Brightlyn

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

On December 1, two old friends blew into town. The first was a snowstorm. You may be asking yourself how I can be friends with snow. The answer is: I love snow like a little kid loves snow. And when I see it all I want to do is play outside all day long and go sledding and make snowballs and eat snowballs and roll around and make snow angels and all of that nonsense. Everyone told me that England (and Brighton in particular) doesn’t get a lot of snow, so I never really expected any. And apparently neither did the city. It only snowed about eight inches, but Brighton was totally shut down for two days. But more on that later. The second friend to blow into town was Andrew Vanette and his band, A Million Years, here for their first-ever UK tour.

Andrew and I talked about maybe meeting up Wednesday night after he got into town for some dinner or beers or whatnot, but the snow changed all those plans. He went to his hotel to nap/have a snowball fight in his parking lot, and I went sledding on campus.

Earlier in the day, Joao and I made our way to the Toys R’ Us in Hove looking for sleds. Spoiler alert: they didn’t have any. We checked any store that looked even remotely like they would carry sleds. They didn’t. Every place was sold out already, even though it had only been snowing for a few hours. So, defeated, we came back to Brighton to drown our sorrows in burgers from Grubbs. While eating, we decided to go to campus anyways, as there are a lots of hills and open spaces to play in. And, as we were near Jill’s house at the time, we wandered over to scoop her up on the way. At first, she was reluctant to join us, as it was cold/snowy/she was studying. But Joao persuaded her by throwing a snowball through her window and beaning her in the head. That would convince anyone to come outside, if only for retaliation, which she got. And, when she joined us, Jill brought not only her game face, but the idea to use garbage bags as sleds. Joao and I were skeptical about how well they would work, but we grabbed a few and made our way to school anyway, and Nick met us there with his car.

On campus, we had snowball fights, we slid on our garbage bags (which work surprisingly well), we tried to use discarded pieces of wood (which don’t work at all), and we had a kickass time…until it was time to go home. The buses had stopped running already due to the snow (they wouldn’t start again for two days, hence the entire city being shut down) so we had to take Nick’s car. The only problem: to get out of campus you have to drive up a huge hill, and the car wasn’t making it. We started up fine but it started skidding and fishtailing. So, we all got out and hiked up the hill while Nick drove solo. It took about 45 minutes to get home, since Nick had to drive super slow (it usually takes about 15) but finally we got back to town and went to Joao’s house to warm up.

After defrosting a bit, we decided to try and walk home before it got too bad out. Nick stayed at Joao’s, so Jill and I went some of the way together before parting ways towards our individual houses. On the way into the city center from Joao’s house, you have to walk down a semi-steep hill. During our stroll, there were bands of drunk hooligans waiting to ambush us with snowballs at every corner. Seriously. Then, when I cursed at one of them and it came out that I was American, the snowballs stopped, but the TERRIBLE American accent impressions went on and on and on.

After we finally escaped the snowball delinquents, Jill and I were strolling along, making conversation, when I turned to her to say something…and she was gone! I looked down, and back a few paces, and she was lying flat on her back with her hands over her face. I assumed she was laughing at falling, so I started laughing as well. However, she had knocked her head pretty bad in the fall and had her hands over her face cause she was dazed, and possibly minorly concussed. Luckily, two guys ran over to help her, one of whom was dressed as a skinny, flamboyant Henry VIII. Seriously. He had on modern snow boots, but tucked into those were flowy bloomers in a dark burgundy. On top he had a yellow and red vertically striped jacket with balls on the shoulders, bell sleeves, and a high, pointy collar. And to top it all off, he had multicolored dreadlocks and was wearing one of Robin Hood’s old hats, feather and all. He and his normally dressed friend helped Jill off the ground and helped her over to a bus stop bench to sit down and get her wits about her, while I stared open-mouthed at this man’s appearance whilst trying not to let him know I was staring. However, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, fading into the snowflakes as if he never existed at all. I was tempted to ask Jill if she had seen his outfit, but as she was still pretty shook up from her fall, I let it slide.

After this incident, and after we parted ways, the rest of my walk went really smoothly. And beautifully. It was just me and the snowflakes. No iPod, no conversation. Just beautiful snowy silence.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Thursday I had plans to go see Andrew’s show in the evening, but during the day I pretty much lounged around the house as nothing outside was plowed and it had turned to ice during the night. Actually, Landa and I made a mini snowman with our neighbors, then tried to go garbage bag sledding down our street, but failed, so we retreated into the warm house.

That night I had to walk to the Prince Albert pub, where the show as being held, since there were no buses still. Like I said earlier, Brighton + snow = shut DOWN. And, of course, I busted my ass on the ice like three times on the way. Ugh.

I was nervous about seeing Andrew again, as we hadn’t really spoken at all since high school, but it turns out he hasn’t changed much in the years in between. Except maybe to get even taller. His band, A Million Years, is kickass, they put on a great show, and he bought me a beer afterwards. Playing good music/buying me drinks is pretty much all it takes to become my friend. And, luckily, he’s an easy kid to talk to so we were able to hang out without tons of random awkward silences.

My favorite part of the evening came during the main act, Jesse Malin, who is a maniac. I had never heard of him before but apparently he’s really well known and has played with like everyone. He’s also a maniac. He starts off every one of his songs with a big long tangent about when/where he wrote it, drugs he took while writing it, what this or that famous person had to say about it, etc, etc. Then, during a slow song, he asked everyone in the pub to lay on the floor. AND THEY DID. I was grossed out, but thought I was safe, as Andrew and I were standing on the side near the bar. Until Jesse came out with this: “THAT ALSO GOES FOR YOU TWO STANDING OVER BY THE BAR.”

“Wow, we’ve been called out,” Andrew said to me. “We better do what he says.” All I could think of was broken glass and muddy shoes, but did what he said. And even though I was skeeving the floor, I couldn’t help but laugh at the craziness of it.

After the show I hung out while the bands packed up their stuff. One of the security guys from the pub tried to kick me out, but Andrew called over, “let her stay, she’s with the band.” And that was pretty much the coolest sentence ever said in reference to me thus far. Hopefully it’s not the last time I hear it.

Originally, the plan was to hang out for a while after the show and go to a pub or something. However, because of the weather, Andrew’s manager said they had better start driving, as it was going to take them twice as long. So, A Million Years piled into their van and headed off, and I made my slow, slippery way home.

So, when one neglects their blog for several months and then attempts to go back and fill in all the details of what one has been up to during that time, one is bound to forget a detail here or there. And what I forgot in the month of November is that I attended a Gogol Bordello concert at the Brighton Dome, which may or may not have been a date.

I can sense your confused faces all the way from here, so allow me to elaborate. During Thanksgiving dinner, Adam mentioned that Gogol Bordello was playing in Brighton that Sunday, November 28, and asked if anyone wanted to go. Being the music lover that I am, I said sure, thinking that a big group of people would be going. Fast forward to the actual concert date. By this time, I had decided that I didn’t want to go, as I didn’t know Adam that well or any of his friends that I assumed were coming, so I tried to get out of it. The concert was supposedly sold out (phew!) but Adam announced that he was going to try and score some tickets at the box office the day of the show, just in case. I was crossing all my fingers and toes, hoping he wouldn’t be able to get any, but told him I’d meet him at the dome anyways for moral support. And Joao offered to come with me for MY moral support, even though he had no intention of coming to the show.

When we arrived, Adam was already online. He yelled out to us that there were tickets available, but at a higher price than online. Also, he was there ALONE. Meaning that if we went it would be just me and him. Great. I yelled back that since I didn’t know the band that well, I didn’t want to pay the extra dough. And Adam, being the gentleman that he is, OFFERED TO PAY THE DIFFERENCE AND BOUGHT ONE FOR ME ANYWAY.

“I feel like I’m abandoning a friend to the sharks,” Joao told me as he left me there, and then probably chuckled to himself the whole way home.

So then there were two. Me and Adam. Adam and I. A kid I had met twice and barely spoken to either time. And, let it be known, a kid I have zero interest in, and who has a girlfriend but notoriously doesn’t care, according to Bronia, who used to live with him. We have about half an hour til the concert starts, so I assume that we’re going to go inside and get good spots. Instead, he asks if I’m hungry (I say no), then suggests we run across the street to this Japanese restaurant Pompoko, which I had been to once before with my usual crew.

So, there we are. Me and my Diet Coke. Him and his fried octopus balls. Not kidding. Apparently he’s a regular, as all the waitresses greet him by name and tease him about his order. As he gingerly dips a wad of octopus meat in mayonnaise, Adam tells me he works nearby and is trying to go through the entire menu (which is numbered) starting at 1 and working his way to the end. The fried octopus balls were number 97. “So far I haven’t found anything I didn’t like, except for a few things,” he tells me. Rightttt. We then make some extremely awkward smalltalk, and then I furiously text Joao that I’m going to kill him for leaving me when Adam excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

The only good part of the evening so far is that he pays for my Diet Coke.

After dinner, we head inside. The concert is held in the same building where the University of Sussex held the international students welcome reception that Sara, Landa and I attended way back in September, but in the actual dome, not the foyer. The venue is completely round, with seats all around the perimeter and an empty floor area in front of the stage. It’s also very pretty, with a flower pattern on the domed ceiling.

The opening band, Devotchka (which Adam tells me means “woman” in Russian) is on, so we decide to sit and wait until Gogol Bordello comes on. Before the concert, I pretty much knew nothing about the band except the name and that they played some sort of gypsy-punk hybrid. Upon entering the dome, I spy the GB merchandise stand on the left wall. They are selling, among other things, a t-shirt with a big moustache on it that says “THIS MOUSTACHE KILLS FASCISTS” in huge block letters. I immediately decide I like the band, and to this day I regret not buying that shirt.

While waiting for the band to come on, Adam runs into some friends of his that walk past our seats and promises to meet up with them near the front of the stage before the show starts. So, after Devotchka finishes, we go to meet them. As I mentioned, Adam has a girlfriend. This I knew. Also, as I mentioned, I have no interest in him. However, the girlfriends of his friends apparently did not know this, for as soon as we got done with introductions, one of them butted in with “Adam, where’s Yana, YOUR GIRLFRIEND? Wasn’t she in town JUST LAST WEEK? I can’t believe how LOOOOOONG you guys have been together.” All of these capitalized statements were said with pointed glances in my direction. I could have killed Adam right then. I felt so awkward, and like I was some slut trying to steal him away from sweet little Yana. And I really, REALLY wanted to scream out “I’m not interested in him! I swear! I didn’t know it was going to be just us! If I had I’d never have come! I promise!” But instead I just listened to Adam’s response to these questions and put on what I hoped was a platonic-looking face that said that we were strictly friends and that I was fully aware of his relationship status.

Luckily, I was saved from further embarrassment by the band, who came on shortly after this exchange. Gogol Bordello is a bit like Slipknot, where there are a bunch of people in the band, some of whom actually contribute to the vocals and music, and some of whom are just there to put on a show, but without the masks. And their music is kind of the love child of gypsy folk music and punk rock. Also, they’re awesome, and I would strongly encourage anyone reading this to check them out.

With the first chords of the first song, the pit erupts, and I am knocked about ten feet away from Adam. At first, I fight against the current to try and get back to his side. However, he doesn’t seem concerned by my absence, and lord knows I don’t want to stand with him and his friends anymore, so I get close enough to punch him (which he may or may not have deserved, but which also felt really really amazing) and then fled into the pit and spent the rest of the show dancing on my own. And I had an awesome time from that moment on.

After the show Adam invited me to go to a pub with him and his friends (and their bitchy girlfriends) but I excused myself saying I had work to do for school, then ran for the hills, relieved to have escaped, excited about finding a new band to like, and a bit sad that I didn’t buy the shirt with the fascist-killing moustache.

Well well well. Where has the time gone? Towards the end of last term I pretty much fell off the world. I’m pretty disappointed in myself, since I was writing this blog just as much for myself as the (few) people who read it, if not more so. I kinda liked having a day by day account of what was going on in my life here, so 50 years I could look back and be like, “wow, I did a whole bunch of nothing back then” or something like that. I’ll try to be much better in the future, but to get us caught up to speed, I’m just going to give you the highlight reel. Instead of week by week, I’m going to take it month by month til we get up to speed. Got it? Good. Here we go.

NOVEMBER

Saturday, November 13, 2010 - Free Hugs Day

On this particular Saturday, I gathered in Churchill Square with Jill, Frauke, Ana, Nick, Alex, Joao, Joao’s girlfriend Ines, and Nick’s friend Will to hand out some Free Hugs. Yes, you read that correctly. Free hugs. Me. The person who mocks people who do this at Bamboozle and Warped Tour. I walked around all day handing out Free Hugs. With a sign that said Free Hugs on one side and Obey This Sign on the other. And you know what? It was pretty awesome. And hilarious. Alex brought a megaphone and he kept saying things like “Anyone caught not in possession of smile will be beaten into submission with our truncheons of love” and all sorts of crazy stuff. You can check out a video of us doing our thing here. It may look like we were at it all day, since it goes from light to dark. But we only started at about two and it was November, so it got dark at about 4. I’ll also post a couple of pictures from my hugging adventure.

Thursday, November 25, 2010 - A Very Pirate Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving. I was pretty nervous as Thanksgiving approached, because I knew that I would be homesick that day, thinking of my family gathered together to celebrate. The laughs (and wine) they’d be having, the decorations on the table, the warmth, the atmosphere, the food, the company. And the more I thought about it the more panicked I became. Therefore, I decided to host an American-style Thanksgiving celebration at my place for my nearest and dearest Brightonians. One of the first people I brought this idea up to was Jill, who promptly responded with, “That sounds amazing! What’s the theme going to be?” My reaction: “Ummm….theme?” Thanksgiving ain’t a costume party, I wanted to tell her, but she was adamant that a theme was needed. Adamant enough to convince me that she was right. At the time, we were in front of the Churchill Square shopping center on line at The West Cornwall Pasty Company, waiting for Jill’s mushroom and cheese pasty to be ready. For those of you who aren’t familiar with this luxurious dining establishment, it has a pirate for a mascot. A big, burly one with a wild black beard, a pointy hat, and an eye patch, eating a pasty, of course. He’s pretty badass if I do say so myself. So, when Jill asked me what the theme of my Thanksgiving party would be. I took a moment to think, looked around, spotted West Cornwall’s pirate-y mascot, and the answer became clear. “Pirates,” I said, confident I had made the right decision. “The theme is pirates.”

Now we had a theme, a venue, a guest list, all I needed to do was shop for groceries the day before and do the cooking the day of. No problem, right? Wrong, as usual.

Wednesday night Bronia and I made our way to the Asda supermarket in Hollingbury (across the street from where we have our Tuesday class/internship at The Argus newspaper) to do the shopping. We decided to go there because a) it’s cheap and b) they also sell clothes, toys, etc., and I thought they might have some pirate paraphernalia for me.

Well, I should say Bronia made her way to Asda, quickly and painlessly. Usually I take the number 24 bus there, as it stops directly in front of the supermarket. However, as I was in town instead of near my house when leaving that day, I decided to take the number 46, which also stops near Asda, but approaches it from the opposite direction. However, unbeknownst to me, on weekdays the 46 bypasses Asda. So, I’m on the bus, looking out the window waiting to see the familiar white and green Asda logo and finally I spot it: off in the far distance and some ways behind us. I run up and ask the driver if the bus is going to stop there, and he tells me about the bypass, then suggests I hop off and walk back. Meanwhile, Bronia has made it there in no time and is waiting for me to make my appearance and I am already ten minutes late.

So I set off at a brisk walk towards the tiny, distant Asda sign, not knowing where I am but figuring that if I keep walking towards it, eventually I’ll get there. Again, I am wrong. I feel like one of Arthur’s knights searching for the Holy Grail, or one of the wise men following the star over Bethlehem to find Jesus. I can see where I have to go, LITERALLY SEE IT, but for some reason I can’t get there. I keep hitting dead ends and cul-de-sacs, stumbling into people’s backyards and parking lots with one exit, all the while the Asda beacon is shining down on me from afar, taunting me as I make my slow, painful way towards it like a person dying of thirst in a desert crawling towards an oasis. And just like our desert-ed friend, I’m not entirely sure if this apparition is a mirage or not. At one point, I lose sight of the sign as a hill rises in front of me, but I know that I can find it again if I make my way up and over. So I start climbing. And climbing. And climbing. Until finally I emerge out on top of the hill to see Asda frustratingly far down below me, but (finally!) reachable via a staircase on the opposite side of the hill from the way I’ve come up. I make my way down quickly, skipping down the steps, ecstatic and relieved to have found my way at long last. I dart across the road and up the stairs into Asda, and I finally meet up with Bronia, 45 minutes late. Oops.

Luckily, Bronia is the forgiving kind, so she shrugs off my massive lateness and suggests we get started. As you all probably know by now, I am not a good cook. In fact, in all the months I’ve lived here in Brighton, I’ve maybe used the stove five times, and the oven less than that. Bronia, on the other hand, is a very talented chef. So, as we were shopping, she kept amending items on my list to make them harder to cook but (she promised) yummier. For example, buying actual potatoes to make mashed potatoes instead of using the instant variety, which is what I was going to do. (Side note: to this day she is still horrified that I almost fed everyone instant taters.)

We go up and down every aisle, and some of them more than once, making sure we have everything. By the end, my basket is overflowing, my list has grown to twice its size…and I have no idea how I’m going to get it all home on the bus. I try to ask Nick to come and get us, as he is the only person I know with a car, but no dice. So, instead we call car service. And then proceed to wait for our car OUTSIDE in the freezing rain instead of in the warm supermarket entryway. I don’t know why we did this, but I do know it was torturous. However, at long last our car service guy shows up, helps us pack the car, and we make it home. On the way up the hill to my house, I call Sara and ask if she and Landelin can run out and help me carry the packages in, and luckily they are both home and sweet enough to say yes. I saved a bundle by shopping at Asda, but I still wonder if perhaps I should have just sucked it up and gone to the Sainsbury’s down the hill. Alas, hindsight is everything.

Thanksgiving day I wake up bright and early, which for me is about 11:30, and prepare to start cooking. Bronia joins me shortly after I get up and we have some breakfast, read some cooking directions, and get started. Unfortunately, the only directions I have for cooking turkey are in farenheits and pounds and American measurements, while my stove here is in celcius and the turkey is in grams. And, out of the groceries, half are in metric and half aren’t, so we spend the whole time googling conversions as we cook. When it came time to talk to the fam on the phone, everyone I spoke to asked if I had set fire to anything or burned anything. Sorry to disappoint you all, but cooking went really smoothly! Cleaning the turkey was BEYOND disgusting, and I felt like crying and/or vomiting the entire time, but I got through it, cleaned it, stuffed it, stuck it in the oven, and then had some time to relax.

During our post-turkey in oven, pre-guests arriving time, Bronia and I changed into our pirate outfits: a striped dress, green belt, black boots, and orange flower crown for me, a blue and white striped apron, tri-corned  hat made out of looseleaf that said “Cap’n Cook” on it and whimsical eyeliner moustache for her. And soon our guests began to arrive. Everyone embraced the pirate theme, and then some! There were head scarves and eye patches and beards and belts and swords (both real and cardboard!) galore. And also, pre-party, everyone was instructed to come up with a pirate phrase that they had to repeat throughout the night. Here’s how the breakdown went.

Me: Shiver Me Timbers!

Jill: Ahoy Me Hearties!

Joao: Prepare to be Boarded!

Bronia: Avast!

Adam (Bronia’s friend): Land!

Frauke: Feed the Fish!

Ana: Walk the Plank!

Pretty kickass, huh? I’m happy/proud to say that everything went off without a hitch. We ate, we drank (a lot), we yelled out pirate phrases, we WRECKED the basement, but it was all worth it, even the hours I had to spend the next day putting everything back to normal. And, I accomplished what I set out to do with this Thanksgiving party: avoid homesickness and show my friends here what it’s like to celebrate an American Thanksgiving…or at least a (slightly) exaggerated version of it.

Wow, where has the time gone? I can’t believe the last time I blogged was over three weeks ago. And I also can’t believe I have just over three weeks left until the end of my first term! It’s crazy how fast time flies! I’m actually pretty annoyed with myself for not blogging, since I can barely remember what happened in the past few weeks, but I’m going to do my best. And anyone that’s interested in what actually happened should keep checking this post, cause I’ll probably be adding and editing things as more details come back to me. But, here we go:

Tuesday, October 26

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but on Tuesdays I have a class that goes from 9am to 5pm. It’s half class/half internship and it’s at the local paper, The Argus. On this particular Tuesday, we spent the morning at the Brighton Magistrates Courts watching cases that we would later have to write articles about. We had to sit in a little balcony at the back of the court behind a pane of glass and everyone (including the criminals) had to wear microphones so we could hear what was going on. It was pretty interesting to get a taste of the British judicial system and, from what I gather, you can pretty much murder someone here and get away with a slap on the wrist. We watched three cases. The first was a 30-something guy who was arrested for stealing a bottle of vodka. This guy stood up, pled guilty, said he was a raging alcoholic, and asked to go to jail. The magistrates (there are three of them who decide what the sentence should be) shut off their mic’s, leaned back to chat for approximately 3 seconds, turned the mic’s back on, and said ok you’re sentenced to four weeks in jail, but you’ll be released after two. That was it. The second case was a bit hairier. Literally. Like the defendant had long insane looking hair, which made sense, as he was totally insane. This guy was a 22 year old who was arrested for spitting on a total stranger on the street. However, the defendant had apparently been receiving anonymous racist phone calls on his cell and thought the guy he spit on (who was just innocently walking by at the time) was the caller. He then also spit on the two cops who arrested him. He claims that he was in a bad mood that day not only because of the phone calls, but also because HIS FACE KEPT CHANGING SHAPE WHEN HE LOOKED AT IT IN THE MIRROR. The prosecution, or whatever they call it here, then said that the kid had been diagnosed with schizophrenia in the past (ummmm, ya think?!) but had been declared mentally sound recently and should therefore be treated as a sane criminal and prosecuted for assault. Our collective reaction: silence and bewildered stares. However, the magistrates sent him off to be re-evaluated before deciding on a sentence. The third case involved a middle aged guy who had been arrested for public drunkenness. It emerged that he had been homeless for several years but had recently found a place to live. He was actually being rowdy outside said home when he was arrested. The magistrates deliberated, came back, and said that they were going to sentence him to jail time and a monetary fine, but since he had spent the night in prison his debt to society had been paid off, so he was free to go. See what I mean? They’re pretty lenient here. So you can rest easy, mom and dad! Even if I’m arrested, I probably won’t do jail time unless I ask for it!

Wednesday, October 27

Wednesday I don’t have class, so I pretty much spent the day doing nothing. But, that night, I had to go to watch a Journalism panel discussion on the future of print media at a local coffee shop called the Red Roaster. It was boring, but one of my professors spoke at it so we had to go. Luckily, we went to the pub across the street afterwards and got drunk, so that made up for it. However, when I say drunk I mean DRUNK. And I had only two glasses of wine. There must have been roofies in them or something cause I was DONE. So done that….

Thursday, October 28

I slept kinda late, til like 11, got up, did some work, then took a nap from 3 to friggin 6:30! I slept through Aerobatone class at the gym, I slept through dinner, I slept through everything! And then I woke up and it was dark outside and I had no damn idea where I was or what time it was. I’m telling you guys. That couldn’t have been any old wine. Cause it damn near killed me.

Friday, October 29

Friday night I went to Jill’s house because she was throwing a party for Frauke’s 28th birthday. I can’t remember who all was there, but I know the usual players were in attendance: me, Jill, Frauke (obviously), Joao, Nick, Alex the white rasta half-Greek/half-Irishman, Maria (who is also Greek but not a rasta), Brazilian Ana (who made some delicious fried cheese ball things and some kind of chocolate ball dessert which was amazing), and various other people who I’ve only met once or twice and who therefore do not count. We hung out, we played games, it was awesome. Also, Jill and Frauke, who had been practicing Indian dancing for the upcoming Diwali celebration (which I’ll get to soon), performed for us, Alex asked us all to get up and give each other hugs (he’s big on the free hugs, which I’ll also get to in my next post) and then we sang Frauke happy birthday. Except after we sang her the normal one, everyone sang it in their own language. So we had English, French, German, and Greek and it was totally an It’s a Small World Moment. And a kinda surreal moment, where I pretty much thought how is this my life right now? And felt very happy and blessed. And they weren’t even singing to me!

Anyway, after the party I walked home with Nick and Joao, like usual. And we stopped at the park and went on the big kid swings, so all around it was a kick ass night.

Saturday, October 30

Saturday night we celebrated Halloween, since no one can go out on Sunday cause we have too much damn work to do. That morning, I went out to get my costume: clear-lensed glasses to complete my hipster costume. Then I just wore my own clothes as the rest of it. Check out a pic here. I look like a jackass, and that was pretty much the point. The night started out at Nick’s house, where we pre-gamed and where some people finished getting ready before going out. Then we hit Brighton. In the city it was “White Night,” an annual arts and culture event where all the galleries stay open way late and there are all sorts of exhibitions and things. Alas, I did not get to partake in any part of White Night, because shortly after arriving in the city center I drunkenly lost the rest of my group, then spent about an hour wandering the streets alone looking for them, then rejoined them after they had gone to a bunch of galleries and were ready to just get to drinking again. To this day I’m not sure if I’m sad about missing the art stuff or not. At least I partook in all the drinking. 

Sunday, October 31

Sunday I slept late to soothe my hangover, then headed to the library. Yes, the library. Yes, me, going to the library. On a Sunday. Monday I had to do a PowerPoint presentation in Media Theory and Research class about media and democracy, so I headed to the library to meet with my partner to discuss what we were going to do. His name is Tianyi, but he goes by Kevin, and he barely speaks English, which makes me very nervous. And when I get to the library he’s there with his girlfriend, whose name I can’t recall, and they spend the whole time cuddling AND they’re both covered in hickeys. I am very grossed out, so I get the meeting over with as quickly as possible and go home to do my part. I then spend the rest of the night doing my presentation in the lounge in the basement because trick or treaters keep coming to the door and getting mad when we don’t answer because we don’t have candy.

Monday, November 1

There are four readings we have to discuss, so we decide to split it two and two. For his part Kevin/Tianyi wants to show two videos and then use an article he found online to explain. The videos are clips made by other college kids on the same topic. I tell him that he’d pretty much be stealing someone else’s project, but he ignores me. And when we do the presentation he goes first and it’s totally awkward. Kevin finds both videos hilarious, but he is the only one. And I’m standing in the front of the room with him, so I have to do the polite smirk thing as he guffaws. He also just copied and pasted large parts of the online article into his presentation, without giving any sort of mention of who wrote it and as he talks I have terrifying visions of getting busted for plagiarism with him. Luckily this hasn’t happened…yet! Then it’s my turn to go. I prepared all sorts of questions about the reading, since our presentation is supposed to inspire a discussion, but of course no one wants to talk and answer them, so I spend most of my time standing there awkwardly as everyone looked at the ceiling, or their notebooks, or the floor, or anywhere else than at me for fear of meeting my gaze and having to give an opinion. It was horrifying, but at last it was over and I fled. Even more horrifying, that night I found a second slug in the house. And it was the same size and color as the first one, and sitting right in the same spot. Obviously, I freaked out again, though slightly less than the first time, and I killed it with the salt and bug spray and left the body where it lay, just like the first time. Luckily, the cleaning guy comes on Tuesdays so he disposed of it.

Tuesday, November 2

Tuesday was uneventful. School, home, gym, home, sleep.

Wednesday, November 3

Wednesday, as usual, I didn’t do much of anything. Some shopping, some cleaning, some reading, and that was pretty much it. I hate when i have to write days like this, I wish it was all madness and parties, but a lot of it is schoolwork and cleaning and day to day crap. Alas.

Thursday, November 4

Thursday it was cold and raining and I didn’t feel like facing the world, so I curled up in bed and watched Friday Night Lights on DVD for most of the day. What can I say, it was an exciting couple of days that week. NOT.

Friday, November 5

Friday marked the return of actual exciting events. In England, November 5 is Guy Fawkes day, a big holiday and a major celebration day. Apparently, a couple hundred years ago this Guy Fawkes character tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London, but was caught and burned at the stake for his crimes. So, every year the people of England light big bonfires and burn effigies of Guy Fawkes and pretty much everyone else in the (modern) world that they’re mad at and then have fireworks displays, since the fireworks are meant to symbolize the gunpowder used in Fawkes’ failed terrorism attempt. The next town over from Brighton, Lewes (which is pronounced like Lewis for some reason), is really into the bonfire night, and has a big big celebration with multiple fires and fireworks displays every year, and hundreds of people attend. So, so did we. Earlier that day, I went out and bought a kickass (expensive) pair of rain boots, since I knew we’d be trudging through muddy fields all night. This would turn out to be the best purchase I’ve made in Brighton, thus far. But I digress. 

I met up with Jill, Frauke, and Jill’s girlfriend Jo at around 7 so that we could take the train to Lewes. Even though the bonfires weren’t going to start until 8 and fireworks at 9:30, there was an hour wait just to board a train to get to Lewes. Jo tried to convince us not to go, saying that it would be a million times as bad trying to get home, but the three of us couldn’t be dissuaded, so off we went. If I had to describe Lewes bonfire night in one word, it would be madness. Just pure, unadulterated madness. Lewes is a small town and all the roads are tiny and cobblestoned, so it looks like something out of the past. And, when we arrived there, it looked like a small town from the past under siege. The whole town was like a war zone. The air was thick with smoke from the numerous bonfires going on around the city, thick enough to make our eyes water and lungs burn until we got used to it. And it was dark and cloudy that night, but there was an eerie light from all the fires that turned the the clouds red while the billowing black smoke swirled beneath them. I mentioned that fireworks are also a big part of bonfire night, but firecrackers are also very popular. Not everyone can get their hands on good fireworks, but firecrackers are a dime a dozen. And they have extra loud ones here for some reason. So, we get off the train and find ourselves in this little town filled with smoke under a red sky with loud explosions going on all around us. It was like getting a little taste of life in England during World War II, but everyone was happy and drunk instead of terrified. Except for us. We were very, very sober and a little bit freaked out. Thankfully, Frauke had had the presence of mind to bring ear plugs for everyone, so our ears were protected from all the loud pops. If only I could say the same for the rest of our bodies.

We started off trying to make it to one of the bonfires by following a map we picked up at the train station. However, we got sidetracked when we ran into an honest to goodness PIRATE BAND. Playing a pirate dirge! Check the pics out here yo. There were also a bunch of people dressed as zulu warriors with their faces painted black, which I’m pretty sure is a big no no in today’s day and age. In fact, it was so unexpected a development that I thought they were actual black people until I got close. There was also a (non-Mexican) mariachi band wearing sombreros and fake handlebar moustaches (even the women). English people are all sorts of inappropriate.

We then headed back to the train station to meet up with Nick, who was running late and therefore didn’t come with us. And then we found a spot to watch the entire parade (not just the pirate band). There were numerous bands, some dressed like pirates, some like redcoat soldiers, some like people from the middle ages, and then there were groups of people just marching with them in all sorts of costumes. And everyone had a torch. Everyone that wasn’t holding an instrument, that is. But EVERYONE else. Even children. And after each group there would be a couple of people pulling barrels filled with dropped torches. They actually had people in the parade whose sole job it was to pick up still-lit torches that had been dropped so people didn’t step on them and light themselves on fire. However, other people were using these barrels as fuses to light their firecrackers, so they were tossing them into the barrels from the sidelines and there would be sporadic huge pops and flares of huge flames coming from them and they made me jump every. damn. time. People in the parade were also carrying firecrackers (like I said, everyone had some) and they were lighting them and either dropping them on the ground so the poor people marching a few rows back would get scared by them, or toss them into the crowds so we had to keep scrambling away from them. At one point, one went off at close range and hit me in the chest and Jill in the face. It amazes me that no one gets killed at these kind of things. Cause people literally had no regard for anyone’s safety. And with fire everywhere, and children carrying torches, and friggin firecrackers being thrown willy-nilly. Now, I’m not usually the old fart that gets freaked out by people around me being crazy or acting dangerously, but I think we were all a bit on edge that night. But I digress.

Like I said, we watched and then followed the parade, and it led us through the streets of Lewes, down the side of the parkway, and onto a cricket field, which was going to be the site of one of the bonfires that had not yet been lit. We had fallen pretty far behind the other revelers by this time, so the dirt road was pitch black, though we could still make out the torches in the far distance. Once again, it felt like something out of a war, or out of Lord of the Rings or something. Just very surreal and a bit creepy. When we finally got to the cricket field, it was five pounds to enter and watch the bonfire. But, being the cheap students we are, we said no thank you, and watched it from just outside the fence. Unfortunately, we were downwind, so the sparks from the huge conflagration were blowing directly into us, and we had to keep shielding our faces, digging sparks out from the backs of each others shirts, and patting each other out where lit embers landed on us. A free bonfire watching failure all around. However, one of the guards took pity on us and let us in without paying, so we eventually got out of harm’s way. After the bonfire had been going for about 20 minutes, there was a fireworks display in the field (which I got a few pictures of) and it was beautiful and surreal and kinda reminded me of Rockaway July 4 and made me a bit homesick.

And then it started pouring.

Luckily, I had my rain boots on, but we still had a long walk back to the train station. And, once there, we found a HUGE line to get on the train home…and no roof to wait under. So, we stood in the rain for two hours waiting to get a train back to Brighton. And, somehow we got skipped a million times and were basically the last people to get on the last train, but it was still totally worth it. Although I was a bit annoyed that it took two days for my clothes to dry and my legs were dyed blue from the blue in my jeans running. But, still, worth it.

Saturday, November 6

Saturday I had two events to go to. The first was the Diwali celebration at school, which Jill and Frauke were dancing in. This started at about 7. So, at around 6:30 I met up with Bronia and we went together. The hall where it was being held was decorated with all kinds of beautifully colored draped fabric and twinkling lights and looked like something out of a Bollywood movie, much to my delight. Our group showed up early (for the most part) and took up the entire second row like proud parents at a dance recital. First, the Indian Students Society said some prayers and lit some candles, and then the party began. There were a few singers, a few musicians, and then Jill and Frauke and the other dancers. And it was awesome. I love Indian music and they got some really good songs to dance to. You can actually check out some footage of the Sussex Diwali celebration here. Jill and Frauke can be seen starting at about 1:30. Jill is in the greensih bluish tank top and Frauke is in the black top. Obviously, they are the two non-Indians. They also get a solo dance at around 3:30. Another awesome part of Diwali? At the end some kids danced to “Desi Girl,” which Danny and Dina danced to at their wedding. And which is also a totally kickass song, so I was happy :)

Unfortunately, right after the dancing and (even more unfortunately) before the buffet was open, I had to head to Patcham with Nick to cover a comedy festival for our reporting class. Nick drove, thankfully, and we got there (there being The Long Man pub) and had time for a quick (non-alcoholic, unfortunately) drink before the first performer went on. There were six total over the course of about three hours. But I only found two really funny. One was a guy who we saw right after entering the bar. “Hey,” I said at the time, nudging Nick. “Check this guy out, he looks like Wolverine.” And he did, right down to the sideburns and weird Flock of Seagulls-esque hair. When I spotted him, he was sitting at a table talking to a woman. So, imagine my delight when he walked up to the mic and said “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is (whatever it was, I can’t remember), but you can call me Wolverine.” I actually squealed in delight, causing several people to look back at me and Nick to edge a couple of feet away from me in embarrassment. Luckily, Wolverine didn’t hear so I didn’t have to deal with any heckling. The second funniest was a guy dressed up in a skier’s outfit claiming to be a famous German Gold Medalist. (He was actually English and not a skier, obviously.) And after every joke he would make a motion with his hands like he was propelling himself down hill and say “Swish, swish, swish eat my powder!” in a TERRIBLE German accent. And I, of course, found this totally hilarious, though most people didn’t. He also had an energy drink called Powerhorse, which he kept drinking and then yelling out “POWERHORSE!” which also slayed me (and pretty much no one else). The rest of the comedians I didn’t particularly care for, since, myself not being English, I didn’t get 95% of their references. Things that made the entire room rock left me staring blankly, feeling left out, while things that made me laugh no one else found funny. Story of my life, pretty much. Unfortunately, Nick and I later found out that we couldn’t both write the story and, since he had found out about it, I let him do it.

Sunday, November 7

On Sunday I slept til 3:00pm. I can’t believe it either. I actually had to look at several different clocks before I was sure. I blame it on the weather. The cold and rain makes you just want to curl up in bed all day and sleep until it’s nice out again. It pretty much goes without saying, but I didn’t do anything else that day but schoolwork. So, moving on….

Monday, November 8

Monday I did school, gym, and then went out to dinner with Jill, Jo, Frauke, Ana, Joao, Nick and Alex. We went to Bombay-aloo, an all-you-can-eat Indian vegetarian buffet. That place is delicious. And only 5 pounds. So, basically, lots of people from school are obsessed with it, including Frauke, who pretty much lives there. Afterwards, Nick, Joao and I walked to J’s place because he wanted to show us a new photography thing he’s working on. Basically, he’s starting a Polaroid portfolio of life in Brighton. The catch? He doesn’t own a Polaroid camera. Instead, he has a program on his computer that changes normal pictures into Polaroid ones that can then be printed out on photo paper that literally look just like Polaroids. It’s pretty kickass. These artsy photography kids. What will they think of next?

Tuesday, November 9

Tuesday class, home, boringness.

Wednesday, November 10

Wednesday reading, gym, boringness.

Thursday, November 11

Thursday night Jill had another party at her place. And all of the usual suspects were there. But there were a few extras including Ann, from Kenya, Alice, from England, and Ines, Joao’s girlfriend who was visiting from Portugal. We ate, we drank, we laughed, we hugged (because Alex was there and, as I said, he’s all about the hugging), and then we played some games. Jill had two friends visiting from France, so we played some French game called Rhythm and Boulet. In this game, you sit in a circle and everyone gets a card with a gesture on it. And you show your cards to the room. Then you do the rhythm of Queen’s “We Will Rock You” and whoever starts goes ::stomp::stomp::gesture::stomp::stomp::someone else’s gesture:: Then the next person repeats and so on and so forth. And, if you mess up the chain, you get a boulet (or bullet) and you have to give your card to someone else. And in the end whoever has the most bullets loses. Naturally, Alex lost as he is a rasta and therefore high all the time.

We played pretty much all night, until Jill’s downstairs neighbor started pounding on the ceiling with a broom. And by then it was about 3am, so the party broke up after that as we had class the next day.

Friday, November 12

Friday was pretty quiet. That night we went to a pub called The Juggler where one of Jill’s friends (Maike, pronounced Mica, a German) is a bartender. I (of course) was running late getting there and rushing down the street reading the street numbers to find 12 Western Road, The Juggler’s address. However, since I am in England where nothing makes sense, the numbers were going down on the side I was on (starting at like 300 and going til around 100) and up on the opposite side of the street. So, I walked all the way to the end and then had to turn around and come all the way back. In the pouring rain, of course. I should have made this into a WTF, Britain?! post. Alas, missed opportunity. Anyway, it was me, Jill, her two French friends, Frauke, Joao and Ines. We only stayed for one beer (or at least I did since I was late) and we called it a night pretty early, since we had a big Saturday planned. But for that, you’ll have to wait for my next post. Bah ha haaaaa!
 

So, I know that I’ve been pretty bad as far as keeping up with my blogging goes, but I literally have had no time! During the week it’s school, gym, read and on the weekend it’s sleep, read, drink. Nevertheless, let me break down the past two weeks for y’all.

Sunday, October 10

So I did actually go for a walk up the hill, which you can check out either on Facebook or Flickr. And that was pretty much it!

Monday, October 11

After class on Monday, I once again went to lunch with Bronia and Raphael. Then B and I went to join the gym at long last. After we signed up and parted ways, I was feeling mighty productive, so I walked home from school. The walk is a little over 2 miles and took me about an hour, since I was kinda meandering, but it was nice. You go through two parks and past a bunch of cute houses. I’ve done it one more time since, and I think I’m gonna start doing it a few times a week. However, that evening Bronia and I went to an Aerobatone class at the gym (which we now do every Monday and Thursday) and it totally kicked my ass. Side note: As time goes on, I find that the class is getting strangely harder. Shouldn’t it be getting easier for me since I do it twice a week? Or am I getting into worse and worse shape?

Tuesday, October 12

After class on Tuesday, the England vs. Montenegro soccer game was on. So, I met up with Bronia at her house and we went to a pub called The World’s End because our reasoning was that football (Brits get really annoyed if you say soccer) + alcohol = boys. This may sound like a good idea. It was not. The pub was really crowded and there were a lot of cute boys, but it was also dead silent. Everyone was so engrossed in the game they weren’t even talking to each other, much less us. We tried to watch for a while, cheering and booing when everyone else did so we looked like we knew what was going on, but in the end we just gave up and went back to B’s. Major fail.

Bronia did her undergrad at Sussex, and is now doing her postgrad, so she’s lived in Brighton for the past five years or so. Therefore, she has her own furniture here, including a kickass comfy chair and HUUUUUUGE bed. I am extremely jealous of these, especially the latter, as I sleep on a cot most prisoners would turn their noses up at. But I digress. At B’s we sat around complaining about British men for a while. And then she broke out the Slovakian liquor. I have no idea what the name of this poison was, or what kind of liquor it was. All I know is that we were drinking it straight and I couldn’t feel my face after about 5 minutes. Those Slovaks are hard core. After I left Bronia’s at about 12, I walked home (she lives about 15 minutes from me) looking forward to a blissful drunken slumber and fell into bed right away…only to be awoken by a pounding at the door 3 hours later.

Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but the neighbors to our right are all undergrads (two girls and a boy) and extremely noisy. We hear them laugh, we hear them fight, we hear EVERYTHING. And I’m sure they hear us too, but we at least try and keep the screaming to a minimum (unless we see a slug in the house, but I’m getting ahead of myself). Anyway, about a week before that the boyfriend of one of our neighbors showed up and pounded at their door for like 20 minutes in the middle of the night, screaming at her to let him in. When I first heard the knocking, I though it was him again, but that he had gotten the wrong house. Well, actually, I should say when I first heard the knocking I jumped out of my damn skin it scared me so bad. I’m the only one on the ground floor right next to the front door, so it freaks me out when I hear people out there. So, thinking that nothing or nobody good could be at the door at 3 in the morning, I scrunch down under the blankets and ignore it. Then I hear this: POUND POUND POUND “This is the police, open the door please” POUND POUND POUND.

What if it’s the police? I think to myself. What if it’s a home invader pretending to be a cop? I could see the person’s silhouette on my curtains as he stood at the door, which was really creepy. And then I see the silhouette walk away. So, totally freaked out by this point but still wanting to do the right thing if it is in fact the cops (and just a tad curious, I might add), I slip out of bed and sloooooowly push the curtain aside, leaving the lights off to see better. This was a mistake as the officer (it was a cop, after all) was standing directly in front of the window.

“Yes, hello, I see you there in the blue sleep trousers. Can you open the door please?” was what I was greeted with as I thought I was stealthily peeking out the window without being seen. However, seen I was, and there was no way to ignore it now, so, cursing myself soundly, I unlock my bedroom door and crack the front door, leaving the chain on. Behind me and upstairs, Sara and Landelin poke their heads out to see what’s going on. The cop uses a flashlight to show me his credentials, and I unlatch the door and let him in. He wants to know if a girl named Danielle lives with us. I tell him no, that it’s just the three of us and that we don’t know any Danielle. Then he gestures to a cab parked in the middle of the street in front of his cruiser. A blonde girl is slumped over in the front seat and the driver is leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette. Apparently, this girl Danielle drank herself into a stupor (or had one shot of the Slovakian sauce or used some sort of hard core drugs), left her friends, got into a cab, told the driver OUR ADDRESS, and then passed out. When the cab arrived here, she was unresponsive, so he called the cops.

After I tell the cop that she definitely doesn’t live here, he bids me a good night and goes back to check on the girl. Then, as soon as I close and lock the door again, Sara, Landa and I run into Landa’s room, as she has the best view. We then proceed to watch as an ambulence arrives, the paramedics open the girl’s door and her lifeless body shlumps out. “SHE’S DEEEEEEAAAAADDDDDDD!” Landa shrieks, prompting all the cops and paramedics outside to jump and then glower up at us. Stealth fail number two. However, our drunk friend was fortunately not dead, as she mustered up the liveliness to tell one of the cops to piss off and let her sleep. Unfortunately for her, they did not let her rest, and instead pumped her stomach right there in the cab, spilling the 1000 proof contents all over the street, then hauled her off on a stretcher. By this time it’ s about 4am, and the three shaken-up residents of 42 Ewhurst Road can finally try and get some sleep.

Wednesday, October 13

Predictably, after a night like that, I slept late, then spent the rest of the day not doing much. I read a bit, I did some laundry (for 8 pounds a load I might add), I went to the gym, and that was pretty much it.

Thursday, October 14

Thursday was another uneventful one, though, in fairness, I warned you guys that I didn’t have time to do anything, so this post probably won’t be too interesting. I went to class, I went to Aerobatone, and I did some reading. End of boring story.

Friday, October 15

Friday night, after class, I got a text from Nick, my reporting partner, saying that he was going to dinner with some friends and asking if I wanted to join. I had already eaten by that time, so I said that I was gonna skip dinner but to text me afterwards if they went out. I then spent the whole night sitting around feeling sorry for myself, G-Chatting with my friends, and watching America’s Next Top Model with Landelin, cause the text never came. Lame. Nick was very apologetic the next day, saying that his phone died before they left the restaurant, but that didn’t help my mood much.

Saturday, October 16

Saturday Nick and I headed to Patcham again to look for stories. Once again, he met me in the parking lot of the gas station near my house, since he was driving. However, before we could pull out, somebody backed into us. British people are so strange. This jackass backed into Nick’s car, leaving a big scratch, and he didn’t care at all! He got out and the guy got out, they both looked at the mark, the guy said sorry, and Nick said that’s ok, and that was it! Very odd. Anyway, Patcham was totally lame once again, but we managed to find out about a comedy night taking place in the one pub they have there some time in November, so that’ll be our story.

On the way back from Patcham, Nick got a text from a French girl in our class, Jillian, saying she was having game night at her house and for everyone to come over. So, at 8 I met up with Nick and his friend Joao and we headed to Jill’s. Joao is from Portugal, and he’s one of those really artsy fartsy photographer kids with the super fancy camera and the constant candid shots. And, basically, he gets me every time I’m talking so there’s probably an entire album out there of me making stupid faces and talking with my hands. They haven’t made it onto Facebook yet, so I don’t know where they are, but I know they’re out there.

Anyway, we were early getting to Jill’s, so the three of us went down to the beach first. I may have mentioned his earlier, but Nick is terrified of the sea, so he stayed up by the street while Joao and I went to the shore and skipped stones for a while. Then, at Jill’s we hung out with her roommate, Ben, who is English and totally hilarious, Frauke (pronounced Frau Key), who is obviously German, Denisa, who is Romanian, and somebody else, who I’m forgetting and who therefore doesn’t matter. First we played a game called Werewolves where people draw roles out of a hat and you have to guess who the werewolves are. Strangely, I got werewolf so often that people just kept guessing me after a while. Then, we played a game where everyone has to write ten celebrities down on a piece of paper, then break into two teams, then one person from the team draws a name out of a hat and has to a) in round 1, describe the person without using their name, b) in round 2, use only one word to describe them and c) in round 3 act out who they are. However, our group consisted of one American, two Englishmen, one Frenchwoman, one German, one Romanian and one Portuguese guy, and none of us knew the same celebrities. So, predictably, we ended up with about 10 Jesus’s, 10 The Queen’s, the entire cast of Friends (which was ridiculously hard to act out), three Joao’s, cause he just kept putting his own name down, and one David Hasselhoff. “That was mine!” Frauke chirped when we finally pulled that one, which made me guffaw loudly, seeing as how she’s German and she put the Hoff. Unfortunately, no one else laughed. This is why the entire world hates Americans.

Sunday, October 17

Sunday I spent doing work, which sucked.

Monday, October 18

School, reading, Aerobatone, sleep, lameness.

Tuesday, October 19

Tuesday was not only my darling Alexis Michalakis’ birthday, but also my Turkish friend Ceren’s birthday. So, after class I headed over to her place for her bday party. Ceren had cooked some Turkish food, which was pretty good, and her Chinese roommates had made Chinese food, which is always good, so that was awesome. And, after a few drinks, Ceren bellydanced for us. Apparently, everyone in Turkey can bellydance, and this is not stereotyping, since Ceren literally told me that everyone in Turkey can bellydance. And she’s really good, so she must be right about that.

After a while, C decided she wanted to do some clubbing, so we headed down to the sea front to a club called Revenge. A gay club called Revenge. Which was awesome. I don’t know if it was the venue or the fact that I’m in Europe, but the music was spectacularly cheesy. For example, I heard a disco remix of “The Hills are Alive” from The Sound of Music, a reggae remix of the “Lady Marmalade” remake and this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkQRVeRdyWs. A song called “Barbara Streisand,” which is literally just techno music and a man saying Barbara Streisand. Hilarious.

Wednesday, October 20

Wednesday night Nick invited a bunch of people to his place for pizza and video games. So, it was me, him, French Jill, German Frauke, Portuguese Joao, Dutch Tim (who is adorable), Brazilian Ana, and German Niles (or maybe he’s French, I have no idea). Joao decided to document the evening by setting up his camera to take a picture every 5 seconds and then speeding it up to make a video. You can check that out here: http://www.vimeo.com/16044315. I look gross, and all I do is drink. That pretty much sums up my life. And, after about an hour, I finally got wise and dodged out of the frame.

Thursday, October 21

Thursday: school, gym, reading, lameness.

Friday, October 22

Friday was the start of a pretty eventful weekend. That night I met up with Frauke, Ana, Greek Maria, Mexican Michelle, Spanish Diego, French Caroline, Denisa, Indian Guru (he’s not an actual Guru, that’s just his name), Nick and Joao to get some dinner. We went to an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet, which may sound like my kind of heaven, but keep in mind that this is English pizza and therefore disgusting. A waste of 5 pounds, if you ask me, but the company was priceless. Afterwards, we went to a pub where they had MarioKart 64 and numerous boys bought me drinks, so a good time was had by all. By about 1, everyone had left but me, Frauke, Maria and Ana, so we stayed for a bit together, then walked Ana to her bus, since she doesn’t live in Brighton and then made plans to hang out together the next day.

Saturday, October 23

Saturday I slept late, then did some reading. (Honestly, who am I right now?) Then, as I said, I met up with the girls and we went to dinner at a South American restaurant and then to a pub called The Fountainhead. We then met up with two Brazilian guys and a Czech guy that Maria is friends with and had a few drinks. During this outing, Frauke introduced me to a popular German drink where you mix half a pint of beer with half a pint of soda. It sounds weird and bartenders give you an odd look when you ask for it, but it’s actually really good. And, according to Frauke, they sell the mixture in stores in Germany with different flavors of sodas and such. So, that night not only did I discover a new drink, I also partook in this hilarious exchange:

Me: This is delicious!

Frauke: Yes, it’s very popular in Germany, mostly with women.

Me: Yea, I can’t really see guys liking their beer watered down like this.

Frauke: Only when they have to drive afterwards.

Me (inner monologue): Oh Europeans, you are hilarious.

Anyway, after the pub Frauke went home and Maria and Ana went to a house party with the boys, but I met up with Sara and Landelin to go to a club called Bar Rogue, which I think is pronounced the way it looks, but is called Bah Rouge by Landelin, which I like better. So, we danced, we drank, we walked home in the freezing cold, and we had an awesome night.

Sunday, October 24

The whole weekend Bronia’s dad was visiting from Slovakia, so on Sunday she decided to make lunch and invite a bunch of people over to eat with them. Now, I’ve been trying to avoid eating with people, so they’re not exposed to my food craziness yet, but I told Bronia I’d come, so I girded my stomach, bought a bottle of wine and a pirate cake from the grocery store, and headed over. Bronia’s dad is cute and chubby and very nice. And besides him there was Andrej, B’s friend, who goes to Sussex and is also from Slovakia, Martin, who’s from Brighton, and Flora, from France. We ate potato pancakes (which are pretty good), sauerkraut (which I choked down whilst trying not to gag) and chicken (which I avoided). And wine. Lots of wine. Bronia’s dad’s flight was at 5, so he left pretty early to go to the airport, and then the rest of us went to the park. We hung out, we had tea and hot chocolate and milkshakes (depending on each person’s inner temperature) and we took some pics (which are also on Facebook and soon to be on Flickr).

I had only meant to stay at Bronia’s for an hour or two, since I had a paper to write. But I ended up staying from 1 to 7. Then, when I got home, Sara asked me if I wanted to come with her to watch the guy she’s seeing perform at an open mic night at a local bar. Paper writing? Music and boys? The choice immediately became clear and we headed out.

We didn’t stay out too late, seeing as how I still had a paper to do, but when we got home I ran into yet another obstacle.

“CINDY COME QUICK!” Landa screamed from our basement kitchen moments after we had returned home (Sara stayed to watch the rest of the performers).

“What’s wrong?” I called from the safety of my ground floor room.

“THERE’S A SNAKE IN THE KITCHEN!” I feel pretty confident right now in saying that nothing has shocked me more in my life than hearing this sentence come out of Landa’s mouth. I wasn’t sure whether I believed her or not, but I was sure that if there was a snake in the basement, I was dropping out of school and flying home immediately.

“Kill it!” I called down, refusing to look at what it was.

“I can’t! I’m too scared! Come down, it’s just a small one!”

Muttering all sorts of curses and prayers under my breath, I made my way painfully slowly down the stairs, fearing what I would find at the end. Walking into the kitchen, I saw Landa leaning against the sink, pointing a trembling finger towards the fridge.

“Over there! It’s curled up!” She whispered, as if the ‘snake’ could hear her. Sloooooowly, I walked around the table and took a peek.

It was a slug. I breathed a sigh of relief and started to panic, all at the same time. Landa and I spent a few minutes arguing about who would have to kill it, and then we went upstairs and started texting all the boys we knew to see if anyone was a) awake and b) willing to come get rid of it. Unfortunately (and predictably) no one was. So, we suited up, me in boots and gloves, Landa in boots, gloves and sunglasses “in case it starts spitting.” Looking back, the thought of a slug spitting at you is ridiculous. At the time, I responded “good thinking.” Slugs will addle your brains.

Landa was going to scoop it up with a dust pan and I was going to open the back door so she could toss it out. However, as soon as the edge of the pan touched it, the slug scrunched up, and I jumped and then Landa screamed and then I screamed and before I knew it she was on the counter and I was on the kitchen table and we were both screaming and jumping up and down while the slug continued to terrorize our kitchen unmolested. Needing a minute to regroup, we retreated upstairs to my room to plan our next assault.

By this time, Sara had come home and wanted to see it, so we went downstairs to show her…and the damn thing was gone. So, we all screamed and clung to each other for a while, debating whether we should pull out the fridge, or call our landlord, or knock on our neighbor’s door and ask for help. And then we retreated upstairs once again, this time to our respective rooms.

Then, before I knew it, both Landa and Sara were sleeping, and the only creatures stirring in the house were me and Harry the spider and the slug, wherever he might have gone. Freaking out but unwilling to let it roam free, I put my armor back on, grabbed my can of raid, and headed back downstairs to face my foe.

The good news is that it had re-emerged. The bad news is that it was stretched out to twice its original length, making me think it was a SECOND slug, and briefly sending me into hysterics. But, being the brave soldier that I am, I stiffened my spine, aimed my Raid, and sprayed until the floor was wet. Then, I dumped a pile of salt over it (i.e. enough to bury it so you couldn’t see it anymore) and then I went to bed.

Monday, October 25

Today marked my one month anniversary. I’ve officially been in England for 30 days, but it seems like a whole lot less. It’s strange how fast time moves as you get older. I haven’t done much today except write my paper, go to class, go to the gym, walk home from school and now update my blog. Oh, right, and we got rid of the slug.

When we got up this morning, the body was still there, luckily (and unluckily). So, at first we debated asking someone to get rid of it. Then, we decided to just do it ourselves. We went with the original plan of Landa scooping and me opening the door. And, once again, she rocked the shades in case it spat on her, but this time I saw it for the stupid idea it was. And, we did it. Landa took the carcass outside, to the edge of our backyard (which is so large she was almost out of sight of the house) and then wiped the floor down with bleach so we can once again use the kitchen, though I’ll never be able to walk around without watching my step ever again.

Sunday, October 3, Cont’d

There’s not much to report from the International Students Reception. We went (although we got very lost on the way there), we partook in the free food and wine, we mingled, we stalked a hot Italian man that then turned out to be gay, and we went home to prepare for the start of classes. (At least I had to prepare, Sara and Landa, who are both in the Law program, started several weeks ago.) I was feeling a bit nervous about the start of classes, since I didn’t really know what to expect and I had to get up before noon for the first time in a while, so I had some trouble falling asleep. But, finally I dozed off, mostly thanks to the free wine, which brings us to…

Monday, October 4

I have two classes on Monday. Actually, I should say I have two classes pertaining to the same course on Monday. I have a Media Theory and Research lecture at 10, which is one of those really big classes with like a hundred kids. And then I have a Media Theory and Research seminar (with only about 15 of us) at 11:15. Luckily, I knew several people in both my lecture and my seminar, including Jose and Ceren, who have been mentioned in previous posts, so I had people to sit with and complain about how tired we were, which was very. After seminar, Ceren and I decided to do some exploring around the Journalism building since, even though we were both forced to take a tour during induction week, we still have no idea where anything is. This may sound silly, but it actually worked out for us, since we found out that there is a DVD library on the top floor that you can rent movies and documentaries from. And, since both my roommates have Macs, which means that they can change the DVD region back and forth from the US to Europe as many times as they want, we will surely be partaking of this.

After hanging out with Ceren for a while, I headed home to eat some dinner, shower, and get ready for day 2, which was starting at an un-Godly 9am at The Argus (aka the local newspaper) offices somewhere nearby in Hollingbury.

Tuesday, October 5

Tuesdays I have Reporting and Writing the News from 9am (ugh) to 5pm (double ugh). The program is sort of a class/internship hybrid, where we do some learning and then some working and eventually we’ll be contributing to The Argus’ website. Unlike the rest of my courses, which will change next semester, I will be at The Argus every Tuesday from 9 to 5 for the entire year. (Hello resume building!)

On this particular Tuesday, I left the house early, as I was headed to a place I wasn’t familiar with and wanted to give myself plenty of time to get there. Unfortunately, the bus didn’t have the same plans as I did, and I waited at the stop for 45 minutes before it came. Even worse, after the first 15, it started to pour. Eventually, I found myself in front of The Argus building, 20 minutes late and soaked to the skin. When I finally found my way to the classroom, I was flustered and nervous and embarrassed and I burst in like a politician, shaking the teacher’s hand, who then turned out to be not the teacher but some random person that worked there and I ended up snubbing the teacher, who was sitting on the other side of the room. Way to make a great first impression. At least I wasn’t the latest person. Some other girl came in about an hour late, which made me feel a bit better.

For our first exercise, we were broken up into pairs and we have to interview the other person and then write a brief story introducing them to the class. I get paired up with Nick, a 22-year-old Hampshire native (and the only boy in the class) who has had a fear of water his whole life after he fell off a boat as a toddler and nearly drowned (thanks, interview skills). Next, we are once again broken into pairs (and once again Nick and I are paired together). Then, each group is assigned an area of Brighton to cover. Each week, we will have to go out into these areas and report on newsworthy events happening there. Nick and I get Seaford. However, as the trip to Seaford from Hollingbury would take an hour each way, we decide to switch to the much closer neighborhood of Patcham which, looking back, probably wasn’t the greatest decision. You see, Patcham is less of a neighborhood, and more of a smattering of houses in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, there is one main street, with a few homes, and then just countryside. It’s very pretty and picturesque, but not really newsworthy. Anyway…

At around noon, our professor, Louisa (yes, professors go by their first names here. It’s very strange to get used to. I can’t make myself go up to a teacher and just be like, ‘Hey, Louisa, what’s up?’ It feels so weird) sent us out to our patches to get some quotes from the citizens. We each had to pick a national news story to ask about. Nick chose a story about a new bill that would enable prisoners to work up to 40 hours a week, with a percentage of their wages going to the victims of their crimes. He asked people what they thought about this. I chose a story about new heating systems in UK houses that run on human waste provided by the residents of said homes. I asked if people would consider using these in their own homes. I am a huge idiot.

Most people wouldn’t even stop to look at me. Now, many of you are probably thinking that this is due to the ridiculous topic I was inquiring about. But, in most cases, I couldn’t even get past “Excuse me, Sir, could I ask you a couple of questions” before they looked at me like I was crazy and ran away. Nick says this is due to my American accent. He says that in the city people don’t really care, since there are all kinds of international students running around. However, out in the country, people are more suspicious of outsiders and therefore less likely to stop and talk to them. At first I scoffed at him. However, soon after that we walked past a mother carrying a screaming baby. Nick and I were talking as we approached them and I happened to say something just as we came face to face. Though I was talking to Nick, who has a perfect, educated-sounding London accent, damn his eyes, the mother gave me a startled glance and the baby stopped crying and gaped at me, open-mouthed. You can guess who got their required three quotes first. I got two and then had to make up the third cause I ran out of time. Oh, and did I mention that we keep these patches for the ENTIRE YEAR? I am screwed.

When we finally got back to The Argus, 30 minutes late cause we couldn’t find the bus stop and slightly drunk, since we stopped at the pub (or at least I was slightly drunk, that nerd only had a Red Bull), we had to write up practice stories. During my Junior year at NYU, taking Reporting I, my professor told us that a good opening sentence will have, at the most, 23 words, and that if it took up a full two lines it was too long. She also told us it should have all 5 W’s (who, what, when, where, why) with as few details as possible, so readers could scan the headline and this one sentence and get the gist of the whole article so they could choose to either read the rest or move on. For example, “Four men were injured yesterday in an attempted bank robbery gone awry, say police” would be a perfectly acceptable lead back home. Here, Louisa says our lead should have at least 27 words, including descriptive ones to draw the readers in. For example, “Four men were brutally injured yesterday, when an attemped bank robbery in Hollingbury went terribly awry, say police” is more the tone here and even that is too short since there are only 18 words. So, predictably, after the first story, my lead was read aloud as an example of what NOT to do. This sounds mortifying when I put it like that, but I was more annoyed than embarrassed, cause I know I wrote an A+ story by American standards. The sensationalist tone of British newspapers is hard to get used to, but I guess I’ll have to.

Wednesday, October 6

Wednesdays I have off, so I slept in, then met up with Sara and Landa after their class to do some laundry. We have a washer in the house, but Landa found out the hard way that it leaves rust stains on clothes, so now we have to go to the laundromat down the street. Unfortunately, it’s damn expensive to wash your clothes there. Like 8 pounds a load expensive. And even more if you don’t bring your own detergent. And they don’t have dryer sheets here, which is just friggin ridiculous. But moving on…

Thursday, October 7

Thursdays I have an 11:00 Media Theory and Research study group. Unbeknownst to me, this class was for international students only. International students who don’t speak English as a first language. When I entered the room, 10 minutes late, once again due to the damn bus, which allegedly comes every 6 minutes during peak hours (all lies), the teacher turned to me and said “Welcome. What is your name and where are you from?” loudly and slowly, enunciating each word. I replied that I was Cindy from New York and she said to see her after class. At first I thought she was going to yell at me for being late. However, then I got a good look around the room. I saw several people I knew, including Jose, who is from Ecuador, but speaks perfect English, Crystal, who’s from Barbados and speaks only English, and Bronia, from Slovakia, who has a strong accent but speaks English like a native. The rest were all Chinese, Japanese or German and clearly not fluent in English. After class, the professor calls me and the three other people I mentioned over, then says she isn’t sure if we need to be there, since the class is to help students who aren’t great at English go over the readings and lectures and make sure they understand everything. She offers to write us out of the class. But, since she is also going to go over the English style of essay writing and such, we decide to stay for another week or two to see if we can learn anything.

After class, Jose, Crystal, Bronia and I go to one of the cafes on campus and grab some coffee, then sit around for a couple of hours chatting about home and school and how ridiculous that class was, etc., etc. Then, Jose goes off to meet someone for lunch, Crystal goes back to her dorm, and Bronia invites me to have lunch with her and a friend of hers. His name is Raphael and he’s from Brazil. They went to Sussex as undergrads together, and now Bronia is doing her postgrad while Raphael got a job with the school. Raphael has lunch while Bronia and I just grab some chips (which they call crisps here, as chips are french fries. Crazy Brits). Then, we sit outside and I answer questions for them as both are completely obsessed with American culture, especially New York and Louisiana, since both are huge Gossip Girl and True Blood fans. Being somewhat of a New York and New Orleans legend, I happily oblige. Then, we get to talking about jobs. Bronia works at the creperie on campus and, after revealing that the place is hiring, asks if I want to stop by and fill out an application. Hell yea, I reply. I then proceed to flat out lie to the owners of the restaurant by telling them I have experience making crepes and that my cappuccinos are to die for. Spoiler alert: I probably won’t get this job as I’m pretty sure they saw right through me. However, I did get to try my first crepe, which was filled with amaretto, coconut, vanilla sugar, nuts and nutella, so all in all it was a good day. Bronia and I then make a stop at the gym, since we both want to join. But, as I don’t have enough cash on me, I hold out. Also, I had stuffed the bag with my crepe into my purse and I was afraid the buff gym lady would be able to smell it and start judging me.

After Bronia and I part ways, I head home. However, Sara and Landa both have a late class on Thursdays. Not feeling like sitting around alone I decide to go for a walk and do some exploring. I walk down to the beach (which is about a mile and a half away), tour the pier, take some pictures, walk on the sandless beach (which is probably going to be really obnoxious in bare feet), and soak up as much sun as I can since it was finally sunny and semi-warm out. Then, I walked into town to do some window shopping and had dinner at an outdoor cafe. Some people (including my roommates) are horrified at the idea of eating alone, but I actually really like it. There’s nothing better than a good book, good food, and an outdoor table. It was a nice way to recharge after a week of rain and stress. Although it wasn’t over yet…

Friday, October 8

Friday I have one class, Journalism in Transition, at 9am (gross). Luckily, there are only like 10 people in the class, and the other section, at 11am, only has three, so our professor is combining the two into the 11am one. Our professor is a really nice guy, but he has a VERY strong Vietnamese accent and is a bit hard to understand. Before he began the lecture, he actually told us to say something if we couldn’t understand him. Yikes. This class is made up of all the people from Reporting and Writing the News, with one addition. So, the professor tried to make us do a “getting to know you” exercise, but we all already knew each other, so we got to skip it, which is awesome, cause I hate those damn things.

Afterwards Nick (who is in the class) and I make plans to head back to Patcham on Saturday to get some stories and I head home and immediately go back to bed, as I wasn’t feeling well all day. In fact, I spend pretty much the rest of the day in bed, and even forgo going out, though I was invited to by one of the other American kids I met. And, as Sara and Landa both have the flu, we all just watched a movie in our living room. Kind of a lame Friday night, but I honestly couldn’t even fathom getting out of my pajamas.

Saturday, October 9

Saturday Landa unfortunately had to head into London to go to a funeral. She has family here and her 90+ year old Great Aunt had passed away. So, she won’t be back until Tuesday. Sara began work this weekend at the local Zara, so she was gone all day too. And I headed into Patcham to look for stories with Nick. Luckily, Nick drives so I got a ride to Patcham. And, it was a beautiful, warm, sunny day so being in a car with the windows down was kickass, even though Nick only listens to talk radio cause he’s 80 years old on the inside. However, I ran into the same difficulties as last time. 1. Patcham is so quiet that there’s practically no news and 2. No one would talk to me cause I sound strange. We wandered around for about three hours and did the best that we could, but the stories aren’t great. Nick is doing his on an event at the community center where people get together and draw still lifes of tea pots. It’s called The Big Draw. And, I’m doing mine on how there isn’t any parking in Patcham on football day even though the Brighton stadium is several miles away. A stretch, I know. Hopefully next week will be better, but I doubt it. During our travels, Nick told me how to tell where someone is from in England based on their accents, which was hilarious, especially as he can do all the accents. (For example, “People from Cornwall sound like this. They talk really slow and mumbly, cause they are all horribly inbred.”) He also revealed that when we talk to people on the street he “dumbs down” his accent so he sounds like one of the common people. Snob. And, much like almost everyone I know, he spent most of the time laughing at me. Like when I said I wanted to go to Scotland, he laughed for about five minutes straight and then told me it was a terribly rough place full of roguish men. Clearly he doesn’t know me well if this is how he dissuades me from going somewhere.

Saturday night I really wanted to go out, but Landa was gone and Sara got home from work and went straight to bed. So, I began texting all the people I’ve met here, which isn’t many yet, unfortunately. I received practically the same answer from everyone: “There’s no way I’m going out tonight, I’m sooooo hung over from yesterday.” Apparently, I picked the wrong night to stay in. At around 11:30 one of the other American kids I met texts me and asks if I want to hang out, but by then I had pretty much given up and just went to bed instead. This has been kind of a lame weekend, and I refuse to repeat it ever again.

Sunday, October 10

Since for some ridiculous reason I’ve decided to actually do all my reading and homework while studying for my Master’s, I am dedicating today to that. It’s beautiful outside (again), but I’m here in my room, finishing this blog, then finishing my homework. Landa is gone til Tuesday, as I mentioned before, and Sara is at work, so there aren’t any distractions and I’m being a good studious student. I hate it. But, I’m going to try and finish quick then go for a walk up the hill. I believe i mentioned before that my house is at the top of a huge hill, right? Well, behind my house is an even BIGGER hill, with a view of the whole city, apparently. Landa has been up it a few times, but I haven’t yet, so that’s my goal for today. We’ll see if it actually happens….

Thursday, September 30

Unfortunately, I never got a chance to go to Thursgays. Disappointing, I know. However, on Thursday I did get to go to a carnival. Yes, folks, here in Brighton we have a year-round carnival with rides, games, food and fun for all. And, the best part is, on Thursdays, all rides are only 1 pound. So, Sara, Landa and I walked (yes, walked. We are super close to it, which is awesome) down to the fair and tried a few of the rides before we had to call it a night due to our insides being rattled around too much (getting old sucks. I can’t recover like I used to!). Thursday was cool and beautiful and sunny and a perfect start to what we had dubbed our Party Weekend a.k.a. the last weekend before school starts. If only the weather had lasted….

Friday, October 1

On Friday, I had to attend in-person registration at school because my loans are still screwed up so I’m unable to complete it online. Which sucks. So, I got up early, got dressed, opened the door, and saw that it was pouring. POURING. Torrentially. Monsoonly, if that’s a word. A whole damn lot, basically. But, I was on my way already, so I just put up my hood and started walking towards the bus. Now, usually the B25 comes like every 5-10 minutes. However, on the day of the Great Downpour, I waited 30. Typical. Then, I had to head clear across the whole campus to get to the in-person registration building. Also typical. Finally, I reach it, soaked to the skin.

“Are you here for registration?” asks the irritatingly dry check-in girl. I nod.

Irritatingly dry check-in girl: “Ok, surname?”

Me: “Klimek”

IDCIG: “First name?”

Me: “Cynthia”

IDCIG: “Ok, Cynthia, first I need to make a copy of your passport.”

Me: “…..”

Of course, I hadn’t thought to bring it with me. FRIGGIN’ TYPICAL!!! I tell the girl I don’t have it and ask if I can bring it back at a later date but still register while I’m there. I’m sure you can guess the answer to this without me having to tell you, but if you can’t, it was a big fat NO. So, I did the only thing I could do, I walked back across campus, took the bus home, trudged up the hill to my house, got my passport, trudged back down, took the bus back to school, and walked back across campus so I could complete registration. My hoodie is still wet, and it is now Sunday. Ugh. The only thing good about that day was the man I saw rollerblading. He was headed down Lewes Road towards campus, rollerblading through the raindrops as fast as his feet could carry him, and he was wearing a kilt. Just a kilt. A black leather one. With no shirt. And a hat that looked like a buffalo head. Complete with horns. Directly across from my stop is the bus depot, and the drivers are always standing around outside smoking and making a ruckus. However, at the appearance of this character, all the drivers, and passersby, and people in cars, and I, turned to look. Then paused. Then started laughing hysterically. It was a glorious moment. And I would have missed it if I had remembered to bring my passport. I guess everything happens for a reason.

Anyway, after I got my schedule (which they pick for you here, you can’t make your own, which is totally weird and unfair), I headed home to meet up with Landa, since we were planning on going shopping to find outfits for that night. It was still pouring, but we made our way to the shopping center in Churchill Square so she could introduce me to Primark, the greatest store of all time. For anyone that lives in England, Primark is probably the trashiest place in the world to shop, since everything is realllllly cheap. Like a shirt for 1 pound cheap. But the stuff is cute, and I’m poor, so of course I’m totally in love with it. We do a little shopping, pick up a few odds and ends, get even more soaked than we already are, and head back home to get ready.

As you can probably guess, my hair is looking glorious by this point, since I never bothered to bring an umbrella along on my travels that day, but I get dressed, slop some more gel on, and hope for the best. Our first stop is a club called KuKu, which turns out to be Brighton’s version of Webster Hall. I.e. crowded, trashy, crappy music, and filled with underage kids. And, since the drinking age here is 18, you can imagine how old the kids who snuck in with fake ids were. Basically, we were like the grandmothers of the club. Case in point: after a while, some Welsh boy came over and started talking to me, which was all right, until we got to this point.

Him: “So what brings you to Brighton?”

Me: “School. How bout you?”

Him: “Me too. I’m an undergrad at the business school.”

Me: “An undergrad? How old are you?”

Him: “Nineteen.”

Me: “Goodbye.”

A similar discussion took place between Sara and the boy she was talking to, except he was eighteen. But, since she’s pretty much a child herself at 22, it’s not as bad. It would have been way worse for Landa, who’s 28.

After that we fled and ended up back at Ink, the club I went to with the girls my first night in Brighton. Once we got there, we were dancing and having a great time…for about fifteen minutes. Then a fight broke out that apparently got so bad THEY SHUT DOWN THE CLUB. We had no idea what was going on since we were clear across the room, we just heard shouting and bottles breaking, then the music stopped and they turned on the lights.

So that was pretty much how that night ended. And when we got home Landa made a solemn vow never to return to Ink because, and I quote, “the only men in there are trashy ones who behave like animals, and I only want to meet gentlemen.” We’ll see if this holds up.

Saturday, October 2

I slept very late on Saturday, which was ok because the only plan I had during the day was to run to the grocery store with Landa. However, since it was still pouring when I got up, we decided to hold off. Instead, we did a little cleaning around the house. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this on my blog before, but I have disgusting, moldy curtains that were like that when I moved in. It’s bad. I tried to clean them, but instead only succeeded in making them worse, and smellier. I think I may need to burn them. Or douse them in Holy Water or something. 

Anyway, that night Sara had a friend come over, so she stayed in, but Landa and I went out. Earlier in the day, she had discovered a website called Brighton Beats, which lists all the clubs and bars in town, and all the different promotions they’re running on any given night. So, we narrowed it down to two places to try: a sports bar called The Smuggler, because the soccer game was on and sports bar + game = men, and a club called Lola Lo (Sara and Landa are all about the clubs and they go out pretty much dressed to the nines every night, while my look is mild to moderately homeless 24/7). As it was still raining, I looked even more homeless than usual, and even Landa went out in ::gasp!:: flats, but we were determined to have a good time, so we decided to act like British girls and not let the weather bother us. Seriously, the girls here are insane. They don’t wear jackets EVER, and they totter up and down Brighton’s huge hills in enormously high heels in the pouring rain without batting a perfectly mascara-ed eyelash. I have no idea how they do it. 

On our way to The Smuggler, a girl handed us free passes to another bar called Madame Geisha’s, which we stopped in first, but there weren’t a lot of people, so we moved on. Next, we went into a jazz club, appropriately named The Jazz Club, but there was literally no one in there, so on we went again until we reached The Smuggler. As predicted, there were tons of boys, most of them super cute, and there was great music playing, even though the game was on. We hung out there for a couple of hours and had a great time, but it closed at around 12, so we had to move on. Not really knowing too many places offhand yet, Landa and I decided to just walk around until something caught our fancy. However, this turned out to be a really sucky idea, because The Smuggler is on a beach block, and the wind off the ocean that night was unimaginably strong. I actually had my umbrella with me for once but it kept flopping inside out so many times that I finally just stuck it in my bag and let the rain hit me. Out of desperation, I finally suggested Oceana, a beachfront club the ex-pats had mentioned to me on Wednesday. I knew the basic direction it was in, and I knew that it was right on the beach, so I told Landa to keep an eye out. This was unnecessary. Oceana is HUGE. It’s an enormous white building that takes up an entire block, and it has the word Oceana written in gigantic blue letters on all four outer walls. Basically, it’s the kind of place that, when you ask for directions and people tell you you can’t miss it, they’re totally right. And, as impressive as outside was, the interior was even crazier. Inside are numerous rooms for dancing, as well as several different bars, including a ski lounge called Aspen, a French bistro for dining, a game room, and all sorts of other wacky things. Naturally, we got completely lost in about 30 seconds but stumbled across a room with good music purely by accident. Oceana got Landa’s approval mostly because there were no hoodies in sight (she hates that the boys go to Ink dressed down). And, I must say, I’m definitely not a club girl, but Oceana is a lot of fun.

Sunday, October 3

Today I slept in again, and awoke to find it STILL RAINING. If the events of the days hadn’t been different, I would think I was in a time warp since Friday. Tonight there is a big international students party at school, since it’s the last day before classes start, so the girls and I are going to make an appearance there. Thankfully it’s only from 6 to 9, since I have class at 10 in the damn morning tomorrow. Gross. Anyway, I’ll let you all know how it goes.