted of the National Art Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, Trafalgar Square and Westminster Abbey. Oh, and partying with David Beckham and the Spice Girls.
Okay, mayyyybe that last part didn't happen. But I can dream, can't I?
Oh, and chocolate everyday? Check!

P.S. If you can tell me what movie the title of this blog is from, I'll share my chocolate with you.

As usual, here are pictures:

Janel and I.






Bino and Ben being Big Ben, har har.



My housemates. Or as we like to call ourselves, Sausage and Meesh.
(L-R: Bino, me, Ryan, Ben, Zach, Daniel)


All the girls!


Westminster Abbey


My fave.



London ninja.


London Eye(s).


Trio.




Duo.



Cliche, but necessary.



Trafalgar Square.



Medium John?


In Trafalgar Square.


Westminster Abbey at night (with a bus going by).

Again in Trafalgar Square.


Fountains?

My life in pictures.

It's been a while since the last post, sorry (mom).
So far, so good:
My modern art tutor is nice, knows his stuff, and is passionate about it. After some brief reading, I decided I want to learn more about Surrealism. You should check it out-- it's pretty sweet.
My British journalism tutor is wonderful. He worked for the BBC for about 30 year, has taught in India, and traveled all over the world. He's retired now and gives tours of Oxford, and is going to take me and two other girls he's tutoring on a tour sometime.
I've been at the Bodleian library a lot, mostly doing pleasure reading, which is what I've been doing a lot of since I've been here. I think I've polished off 5 books now. I'm currently reading The Waves by Virginia Woolf, How We Are Hungry by Dave Eggers, and I have about 7 more on reserve in the library. It's so fantastic, I can't even tell you. I could just live the rest of my life devouring books.
I'm still absolutely enamored with my housemates. Yes, enamored. I love my little family of five brothers. We keep staying up watching movies together or looking up weird youtube videos called "Pickle Surprise" that make us afraid to shut our eyes at night or sitting in the stairwell of the second floor talking about snuff films and what scary movie character we'd be in a horror film (I, naturally, am scary possessed exorcist girl).
The construction going on at the side of our house keeps waking me up every morning at 8 and keeps me restless until I actually have to get up. I don't think there is any getting used to it: am I going to be in a perpetual state of tiredness?
Thank goodness for caffeinated tea.
Would you like some pictures? Okay!

It was freezing outside (me, Janel, Ryan).



Christchurch College



Nighttime romp in the streets with roomies.
(L-R: Rye, me, Zach, Bino)



At Daniel and Amanda's engagement dinner!
(L-R: Sam, Kyle, Steph, me, Courtney)



And the engagement after party with Meg and Bino



Janel and I: English pirates?



Outside the library I'm always reading at.




Ben, me and Ryan. Before watching "The Gauntlet," the reason I now hate Clint Eastwood. And that movie. And my roommates for wanting to watch it.



Just being as cool as we are.



Outside St. Mary's church