Midnight Invaders

Thought I might include some nice stories from the adventurous weekend. In the last night of our stay at the amazing hostel (it really was awesome), we no longer had the company of our previous roommate, a girl from Israel on her way to work in a vineyard for a few weeks. As the night wore on, I naturally was curious about who would be our new roommate. No one came. It was sort of sad because it certainly is an easy way to meet people, but before heading off to bed, we saw an envelope left on the front desk for the person who would be staying in our room. Sweet! We were going to have a roommate after all.

We fell off to sleep late that night without any company. At about one o'clock we heard someone rattling the doorknob. In come three loud Irish girls who turned on the lights without hesitation. As we jumped awake, the girls just say, "Oh... hey." No apology, no turning out of the lights. They proceeded to talk loudly about there only being one bed and what were they to do? Well, of course there's only one bed, you freaks. We paid for the other ones days ago. The conversation continued as Kelley and I ahemed and rolled about irritated. Eventually, they shut the door and went elsewhere, but only briefly. The next four hours were interrupted by two of the girls trying to fit in the top bunk of a bed together arguing about the possibilities and likelihood of falling out. Kelley, being much kinder in the wee hours of the morning than me, offered her lower bed so they could just shut up. Then, the one decided she didn't want to go to sleep so stayed up texting on her mobile for another couple hours. They got up, lights ablaze, well before 6 o'clock and packed up and left.

The great hostess of the hostel asked me if someone had been in our room the night before. I explained the annoying situation and she said that they had stolen the key, not paid, and stolen food out of the communal fridges. Sweet gals.

9 to 5

So coming back to a regular schedule after a sweet holiday sucks. I had acres of laundry to do, readings to catch up on, and then there was just the idea of the dreaded "schedule." I have to get a job because I am now officially broke, but would unfortunately like to continue eating. The student job search program here is ridiculous. I have spent at least an hour preparing the materials to turn in to apply for a part time receptionist job on campus. I mean, really? Are you really worried that a college grad isn't going to be able to sit at a front desk and answer questions? But whatever, they put up their hoops and I just rear back and jump.

Also, we had soccer last night. Taking an extended weekend of not working out and eating fish and chips and ice cream is not good. I even kept up with my, "Well, the ice cream is okay because of the calcium, and I got mine with walnuts which have some protein to them..." Evidently, you can't fool the body. We have our first game on Sunday and I still can't even walk right thanks to ill-fitting soccer boots, rebellious horses and working out for obscene amounts of time given the prior two. :) I guess that's okay considering we are playing the team that placed last in the bracket last year. We are still not expected to win. Sweet as.

The last straw is really the readings. I mean, why do we have to read so much? We don't ever talk completely about anything we read, so there is just so much to retain considering what we discuss in class. And of course, like all students at the beginning of the year, I promised I would really read all the stuff given this year, unlike every other year of my educational career. So far, I've made it, but I am regretting setting my personal standards so high now. :) I just want to be back in a hostel hiking and having adventures. Too bad about that money thing...

Addictive Nomad-ity

I finally had the chance to go out on holiday this past weekend. It was by far one of the best weekends ever. We (fellow Wisconsinite Kelley and I) didn't really plan ahead so we didn't have a place to stay the first night. There weren't any hostels still open, nor hotels, nor bed and breakfasts. We snuck into a hostel lounge and slept a cold, nervous night on couches that smelled like "a thousand years of a thousand foreign butts." It was great. We laughed ourselves to sleep, woke early and went out for breakfast. After having getting a warm meal, we set up all our accommodation and bus trip back home.

Highlights of the weekend? Skydiving -- an experience that truly left me speechless, a feat to be admired by all. I highly recommend it to anyone considering it. It's not as scary as you think.

Horseback riding in the mountains, the terrain reeking of frontier and Lord of the Rings backdrop. My horse tried to throw me in the river and my butt is still sore days later from all the trotting, but two hours roaming around the mountains on a horse is definitely worth it.

Struggling to try and take a picture that didn't look like a calendar or postcard. I didn't end up being able to.

Going to Puzzling World, a place that had a real life maze that took us 1 1/2 hours to get through. We were some of the good ones too!

Eating my first fish and chips. They do rule, I don't know why I waited so long to try 'em.

How do we ever decide to settle for one place in the world when there are so many good places to see??

A Bit Rusty

As mentioned earlier, I was astounded at how out of practice I had become when I went out to eat the other day. There is a certain comfort level that is attained and forgotten. Well, as it turns out, the same is true of flirting.

My friend, Kelley, and I were discussing how there were no opportunities for us to befriend a male unless we started going to the pubs every night. And even then, those are the little boys who are out drinking for the first time, not guys our age. We frequently joked with the soccer team because we always played the 35+ team. "How 'bout bringing in the under 35s, eh?" Then last night, the guys were sharing the field with us and there were definitely guys our age. I forgot how to do that! :) Now it's only been a couple months that I've been "out of practice," but it turns out that's all it takes. A guy said hello to me and I freaked out and just did the mini smile-n-nod and kept walking. I, Annika, walked away from a guy... a soccer guy, who also looked a little dark and mysterious.

Have I become shy? Is that even possible? Here's hoping that this shyness wears off soon. In order to compensate, I am organizing an outing to the jazz night this evening. I mean, if I'm not keen to talk normally, please add booze. Naturally I expect that my conversational skills will return to me with a nice pinot. If not, well, start digging the grave now.

No "Chance," It Just IS Raining

When other people plan to uproot their lives and move to another continent and hemisphere, I bet they do their research. Not I! I think that part of the adventure is having the every day aspects of life surprise you. If you wanted to know what life was going to be like exactly, you'd stay where you were. (And yes, I can see all the logical fallacies there. Welcome to my head.)

If you know me at all, you know I like when it rains. My latest reasoning for this is that Cancers are water signs. I therefore must have a cosmic connection to rain. Or... I have been duped by media and entertainment to believe that these are pensive, romantic times in life. Same thing. Even my adoration of the storm clouds is being challenged here. It constantly friggin' rains here. I am in the Pacific, and I am on a very weather-vulnerable island, but c'mon. I don't get the luxury of having the pretty rainforest flowers or rainforest scary animals, so why do I get the rain?

I did have the pleasure of getting a super dark red umbrella which also makes me feel brooding and different (just like everyone else who bought it from Kmart). I do get to read in front of huge windows protecting me from the downpour. There is nothing like drinking tea and listening to jazz when it's raining. But there's also nothing to replace walking to the post office, grocery store, class, or library without considering your clothes officially washed. Do we have a rainy season that I was not informed of? I guess they call that "winter" here.

I am sure it will grow on me because I do, in fact, like the rain. But if God and I could work out a plan that it would only be raining when I had to study, and only when I wasn't needing to be outside, or if the rain could always be warm... I'm sure we'll be able to work something.

So Many Choices, So Little Time

I finally ate out last night. My Wisconsinite friend and I decided that we didn't want to go out to eat at a sit-down place by ourselves, but if we went together -- miracle of miracles, we weren't alone any longer! It's shocking that you can forget about all the stimuli that comes with eating out. Neither of us had really eaten out since we got here. We spent the first ten minutes just staring slackjawed at our menus. Now, I love New Zealand and would happy here if there weren't any other reasons that this (but of course there are more): I can eat most things on the menu!! Everywhere! We had gone to a Thai restaurant, but most of the menus have heaps of vegetarian options, and not like, "Uh, we can just not put meat in it."

Plus, I'm a poser vegetarian that eats seafood, so that even adds more options to my ginormous menu. We had to turn the poor waitress away twice as we were still deciding... on water or juice. After we made our painstaking choices, we realised we hadn't even looked around the restaurant. It was super cute! We barely ate 1/4 of the food brought out to us and it was spicy! I mean, good Thai spicy, not where they dump hot sauce on it.

I honestly think that New Zealand set up their food system on, "What would Annika like to eat?" Once I get rich here, I will eat out everyday and never be bored and never be disappointed. Which is a good thing, because I'll be eating the leftovers for the rest of the week. Without a microwave. Man, oh man, am I a minimalist. ;)

King of the Gulls

Yesterday, my soccer team had a little BBQ and once again the gulls descended upon what they saw as free food. Their sudden appearance sparked conversation about the ferocious birds. I am not alone in my fear/hatred of these little buggers. Apparently, all present were in agreement that their blood red eyes were something to be considered. As we ranted on about their evil habits, one girl said, "But have you seen the big one? Their, like, leader?" There was a moment of silence. I said,"Yeah, I've seen it..." Then we all started telling stories of the giant seagull that we swear directs the smaller ones around. It lives just about a block from my flat and the flat of one of my teammates and we instantly earned respect for living so near it.

It stalks around as the little ones pull rubbish out of the bins for the big one to eat. As I walk to church, it sits up on top of the buildings around and with one caw, the small ones look down at me and start their infernal swooping and screeching. I have to rush down the street to get out of their way as my mere presence upsets the leader.

After telling our stories, it was time to head home. My friend dropped me off at a nearby convenience store so I could buy some carbonated water. We all have our weaknesses; judge not. Of course, my trip home required walking through King Gull territory. He himself swooped down at me and I knew he was aware of our gossiping. I was going to suffer because of the sins of the team. Luckily, and I swear this was divine intervention, a bag of old bread was carried out of a nearby rubbish bin by the wind. Of course the greedy bird looked back and forth between me and the loaf of moldy bread. He chose the bread and I left thankful for my eyes. (I am sure they will peck at my eyes one of these days.)

Moral of the story? If you're going to talk crap about someone, make sure his minions aren't eavesdropping.

Accidental Compost Heap

As I have stated previously, I eat a lot of vegetables and fruits -- the blessing and the curse of the vegetarian. I have also been trying to cut down on everything because I am cheap and too lazy to put up my sweet tutoring flyers. These two concepts connect in that I didn't have enough garbage to put out on Sunday night. I figured that two weeks' worth of garbage wouldn't put me past overflowing or anything, so why not save the garbage bag and skip one trash day. Well, back to my fruits and vegetables now. My garbage consists of banana peels, orange peels, the unusable parts of tomatoes and peppers, egg shells, and old yogurt containers. Oh, I'm sorry... add "two week old" in front of all those things! Luckily I have a lid to my garbage can because every time I open it up now, I get a waft of what can only be described as fermentation. And not the good kind... this smells nothing like wine!

I am waiting with bated breath (it has to be) for garbage day so I can rid my flat of this compost heap. I thought about tossing some old peeling onto my plant, Red, but let's be honest. I don't know much about composting and you just can't mess with nature inexperienced-like. Plus, the smell would then be on my window sill, not hidden in my huge garbage can.

I actually plan to put my garbage bags out on the street under the cover of darkness because I'm sure they will stink until morning when they get picked up. And when I leave my flat that morning, I will also sniff the air accusingly and look disgusted, all the while smiling inside because that stench will have left the flat.

Be Cool

So I went to see Be Cool yesterday. I'm not sure anymore how far behind we are on movies here, but I guess I don't really care. :) I was highly entertained to see this movie with a bunch of non-Americans. I loved the movie and found it utterly hilarious, but I was the only one laughing at much of the dialogue.

Is our humour so American as to lose other audiences? Well, the movie contained a lot of those, "This isn't the movies, man!" comments which I always find a bit funny. But one of the funniest characters was Vince Vaughn (who is awesome... in every conceivable way) who spent the duration of the movie pretending to "be black." Now, the whole race theme is sort of overdone in the States, but it was still funny as all get out. No one in the theatre got it. I don't think they know what the difference is in accent or anything. It's all just American to them. Sometimes people have a Southern accent, sometimes the Boston accent, sometimes the ghetto accent. Also, they don't have the music business that was a central humour point.

Did they even get that when music starts and Uma Thurman and John Travolta are on the same set, they will be dancing? Also, the stereotype of that ghetto-fied black America was poked fun at when the members of a rap group pull into a suburban neighborhood in huge, shiny black H2's with the spinning rims and blaring music. That's just American to them!

I just sat back and realised I should laugh to myself so as not to be the laughing freak who goes by herself to movies. Culture does make a difference, who knew? I still highly recommend this movie -- it's not earthshattering or anything, but it's super funny.

True Love

During my first few classes here, some of the more veteran students asked me what classes I was taking. After explaining my course load, they told me that I would soon have an unhealthy attachment to my laptop. How right they were. I do everything with this laptop. Not only do I have an online class, one of my class put all the readings on a CDrom. Now, if I were not insanely thrifty (some might even say frugal), I would just print these off at the library. I am remiss for ever being mad at Valpo because of one key thing: you can print off as much as you want in the library for free. Now, I see the value in that and do realise I took advantage at the time, but still. When you have sit staring at your computer for hours, you gain a new sense of appreciation for, well, paper.

I also have to do a few reflective journals (fear not, education friends, it is actually a critique of the articles based on your personal experience, not a feel good piece of crap saying how reading pointless articles written by the professors has changed you forever as a teacher) which all must submitted as electronic files. I am tied to this computer. I bring it with me to the library, I use it at home, I use it for recreation as well as information and studies. We are considering applying for a commonlaw marriage seeing as how we spend so much time with each other. It just seems practical.

One friend told me that after taking several online courses in semester, she accidentally carried her laptop around with her unnecessarily for a few days before noticing. I am one with the computer and there's no turning back. I feel the irony of stating how much I adore my laptop given the blog of yesterday, but I am reminded of brainwashing techniques. These are all stages, I am just willingly walking into the bliss of dependence on my technological partner. All I can say is, thanks Mom and Dad for the most perfect graduation present ever.

Information Overload

It's finally happened. I know all that my brain can possibly hold. No more, please. My realisation has been brought on by several things. I read too much. My love affair with the written word has not been thwarted, but I read far too much. I read books, I read zillions of articles for my classes, I read the news, I read people's away messages, I read conversations I have with people online, I read emails, I read magazines... enough! No more, please. Also, in addition to the sheer numbers of things I read everyday, we are becoming a society of information horders.

I was introduced to thefacebook.com or whatever it is today. It's basically just another source of communication between people who are currently enrolled in or just graduated from college. Do you really need to read another list of my likes and dislikes? My favorite books and movies? We have blogs, instant messenger, we have websites, we have phones and cell phones, we have camera phones and digital cameras. We have every feasible form of communication at our fingertips. It's too much.

I have been online for most of this day because of my online class readings, setting up my contacts and research for my big research project, finding new low airfares, and dealing once again with school administration. Granted, the reading online was the big part of my day, but after writing this, I need to just shut 'er down for a few days!! I don't want instantaneous information and communication anymore. My brain is tired and likes the slow paced style of the real world, rather than the virtual superhighway. Why can't I have the time to process that we used to? And now, I am reclaiming that time to process. I will be watching TV which I hope will be showcasing some new mindless sitcom. Ahhh...

Insanity in the Pews

Have you ever been sitting in church almost overwhelmed by the urge to loudly proclaim the hypocrisy of the church? Just me? Well, apparently me and the crazy lady in the church Lenten concert last night.

At first it started out small. She would loudly say things like, "If it be your will, Lord" at the end of prayers. She insisted on clapping in between cantatas. I figured she was just full of the Lord's goodness or some such thing. Then right at the end the pastor says, "In this, God is not only reminding us of what has been done for us, but challenging us..." He was then cut off by the lady standing up and yelling, "I challenge you, sir! Have you ever been in prison like Paul?" The entire church of mostly elderly people just sat there, looking at her, mouths agape. (ps- How happy are you that you aren't that pastor right now?) Then she starts saying that the whole service was just a concert, not a dedication to God or his purposes. At this point in time, she's got my attention. She doesn't sound so crazy as, well, right. Then her friend tries to hush her up. Crazy admonishes her by saying, "We understand a prison more than they do. We understand this faith better than they do. Who knows more about bursting out of a grave to real life than we do?" This also seems true, given that she is verifiably insane. She scolds her friend by saying that she won't take the "Devil pills from Dr. Soandso" just to shut her up. Then she goes off into some trite religious fanaticism about homosexuality and prostitutes which I am pretty sure doesn't really apply to the people she was yelling at. Her final remark was that she was heading down to the Catholic church.

What was the pastor doing this whole time? He just finished saying what he was supposed to (as per what was written on the page) and then waited for her to finish so we could end the service. The real irony? His sermon that morning had been on what happened to the church that used to be so controversial, so dangerous, so scary. He said it was sad that the church was now a place for nice, calm, well rounded people.

So, was she crazy? How many prophets, etc have been called crazy in their day? How on earth do you tell the difference?

Satan, Thy Name is Junk Food

I have been a fantastically good eater since my journey to the Pacific. I have not purchased one single item that could be called junk food. I did have on ice cream cone, but it was because you have to try New Zealand's flavor, Hokey Pokey, as I'm told. It was rather good. Still, my philosophy has always been that if you don't buy the jumbo size bag of chips or chocolate, you can't possibly eat it without violating some laws. However, on my new health craze/mad dash to fitness for the soccer team, I am always starving. Okay, fine, not always, but I need much more than my previous cup of soup to fill me up. I had run out of nuts, which while salty and crunchy are a necessity for the vegetarian and walked several blocks to get some more last night.

That's when it happened.

I bought chips.

Don't ask me why... It was a mistake, but I haven't had chips in so long. I think it literally has been a couple months since I had any because I was on my health kick before I even got here. And no diet (meaning way of eating, not way of losing weight) should ever forbid anything. Just everything in moderation. Still, I ate some chips and I think they are still a solid block of grease in my stomach. I am considering throwing the rest of the bag out. Evil chips! For all the fruits and vegetables I eat, I am used to food doing its job and finding its way out as soon as possible. Chips, however, they like to hang around a while, make themselves comfortable. I had soccer practice today, and they thought it'd be fun to hang around for that. This experience has almost convinced me that I shouldn't eat chips anymore. Almost. They are still delicious saltiness. The other side of this coin is, of course, that if I ate junk food all the time, eating it wouldn't bother me as much. Unfortunately, junk food is being a fickle mistress because while I am playing soccer, I can't do both. I have to either eat good food or be drug up and down the field.

I'll let you know who wins the battle soon.

Oh That Dewey

The trouble with books is that they're addictive. Forget the crack cocaine, books are my hook. I have bought quite a few books since I got here; so many that I forbid myself from buying any more of them because of budgeting concerns. Now, as I look on my shelves, I see that I have read ten books and my assigned reading and some research since I got here! This is ridiculous! I remember back in high school when I first realized that books were interconnected. I read a line and was like, "Hah! That author is making a joke about another book... and I get it!" I got the fabulous idea that I would find out all the books being referenced in one book, then I would read them all. Then I would read all the books referenced in all those books, and so on. Needless to say, this didn't happen. But the love affair with books was deep and unbreakable.

Today, I needed more books so I went to the library where they give you them for free. Am I the only one that struggles in the library? I see so many things that I should already have read, books that all English teachers should read, then books that I would just like to read. Then there's the social and political commentary that you should really read. How do you pick just one book? Well, I didn't. I took three out. I think I chose wisely with a Hemingway, a Margaret Atwood (wonderful Canadian author that you must read if you haven't already), and a book of short stories by a Kiwi writing about life in New Zealand. Turns out, the girl that checked my books out is the cousin of said Kiwi. Cool or what?

So while everyone else sees the sunny day as a chance to lay out in the sun, I see it as an opportunity to read in the botanical gardens like the stereotypical grad student that I am. Here's hoping the love affair never ends, and the books never run out.

Boo Short Hair

It's not really my style to waste time regretting a hair cut, but I have realised that I may have been more content if I hadn't chopped my hair off, or perhaps had a different hair chop. Now that I am on my need for speed workout program, I need to get this hair out of my face! The only solution that I can work out for now involves me wrestling the hair in my face into two little horns on either side of my head. Now, this look was cute in the 9th grade when I wanted to be punk-esque, but still cute. Now, little spiky pigtails making me look four years younger and slightly demonic is not exactly the fashion statement I was looking for. Granted, I only look like this when I go to work out or when I am playing soccer (if I don't find a better way), but I have to walk quite a ways to the gym. And on the way there, I wear normal clothes because it's always colder when I go to the gym than when I come back. So I just look like a greasy, sleepy, pigtailed freak. I am over it, so it's fine, but I did make the connected realization: I might have finally grown out of the stage when I drastically change my appearance because I'm bored.

It's the end of an era, people. I think I will try and get a better short hair cut for me in a few weeks, but I mean I am running out of new ideas. I have had my hair almost every color in the rainbow, I have had my hair from too short to too long, to shaggy, to blunt, to everything! What else is left but just finding a general style I like and sticking with it? Obviously, there will need to be slight adjustments as the decades trudge on, but seriously... I'm not a teenager anymore and the rebellion phase has passed.

I don't know whether I should be disappointed in turning into a sellout or just happy that I am growing up.

Smell that Grass

Well, it's finally happened. I joined a soccer team which can only mean that I've gone insane. A girl from my classes asked me and another Wisconsinite (woohoo!) if we wanted to join the team. The three of us have never played before, although I am vaguely aware of what a soccer ball looks like. Under the impression that the first day would be talking-only, I wore jeans and a sweatshirt. It was barely any talking. The first thing we were asked to do was dribble down the field and back. Luckily, I realized it wasn't like basketball dribbling before making a fool of myself... but not for long. In any sport that I have played, there aren't any balls on the ground. I am klutzy. Wait for it, wait for it... I was running back down the field pretty impressed with myself for doing relatively well at dribbling. I went to expertly stop the ball with me foot, and faceplanted myself back to the starting line. Grass stains now covered my jeans and sweatshirt, but at least now I was having some fun.

I really like playing with girls who also aren't very good or experienced, but would certainly like to be. They are all Kiwis besides us Wisconsin girls which is also kind of exciting. We will practice twice a week until games start and the season lasts through August. It is a bit expensive, more money than I was planning, but I think it's a worthwhile sacrifice to make. The only down (or up) side is that I desperately need to get in shape for this sport. You run for a super long time and we only have enough people for one sub. I was pretty satisfied with my health as of late because I haven't bought any junk food since I got here. Evidently, that doesn't equate to "can run and fall and get back up repetitively for 30 minutes." So up I went with Kelley (Wisconsinite who isn't me) to the gym this morning to work out before our next practice. What have I done?? :)

Maybe now I can eat like I did when I was on cross country. That would rule. Something tells me my metabolism may have changed in the past 8 years, but maybe not! Bring on the kilos of pasta!!

Virtual Hoopla

In one of my classes this week, we were asked to think of the pertinent issues facing education and educators today. Most of them were predictable and I won't bore you with why, but we basically addressed standards, assessment, family/school relations, administration, etc. One problem that was brought up confused me though: video games. I sat quietly, waiting for some relevance to the classroom. Were the kids bringing gameboy type things into the classroom? Were we going to merge into technology and its impacts on the classroom? No, actually the best argument I heard (and I didn't find it adequate) was that kids played too late and were tired during class. Ah, time for the voice of reason here. The professor told us that we should really understand that kids always have always had reasons to stay up late and parents and teachers should be attempting to teach a sense of balance in life. But then, he ruined it all by saying that in his house, his kids were only allowed to play an hour of video games (every once and a while) and only educational games. What?? Now, I am merging from teacher to parent role here, but I think the argument remains solid. If the kid is sleeping well, doing his or her homework, and not annoying anyone, why not let the kid relax with some mindless games? We do the same with TV. Here, however, I realize that I am commenting on an issue that is really the choice of each parent. (Notice I did not say teacher!) But naturally, the debate continues.

I was given a free copy of a magazine today called Lucid. It rules, but that's besides the point. It has an article about video game violence and the effect it has on kids. The magazine is actually saying that people overreact with the connection to young violence. In the end, they say making this stuff forbidden only enticing a young audience. They of course point to extremes like games where "You could pee on people, cut 'em up with spades and play football with their heads." (Lucid, March-April 2005) I understand that these games are unnecessarily and particularly gory and bloody, but they quickly jump to explain children murderers. We blame unfortunate situations on bad horror movies or graphics-gone-gory video games. Am I saying there is no connection between this virtual violence and actual violence? Not necessarily because I am not sold either way on it. But it seems like the sky is always falling with progressions in technology.

Did these bad things exist before we had the means to broadcast them in mass media? Of course. My professor started out with a good point... balance, people! Understand that kids can play video games without become pint-sized serial killers. And frighteningly enough, just because little Suzie and Johnny didn't play video games doesn't mean they can't grow up to be evil. I know I sound rather predictable here, but stop blaming outside influences and look at personal responsibility! Take care of yourself and teach your kids to do the same.

Fashionably Mad Scientist

I realised that today was the first day in which I would thrust myself into my studies. The readings are weighty, dense articles that require a lot of slow and repetitive reading. I started when I woke up today with brief breaks for showering and eating yogurt. I was pulled out of my studious stupor when I heard a knock at the door. It was the electricians to do the wiring for the heatpump that was installed weeks ago. Wonderful. I asked if I could still study and was of course led to believe this wouldn't be an issue. After the banging, the shouting, the drilling and the coarse conversation that soon ensued, I decided maybe I should try taking my laptop to the library.

I suddenly had to think about the conditions outside; it looked cold so I grabbed a scarf and out I went only to find it was pouring. I had to run back inside and grab my umbrella, nearly knocking over one of the electricians. Who knew he'd be lurking behind my door? As I stalked in the cold rain all over campus to do various errands before returning to my work, I got soaked. And no this was not the frolicking kind of rain, this was the mini icicle rain. I ran into a friend and he said, "Takes a lot of courage to pull that outfit off, by the way!" It was only now that I realized I looked like a nerdy, academically engrossed, out of date fashionista. I was wearing my glasses and no makeup, which I do recognize is not in itself a bad thing. My hair had been haphazardly pinned out of my face. I was wearing a black shirt with jeans, and bright blue shoes. Unfortunately I had forgotten this when I grabbed my black scarf with neon pink polka dots on it. I also had my navy green backpack and, to top it all off, my dark red umbrella. I look like a freak!

But the power of this look is achieved by not realising you look weird. I thought that I had dressed with attention to detail as I usually try to do. I hadn't noticed anyone looking at me funny because I wasn't looking for it. Power to the mad scientist look because the only difference I had noticed was that people were finally getting out of my way on the sidewalk. Drunk on this newly gained power, I think I will become the nutty professor lookalike here (and not the big fat modern one, the old lost-in-your-own-mind one). Embrace it and try it in your own everyday lives!

Marriage is a Sham

Now that I have your attention, I would like to address that tick-tocking that has been bothering me and evidently many more of my friends. That's right, I'm talking about that biological ticker that won't quit. And all my near and dear who are soon to be wed? You're just making it worse. If we all postponed the so-called wedded bliss, we could all travel the world before settling into a familial routine. I am already regretting that this can be my last venture to live in another world before I have to walk down that gaudy aisle. If I wander off to some other country, it would be years before I could really consider marriage.

So I would be approaching the 30 mark, ring free. Friends would start to set me up with other weird friends who hadn't been tied down yet. Relatives would start asking each other in hushed whispers, "Are we sure she's into guys?" Other well meaning individuals would just start buying me cats, so I could at least have companionship. People would assume I was a man-hater. Friends would have me babysit their children, hoping the marriage/kids bug would bite.

I am pretty sure that people just get married so that other people will stop pestering them about it. At certain point in time, you just become a spinster or an eternal bachelor and you have to avoid those titles by opting for "Mr. and Mrs." I don't mean to put down marriage, but if more people just held off on it, it wouldn't have the same pressures it does now. So, dear friends, explore the world, not the booze-soaked meat markets we call bars and experience life before you start creating it.

[Disclaimer: I do understand that many of my friends are getting married because they love each other. This is not what I oppose and I am very happy for you in your particular nuptials. It is the general concept that I disapprove of.]

For your additional reading pleasure: http://www.martinic.nl/tale/songbook/don_t_get_married.htm

Shin Stigmata

On this past New Year's Eve, Kristin and I had the privilege to enjoy one of those wonderfully random evenings that inevitably ends in Kristin and I falling asleep on the couch after booty dancing to Beyonce. I chose to idiotically wear painfully hot shoes which plagued me the entire evening although I still swear that they never hurt me before. The next morning I awoke to find a pain in my shin. Upon further inspection, I found a deep, but small gash in my leg. Kristin still maintains that I stabbed myself in the shin with my own shoe. I somehow find this doubtful. My dad thinks that perhaps I shouldn't drink so much that I can't actually say that this isn't the case. Either way, I cleaned myself up and forgot about the supposed stabbing.

It is now the 6th of March. I still have a sore, deep scar. I mean, honestly! I was in church this morning thinking about lent and sacrilegiously thinking that I bet my shin hurt like when they put nails in Jesus' feet. I mean, what is a 6 inch stiletto, but a blunt nail wrapped in pretty black material? My older friend, Nora, saw me looking at my scar and asked, "What's that from?" I resisted telling her that I was unsure as I had been in a drunken stupor and booty dancing to Beyonce. So instead, without thinking, I replied, "Someone kicked me." Ah, yes, that was so much better than blaming it in an endtable. She asked why someone would kick me hard enough to scar. So I said, "Um... she was drunk." Nora smiled and looked back to the preacher who was busy preaching.

After church, we all have tea and biscuits (no, really) and as I was saying my goodbyes to my church friends, she said, "You kicked yourself, didn't you?" Realizing that Nora would understand, I said, "I really don't know. The drunk part was true." She told me she missed college. I didn't have the heart to tell her that this happened when I was an official, graduated adult.

So while my scar doesn't spring forth with holy blood, it does pain me by way of its fateful explanation. I am doomed to wear pants for the rest of my life. Or at least until I think of an appropriate story to go with it.

It's Official

I am the best friend a girl could ask for. No, no... it's true. Last night I had the urge to go out on the town. I rung Nadia as she knows her way around this city. Later (after the O.C. of course -- which I sadly got addicted once I was no longer in the States), she turned up telling me about a cute rugby player that she met in her gender class. Yes, we are talking rugged rugby player taking a class to open his mind to the issues of gender. He texted her on our way to the pub asking if he could bring over a DVD to watch. She looked at me and I said, "If you don't ditch me right now, we are so not friends." I assisted her in the readying of the flat that always happens before a guy's visit and went home to watch TV. (Let me also take a moment to explain that she is not my only friend or anything, but the only one who was in town and that I would want to go drink with.)

Now, I cannot say that I didn't have ulterior motives though. I hope that somehow the karma gods were looking down on me and saying, "Now that girl deserves her own rugged, yet sensitive rugby player. Let's make hers really insanely smart, too." Hopefully, I can update this story in the near future with news of my rugby utopia. We shall see. Otherwise, I bet I can get her to buy me a glass wine while we discuss the details of her evening. Either way, I'm happy.

Classes

It's about time I start talking about classes on here. We've been up and running about a week now and I really like classes. Did you know that not all education classes have to be dimwitted and drenched in contradictory psychobabble? I didn't either! The professors have us address them by name, our thoughts are credited but still corralled within an organized discussion. I get to drink all the tea and coffee I want to during class and it's free! I am turning into a full fledged tea drinker because they usually have instant coffee here. Ew.

I am the youngest girl in the class. And when I say girl, that's really irrelevant. There's only one guy in all my classes, unless another turns up in my afternoon class today. Doubtful. I am even taking a class called Qualitative Research and I even like it. It's math too. I am mostly realizing the differences between all adult students and undergrad students. I think that undergrads like to pretend they don't want to be in class, you know, it's all really a bother. At the post grad level, you had to work really hard and raise a lot of money to get there and you don't have time to pretend it's boring. But let me console you, there are still those students. Two people in my Research class start going on and on about the value of certain kinds of research. I was under the impression this was an intro class, which it is. Some people just like to ask questions to show how much they know.

Let me astound you with this one... I am becoming a quiet person. Yeah, I know. I sure sound verbose here, and when I call my family I am anything but quiet. But on a day to day basis, I just don't really see the need to talk all the time. It's a breakthrough, guys. I realised I hadn't asked any questions or answered any either this week. I mean, we did the introductions (it's still a small graduate level group) and I talked then, but otherwise -- I just didn't have anything to say. I can even watch movies without asking questions. And yes I always do that, whether someone else is watching with me or not. I am not making any promises, but I might return to the States a much less outwardly opinionated person!

Dueling Banjos

We all know I have the strangest dreams in the world, but for time leading up to my departure to New Zealand, my sleep was less than desirable. Because there wasn't good sleep, there were no good dreams. Now, in the fond hopes that I am not jinxing myself, I am happy to say that I am sleeping better than I have in years. Change is good after all. As of late, the dreams have been just as wacky and involved as they ever were and I want to share part of last night's with all of you.

I was going to visit my brother in the country, where he now lived as a successful lawyer. He wanted to show me his brand new hobby, off road racing. If you know Leif, you know that this is only slightly preposterous. He was happy to have me along because visitors were allowed and would add to the weight of the car, making it easier to win. Yeah, physics majors, that doesn't exactly follow but it's my dream. You see, Leif always won the races and his trademark was that he brought along a guitar to begin playing upon his usual win. He would start playing the beginning to Dueling Banjos (at least, I think that's what it's called), and when no one would join in, but the next finishers would be there, he would say, "Yeah, that's right! No one can join in because I always cross the finish line by myself and first!" Obviously, you can see how my presence would disturb the logic of his taunting and also his ability to bring the guitar along in the first place. Although slightly disappointed by these circumstances, he talked some trash and had me buckle up.

He went soaring over these dirt roads so that we were airborne more often than not. I starting screaming that he was going to kill us. Leif, being the ever-logical one told me, "Annika, we can't die, it's a dream." After I told him that I frequently die painful deaths in my dreams, he replied, "Crap." We slowed down and still won, with only a few near death situations in which speeding tread touched roadside gravel. When we reached the finish line first, Leif was overjoyed to see the present I had stowed there earlier -- a guitar.

Critics say? Feel good dream of the year! Even if it does include me enabling his treacherous driving and trash talking. Once again, if you know Leif, this makes the story oh-so-much more funny. Crazed adventurer, no one will argue that.

So Close and Yet So Far

While having dinner at a friend's flat, I realized that there was water behind my house. Let me further explain. Her flat is up a god-awfully steep hill. From this view I could see where my house was and see that the ocean was in fact where I had originally thought that it was. I thought I was only a few block from the harbor, in any case, and this was now confirmed. You may wonder how I had not realized this previously. Well, there are a lot of hills and things that I didn't think I could go over. Mountainous hills, really. Now, with newfound determination, I ventured off to find this water. First, I had to avoid the big hills, then I had the obstacle of some sports club that I am too intimidated to cross. I just have the idea that these people are rich and relaxing from their very stressful jobs that would make them kick my butt if they saw me trespassing. None of this could be true and I wouldn't know, but I did take the half hour detour around the grounds. After conquering this walk, I knew where the water was supposed to be, but again, without climbing the big hills, I had only one option. I must walk on the small sidewalk that ran along what looked to be the freeway. With only a moment's hesitation, I began my journey.

I walked three kilometers along this freeway without ever making it next to the water. I cannot begin to express my disappointment and frustration. I have pictures to go along with this (which I will post as soon as I get my new power cord from Dell New Zealand) because I am betting that you don't understand how this is possible. I could see the ocean, sure. I could smell it, feel the ocean air on my face. But I could not get to the water because of the industrial zone. There were fertiliser companies and cement mixing companies blocking my way. When they weren't, a steep, rocky hill followed by train tracks stood between me and the ocean. Even on the other side of the harbor, which I seriously consider walking to, didn't have any open contact with the water. A busy road laced the coast instead of areas for picnicking and fun. I understand that it isn't particularly beach conducive, but it is still water.

My revelation is that these people take the coast for granted because it is an island. I mean, the entire border is all water, so what do they care that they happen to take the only coast within walking distance of my flat and make it a big, old, smelly industrial zone. I did consider climbing the barbwire fences and dangerous railroad tracks to reclaim the coast for the people! But, seriously, making it all illegal sort of takes away the serenity and calm that I was hoping to observe waterside anyway. If I want oceanic peace and calm, I have to buy a bus ticket. For now, I refuse, but once I have a job, we'll see.