the good, the bad, and the terrifying

The good: New CLOTHES!  Went shopping today in Covent Garden…Bought a skirt in the Jubilee Market – an enclosed market where I browsed chinsy crafts and cheap stuff – beautiful bohemian patchwork wrap.  Then on to the shops lining the streets.  After much searching I strolled again into Zara (oh how I love thee!) and spent more than I should have.  I need something to wear for my interview!  And something else for my job! And a shirt to go out in! And a tanktop and a tee shirt – I can always use those, right?  Oh Lordy.  Ladies (and fashionable gents), if you are not familiar with Zara, let me share my wisdom with you… Its a really cool store that’s popular in Europe, and they have a really cool idea; they only make a few of each item in every size for every store, and the turn around time is super-quick!  There’s always new things, and because their supply is so limited, no one is walking around with the exact same shirt as 10 other people they know.  It’s so FABULOUS!  After that delightful excursion I returned home via the Tube (oh how I love thee too!), and ate a yummy dinner while chatting with someone new in my kitchen.  Then, I called my airline and changed my plans to come back to the states…to spend my first weekend back in New York!  I’m dissapointed that I’ll miss my future roomie by a few days, but I’m excited to see other friends, and apparently, a fabulous apartment.  Oh yeah…and New York City!  I am IN LOVE with it…it’s in my blood.  you laugh, but I’m not kidding.  From the times my dad used to take me when I was little…Hed lead me to a subway map, stand arms crossed in front of it, and he’d say “Ok, now tell me how to get there…”  When I left for London from Newark my plane was delayed and we sat on the runway watching the Manhattan skyline in the sunset.  I almost got out of the plane and got into a taxi.  I’ve missed that city, even though it’s only been a few months since I’ve been there…  can we say destiny?  I think yes.

The bad:  I spent much of the evening reading a dry and boring case study for my marketing class which begins tomorrow… this does not bode well. If I couldn’t stand to read a 30 page case study, how on EARTH will I stand a 4 hour lecture.  9 four hour lectures…. ewww.  One of my roomates and a friend of mine decided to go out to the pub, and I decided to stay behind.  I figured I’d spent enough money on vices for one day.  But, I told myself later that I should go (meet people, be social, stop shutting people out!), so I swallowed my self-consciousness and kicked my protectionary instincts in the balls. Go to the damn pub, Rachel.  (see here’s where we get back to good…) I had a great time!  With a glass of sauvignon blanc I put on my game face and chatted with other students we met there.  Actually, I had a delightful conversation with a girl from New Jersey.  I appreciated that she as well knew the tricks of what to say (yeah that’s right…I do know them…I’ve just abandoned them for much of this trip…), but in the end we had a heart to heart about inspirational women and mothers, love, and the illusive topic of how to deal with ex-girlfriends of your lover.  We left when they kicked us out… I returned to the Crofton reflecting on new connections and New York.  Needless to say, I was on a cloud.

Then the Terrifying:  on facebook.  I read a status, and then a note.  An old friend of mine from my church youth group.  The kind of kid who’s like my brother…the kind who knew me when I had a bowl cut and who used to wear embarrassing ties, and who was once hung on a cross as a pretty hansome Jesus for Superstar (when I was Mary Magdalene).  The kind of kid who I looked up to, but who I have an endless supply of embarrassing pictures of… Love him like a brother.   he had cancer, and we sent him cards and a gift.  A moose stuffed animal and a package of moose-mix snack.  We thought it was gone (we’ve all had good luck with chemo and radiation in the past…we’re experienced cancer people.  There should be a “frequent cancer” card or something)  But it’s back, and I’m scared like hell.  50/50 odds.  And I’m away across an ocean, and I don’t even see him all that often, so I don’t even feel like I have the right to be afraid or sad or to tell him that I love him even though I only know half of him.  Or maybe I know more.  If blood is thicker than water, maybe church blood gives me some sort of claim on feeling like I want to curl into a ball under my sheets and cry.   I feel useless, and awkward, and confused, and terrified.

and all I know how to do is cry in the bathroom with the water on so my roomates don’t hear.  And pray.

“And it came to pass in those days, that he went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.” (Luke 6:12)

yours.Rachel

Une petit dejeuner

Class got out early today, so I’m finishing my lunch and preparing to head out shopping.  Piccadilly Line to Covent Garden Station, in an attmpt to paint myself British at Zara and other boutiques…I’m atop a barstool in my kitchen with the walls painted periwinkle and gray-violet.  The backsplash of the counter is tiled with bright blue and cream, and white cabinets…who the hell decorated this place?  The only redeaming thing about this room is the picutre of Jane Austen hanging opposite me.  In a black and white sketch, small and unobstrusive, she looks to her side…

At our fridge (which froze all our food yesterday…lol).  I’ve grown accustomed to grazing for meals, and I’ve really come to enjoy eating like a European.  I stop at the grocery store every couple of days on my way from class or the tube and pick up a baguette, some meat and cheese, peaches or apples or maybe strawberries, and olives or somthing anti-pasto-esque.  Today I had tzatziki and turkey pita and some delicious feta cheese stuffed olives…  because I know you care.   Even by day two of class I’m settling into a comfortably exciting routine.  This advertising class is actually quite interesting (hopefully marketing will be the same), and when it’s finished I come home for une petit dejeuner.  It breaks up my days nicely, because I then spend the rest of the afternoon living in London.  Exploring the streets, riding the tube, and strolling through shops and museums…once my internship starts, I’ll have to start living like a normal person, only enjoying the sunlight on the weekends, but for the time being I am savoring London with every minute I have…

“For I have know then all already, know them all: I have know the evening, the mornings, and the afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons…” -T.S. Eliot

yours.Rachel

Update, and pictures! (on FB)

Check Facebook for Pictures I posted!

Hopefully soon I’ll have lovely London stories to write about…I’m getting sick of this getting adjusted stuff. Getting adjusted is awkward and stressfull, and frankly (and totally unpoetically) I’ve been having a really hard time. (not that you’d know from the pictures of course…) We’re in an inbetween phase right now, and I can’t wait to be done with it (so many of those lately!) so I can get on to doing all the incredible things I want to do! I can’t believe I’ve been here for 5 days… Sometimes, it feels like it’s been 2.5 seconds, and other times it seems like it’s been 5 years…

I felt a little twinge of sorrow today when I realized that if I was back in Detroit this weekend I could have been at the DEMF (the electronic music festival — although it’s probably not be DEMF this year…they seem to change the name all the time!) I’ve gone for a few years now, and last year I went everyday… oh sadness. BUT! I have all kinds of good things going on this week, so I’m sure I’ll be over it soon enough. Tomorrow I’m planning on going to the National Portrait Gallery to see an exibit on fashion photography (so excited to see it! and to be ‘that girl who goes to museums by hereself’…hehe I’m so good at being a loner) Monday I start classes, Wednesday I’m going to see the play of Hound of the Baskervilles (my dad used to read me Sherlock Holmes back in the day), Thursday I’m going to see Swan Lake, and Friday I have my official interview with Simon from Essential Essence for my internship! ( I NEED to go shopping before then!) Eeeep! So much to do, and I’m so excited for it!

“Make no little plans: they have no magic to stir men’s blood…Make big plans…aim high in hope and work” -Daniel H. Burnham

yours.Rachel

Social Politics

The social politics here are amusing, to say the least. So far, we’ve been mostly with the people in our program. We spend all day (9-5) inside the Cine Lumiere in little France, being oriented to London. And by that I mean we sit in a big movie theater while different people lecture us on how British people are likely to hate us, or on the history of England. Actually, aside from the program director (who looks and sounds like he should be hosting Mystery Science Theater) who stands atop the biggest soapbox I’ve ever seen, I am enjoying most of these. I can see where America inherited its fierce independence from, and even the internal politics between England, Scotland, and Ireland are fascinating. I won’t bore you if you don’t care (like many of the BU students seem not to) but ask me about it sometime if you’re interested. I’m intrigued as well by the British sense of humor – delightfully blunt but non-chalant, dry and clever. I can’t wait to get out and meet more British people, and really sink my teeth into true British culture.

The BU student culture for the time being is keeping me occupied. Its important to note that this program is comprised mostly of women (probably a 2/3 majority), and that in itself sets the stage for some interesting dynamics. Many students are from Boston University, and most of these are from the East Coast orginally – many from the Boston area in the first place. Having never been to Boston, I can’t vouch for wether their manerisms reflect their school, state, or “East Coast” mentality, but regaurdless they provide me plenty of hours of reflection. They are colder than the people I know in Michigan, and they are competitive (not that I found that surprising) to a T. Also, they’re BIG partiers. Except what makes them stand out in my mind is that they’re very little more than partiers. (At least many of them.) Anyone I know and am friends with who has a penchant for substances and debautchery has also an interesting story to their life or a depth and intensity that makes them captivating. However, I don’t find myself captivated by many of these people. (My favorite people that I’ve met don’t go to BU, and actually, a couple of them I like very much.) The boys are attractive, but most of them are unbearably cocky or single minded in their pursuit of all things ass and titties. Gentlemen are few and far between, and those that I do find are fought over fiercely, mostly by ladies who don’t attend BU. It’s interesting to watch the other “innocents abroad”; sometimes it seems that people shake hands with shots and condoms. In that respect, the politics are are like Albion.

And, these Albion politics apppear in Brit boys as well. My most authentic British experience to date was going to a local university pub for the final soccer game of the season. And again, the boys are boys. I did meet a very friendly Brit man, but when a friend stole me away he seemed disapointed.  He was very nice, but I wasn’t that sorry to leave.  Then, we sat outside the bar drinking and smoking Hookah, but those boys lost interest in me quickly when they saw that my roomates were more likely to put out.  All around the world, something never change.

No matter.  Once we get through these orientation days I’ll really get to know this city better, and I can not wait.

On another note, its amazing me the things that, even this early, I miss. the people I miss, and the ones I dont.  I think by the end of it all I’ll have a pretty good idea of what’s really important to me.  So watch for that delightful blog post to come 🙂

“You ain’t gonna miss your water till your well runs dry.” – Bob Dylan

yours.Rachel

OMG I live in London now.

It’s a little hard to imagine now, even for me.

It was solidified a little today by the purchasing of groceries.  I feel like I can’t actually live in any place until I buy mundane things like sandwich meat and olive oil, but I bought all that today.   I suspect it will become even more real to me when I do laundry.  Which – by the way – is close to 3 pounds just to wash.  At this point, I feel like it would be cheaper to buy all new clothes in London than it would be to wash them.   Which I feel like I could deal with.  I saw the cutest pair of golashes today on Kensington High Street…did I mention I live in the richest part of London (and likely the “poshest” part in all of the UK).  Right.  So two weeks from now, I’m going to be living off of Ramen noodles (or their Brisish cousins) and walking outside to see Lamborghinis (thats not how you spell it, is it?) and Orlando Bloom (I am fairly sure he lives on or near my street).   Brilliant, as the British would say.

London is ridiculously expensive. I spilt a bottle of wine last night and ate a salad, and somehow I concluded that my meal had cost close to 40 American dollars.  Needless to say that’s disgusting, and by my third week here I’m certain I will be living off Ramen noodles.  And I can see where America’s pround bordering on cocky roots came from.  The English consider themselves quite sepearat from “the continent”, and really, I feel more out of place with the the Boston University students than I do with people from Britain.  Recently, I’ve discovered that I’m actually a failure at being aflirt.

Wow, that was a cheerful post.  I swear, I really do like it here…just give me some time to get over that feeling my stomach.

Currently, I’m discussing with a friend via the intenet why I am depressing, because I’ve lost faith in love.   As always, he thinks I’m a cynic.  But as always, I tell him he’s wrong, and that’s it’s just not easy for evrybody like it is for him.  An then as usual we disagree, and then we’re back kto where we started.  Never the same page, but always reading the same book. 🙂

This post is scattered…sorry.  I’m sort of drunk, and I just got back from a night out – sort of.  Tonight was the finals of European soccer (football) –  One of the England teams vs. Milan. We went to a pub at a local Britsh University, but once they concluded they weren’t going to get in my vagina, I became much less interesting.  I realized that I may be a terrible partier, because somehow guys have it figured out that my vagina isn’t open season.  Wonder how they got to that one…lol.  I’m a good flirt for a while, but I suppose that it eventually becomes apparent that I will not sleep with them, in which case I move on to one of my roomates.  They’re good flirts because they might actually go home with one of these gentlemen if they are cute enough.  (if the gentleman are I mean.)  My one roomate is incredibly sexy, although she’s certainly not the most attractive person here.  She’s attractive in that intense and worldly way, in the sense that she’s confident and she’s seen more of the world than any of us will ever see.  Born in Russia, and raised for almost half of her life in Europe, she fits right in here.  And she keeps men and boys at such a distance – like each interaction is simple a game she plays while keeping her vagina on th table (even if it isn’t won) but her heart off — she is a much better poker player than I.

She is asleep.  Kind of crazy seeing as she is the real party girl out of our posse curled up under he sheets at 1pm. or whatever time it is…

ewwww we have a lecture early tomorrow.  and I’m saying awkwardly blunt thing to people…the wine/beer, British sense of humor, or the bizarre person that I am…  I supsect its all of the above including the third and I love that.  And I just saw a captivating portrait of a serious anorexic.

Right.  So this was pointless…welcome to be bizarre and mundane travels of my life…  seee for all this time I’ve had you convinced that I’m some sort of intersting poet, but that’s not entirely the case, is it?  I get high and low and euphoric and sick to my stomach just like everyone else does.  just like everybody else.  got you 🙂

if you’re taking the time to read this, I probably love you.

yours.Rachel

London Calling

I made it. After internal hysterics at hour 4 of my flight, some luggage drama, and an hour and a half cab ride, I’m here.  And the incredible part is that my schedule is PACKED already.  And at this point I’m only a little bit terrified. More to come when I have more time and an outlet adapter that works.

yours.Rachel

sermons

This morning’s sermon from the pulpit was on Goodbyes. Well timed, Pastor Maki. He’s a pretty good preacher; I woudn’t listen to him if he weren’t. (I’m sort of a snob when it comes to that sort of thing) He started off painting this picture of a goodbye scene at the holidays… Women talk about recipes and say “I’m going to miss you so much!!!” while men talk about sports or say nothing at all. (or they laugh at the women). It happens in the dining room or the family room, and then it moves to the foyer, and then the people who are leaving head out to the porch and the car, but the host follows them. And then they get in the car but they’re still talking. I laughed with the rest of the congregation, and then when he told a story about leaving his home-state (Minnesota) for the first time, I almost cried.

It made me think of my goodbyes as of late. Back to my dorm and she drops us off – “Lemme give you a hug!” – “Naw Naw! not now…maybe I’ll see you later or something – tomorrow I’ll see you before you go for sure. Let’s just say goodbye…Let’s just say goodbye.” – or in the dorm in your pajamas with my mom in the door, or you and me in my room while I’m torn in different directions and already gone (sorry about that one, girl) or In the kitchen, standing on the step that leads into the family room…and they’re all still taller than me. To the car taking me home, 101.1 WRIF, windows open, talking or not. Then with me to the porch…turn around at the front door. Ummm I’ll email you. or something. Oh yeah, and here’s your jacket with the orange stripes. I’m pretty sure all I said to you was uggg I hate goodbyes, and maybe I’ll miss you. Jesus, you’d think that after all the times we’ve done this here in the early morning porch light we’d be better at this than we are. Then I turned around and walked farther away from my front door, because no one saying goodbye ever moves in the direction they’re supposed to be going. My big smile and the little eye roll I do when I don’t know what to say, and you with that sweet smile you told me once was just the drugs (but I always thought you were wrong) and a big hug. And again, I’m up on a step and you’re taller than me too. words, warm wishes, and then as you both walk away I lean out even farther off my porch and keep talking. because I’m brilliant at goodbyes. and by that I mean I’m awkward.

Everyone’s got their goodbyes, and most of them come with sermons. For my Aunt, it’s a phone call and a lecture on career planning instructing me to do what I want to do and to only take my own advice. That’s not ironic. After that, “what’s the scoop” she says like always, and I dish. And as usual she encourages me to follow my heart while simultaniously being absolutley certain she knows what I want and who’s going to be standing up at the alter in a tuxedo with me one day. (When it’s not you, sir, she’s going to just about die of shock). And for my dad, it’s to micromanage my travel. “You might want to try this when you get there…need help packing those suitcases? Did you get out your passport?” No dad. I’m not planning to take my passport. I’m bringing a bomb to blow up the airport instead. lordy…

maybe all that writing nothing was pointless. But my dear father is breathing down my neck. and he could really use a tic tac.

holy shit i’m going to London tomorrow morning.

“Unless one says goodbye to what one loves, and unless one travels to completley new territories, one can expect merely a long wearing away of ones self and eventual extinction.” – Jean Dubuffet

yours.Rachel

appologies, or not

omg people actually read my blog.

That’s sort of delicious, and/or intimidating. I didn’t realize I had that many friends – or at least that many people who are intrigued by the mundanely interesting tidbits of my life that I spill over the internet. I looked at my stats today noticed that the number of views had spiked, yet I had no fresh blog postings for my readers to sample. I felt sorry…And then I caught myself.

I write when I have something to say, and when I have some idea how I want to say it. In this spring season that purged a sophomoric winter, on the brink of London and in the midst of this week and a half home that meant nothing and yet a lot, there is much to be said. I’m just not sure what it is yet.

working on it.

“No man is all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thoughts are viscous.” – Henry Brooks Adams

yours.Rachel

cookies

I’ve hardly touched the clothes in my closet, but I’ve cleaned up the ones on the floor. I guess I figured I should get to what’s right infront of me before I start digging through the closet.

my father now officially thinks I’m crazy. Night #2 where he is awake and I’m creeping around…this time it’s 2am (he keeps getting up earlier!) and I’m taking two glasses of water and marshmallows out to the porch. “They just stopped by to visit; she lives right across the street.” Riiiiight. I’m not really sure what he thinks, but I guess that makes two of us.

“I love the way you two look at eachother…It’s like you’re kids and you stole the cookies from the cookie jar.” We laughed. They were glad I wasn’t an Alien, and I was glad they woke me up and got me outside on such a lovely night.

When you went to the trampoline and I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. When I did, I had dreams that I was stealing cookies from the cookie jar. My timing is poor I suppose, but that’s par for the course. I woke up and took a minute to trace my fingers over the ribbons the french memo board next to my bed. paint covered mission trip wristband, stubs from tickets – museums in Rome, Rent in NY, the DEMF – sticky notes and letters, pictures from that trip to Hawaii with the marching band when we all realized how silly high school drama is. Brightly colored Costa Rican money worth 5000 something or other, and a crumpled cow napkin beneath a stolen manuscript of Cheaper by the Dozen. Junior Prom corsage. Goshorn, and me at homecoming sandwiched between 4 boys who weren’t my boyfriend. next to that and beneath a ribbon covering an eye and half of a growing afro, two big smiles from my 16th birthday party. When Becca brought that picture that I hated and I chased her around with it and she laughed and I cried to you later about it. Next to the board, a frame. same smiles but a little older, and me in that enormous blue princess dress. Who are those people? and I laughed.

“Change is the only thing that’s certain.” (Said forbearingly, while gardening.) -Alex’s Mom

yours.Rachel

not quite done but ready. and red-y.

At the end of this semester I was terrified I wouldn’t be ready to go to London. Oh no, I thought, I’ll only be home for a little more than a week! I’ll be exaused and I’ll have so much to do and I’ll need closure and I just WON’T HAVE TIME to do it all! As it happens, my pink-lettered to-do list is very managable, and I have more time than I know what to do with. Not that I don’t have things to do still…manicure/pedicure tomorrow, the Zoo on Wednesday, a hair appointment (what ever am I going to do with it this time? still red of course, but darker? lighter? shorter? highlights?), and lunch and dinner dates with some of my favorites…

…oh yeah, and that packing thing. my life in 2 suitcases? Ha. My life is way too complicated to fit into two suitcases, a carry-on, and a purse/briefcase. But that is the project to which my soul belongs tomorrow. I’ve been carefully observing the ways of Stacy and Clinton on TLC, and tomorrow I will be channeling their divine knowledge as I re-enact “What Not to Wear” in my very own closet! Ooooh Joy! It’s amazing the number of things I wore in the past that are now just sitting in bags or piles in my closet; most of them don’t fit anymore. Yet, I can’t seem to throw them away. I’ve concluded I need to try on everything I own, and with the metaphorical fashion police watching my reflection over my shoulder, I need to decide what fits and flatters and what simply does not. I’m hoping that the clearing of the old and the clutter will help me pack what I need into the baggage I am allowed.

I bought a Journal a couple of days ago…a beautiful rusty red with gold detailing. perhaps it’s repetitive to keep a blog and a journal, and in the end one may defeat the purpose of the other. Still, I hope to have a life exciting enough to warrent being written about in more than one place, and perhaps if I’m really lucky, a life life exciting enough that a classy lady can’t post it on the internet. mmmm…British men….accents…mmm. 🙂 really though…I’m keeping the journal as a red book, not a black one. (I’ve never been good at black books becuause I spend entirely too much time in the gray area. Besides, though black is a fabulous color for dresses and cars, I prefer the rest of my life in red anyway, and red is hard to come by.) As per the suggestion of a delightful friend of mine, I’m inscribing quotes, poems, lyrics, and anything else that I feel for. I’m certain that sometime in this “Life Completing Experience” (as my cousin and my favorite bright-eyed high school senior would say) I’ll be sick for stars and stripes and sisters. When I am, I’ll remember why I spent hours writing down other peoples words.

In case you were wondering, I had a lovely day. I suppose the day began officially at 12am – at that point I was probably discussing drugs or lovers or friends or growth or dependence or independence or souls or strange stories; between a red sweatshirt with stains and a red belt with perfectly coordinated floral ballet flats there was semester and self in review – “We are so intese sometimes… it makes me laugh.” I came home at 3 or 4 or something to find my dad awake – still on China time – “G’night Dad, see you at 7.” After falling back asleep only once We left for the rock and roll hall of fame…daddy and daughter. We marveled at how skinny rock-stars are (a convinving argument for the excessive consumption of hard drugs), and after touring the museum we left with possession of new albums – greatest hits of the Talking Heads (as far as I’m concerned that was entirely too much of their music for one car-ride) and Blondie (if she were a redhead she might be my hero…and her band would need a new name…), and The Clash – London Calling. Appropriate, I feel. I had dinner on main street at a high top table in Ann Arbor, and a little window-shopping led to an exciting purchase – a red metal lunchbox. not just any lunchbox though. This had a picture of a very seductive lady with bright red lipstick holding two guns – Baby Doll spelled out in bullet holes above her head. Very Femme Fatale. Very Fabulous. and again, Very Appropriate I think.

All of that leads to where I am now, which is sitting on my taupe-colored sofa in my cream colored family room, with pillows that might be called red but that would be a lie. And though I have things left to do, I’m ready.

“Beauty, to me, is about being comfortable in your own skin. That, or kick-ass red lipstick.” – Gweneth Paltrow

what about both?

yours.Rachel