London Trip

I am an American Magnet. Living in a foreign country in which the similarities amongst the persons of the national population are myriad, I am an expert at picking out those who, like myself, "don't match". That being said, it doesn't necessarily follow that I would attract American friends more easily than anyone else. But I do seem to find and make lifelong friends with more of the only-American-in-the-crowd types than anyone else.

For this I am super grateful. It's one of the best things about living abroad. Every stranger might be a new friend and these friends come with stories and relationships that cross time and circumstance. However, the downside is that many of these cool people, especially the Americans, is that their stint in my newly adopted country is brief, usually only a study-abroad semester. So when one of these friends asked if I wanted to take a little London excursion with him before he left the cold, damp climes of the Isles for the (now snowy but usually) perpetually comfortable temperatures of the Carolinas, of course I said yes! And so it was that three new friends (the two of them only met when we decided to go to London together!) booked a flight for London...

First, our plane was delayed by four hours, cutting our day and a half trip to London down to a day. And somebody who was meant to be guarding our bags with his life just fell asleep.

When we did make it to London, it was already pitch dark (which is to say it was only about 4:30PM). I managed to get ridiculously sick somewhere over the English Channel, so while the lads went out on the town exploring for the night and very actively tried to get me to join them, I "slept" for the night. 

Waking up not at all refreshed, we walked over to the chemist to get something to keep my fever down, and we hit the streets.

Big Ben, of course!

Underground station looking out at the London Eye

Getting this picture of the three of us was a struggle. We had to use my junky phone because the others were scared theirs would be stolen if they asked a stranger to hold it for a minute.

Blackfriars' Bridge

Underneath Blackfriars' Bridge, looking at St. Paul's Cathedral.

Movie-star L in front of the Globe Theatre

"It's the Harry Potter bridge! We have to walk across it!"

"We're not going to walk over to the London Bridge are we?"

St. Paul's Cathedral

"I'm not taking a picture in there; it smells horrible"

Sunset by the London Eye

We're so cold!

The two of them went on the London Eye, but I decided that I wanted to just walk around by myself for twenty minutes instead. They got some great pictures, and we all got to see a perfect London sunset. 

While they were gone, I walked around the Christmas market (yes, this is a very old journey!) I resisted the urge to purchase some mulled wine all by myself. I was still rockin' a fever, after all.

When we met up again, we all walked around the Christmas market together for a while. Then as the temperatures got colder and colder, we decided to walk just a little further (we ended up coming upon Westminster Cathedral) and catching the Tube back to the hostel.

Somehow we rallied ourselves enough to head out for the evening. I don't even remember where we ate or what, so I'm sorry about that. But I do remember very distinctly trying my best to convince the two that I couldn't go out for the evening, that I really was just too sick. And whether it was a good decision or a bad decision in the end, I headed out with them. It was, after all, our last night in London. With a giant bag of chips in hand to split, I happily drank some ginger ale at a few lovely little spots in Camden Town (haha).

I didn't know a picture was being taken. Clearly, someone doesn't want to sit next to me :( 

As soon as I got off the plane back in Cork, I walked right over to the doctor's office. It turns out I had tonsillitis: oops! But it was a great "weekend" nonetheless. Guess sometimes you need some really annoying friends telling you take some more medicine and keep walking! x

Stream-of-Consciousness: A Blog is a Many Public Thing

Some may argue that all of my blog posts, indeed all of my writing published or otherwise, is entirely stream of consciousness. Boring, absentminded, non-entertaining. This is probably true, if that's how you picture the idea of 'stream of consciousness'. In fact, I'd be one of the first proponents of this argument (the one that my posts are boring, not that stream of consciousness is boring). In distracted exploring of the internet this morning instead of working on my own stuff, I found this lovely blog post on Sometimes Sweet listing some of the author's own blogging ideas for when she's stuck for thought. A lot of them match my own, but number 2 caught my eye: "Stream of Consciousness". She writes:

Sit down and write. Really write. I call this a brain dump and they are my favorite posts to read on others' sites. Talk about your day, your thoughts, what you're dreaming of, what you're scared of. Just write and don't stop for a good 10 minutes.

What an interesting thought, right? Though that's not technically what stream of consciousness is, but that is exactly the effect that it strives for, a kind of rambling, thought-like type of writing with run-on sentences and nonsensical, dreamy ideas. But to write a stream of conscious narrative with absolutely no intended effect can only be described as a brain dump, word vomit, cathartic writer's cleanse, whatever you like. I see the value, and I see the interest, and yet I'm still not sure if I can go about doing it. Here's why.

You see there's something weird about keeping a blog, something that I didn't properly recognize until the other day. To write a stream of consciousness post as Sometimes Sweets intimates is to open yourself up, to lay your inner workings on the cyber platform, for anyone to see and interpret.  I first started my tumblr blog in order to keep my family and friends entertained and informed (but mostly, hopefully entertained) while I frolicked around Ireland. I continued the blog in order to keep that little corner of the internet for myself, kind of like your first house you're all excited to decorate and furnish (I'm renting, so I am only guessing what that's like…). But as my blog writing continues, I'm constantly surprised, and honestly a little taken aback by who's reading it and who's reaching out to me through it. Sometimes my mom surprises me by knowing a lot about silly events in my life: she's been reading my blog. Sometimes my long lost friends give me a ring to say hi: they've been reading my blog. Sometimes the boy forces me to practice driving: he's been reading the blog's bucket list. And sometimes new friends and bloggers reach out to me: they've also been reading the blog.

The weird thing about keeping a blog is not that everyone reads it. I'm flattered and always feel appreciated when someone acknowledges it. What is weird is that it's such a public forum to place your thoughts. It's like posthumous published diaries, except you will deal with the consequences. It's kind of like Facebook, except you get to choose everything about its content and design. It's weird that you can be entirely open and honest, and you can also be perfectly secretive and offensive. There's something about a blog; though you think no one cares to read it, you're entirely wrong. There's something about being able to get inside someone else's head, at least as far as they'll let you, that's entirely fascinating.

Some people read my blog because they know me. Some people read it because they like blogs. Some read it because we have similar interests, and I'm sure some are reading it just because they feel like they just should. But a blog is always what we choose to present, it's never the full story. But somehow, by seeing what it is we choose to present, we do get the full story. A blog, like our public persona, like the person we choose to present to the world, is a representation of ourselves, no matter how much editing we think we have done. How's that for a baffling stream of consciousness?

A Weekend Southside- A retro post

Last night in an impromptu Skype session, my biffle M and I were baffling over the difference between six months ago and now. Our third biffle was still engaged, we lived in the same state, we were both single and crazy, and we were baffling over what to do with ourselves over the next six months. Now we are living more than 3000 miles apart and still managing to stay invasively involved in the other's life. I'd call that success.

But in thinking over our conversation, I realized that I never posted about our weekend Southside, visiting the bride-to-be and picking out bridesmaids' dresses last April. So as almost a year has past, I feel it is appropriate to share these pictures with you.

So, so, so sunburned. (That happened before we ever got down there, she can't blame our mutual activities.)

The biffles x

The biffles drink. There's a good story about the one on the right.... Stay tuned (it's included below).

Lovely.

Even lovelier

There's something about taking pictures right next to each other: You can't see what the two people beside you are actually doing. Be careful, you might end up cheesing it while your friends do... well who even knows what.

 The night we got down to E's neck of the woods, we hung out that the family restaurant for a few hours and then went to a chill bar to hang out some more. Obviously a little photoshoot erupted, but we didn't scare anyone away. So don't worry. 

And the mason jar story? Well, I went to the bathroom for a couple of minutes, and when I came back out, I took a sip of my beer in the mason jar. Totally normal thing to do, except I spat it out. Because suddenly my beer had become very hot. I don't mean that it was no longer ice cold, nor do I mean that it was like the best beer ever. What I mean was that it was spicy, very, very, spicy. 

With utterly straight faces, everyone at the table tasted the beer when I wouldn't shut up about the weird, new taste. Every single one of them told me they didn't taste anything weird, everyone except one. This one kind soul was the last to taste the beer. He took one taste, looked at me, started laughing and just said, 'Sorry, I can't do this. That actually tastes terrible!' 

When everyone started yelling at him for giving them away, I realized that my 'friends' had put Tabasco hot sauce in my drink while I was away from the table. They all proceeded to spit out the bad taste around the table, and someone bought me a new beer. 

'Friends'! Pah!

I taught them that monkey face.

The happy couple.

The happier couple.

The really happy couple.

 

 The next day, with sore heads and dreading hearts, we went bridesmaids' dress shopping. After trying on literally a hundred dresses (I don't know how we managed honestly), we finally decided. 

At the time, I remember consciously deciding not to post these pictures because I didn't want to ruin the surprise of the dress design. But since you've already seen all the wedding photos, I think it's okay.... 

Then, it was sadly time to say goodbye. With a bug hug, we hit the road.

M showing off her muscles. It's okay, girl, we know you're strong. No need to rub it in!