bound in towns

In the immortal words of Braid,

“The windows are the darklight mirror
sentiments are jet sized
when we get  London-eyed
the pilot lied
. . .
Blankets blue and so are you
Here we come, London soon
. . .
Spilled my drink on Ryan Effgen’s head
That’s just fine
Twelve a.m., London time.”

This is Ryan Effgens head
This is Ryan Effgen’s head

On another note, I’d fix this blog up real nice
but I’m terrible with CSS. So you’ll have to accept it.


Summer Yawn

Hi Mom.
Hello all readers, ye who are suffering from varying degrees of boredom and/or incurable nosiness. It’s just past midnight of August the 18th, as you can see, which means I shall be departing for London in exactly one month now.

You know what else that means: FIVE more days of work. Thirty days to transform my box into an impeccably clean room. Thirty days left to smother my Kyetty in affection. Thirty days to work on my Welsh grammar and vocabulary– what they call their “sgwrs, geirfa, ac ymarfer“.

Oh! And a month to prune the foulness and drivel from other sites. Because I’m assuming what little family I have will be following my lovingly (and realistically!) G-rated exploits on here.

Verbosity aside, I’m pretty stoked. I’ll be balancing my time between classes, travelling (oot and aboot), making new friends, and hanging out with the other Americans who are attending the same Uni programme as I. Chiefly: Daria, Karen, Chris L, Joe P, and Kelly.

Daria and I spent the evening at Starbucks creating our bukkit-listz and traditional superlatives. She also gave me a rundown on what happens in an airport because, duh! I’ve never been in one. Don’t assume.
Daria and I also looked over the list of movies we can watch on the flight, and there isn’t enough time for all of them. But I can watch CORALINE. WOO. Or I could give myself a seizure and watch Crank 2 again.

But here I am, teetering on the edge of a srs faceplant.
Dig? Enough is enough, but how much is too much?