On having a pair of beytsim.

I don’t feel so bad now; all the other kids are freaking out in their travel blogs. I am calm and collected. This is because the whole trip is completely surreal. I just googled what the airport looks like, because I’ve only ever seen in from the turnpike.

Side note: I need to learn more Yiddish, because that seems to spice up the blog if you pepper it with “shlemiel”, “bubkes”, “chutzpah”, “kvetch” or the original root for “cockamamie”, which is … “kakameyme”?
See? We’re learning.

I spent this week learning basic Welsh, and last night was spent copying down Dutch tourist phrases. Basically, I know enough to start a barfight or pick up a hooker. Or talk about lions. Because I’d want to do all of those things, preferably at the same time.

I’d like to document for the world,
at this important moment in time,
that my father is mowing the lawn.

Some people have weird releases.

Anyway, the next post will be direct from London,
so I’ll see you there! (Or I won’t.)
Stick a right wicked googly and cheerio!

superstarrr

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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?