On Thursdays, I have two classes that I have to attend.  One is Language and Gender, and the other is Elementary Spanish.  Unfortunately, that leaves me with one to two hours interval  between the two lectures.  So today, I’ve decided to head on over to the LRC and cruise the internet.

Everything that could have gone wrong today, has!  Obviously, nothing too drastic, just frustrating measures that I’ve had to overcome.  I bought a ticket to London, with only FOUR MINUTES BEFORE MY TRAIN LEFT, and I asked him for a return ticket to Barnes, whilst frantically looking back at the clock as if I was timing myself before I had to pee.  So he gives me the tickets, and off I run to catch the train which is pretty much ready to depart.  I sit down, and listen to music calmly, and rethink about the massive presentation I have to do today.

I finally get to London Euston, and as usual, I climb down the escalator to get the Underground, but alas! the ticket machine stops me.  The damn guy misunderstood me, and thought I just asked to go to London.  So I had to buy an entirely new ticket to get me to Barnes.  How.  Frustrating.

But it’s fine! It’s only six quid.  And on I go my merry way.  Of course though, the tubes stops, the Overground stops, and I finally get to Barnes station 30 minutes before my lecture.  Plenty of time, I know, but still, I wanted to print some documents out for my class so I didn’t have to shuffle back and forth between my book, and my powerpoint presentation.  As simple as it sounds, it turned out to be much more annoying then though.  It costs 6p per copy.  I have 20 slides to my presentation.  Unfortuantely, it would have ended up costing me £11.09 which is money I just do not have.

So, screw that idea, I’m just going to have to shift through the two bits I’ve brought with me.  And it was a mess.  I nearly shit a brick on numerous occasions.

But this has landed me to being in LRC after class.  Being here is fine, it’s not what’s making me feel how I’m feeling.  I decided to go into my inbox and look through some old messages.  I looked through old messages I had with Jeanette, Samantha, and a couple others.  Then I decided to go through my yahoo mail.  I re-organized the folders on my yahoo account ages ago so that it was easier to categorize and place e-mails where they properly belonged, instead of clogging up my inbox.  So I was looking at the folders, and noticed the one and only e-mail I received from my dad.

It’s not much of an e-mail.  It’s very short.  It’s about a paragraph long, but in the end, it’s HIM talking to me.  And it was the only e-mail he ever sent me.  And I love it more than anything.

“hello sweatheart,
 
thanks for getting in touch. i do have a bit of a guilty conciouss for not calling you, but i promise i shall over the next few days. dealing with babcia can be a bit diffucult, but i manage- perhaps the only person in the world that i can do. anyway staying at home was nice, though we did have some arguments with mom. so what else is new? i would love to come to london and bore you for a few minutes, but it might take some time. now, i think i know what you are studying, though i am not sure. journalism might be interesting, but frustating and tough – i have done it for the last thirty years in radio, press, tv and internet  in poland, the us and uk ( bbc world service) so i think i know what i am talking about (believe or not).
the profession seems attractive if you become recognized publically. however very few people make it and the rest are rather frustrated. As regards guatemalan  children – it seems to be a very nobile topic.  lets talk next week. in the meantime – if you need some money call me, not to often though! I undersatnd that ***** **** got in touch with you and also through his mom, your auntie Joanna, returned some funds.
At this stage my advise (while not solicitated) is: stay in touch with the guy, but keep away from him. I am not particurarly fond of him, even if i am his godfather. love you and miss you – from time to time. dad.”

On December 19th, it will be two years since he died.  And Lord knows not a day goes by without me thinking about him.  Granted, he did it to himself, but no young girl wants to go through losing someone they love.  And it will always bother me, and be painful for me to know that he won’t be the one to give me away at my wedding, or that he won’t ask my future husband to “cut in” when he wants to dance with me.  I mean, it’s my dad.  And I miss him.  It’s been nearly two years since his death, and it boggles my mind that so much time has slipped by so quickly.  I have a picture of him in my wallet, and whenever someone asks me who it is chillin’ in the clear, plastic envelope below my credit cards, I proudly say “That’s my daddy”.

He wasn’t always there, true.  He was very much the disciplinarian, true.  But he was MY disciplinarian.  And I am grateful for everything he taught me whilst I was growing up.  So, in a month’s time, when it’s time to say goodbye all over again (or maybe hello again), then I will raise the glass that I’m holding in my hand, look up at the sky, and now that a star was born on December 19th, 2007.

This is a funny list that a friend of mine posted on Facebook.  When I read this, I was in the Library of my University, in complete silence.  Then that silence was broken by my guffawing.  And I even tried to not laugh.  That only made it worse.  I snorted.  Ladies and gentlemen, I snorted.  So, here, enjoy what made me snort:

*Random thoughts from people our age…*

1. -I wish Google Maps had an “Avoid Ghetto” routing option.

2. -More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can’t wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that’s not only better, but also more directly involves me.

3. -Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.

4. -I don’t understand the purpose of the line, “I don’t need to drink to have fun.” Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they’ve invented the lighter?

5. -Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you’re going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you’re crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

6. -That’s enough, Nickelback.

7. -I totally take back all those times I didn’t want to nap when I was younger.

8. -Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the “people you may know” feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

9. -Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn’t work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix
10.the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ’s. We just figured it out. Today’s kids are soft.

11.-There is a great need for sarcasm font.

12.-Sometimes, I’ll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the f was going on when I first saw it.

13.-I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I’ll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone’s laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I’m still the only one who really, really gets it.

14.-How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

15.-I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

16.I think part of a best friend’s job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

17.-The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to finish a text.

18.A recent study has shown that playing beer pong contributes to the spread of mono and the flu. Yeah, if you suck at it.

19.Was learning cursive really necessary?

20.Lol has gone from meaning, “laugh out loud” to “I have nothing else to say”.

21.I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

22.Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.

23.My brother’s Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, “Cuz we beat you, and you hate us.” Classy, bro.

24.Whenever someone says “I’m not book smart, but I’m street smart”, all I hear is “I’m not real smart, but I’m imaginary smart”.

25.How many times is it appropriate to say “What?” before you just nod and smile because you still didn’t hear what they said?

26.I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

27.Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using ‘as in’ examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss’s last name to an attorney and said “Yes that’s G as in…(10 second lapse)..ummm…Goonies”

28.-What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

29.While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it…thanks Mario Kart.

30.MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

31.Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

32.I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.

33.-Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

34.I would like to officially coin the phrase ‘catching the swine flu’ to be used as a way to make fun of a friend for hooking up with an overweight woman. Example: “Dave caught the swine flu last night.”

35.-I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at least kind of tired.

36.Bad decisions make good stories

37.-Whenever I’m Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don’t mind if I do!

38.Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?

39.-If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.

40.-Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I’m from, this shouldn’t be a problem….

41.-You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you’ve made up your mind that you just aren’t doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

42.-Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don’t want to have to restart my collection.

43.-There’s no worse feeling than that millisecond you’re sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

44.-I’m always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

45.”Do not machine wash or tumble dry” means I will never wash this ever.

46.-I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There’s so much pressure. ‘I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren’t watching this. It’s only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?’

47.-I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What’d you do after I didn’t answer? Drop the phone and run away?

48.I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

49.-When I meet a new girl, I’m terrified of mentioning something she hasn’t already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

50.-I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it’s on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

51.-Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles…

52.As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

53.-Sometimes I’ll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

54.-It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

55.-I keep some people’s phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

56.-Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn’t know what do to with it.

57.-Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey – but I’d bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time…

58.-My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day “Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?” How the hell do I respond to that?

59.-It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.

60.-I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.

61.-I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

62.-I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

63.-The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There’s nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard before dinner.

Money.  Let’s all admit it, no matter how shallow someone sounds when they say it, it may not be everything, but it sure helps a load.  This is the first bar job I’ve had since the Whistle and Flute, and to be honest, it’s my fault.  I should have never expected it would be the same way.  As much as I loved working at the Whistle and Flute, I told myself that I didn’t want another bar job.  I hated the way the people looked at me in this degrading way as if I was just another blonde barmaid that if they chat up enough, they might score with.  I hated the fact that I was so put down by customers when I made one little mistake on their drink.  And the truth is, I used to not take that.  Anytime a customer was rude to me, I would show them the same respect that they just showed me.

Old Royal Oak is a bit different.  It’s run under a different company than the Whistle (Whistle was Fullers, Old Royal Oak is Greene King), and it’s not a proper pub.  It’s mostly a family restaurant with a bar so that when parents can’t be bothered with their kids running around, they have a pint to cool their nerves.

Unfortunately, because I made about three mistakes in my first week as most people do, my manager officially thinks I’m incompetent.  Forget the fact that I’ve been working my ass off since then (now I’ve been there for about three months), and made about 2 more mistakes since then, and that I’ve done a better job behind the bar than the majority of the people that work there, INCLUDING HER.  Because of this, she won’t give me more hours, which means my income has become extremely low.  I now get paid 80 pounds an hour.  That is NOT enough when I have to pay 50 pounds a week to get to London and back for two days, pay a phone bill at the end of the month which is 44 pounds, and a rent which is 35 pounds a week.  NOT WORKING.

It’s amazing, though.  She’s gone for two weeks, and we’ve had a replacement manager come in named Rob.  Guys.  I LOVE HIM.  We have a BOSS NOW.  I’m not sure if I complained about this in a previous entry, but if I haven’t, then my complaint is that MY REAL MANAGER DOES NOTHING BUT SIT THERE AND DRINK AND EAT!  She runs the pub completely backwards, and it takes my assistant manager (and now good friend) a good 45 minutes the tills at the end of the night, when it should only take her half that time.

But now Rob is here.  I’m so glad he has entered our lives.  He runs the pub the way that the Whistle was run.  It’s like working there all over again.  When we’re busy, we can make it fun.  He cleans, he’s taught Catty the real way of cashing up, he’s lenient, if we make a mistake, he says “it’s okay, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it” without sounding like we just killed his dog.

Last week, after looking at the Rota, he decided that he was going to try and see if he could get some kind of authorization from the Greene King, and see if he can change the schedule around and cut hours for some people, and give more to others, so that everything is equal.  Truth is, my manager plays favourites.  So because she loves someone, she will give them all the hours they so wish.  When she doesn’t, she will give them no hours.  One of my friends is going through the same thing I am, but the problem he has, is that he has a kid.  So he’s got him to support as well.  We, apparently, have some sort of percentage that we are supposed to spend on wages.  Apparently, we are WAY over, because certain people work too much.  So HOPEFULLY, I’ll be getting more shifts!

I just need to the extra money to commute to London.  Which is frustrating enough as it is.  It’s even more frustrating when we have a tutorial rather than a class.  That means that I have to pay that 25 quid just to go there for 15 minutes.  LAME.

I don’t mind my classes this term.  I take Screenplay Writing, Language and Gender, and Spanish.  Spanish is the only one I seem to have a problem with.  But I am so not even exaggerating when I say that I have gotten into major study mode this term.  You should see my Language and Gender book.  It’s all pink, not because it came like that, but because I highlighted the shit out of it.  My Spanish is the only one I seem to have a little bit of difficulty with.

And maybe, hopefully, I hope that my hours become more existent which will mean that I will be able to actually attend all of my classes.  Yes.  That would be nice.

When I first entered Roehampton, I was told that I need 120 credits in each year to graduate.  However, after completing 90 instead, they told me that that was fine.  In fact, when asked “Will this affect my graduation?” I got a flat out “NO.”

So why is it, four months after when my graduation was supposed to happen, I was not invited?  No, no, it turns out that because things have changed SO MUCH in the past three years, that my lack of credits WILL affect my graduation.

This wouldn’t be much of a problem if I was told about this during my final year at the University.  If I had been told that, then I would have taken more than one lecture in my first term of third year.  But whatever.  I’ve gotten over that.  I’ve gotten over the fact that after moving 2 hours away from London, I have to commute back and forth every Tuesday and Thursday to make up classes that they didn’t tell me about.  Fine.  If that’s what it takes to get that goddamn degree I’ve worked my ass off for, then fine.

I have to go on Tuesday to a class from 2 until 5.  I don’t get back to the house at least till about 7 or quarter past.  And that’s only if I have the money to take a cab back home.  Otherwise I have to walk up to the bus stop which is about 10 minutes away from the train station, wait 15 minutes for the bus to arrive, then travel another 15 minutes to actually get home.  I can walk back to the house in 8 minutes flat.

Thursdays are worse.  I have a class from 2 until 5, AND THEN, I have another class from 6 until 8.  This doesn’t get me back home until about half past 10.  Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

But once again, I’ve gotten over that.  I’ve accepted it, and I’m fine with it.

And then some good news arrives.  Apparently, I was told that I am actually able to take any class, as long as it makes up my lacking credits.  So voila, there is a class for 30 credits, which means I can drop my two classes on Thursday, and just handle getting back at half past 7 (since that is when the class would end).  SOUND.

So I e-mail my tutor about it, and ask her if there is any possibility.  But of course, I should have known better than to get my hopes up about something that could potentially relieve the stress that I have already because to be quite honest with you, I already have fuck loads of work to do.  In fact, I should probably get started on it next week, even though none of it is due until December 19th.

BUT AGAIN THEY HAVE DECEIVED ME! For in fact, it DOES matter what level the course is in for me to make the credits up.  The class I wanted to take was a second year course.  But because the credits I lack are in my FIRST YEAR I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT.

So awesome.  I mean, I know it’s not that big a deal, but the constant frustration that I am feeling is because I keep feeling that I’m being lied to by an organisation that I have spent thousands, upon thousands of pounds for.  They just keep bojangling me about, and as much as I loved my years at Roehampton, I just want to be able to walk up on that stage, stick my hand out, and take my diploma back home where it belongs.  I’m tired of them telling me different things, and then the outcome come out in the exact opposite of my benefit.

Their excuses are always these two:

“It’s every students responsibility to check their profiles and double check that everything is down correctly”

And

“Well, the University is constantly making changes and so we’re never aware of what might affect one student.  We have a lot of students, so we can’t keep up with it.”

Alright, so my response to the first one is I HAVE BEEN CHECKING MY STUDENT PROFILE.  The problem was not the fact that I didn’t notice my lack of credits.  I noticed my lack of credits.  I was concerned about my lack of credits.  I ASKED about my lack of credits.  I was told my lack of credits would not affect my graduation.

To the second one, I understand entirely that the University makes changes.  I honestly do.  Again, that’s not the issue.  The fact that there are a lot of students at the school is also not an excuse.  It is their jobs to inform the students who pay them loads of money that we will be paying back until the age of 90, when changes occur.  If I had been told about the changes, I would not be in the current situation.

I absolutely loved being at Roehampton.  I loved the people I met, and the friendships that were created that will never, in my life ever be forgotten.  I am so happy to know that when I get older, and start telling my daughter and son about the times, I was in college, I can start that sentence by saying just that; When I was in College, my friends and I had the best time doing…..

It’s just this final step.  I’ve been working and trying so hard to get this stupid degree, and one that might not even get me anywhere decent.  But it’s a degree, and I want it.  And the fact that they are delaying it so long, and making my life so much more difficult because of their own faults, and their constant lying towards me, it’s turning me against the University so quickly.  And I don’t want that.  I want to be able to tell my children how AWESOME my University life was, not how annoying they were.

At the end of the day though, I just have to ask myself if it’s all worth it in the end.  And after all the shit I’ve been through, after the lies, after the drama, and after the loads of money I’ve spent, is it all fucking worth it?

Dude, I made loads of friends.  I had my first proper girls night out with the people I met, and I actually turned myself into a young woman, rather then stayed a child.  I’ve met some of the best people, had some of the best time, and fell in love for the first time.

Of course it was worth it.  They’re just going to have to stop pissing me off.

Oh and just for Gerry and Sammi: Dude, seriously, I am getting comments from random people on DailyBooth, AND I have randomers following me.  Is this normal?  Or am I becoming slightly cool on DailyBooth?  Because that is the place that I want to be known for! x

I can’t blame my grandmother for some of the crazy things she comes out with.  She’s been through a lot in her life, and she has every reason to live in her circle of paranoia.  But when she does, we repeat what she has just told us, and she laughs with us because she realises just how ridiculous she sounds.

My grandmother, whom I call Babcia, is a person who is always fun to talk about.  The things she comes out with are just amazingly funny, not intentionally, and not to mention her cleptomania of household items just baffles my mind.  For instance, when my father was sick, she went to Poland(son-in-law) to stay with his sister, and my aunt, whom I will re-name Grace, at his apartment.  Grace owns a little dog, one of those yelpy ones, called Biddy.  Biddy, had a tendency to scratch at the door Lord knows how many times a day.  This resulted in an extremely shoddy door, which needed to be replaced.  Now, to do that, Grace needs to take the door off the hinges.  To do that, she needed to unscrew the hinges from the wall.  Since the screws were the out, obviously the door was ajar, and so when Grace needed to go out to order a new door, Babcia had to stay in the house, so that no one would actually break in.

Now before I get any criticism on leaving a woman of her age at home alone in Poland, with the door open, I think people may need a little clarification on my grandmother.  She may be old, and she may be strange, but girlfriend can kick some serious ass.  I’m telling you.  She is in her 70’s and she is alive, and kickin’.  You don’t want to fuck with her.

Anyway, when Grace returns, she looks for the screws that she had left on the side.  When asked, my grandmoter simply replied “….they’re my screws now” and walked away.  And for the record, she didn’t ever return them.

She’s quite blunt as well.  My mom and her friend went to New York to visit a girl that I grew up with, that  will re-name Jamie.  Jamie is a german girl whom I saw almost every day when I lived in Germany for five years.  She has since, moved to New York, gotten married, and gotten herself a job as an Opar, and a dancer.  As much as I adore Jamie, she has a tendency of putting on way too much make up, and dressing herself up sexy because in her eyes, wearing a tight black dress showing off your cleavage is professional and classy looking.  But that’s pretty much what she wore when my grandmother (who also lives in New York if you hadn’t caught on yet), my mother, and her friend went to meet her.  They all went to lunch together, and Jamie was wearing a headband to go along with her outfit.  The headband was black, with an enormous fake flower on it. The conversation between my grandmother, and this girl takes place.

“What is that thing on your head?”

“It’s a flower!”

Upon seeing Jamie’s slight discomfort, I suppose this was my grandmothers way of trying to apologise.

“I’m sorry.  I should not have made a comment about your flower.  I mean, if it were Lily, I would have ripped it right off her head”

I’ve told people stories about my grandmother so many times because, yes, they are funny.  To be honest, I haven’t heard one from my mother in a while until yesterday.  So I thought I might share it.

My grandmother writes.  She doesn’t publish anything, she just writes.  And that’s fine.  That’s her perogative, and that’s her own decision.  For as long as I’ve known her, she has always used a typewriter.  A very loud, typewriter.  So my mom and brother decided to get her a gift.  That gift, would be a laptop, and bless her, she has no idea how to use it.  My brother gives her a couple of pointers, and sets it up for her.  The only thing she uses it for is for her writing.  She doesn’t use it for the internet, she doesn’t it to watch anything or to listen, it’s simply to write.  And once again, that’s fine.  But to reiterate, she has no idea how to use it.

Now since my laptop has broken down and I am currently using my boyfriends computer, my mother thought of the idea to send me the laptop that my grandmother has.  Of course, I protest because it’s my grandmothers.  I know it will pretty much act brand new even though she’s had it for a few months, but it’s hers.  I would feel guilty.  That was until my mother told me of a conversation that she and her mother had held.

“You can give the laptop to Lily.”

“Why?  Don’t you like it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s cheating.”

…

It’s cheating apparently.  Like, with what?  The radio?  Bless her, we’ve tried to explain to her on numerous occasions that when you save a document, you scroll down and click “SAVE”.  If you click “Save As”, then you have to re-name is every time.  And she does.  So she has probably about 30 different documents, that are the continuation of one article she is writing.

She has also claimed that the laptop speaks to her.  Personally.  When asked why, she says that because when something happens to it, it says “Zofia”.  And again, we have to explain to her that this is because my brother set it up UNDER HER NAME.

You know how laptops have a little switch that allows the connection to the internet.  It doesn’t matter if the internet is strong as hell, if that switch is off, you will receive none.  Now, there is no need for my grandmother to have the internet.  But for some odd reason, she is convinced that if you switch that button, you will get internet regardless.  We’ve also had to explain to her it doesn’t work like that.  You have to PAY for it.  She refuses to admit, and is assuming she is right.

But I thnk the best part of the story is that when we suggested that she return to using her typewriter, she refused.  When asked why, I shit you  not, this was her response:

“Because it’s loud.  The neighbours upstairs can hear my typing and so they will come in at night and steal my work to give to the government.”

….

This is the same woman who was convinced that the reason one of the cardinals stepped down from the Vatican was because she wrote an angry letter to the Pope, explaining her frustration with this cardinal.

I love her for those moments.  Maybe she’s senile, or maybe she is just actually that stubborn to believe that the government cares about her writings about what she did that day, and how this day would have been different if World War II didn’t happen.  She firmly stands by the fact that if it weren’t for her, that Cardinal would still be a part of the Vatican.  Like her and the Pope are homies.  I love her.  I love her, I love her, I love her.

Please don’t mistake my love for criticism and fun.  I actually do my grandmother.  She is the only grandmother that I’ve had since the age of 12, when my dad’s mom died.  I didn’t know my Babcia’s husband, and my other grandfather died when I was 8.  I have gained a lot of respect for my Babcia, despite her insane rantings, and hilarious assumptions.

But I thought that if any of my friends read this, like Sam, she would enjoy another funny grandma story.

Larry, after doing so well the past couple of days, has decided to stop charging my laptop. Or well at least, it stopped charging and then started again after I fiddled with it for about 45 fucking minutes. But I’m not bitter. iPhone to the rescue I suppose. Lets seehow far I can get with this.

In my last entry, I very briefly mentioned that I had taken a trip to Wales. The car journey there was actually a lot of fun. Mostly because Will was still slightly intoxicated from the night before and his attitude towards the whole thing made me pretty much laugh hysterically the duration of the trip.

Every time I have gone to Wales I have had a phenominal time. Including this time! But something I realised about myself is my utter, and unreasonable paranoia about my surroundings. All the other houses that we’ve stayed in have been near a town, a walking distance. This house was a bit different. It was located in smack dab middle of nowhere, down a private road , then down ANOTHER private road and then there was the house. It was very beautiful indeed, but in a place where no one could find us. So because I’m such a freakazoid, as my boyfriend so gracefully calls me, I was thinking of all the different dangerous situations we could be put in, and how no one would ever know. It was ridiculous.

I won’t lie. I usually have a discomfort on the first night of anywhere I stay,but the whole week? That’s never happened before. People had to keep talking me out of my fear. I was desparate to fall asleep early. I even freaked out when my boyfriend walked down to the nearest store to get cigarettes.

To make matters worse, there was constant rain that didn’t let up until the last day.

To be fair, despite that, the whole trip was fantastic. Even though there was rain, and even though there was paranoia circling my head every second, the atmosphere, the view and the games were all amazingly fun. The ocean was right next to us. The walk along it was beautiful and everything in Wales is just magical.

Okay, I think this is as long as I can handle writing in my iPhone so on that note, good night fellow bloggers.”

The few friends that I do actually have, know one thing about me that is not hidden from the world at all.  That one thing is: My complete, 100% devotion and loyalty to my laptop.  With anything.  I’m talking Internet, with the writing of my book, with all of my University work, and playing my games.  Unfortunately for me, I have this awful habit of over-using and mistreating my laptops when to the best of my ability, I try to treat them like they were my baby.  Well, no, but close enough.

This isn’t the first time this has happened.  It happened with my last laptop.  Her name was Toby.  It started out with the charger just drifting in and out of actually charging.  Then it just stopped turning on.   Truth be told, Toby had been close to death for about 6 or 7 months prior to this event.  I decided it was just the charger, and to get a new charger.  I got a new charger for a whopping, rip-off price of $100.00, and she worked for the next couple of months.  But then, the same thing started happening, and eventually, once again, she refused to wake up.  There was nothing else I could do.  I had a freak out, and then got myself another laptop, because let’s face it, a University student needs her laptop.  Well, doesn’t NEED one, but it sure makes life a whole lot easier when you don’t have to walk back and forth to the library to finish up a 6,000 word story due by the end of the month.

So I got my new laptop.  And it’s the one I have now.  Larry.  Beautiful Larry.  After a couple of months of owning Larry, him working perfectly, my boyfriend comes over, and sees my old laptop.

“So what actually happened with this?”

“Oh, it stopped turning on.”

“Really?  How long had you had it?”

“About two years”

“I can try and fix it for you”

“I tell you what, you fix it, you keep it.  Consider it an early birthday present”.

So what did he do?  He got Toby to turn on.  And even though she was on, she was causing issues.  She was being slow, Firefox was barely loading, and actually, long ago, it got to a point where Internet Explorer just wouldn’t work at all.  I would get pop ups non-stop even though I had pop-up blocker, and everytime I signed onto World of Warcraft and had an internet site open, Toby would freeze, make a funny noise, and then shut down.

“Have you ever used a virus scanner?”

“No”

He just looked at me like he couldn’t believe he was actually dating the most stupid girl in the world.  I think he had to re-think our relationship for a minute.  What kind of computer/internet addict, DOESN’T run a virus scan, at least once every two to three days.  So Toby, miraclously  (I know the spelling is completely off), allowed us to download AVG Virus Scanner after about 30 minutes of configuring a way to even get onto the site.  So we ran the virus scanner.

After about 5 minutes, it had already found about 10 viruses.  And not just any virus, but the fucking Trojan virus.  I may be a computer lover, but I don’t know much about them, but what I do know, through the grapevine is that the Trojan virus is probably one of the worst virus’s your computer can get.

By the time we finished the scan, and all of my files, and my whole computer actually had been examined by Dr. AVG, we had 2,000 Trojan Virus’s.

…

Let that marinate for just a minute.

Two – Thousand Trojan Virus’s.

It was no wonder that Toby had shut down.  In fact, it was a shock that Toby didn’t die earlier.

My boyfriend again, looked at me as if it was time to have a serious discussion about my intellegence and where this relationship with the lack thereof.

So the moment that happened, I downloaded AVG onto Larry, and he has been working like a dream.  I know that Larry has no virus’s.  He has started drifting in an out of charging my battery.  This concerns me.

I have to somehow manuveur a way for the charger to actually charge Larry.  And sometimes he just won’t.  It’s been about a week or so since I have been able to properly use him.  I’m currently using him now because I have the iPhone delivery box, that’s being held down by a full, unopened bottle that belongs to my boyfriend of Peregrine Porter beer, up against the charger.  I’m assuming the weight is helping.  Luckily for me, my boyfriend’s step-father is a proper expert on computers.

I took Larry down desparately hoping he could help when it first started happening. Sometimes, he won’t turn on unless he’s fully charged.He’s not fully charged now and he’s decided to help a girl out.  Good Larry, Good.  So his step-dad takes a look at it, and tells me that it’s either the charger or the battery because if I run a virus scan (which I do everyday) then it can’t be a virus.

I looked up some things on the internet as well via George’s computer and it told me that a way to test it is to take out the battery, but plug in the charger.  If it doesn’t turn on, it’s the charger.  And it didn’t turn on.  It’s the charger.

But oh, how lucky I can be sometimes because instead of having to get another charger for $100.00, I was able to get one for simply £10.00.  And it’s legit.  How excited am I?

So hopefully, I’ll be able to continue on blogging through a laptop and not my iPhone.  I was going to write about my trip to Wales, and how beautiful/rainy it was, but I felt that I needed to vent about my laptop.

I really fucking want Sushi.  It’s like my chocolate.  When people are stressed, they want chocolate.  Larry’s pending death is beginning to stress me out.  And I want Sushi.

Since I moved to London, I’ve been absolutely dead broke.  Even when I had a steady job, I had all these other bills to pay, as any other young woman aspiring to be independent would(this coming from a girl who lived in a dorm then a flat living on her loan.  SO INDEPENDENT!).  Regardless, I knew that I didn’t have time, or money to go shopping for mysel

Then there was good two years where I just wasn’t inspired to work.  I was focused on my studies, and on my father.  So I couldn’t really spend any money, because I literally, didn’t have any.  I relied on my loans, but even then, I had to pay £365.00 per month for the flat I was living in, plus the electric bill, and the water bill, and the gas bill, and my phone bill.  And let’s not even get started on the school tuition.  No.  Money.

And then Will’s family invited me to move in with them, seeing as after I graduated, I had issues finding a place to live, what with the recession and all.  I was ecstatic.  It was an opportunity to see how strong mine and Will’s relationship was, as well as it was an all inclusive very cheap price of £150.00 a month.  It was an offer that could not be refused.

It was then that I started doing the math.  Realising, I no longer have to pay the student tuition, the home that I reside in now is such a low price, all inclusive(and that’s even food), and at the current moment, no phone bill to pay…I couldn’t help but notice that I now have a little extra money to shell out on a couple of things that I would like to purchase.  Like shoes, or sunglasses, or shirts, or dresses, or boots, or DVDs, or ANYTHING.  It’s exciting!

But regardless, because of the years that I have had with no money, I still can’t help but be cheap.  I’m not even joking.  I saw a shirt, that I actually quite liked, and I didn’t buy because it was £15.00.  Too much for a shirt.  I’m all about the charity shopping.

It was pretty cool.  Rugby is a small town located in the West Midlands of England.  It’s secluded, it’s spread out, it’s nice.  They have a town center, in which every couple of days, they put a market, where they sell (sometimes) cheap dresses, all kinds of fruit, vegetables, and meat.  They have vendors where they sell fast, junky, covered in oil food which is great to eat after a night of drinking, and even painting stands, and jewlerey.  I love shopping here.  They have the most interesting things on sale, that seem to be unique.

So I walked to one of the carts that was selling make up.  I had just run out of powder, and low and behold, they indeed sell powder.  For £2.50.  Bargain.  So I buy myself one.

My friend Samantha, always used to tell me that even though I was cheap, there are certain things that I should always shell out for.  I didn’t believe her, and because of my disbelief, I paid the price.

I didn’t wear the make up very often because I never really had a reason to put any effort.  But so, one day, I decide, “I wouldn’t mind putting in some effort and making myself look half decent for the day”.  So I put on some make up including the cheap powder.  I went out for a night, chilled out, came home, went to sleep.  No problems at all.

The next morning, my face is a bit itchy.  And its itchier, and itchier.  So it gets to a point where I am literally scratching the hell out of my face, and it’s just intolerable, so I think to myself what it could possibly be.  I’ve been using my foundation for months, so it can’t be that.  Same with my eyeliner, mascara, lip stuff.  It has to be the powder.  So I promptly wash my face, because my un-hygenic self didn’t do it the night before, and it felt soooooo much better.

Until a couple of minutes later.  Now, it just burns.  My face is swollen, its all red, and it’s painful.  Noticeably.  George came home, and saw me looking in the mirror with my stress-face on, and asks.

“What’s wrong?…..Ohhh…”

It was awful.  And the face got worse, and worse.  I kept lotioning it, and every single time I did, it just burned even more, but it obviously needed to be done.  It got so dry that it eventually started peeling.  It even had a strange texture to it.  NOT FUN.

But I gotta tell ya.  It’s just now going away, I no longer have bits of skin falling off, and it doesn’t feel strange anymore.  But my face?  Which is always dry even without the horrendous rash getting in the way?  Smooth as anything.  I mean, I’m talking I haven’t had this soft and this smooth a face without make up in YEARS.  I guess all that lotioning paid off.  And now?  All I want to do is keep lotioning.

There was no real point in my story.  I just thought I might gross anyone out who reads this.  Enjoy.

I would never curse in front of a customer…anymore.  Back in my first year, working at the Whistle and Flute, to some people, you kind of had to.  They didn’t seem to understand the words “Sorry, we’re closed now….No, no, we’re not serving anymore drinks…No the music is off because we’re closed, so I can’t turn it back on for you….I’m sorry, I can’t make an exception just for you, it would be unfair….Sir…will you please not take our chairs when leaving the pub? Yes, I am American, but you still need to leave.”

Sometimes, you didn’t really have much of a choice.  There were time when people would be so rude to you that you had to be rude back.  To be fair, I did always get in trouble for it.  So I started showing attitude instead.

Now, the reason I tell you this is because in the past two years of un-employment (excluding the job at Ambika that I had for about a month), I’ve changed, and I’ve grown up, and I’ve learned how to keep a positive attitude, even when the customers are being arrogant and annoying.  I may be criticised for this later but the customer, actually, is not always right  In fact, most of the time, they are wrong.  If they worked in a kitchen at a pub, or a restaurant or if they worked as a barmaid in a busy bar, then I would understand.  But a lot of the time, when asked “Have you ever worked in a pub or a kitchen?”  I always get the response “NO! So what if I haven’t?!? It’s still not fucking hard!!”.  But I don’t let that side of me come out anymore because it IS a lack of professionalism, and it IS bad sportsmenship.  Although, I can’t say that I didn’t feel the Ol’ Lily building up when a customer was yelling at one of our waitresses because FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER ORDERING A WELL DONE STEAK (when the steak is pretty much done) HE DECIDES THAT ACTUALLY HE WANTS A FISH AND CHIPS! I’m talking proper yelling.  And bless her, she’s 16 years old, and she handled it very well.  Did I mention that I have a 16 year old as my superior?  But I’m so glad that no one knows about it because that might have been embarassing.  Just kidding, I actually really do adore her.  She’s wicked.

ANYWAY.  So I’ve learned not to show attitude, or curse in front of or towards the customers.  Until yesterday.  I screamed “FUCK OFF!” in front of a customer, to which I promptly walked away, and then returned to apologise for my language.  He was very gratious, and said it was fine, and he understood.

Now, you’d think that I was screaming “FUCK OFF!” to someone.  Maybe someone pissed me off?  Maybe my boyfriend and I got into a fight?  Maybe my mother decided to throw a bunch of different career choices at me at the same time and tell me TO DO ALL OF THEM RIGHT NOW?  No.

The answer: Wasps.

No joke.

Let me explain something about myself.  I have never been stung by a wasp, or a bee.  I’ve never been hurt by one, I’ve never stepped on one.  And would you like to know why I’ve never been stung by one?  Because I out-run the motherfuckers.  I’m not even kidding.  I run as quickly as I can.  If a wasp is around, the next thing you’ll see if a blurry silouette, of what used to be me, because I am gone. I am absolutely petrified of wasps.  I can’t handle it.  Everyone always tells me to stand still, but I can’t.  The only time I’ve ever been able to do that is when I’ve closed my ears, and eyes and pretended it wasn’t there.  And when I tried it again ONE LANDED ON ME.

Yesterday was a particularly gorgeous day in Rugby.  The sun was out, it was perfectly warm, there was no humidity, and that brought customers in.  And when customers are brought in, let’s face it, they order lots of sweetened drinks, and lots of tasty, junky food, which I guess the wasps think is a nice time to score a couple of free meals.  This pub that I work at is a lot bigger than the Whistle and Flute.  There’s a huge garden out back with a kids play area, and the kitchen is much bigger.  The kitchen has a backdoor in which they throw ALL of their garbage.  That includes rotten food, or wasted food, or bits and pieces of food that weren’t necessary for whatever meal they were cooking.

So WASPS WERE EVERYWHERE.  We had about 4 or 5 people come up to us and tell they were switching tables outside because there were too many wasps.  And LUCKILY FOR ME, I was put on setting tables, which is fine, it’s just that I had to watch my step or else I would have stepped on a wasp, and then his little friends would come and seek their revenge, and I would no longer have a face.

All fine and dandy.  A couple of wasps flew into the actual bar, and I controlled myself.  I would kind of run, but then I would also kindly walk into the kitchen and ask one of the boys, in a calm manner “willyoupleasefortheloveofallthatisholygetridofthatwaspbeforeishitmyself?”  And they would.  Nice boys.

So finally, it was time to clear up the glasses.  One of the biggest pet peeves is people stuffing tissues in the glasses.  But I can’t stop it, and I understand why people do it.  Hey, I’m sure I’ve done it about a bajillion times, so really, I can’t criticise.   So I’m clearing up glasses, and putting them into the dishwasher.  I put a tray in, and I walk out and back into the bar.  As I go to collect the extra glasses along the bar, one of my co-workers, Holly (who is absolutely stunning) comes up to me, and very sweetly says to me, Charlotte, and Hannah:

“You guys know how people stuff the tissues into their glasses?”

“Yeah.  I hate that.”

“Yeah, be careful today.”

“Why?”

“Because apparently, the reason they are being stuffed in there is to get rid of wasps.  So some of them have like 10 wasps trapped in them, so when you take the tissue out, they all get released.”

And that is when I screamed “FUCK OFF!”  and walked away.  I refused to go back into the glass room where all the dirty glasses were in case the wasps were waiting for me after they’ve planned their attack, and I refused to go outside because apparently, there were 20 wasps chillin’ around one glass.

I was not impressed.

I felt so guilty for cursing, but everytime I tell people that they have to understand, that I have an actual, real-life phobia that could probably be diagnosed as such, of pretty much any bug that has a yellow and black striped pattern on its exoskeleton, they tend to laugh and forgive me.

But my God, I hate fucking wasps.

I haven’t really been going out much since I moved to Rugby.  Truth is, I have George and I have Will as my friends.  Granted, there’s Tony, Barney, Zay, and all of their friends.  But that’s just the thing: THEIR FRIENDS.  Not mine.  I don’t mind, really.  It’s just weird not having people living right next to me that I could go visit whenever I wanted.  So you can imagine how eager I was to go out with George when she invited me to tag along on meeting an old friend she used to hang out with.

I was excited.  I dolled myself up, with the hair, the new dress my dear mother sent me, and my make up.  I had had a drink before we left, including a dreadful shot of tequila.  I was not drunk, I was not tipsy, but I was happy.  We head on down there, and as we start walking to the pub called The Paddox, George informs me that tonight is Karoke night.  “I’m not singing” I said to her.  “No, don’t worry, neither am I!”

That was the plan! We were to go to the Paddox, meet up with her friend and her fiance, and have a couple of drinks WITHOUT GETTING DRUNK, and not singing Karoke.

But we did get drunk.  And yes.  We did sing.  Horrendously.  We sang.  George, Kate and I sang Mamma Mia, and granted, the whole pub was singing along with us, and we were clapped at, and we had a wicked time.  It was when I sat down that I realised that I had just done something I would never ever ever do in my whole life.

But because of my case of intoxication, I not only sang Mamma Mia.  Kate ended up saying no more to the microphone, but George and I were all sorts of about the lyrics box in front of us.  So we what did we do?  We butchered, and I mean butchered, Lady Marmalade.  And it was THEN, that I realised how much of a fool I looked like.  I sat back down, red in the face, and embarassment overcome.  I’m pretty sure this was around the time I thought I should probably go to bed, and completely forget about the fact that 100 some-odd people heard me and treacherous singing voice.