I MOVED!!

NOW YOU CAN FIND ME HERE. THAT IS ALL. Sorry for the betrayal. You will get used to it. I promise.

too busy

to blog. Too busy enjoying this other person's blog alot. I also suggest reading everything in their right hand side panel - most specifically "God of Cake". Have fun!!

If you are still bored and still mad at me for not taking the time out of my busy schedule to go to the gym or to write to you, unleash your ill will. Be fooled not by his squirrelly appearance, he is the love of my life...or maybe the goth chick is. Can't really decide.

P.S. I hate having to go places that make me feel like I'm in the 90's. (#Kinkos/FedEx and Car Dealership in Kearny Mesa) THEY SUFFOCATE.

Really? An IBM computer and fax machines? UGH.

P.P.S. I might soon be expanding my sloredom by transforming this blog into a Tumblr because everyone tells me that no one reads blogs. I'm starting to believe them. STRESS.

P.P.P.S. I APOLOGIZE FOR ALL THE CAPS AT THE END OF EACH POSTSCRIPT.

I'm a slore.

The time has finally come to admit why I have been avoiding my band of loyal followers (even though I have no idea if you are a band, much less loyal in the sense of the Robin Hood brotherhood I like to imagine). The reason is this - I am a slore. I am an iPhone slore, and I would be much more proud of this fact if it didn't make me a lying slore. (slut+whore-ut-wh = slore) If any of you are of the Robin Hood brethren, you would notice that back in January one of my first posts was bitching about the iPhone 4 for Verizion and Steve Jobs's general douchebaggery. Well, that douchebag is now getting 30 bucks a month for me to text like its an IM convo from 2003, and to take pictures of myself like it ain't no thang.

Also, weirdly enough, my email is faster on my phone than my computer. (Perceived obsolescence on my brand new MacBook Pro...)

If you must know, the reason I caved was because I desperately needed the NYC Transit app (which tells you what train is coming when from what station, walking directions to/from any station to your destination and a route map overlaid on a map of the city that shows you where you are even when you don't have service. #iPhoneisamazingI'msorryfordoubting. ("Please tell me you did not just twitter tag a text..." yeah, I started doing that even though I still hate Twitter. Need not jump on the band wagon to play with their literary toys!) Why a $3.99 app was worth the $299 phone I'm not positive, it just seemed like the right time to end my tumultuous affair with the enVy 1, 3, and 2 (in that order) phones after a 5 year run.

Subsequent to my most recent apple purchase and my entrance into the cult of "my iPhone is my baby", I'm having nightmares about shattering the screen. Good news is that I've only dropped the baby on it's head once since I got it for my birthday.

The iPhone's only faults are that I can't untag pics from Facebook, blogging is difficult for my gigantor digits, and that it is related to the iPad.

P.S. EveryoneIsGay.

Postdated from the UK. Missed Y'all!

Circa July 6th:

Contrary to my prior assumptions, I did in fact make it across the pond. I am currently sitting in the kitchen of my "Home Exchange" buddy's house, drinking instant coffee (they only believe in tea around these parts) and mourning the last 4 hours I spent laying in bed awake.

A few things I've picked up on thus far:

1. British English is not the same language as American English.

2. Brits spell things differently to suit their accents (ex. tons = tonnes, Claritin = Claritynn, etc.)

3. Searches are difficult when things are called something completely different than what they are (i.e. grocery cart = trolley)

4. It rains in London...always. Ads in the US that celebrate the arrival of sunny days and fireworks alike read, "Make the most of Summer" here. This seemed odd to me until I couldn't leave the house without a jacket, scarf, and umbrella yesterday.

5. The food here is almost unrecognizable. Everything is drowned in salt and margarine, so I have resorted to fruit, salad, bread, and wine. Wish me luck!

6. I like American teeth. I like them white, shiny, and in a line - that is all.

7. They will put anything and anyone on TV here. While they mostly air American shows (Will & Grace, 16 & Pregnant, etc.) their British remakes or originals are downright jarring. My personal favorite thus far "Embarrassing Bodies: Teen Edition"gave no warning, nor the polite 'Cops' blur out before full blown (no pun intended) infected genitals were shoved in my face. Lovely.

Thats all so far from good ol' London Town, but today we plan to visit my namesake, the Tate Modern (did I mention no one asks me to spell my name here? Rather pleasant) and I could't be more thrilled to ride the Tube like a proper Londoner. Cheers!

Circa July 15th:

it's been quite some time. I've been in London etc. and CANNOT wait to get home. I miss real food, the sun, and most importantly, my people.

The 'tube' here (the underground rail) has been practically idiot proofed for foreigners and residents alike. The maps are color-coded, clear, concise, and a lady with a lovely British accent announces each stop, what trains are available for transfer at that stop etc. Because of all this convenience, I hate it. It takes ages to know where the hell you are going on the NYC subway, and therefore only the deserving and the sharp-witted can handle the beast. Also, London has sacrificed efficiency in favor of politeness - which is a trend that extends far past the walls of the tube.

New York gives a big middle finger to tourism, and stupid people alike - which is precisely why I miss it. The entire time I've been in London it's felt like Disneyland. Terrible fried food, fat people, rides, lots of pleases and thank you's, and almost nothing of substance. Changing of the guards at Buckingham palace was a D-Land parade if I've ever seen one.

Also, I'm not sure why people complain so much about American's being fat, when I can now tell that it is genetic. Our fore bearers, the 'great' Brits, are the same, super-sized tubs of lard we are, just with a side of mayonnaise.

The most redeeming aspect of the British society is that they recognize the value of American television, and play Friends reruns in a continuous loop on channel 4. Ugh, I know. Stuck up American. COME AT ME BRO. All I want is to talk to someone with all their teeth and hair (the two seem to be an either/or thing here.)

Gotta love the lezzies

In honor of my most recent exit row mates, the Teva lesbians, and the hell that is the Phoenix airport - I bring you lesbians who look like Justin Bieber :) http://lesbianswholooklikejustinbieber.tumblr.com/

I will also soon be brining strep throat to the UK...I'll update you from my Philly lay over this time tomorrow!

Airport Living

I remember why I hate Arizona. More than tourists, more than crowded San Diego beaches – the state itself enrages me. First off, everyone who works at the airport was actually born in this country – I’m already out of my element. (Yay state legislature). Lady with a baby (questionably with one on the way to boot) in the smoking section. Most people are too unassumingly nice for their own good. The asian guy on the plane next to me actually spoke english, and the Einstein Bagel people stopped to have a 5 minute conversation with a little boy only after checking 12 times if everyone waiting around had been helped. Try getting that service in California. Scratch that: try even getting the Starbucks order you already paid for in California. The only person who wasn’t unassumingly nice was wearing a Yankees cap and didn’t think I would notice him watching me eat my sandwich. Go figure.

I really wish I were one of those people who are easygoing travelers. I am instead, one of those people who is in a bad mood at the airport for no reason in particular. I am simply put out by the thought of airplane travel. It’s not that I’m not good at it, it’s just that I would rather hitchhike. I have nightmares about airplane claustrophobia, am highly skeptical of the new security body scan x-rays, and have a general distaste for lines and the invasion of my personal space. I hate how my skin gets oily and my hair gets static, and the way the seats are so damn close together even my butt falls asleep by the end of the flight, no matter what.

Last but not least, people always joke about airplane food – but can anyone do something about airport food? I’m sick of the same things in every terminal across America – Burger King, Chili’s Too, and Cinnabon. NO WONDER EVERYONE IS FAT. Not to mention all the “real” Mexican food advertised in this airport, served by white people. Get me to hawaii with my gays, ASAP!

who knew...

...that a bad pick up line could become the theme for a whole night?

I realize it's been a while, so let me catch you up. Graduated about a week and a half ago. Loving life as a quasi-adult. Went to say hi to a friend up the street at Mitch's Surf Shop on my way to getting my graduation present (a really cool clear Marc Jacob's watch) fixed (needed some links taken out for my baby wrist). Lucky me, knowing everyone to ever be employed at Mitch's payed off and I was saved the inconvenience of a jeweler...but not before I was greeted properly by the staff.

As I walk in to the store - no makeup, hair up, flip flops - I hear from behind the counter "Comin' in hot." I paused briefly to ponder whether or not this is my cue to finish the rest of the overplayed P!nk song, and realized that it was merely an unfortunate pickup line. I look up to see a strange facial dichotomy of overgrown goatee and braces (I swear adult braces are following me everywhere). Baffled as to what my next move should be, I folded and put away a shirt that was on the counter. They really should have hired me when they had the chance.

Anyway, later that night I am sitting at the Living Room (I hang out there way too much as it is the only place in La Jolla that stays open past 10 pm) and Kimball announces that he is "nearby on his hog". I tell the table that we have more people "comin' in hot on the hog". Little did I know that "comin' in hot" was the greatest gift adult braces Steve could have given me today. It is now not only a party term, hookup term, and transport term, but actually was made a reality when Kimball and I skidded into the In N' Out parking lot at 11:30. Literally, comin' in hot. Thank you, Steve.