Tension All Around

I don't like to study. Actually, maybe the problem is that I don't know how to study. I never had to when I was younger. Then I became old and had to learn more than two-page study guides to ace a test. My major actually requires lots of studying, since we have to memorize a good numbers of scenes and monologues per semester, but the difference, I think, is that memorization has a definitive end point- when you know it by heart, yay, you've done your job (well, part of it.) With regular studying for tests, you don't actually know what information will be useful.

Which means that after reading about nine specific sections in primary sources, I have thirty-one pages of "important quotes," put in quotations because who knows if they're actually important or not... and this is just a fraction of the stuff I need. I don't know what I do.

But whether I know what to do or not, this stupid list of books (to which our teacher wants us to add by ourselves) is staring at me from my wardobe door.


In semi-related news, things are tense here in the flat, because of exams for some people and because of the behavior of other people in the flat for others. Three out of the six remaining people here still refuse to do their own dishes or clean up after themselves, which means that our kitchen is in constant disarray, including a sink clogged by general grossness. When Adrienne wrote a note about this and left it next to said grossness, the offender maturely threw it into the grossness. Then another flatmate thought it was to her and flipped out on Adrienne. It's fun times here.

The Census

Hello, lovely blog readers! I'm sorry I haven't posted in awhile. But I do have an excuse and that excuse looks like this:



This would be just the start of my reading material to get through for my exam. We're supposed to be thoroughly read on four of the eight topics we were given in preparation for the exam- ahhhh!

But I'm not here to talk about exams. I'm here to talk about something that's been annoying me almost as much: the Census.

In the UK (and possibly elsewhere, too), the Office for National Statistics sends out an annual census, which keeps track of where people are when and their employment and marital status. It' compulsory to fill the form out, and if you don't, you get a big fine.

When the envelopes arrived in our flat in mid-March, I ignored mine, figuring that since it was a UK census form and I don't live here permanently, I didn't have to do it. Two weeks later, one of my classmates told me that because I was living here for more than three months, I had to fill it out. When I went to do so, however, I found that my form had been filled out. I immediately went on the website and had another sent to me, which I completed and sent in.

Jump to the past two weeks. Census people have to go around to every residence in their area, knock on doors, and ask people if they've filled out the form. If the answer is yes, the census person goes away. If no, they hand the person one of the forms to do then and there. Because there are so many people living on campus, they've basically set up a census patrol camp here, which means that I get asked at least three times a week if I've filled out the form. Thankfully, since, I have, they leave me alone.
But today, I was coming into the flat after grocery shopping and a woman was waiting by the building door. "Have you sent in your census form?" "Yes," I said, annoyed. "Okay, thank you." I went into the building and unlocked my flat door. "Excuse me," a man behind me said. "Have you sent in your census form?"
"Yes." Now I was really annoyed. But this time I wasn't dismissed.
"What's your room number?" I told him and he checked his form. "I don't have you marked as having sent it in."
Perhaps, I thought, that's because I've been asked by four thousand other people. I bet they have me down. "Well, I did," I said and tried to move past him to my room.
"We need it filled out," he told me. "Time's not really on your side here."
Um... what? It certainly should be. I sent this stupid form in over a month ago. "I don't think I'm at fault here," I answered. "I already filled it out."
"We need you to do it again."
I snatched the form with a definite attitude and went to my room so I could get a pen. In the middle of filling out the stupidly long form, the guy poked his head into my room and said, "I'm still waiting." I wanted to crumple up the paper and throw it at him. Sadly, my aim sucks so it wouldn't have made any impression and I would have had to start the form over.

I would have hope that since I filled out two forms that they would stop bothering me about it, but I still have to walk around campus and these people are everywhere. Maybe I should just hang a sign around my neck: "Yes, I have filled it out."

Also (because this is happening as I type this) I'm sick of the constant knocking on flat doors within and without of my flat as they go around and check. They never consider that a person might be out doing stuff and just stand there and knock and knock and knock. And, as I've found out from experience, if you here knocking outside your door and go, "What is that noise and why won't it stop?!" and you burst angrily out of your room to find Mr. Census knocking on the door across the hall, you will be given the Spanish Inquisition about that person's whereabouts.

A completely unrelated lesson learned today: it takes a really long time to peel a kiwi, and I question whether it's worth it :p

Dear Blank, Please Blank: London Edition

Dear Person On the Tube,
Thank you for giving me that shove out of the car when there were too many people in my way who wouldn’t move and I needed to get out.
Sincerely, No Really, Thank You

Dear Girl With a Handful of Five Pence Pieces,
Use the freaking coins- only machine to top of your card by two pounds next time.
Sincerely, the Girl Who Actually Has a Cash Note (and the ten people behind me)

Dear Flatmate Who Hasn’t Washed Their Dishes in a Month,
What on earth are you using to eat and cook with? Also, it’s gross.
Sincerely, Everyone Else in Your Flat

Dear QMUL Blackboard,
You know what helps a student get their online assignments from you? You actually working and not crashing students’ computers when they try to access you.
Sincerely, Okay Maybe I Shouldn’t Have Procrastinated But Whatever

Dear British TV,
You know I love you. You’re very interesting. But it’s hard to watch you when you show one part of a TV show on Monday at nine and then on Thursday at nine the next week and Wednesday at seven the following week.
Sincerely, Consistency is Cool

Dear Male Residents of Flat,
When you invite someone over, it’s generally considered polite to answer the door when they ring the buzzer, not sit in your room as your friends lean on the doorbell until one of your flatmates (who is not acquainted with this person and therefore technically should not let them in) get its.
Sincerely, Keep This Up and They’re Not Going to Be Your Friends For Much Longer

Dear Marks & Spencer,
WHAT DO YOU SELL? I always thought you sold food, as all of the branches I entered did. But then I go to Canterbury and in the windows are mannequins wearing everything from just underwear to three-piece suits, and within are racks of clothing.
Sincerely, Explain This to Me

Dear Flatmate With the Strong Cockney Accent,
I can hear your phone conversations. Everyone in the building can. Also, do you have raves in your room every night? Because the music is certainly loud enough.
Sincerely, My Ears Are Bleeding, How Are Yours Not?

(Inspired by this site.)

An American Carnival And a Black Swan

I really like carnivals, despite my inability to spell or say the world correctly. Seriously- I once wrote a story in about fifth grade and throughout the entire thing, I wrote "carvinal." I am not dyslexic, but to this day, I still have to consciously make sure that the 'n' and 'v' are in the right places. My speech pattern was very stilted today as I took pauses to make sure I didn't scramble the word.

Anyway, the reason I bring up my childhood and current difficulties is because there was a carNiVal at Queen Mary today! The event description said that it would be an "American-style" carnival with rides, games, food like popcorn and cotton candy (or "candy floss," as they call it here), music, and a free voucher to the one cafe on campus that I've not yet been to. I thought this sounded pretty cool, and so did Adrienne, so we met up around 2:30 to go to the carnival, which had started a half hour earlier.

You certainly wouldn't have known that given how many people were there, the amount being around five. Yeah. It was dead. I don't actually remember any music playing, but there must have been, because when we went up to the booth that had "PAY HERE!" flashing on it in bright neon lights, we had to shout to be heard. Oh, and the "PAY HERE!" sign was a big lie. They wanted you to pay at a table, which had a tiny white paper sign taped at hip level that read "get your wristbands here." If you bought a wristband, you had unlimited access to the rides, food, and anything else you might come across.


Adrienne and I stood a few feet away from the table and looked around us. The big swingy ride was not swinging, as there was no one on it. Even if I didn't believe that bumper cars are instruments of death, I couldn't have driven one if I'd wanted to, because there would have been about thirty unused ones parking me in. The games were a bit pathetic looking, and plus, I have no aim and I throw like a girl, so I tend to avoid those. The "Las Vegas- style pictures!" green screen area was deserted. The popcorn was there, but I don't even think the cotton candy maker was turned on. That was it. I was there for the cotton candy. I love cotton candy. If there was no cotton candy, there was no me.

This is not a carnival. It's not even a carvinal.

Basically, we decided that we didn't want to pay five pounds to go back and forth between the swingy ride and the torture devices that some people call bumper cars, in hopes that when we got off of one of them, there would be cotton candy. I had texted Laura to tell her that we were there and she should join us, but sent her another message not to come- it wasn't worth it. As Adrienne and I walked away, the swingy ride operator called after us sadly, "Not staying, girls?" There was still no one in his line.

Being American, I am worried what people will think of this event. Carnivals (or fairs, as I would refer to them) are not necessarily the coolest places to hang out, but they're still fun. This was not fun. It's just awkward when you're the only one there. Like seriously, even if I had bought a wristband and went on the swingy ride (which I generally enjoy), it's not like I would have exclaimed my joy as it was going on. Sitting alone in the twelve-seat row going "Wheeeeee!" isn't fun. It's sad.
I am also worried that while the carnival lacked anything we Americans considered worth indulging in, the swingy ride did possess a lovely depiction of the scantily-clad lower halves of two women. Go, USA.

Now, I will say that when I returned from my evening engagement, there were people at the carnival. However, it was raining, so I'm not sure why. But whatever. I think I can safely say that most likely, none of the attendees were American.

My evening engagement was something I've been trying to do for awhile, and that was see Black Swan. I've been planning and unplanning to see it since I got here, but since Natalie Portman won Best Actress for it, I figured I should probably go and see it. Plus, as bad at ballet as I am, I love it, so I knew I would enjoy that aspect of the story, too.
I will say this for the film: Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis were great. I did like the ballet stuff. They did a good job of picking where to end the story (sort of.) It did in fact make me feel very paranoid and grossed out. As a performer, a lot of it was accurate- in fact, I read on IMDb that it was originally written as taking place in the NYC theatre world. I'm glad they switched to ballet, firstly because it ups the stakes- an injury could mean the end, there are constant smaller injuries going on, and you're old by the time you're twenty five, putting on the pressure to establish yourself. Also, the movie freaked me out so much that I think I would have been afraid to go onstage again if it were set in a theatre.

But seriously... I did not like this movie. At all. It was, in two words, too much. Everything about it was too much. I have never let a rating scare me away from a book or play or movie. I pretty much read and see what I like and I'm lucky enough to have parents who allow me to do so. But I should have suspected when my mom, along with several other people, warned me about the film. They didn't say not to go and see it, but they did caution me. While I valued their opinions, I thought I could handle it. Seriously, I have read and seen a lot of things and I was like, "They're probably exaggerating."

Nope. Nope. No, not at all. I sat with my hands over my eyes for at least a fourth of the movie. I seriously considered leaving the theatre because I didn't know if I could stand it. Maybe I'm a prude, but HOLY CRAP. I don't care that it was two girls- it probably would have been just as bad if it were a guy and a girl. I don't wish to find out. They leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. And it did bother me. I was very uncomfortable. In fact, I was uncomfortable beginning from the moment when her director gave her her "homework assignment" in the beginning of the film. I did a whole lot of cringing throughout and when it ended, I actually said "thank God" out loud and left as quickly as possible.

So yeah... that's my review of Black Swan. I actually have much more to say, but I figured I'd spare you my theatre student nit-picky stuff.

In other news, I burned my wrist rather badly on a pan when I was roasting potatoes on Tuesday. I burnt myself because I was rushing, which meant that the burn was left untreated for a good four hours or so, and it got pretty irritated. Now it has become a small but impressively dark scar. Me + kitchen = not so good.

Things You Probably Shouldn't Do: Episode 1

This is sort of a spin-off of our hit show, Rachel is Stupid. However, because it is full of wise advice and not just a collection of words describing Rachel's stupidity, we thought it deserved its own title.

#1. Wear your new beautiful Oxford shoes to break them in, get blisters, and then not allow the blisters to heal because you keep going to the gym.
Health is good, but foot pain is bad. Infection is worse, as it results in the amputation of foot, thereby making gym-going and health-acquiring more difficult.

#2. Forget to bring Band-Aids to England so you can't improve this condition.
Because one of the biggest problems is that getting Band-Aids (here called "Elastoplasts" which sounds more like a really rambunctious form of bodily cell) requires walking a far distance to the Tesco because NO ONE ELSE SELLS BAND-AIDS! This means that in order to get to the Tesco without bleeding out through my heels, I had to attach squares of tissue to them with packaging tape. And I wonder why I can't get a man.

#3. Knock over your mulberry-scented reed diffuser... again.
The reed diffuser does its job really well. It has a very strong smell, which is great when it's standing upright... but a little overpowering when it is on its side, leaking out all of its contents onto my various possessions... and white sheets, making it look really awkward and smelling very strongly (though thankfully, strongly of synthetic mulberries and not anything else.)

#4. Buy Digestives.
Cause they're freaking amazingly delicious and I want to eat all of them right now. The best part? They're DARK CHOCOLATE.

Pure Deliciousness

#5. Decide to go to the cafe alone at lunchtime.

It doesn't matter that I went there to work on my play outside of my room, because sometimes working in the place that I live makes me go crazy and I find that cafes help me write. The fact is that people go to cafes at lunchtime with their friends. If they don't have friends/friends to go with, they will grab something to go. So me sitting at the end of the table with my laptop and writing journal out made people look at me pityingly. They should have been pitying me, but not for the reasons they thought. I HAVE FRIENDS, OKAY?!

#6. Sit in said cafe and eat the lunch you packed for yourself because you didn't want to spend your life savings on a skinny sandwich and tiny beverage.

The cafe people don't really appreciate this (though I like to think that they were gazing in jealousy at my delicious wafer-thin-sliced chicken sandwich instead of indignation.) They didn't say anything to me, but I could tell they weren't too pleased. Perhaps if we got a Pret a Manger on campus, this tip wouldn't be here.

#7. Listen to your project soundtrack while working on said project.
Even though I was listening with headphones, here's the thing about me and music: even if it's instrumental (as this one was)... I sing along. Or at least hum. Though I kept it inside most of the time, I know I was making noise at least sometimes.

#8. Work on a project you are frustrated with in a public place.

This will cause your hands to make much contact with your face/hair/whatever, making you look slightly deranged.

#9. Cry in a cafe.
...What? I was frustrated. Don't worry, I'm super quiet when I cry. I can respect the environment. Plus, everyone was there with their friends, anyway; they didn't notice the crying girl at the table, angry at the fact that her play was not cooperating with her and that her brain was on holiday.

#10. Try to make yourself not cry in a cafe by looking at a funny blog.
When Adrienne and Laura came to my room the other day to get Children's Hour tickets, they saw a picture on my bulletin board from Hyperbole and a Half. They thought it was funny, so today, I said to my tearful self, "Self, how about you look for the blog entry that had that picture in it and send them the whole entry?" Unfortunately, it was harder to find said entry and so I went through a lot of the other ones and was laughing so hard that I covered both my nose and mouth to keep any sound from escaping, but this just meant I couldn't breathe and so then I started making snorting sounds. People actually turned around and looked at me.

#11. Allow the "this is so funny" laughter to escalate into "this is so funny" crying that then transitions into "I am so frustrated with my play" crying.
Yeah... see the thing is, I am very proud of this play and I want to do very serious things with it. However, it is still in its second draft and therefore needs a lot of work and I am having problems. And somehow my "haha" crying turned into "wahwah" crying.

#12. Stand up on a rolly chair.
A word to the wise: No matter how good an idea it first seems to put your alarm clock on top of the highest shelf (only reachable if you stand on something [besides the floor]), you have to first assess your ability to make logical decisions when it rings. In my case, my capacity for making logical decisions when I first awake is zero. Sometimes, I'm not even actually conscious, but stumbling around with my unseeing eyes open. (Again, my lack of a boyfriend astonishes me.) But I still put it up there, thinking that having to tackle a mini obstacle course in order to find the source of the loud beeping sound will annoy me into waking up. But a rolly chair... rolls. And when you fall, it hurts. Your pride gets hurt worse, though, when you're using the same chair to get the skirt that's at the back of the high shelf in your wardrobe and you spin off of the chair and crash into the radiator... all occurring in front of a mirror so you can watch your literal fall from grace.


I think you're probably overwhelmed with my wisdom at this point. Don't worry, more will come. Probably not tomorrow, though, since I took a ballet fitness class and seriously doubt I'll be able to move in the morning, whether my alarm clock is on top of the shelf or not. Oh, the pain...

A (Partially) Different Kind of Audition

Yesterday and Friday were the auditions for QMUL's New Writer's Festival... which means that people- actual, willing participants who most likely can act- were auditioning for my two short plays.

I was actually at the auditions as an actor, but as a writer, it was pretty exciting too. Since almost no one in the drama company knows me, no one attached the writer name to me, and I got to hear people explain and discuss my pieces while remaining essentially invisible. And everyone who read them seemed to like them- they pronounced both "really funny," which was nice to hear, since that is the aim of the pieces.
As I said before, they asked me a few times if I wanted to direct and I said no. Now I see why they asked me so many times- almost everyone else is directing their own pieces, so they must have thought I was really weird. But even in hindsight, I think I made the right choice. I've calmed down since my directorial debut in third grade, but not by much.

I auditioned for my pieces as well as the six others that were chosen. The shorter one of mine, the one based off the dinner I had with my lovely friend Kara, her mother, and her grandmother, is being directed by a guy who has some pretty cool ideas about it, which he explained to me when he found out that I was the playwright. I'm pretty excited to see it played out- it's going to be even funnier than I wrote it!
When you went into these auditions, you wrote your name down or, more likely, they asked you and wrote it down themselves, probably to put a name with a face. So when I went into my second one, they said, "Name?" I could see mine glaring out of the byline that the girl had right in front of her, so I said, "Rachel." "Rachel what?" I practically whispered my last name, and she went, "Oh... oh, you're the writer. Wow. Okay... well, now I'm nervous." I told her not to be, that the reason I had submitted them was so they could be played with and to help me improve them. She seems pretty excited about it, and she's pretty much just keeping it how I wrote it- no fancy sets or crowds of people. I think both of these directors are going to be great.

The most interesting thing about watching my pieces be auditioned for was seeing how the humor carried over into an English setting. I didn't realise how many little Americanisms there were in my pieces until they were being performed in English accents. Besides one character saying "Mom" a few times, I also make reference to Stephen Sondheim and Ginger Rogers in one of them. No one had any idea who either of those two were... which was a little surprising considering that Stephen Sondheim is pretty famous worldwide. In the other scene, I have one character call another a jerk, and I'm not sure if they use that word here, but hearing it with the accent was pretty funny. Thankfully, most of the humor seemed to carry over well.

I was a little worried about auditioning at all. They didn't mention until the meeting right before that instead of there being normal rehearsals for two weeks, there were only marathon, all-day rehearsals in Reading Week... but I already have plans with my friend Megan for most of that week, which have been planned for awhile now. I contemplated not auditioning at all, but the truth is, I am addicted to auditions. If there is one going on, I have to be there or I go crazy with the "what if"s. So I spent the next four hours getting really overheated in small rooms reading various scripts.
I thought I might wait to see if I was on any cast lists and then ask the director what the rehearsal schedule looked like, as I had also heard that not all of them required those marathon days. However, as much as I wanted to see if I was cast, that's a really crappy thing to do to a director, especially in the school setting when the casting is hard because everyone wants the same four people. So I sent them an e-mail saying that if the commitment really was as described, if they saw fit to pull me from any running I might be in, I understood. This kind of choice makes me think that maybe I'm not as selfish a workaholic as I tend to see myself most of the time.

I'm not sure if it was the e-mail or the fact that I wasn't right for any of the roles anyway, but I wasn't cast. While it always sucks not to be on a cast list, the fact is that that week is really full for me already. In addition to going on many adventures with Megan, I'm also going to see a show that I really want to see the weekend of performances, seeing my two pieces be performed the night before, hopefully sitting in on a rehearsal or two as a writer (if they'll let me), not to mention using reading week for that which it's actually intended- homework. Plus, since my pieces are in the festival, part of me is there anyway... even if people will think I'm incredibly morbid and only write about funerals :p

I remind myself that I did two shows last semester so I would feel fulfilled enough to not feel bad if I didn't get anything over here. That was the theory. However, I am me and of course I want a show... or five... while I'm here. The fact is that I probably won't get one, even if just because of the issue of time. Once March rolls around, the performances for anything that's auditioning will be too late for me to participate. It drives me crazy to not be auditioning constantly. However, I am in England, so I should probably shut up.

Stay tuned today for another entry on the London Chinese New Year celebration!

The Universe Doesn't Want Me to Go to Wales

Raise your hand if you've ever had trouble purchasing something over the internet? Yeah, I can't actually see you, but I'm pretty sure that if you thought I could and were doing so, every single person's hand would be raised. And that's why you might find today's tale interesting and/or comforting in that you are not alone. The internet has given me the finger many, many times today already, and it's only two p.m.

QMUL is offering a trip to Wales and Wye Vally next weekend for a mere twenty-six pounds. A deal? Yes, especially since I don't know how else I would get to Wales for so cheap (and with a transportation system that drops me off at my school.) Adrienne has been planning on going to, so I went onto my school's e-shop to save my place.

The e-shop's easy to use; I've used it many times already since I've been here. But apparently, the universe really doesn'y want me to go to Wales. I clicked on the trip. Oops, I wasn't logged in. I logged in and clicked on the trip. Phew, three spaces left. Book, please.

Computer: I'm sorry, there is no trip like this registered in the system.
Rachel: Um... but what does that heading say right there? Wales and Wy-
Computer: I'm sorry, there is no record of this trip in the system. Please check the booking summary.
Rachel: But I haven't booked anything yet... fine. (clicks)
Computer: Hooray, there is a Wales trip! Doesn't it look fun? Ya wanna go? Cool, the button to pay is right... oh, no, did it run away again? Pesky buttons, they're always doing that. Well, you could print this page if you wanted to.
Rachel: You mean the page that tells me absolutely nothing?
Computer: You got it.
Rachel: No. Besides, I don't have a printer and have you heard the story about the last time I tried to print something off in the library? Those librarians still cringe at the sight of me.
Computer: Okay, well, how 'bout you check your account summary. It'll tell you if there's a record of you paying.
Rachel: But I didn't pay... I'd have to enter my credit card inf-
Computer: Check. Your. Account. Summary.
Rachel: (clicks)
Computer: See, there it is! The Wales trip... status pending... zero pounds. Lookin' good.
Rachel: NOT lookin' good. Lookin' like I haven't paid and therefore can't go. And 'pending status?' What the crap does that mean?
Computer: It means your problems are not yet over.
Rachel: Ah-ha, but lookie here, there is a link if I need help!
Computer: (cackles quietly) Oh, silly, naive child, I thought you grew up in the internet age...
Rachel: (clicks)
Computer: (between laughs) The page you are looking for has not been located. It may have been moved to another location.
Rachel: THE INTERNET CANNOT BE MOVED! IT IS AN INANIMATE OBJECT!
Computer: (and all the tech geeks reading this) Well, technically-
Rachel: Shut up. Oh, hey, you can contact the e-shop workers. (click) I'll just get out my phone-
Computer: If you need assistance, please e-mail us at-
Rachel: Nonononononoemailistooslowformypurposes. (clicks madly)
Computer: Look, at me I'm as frozen as the snow back in your hometown!

At this point, I was mentally cycling through all of the interesting and not-so-nice words I've learned in my lifetime and do not utter aloud. My computer eventually unfroze, thawed out by the heat of my anger.

Computer: Oh, hey, wassup? Nice nap?
Rachel: You. Work now.
Computer: Okay, Tarzan. How about you e-mail that address and complain to them in a civil manner.
Rachel: Good idea. (Tries to log onto Blackboard. Receives a pop-up telling her that the school tries to avoid pop-ups. Wonders about the state of the world. E-mails the address.)
Adrienne: (running into the room) WHY IS IT IMPOSSIBLE TO BOOK THE WALES TRIP?!
Rachel: I KNOW!!! (to Computer) See? I'm not incompetent.
Computer: At this particular moment.
Adrienne: There are only three spots left and I can't call the number provided because my phone is a piece of crap. (Computer quietly snickers in the background)
Rachel: I'll call it! (picks up phone, finds internet page, dials)
Phone: Look, I forgot to take my 5-hour Energy thinger, so I'm getting that four o'clock feeling...
Rachel: It's not even two.
Phone: Actually, here in England it's already 13:50. Gotta love that military time. God, I'm exhausted. Sorry. (Hangs up.)
Rachel: YOU WILL WORK. (Dials again, hard, like that will help things and not break her touch screen)
Phone: (flicks through all of the screens because Rachel still can't figure out her phone) Wheeeeeeeeee!
Rachel: (dials the number again)
Phone: No can do, sister.
Rachel: You suck.
Phone: So you tell me daily. It's like you have a phone that you love back home.
Rachel: (pines for American phone. Dials other provided number)
Phone: I'm sorry. All calls to this number are barred.
Rachel and Adrienne: WHAT?!
Phone: Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm just a vessel for communication.
Rachel and Adrienne: d;nrgDBDJFNKelglkdfhb;dg;kadnf;kgahhhhhhhhhhh.

And that's how our encounter has ended thus far. We've both shot off multiple e-mails and are now staring at our inboxes waiting for any news at all, brooding. We just wanna go to Wales!

I guess I'll go to the gym and work off my anger...

Of Fires and Floods

Oh, readers... remember when I said that I probably wouldn't write this weekend, as it would mostly be spent doing homework? Oh, how wrong I was.

The other day, Adrienne pointed out that we had not actually been shopping. What a crime- especially since I had been given permission by my mom to get something "London-esque" for my birthday. So we decided to meet Laura and Drew at ten this morning and go to Covent Garden and High Street Kensington.

I had planned to go to bed semi-early, but suddenly started making headway on some writing and kept typing and typing until two a.m. So I didn't get up on time, and when the fire alarm went off at 9:40, I was still in bed. My alarm hadn't woken me up, but the terrible, drawn-out screech of the fire alarm definitely did. It was worse than the one back at my home school, which I didn't think possible, because there was no break in the sound- it was just one loud, long noise.

But as I had never heard the fire alarm here, I wasn't sure that that was even what it was. I know you're thinking, 'Well, what else would it be?' But something you have to realise about me is that it takes a good ten minutes after I wake up for me to start thinking clearly. I have no common sense when I'm half-awake. So I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into shoes, and ran out into the hallway. I saw no one. Maybe I was wrong. Or maybe I was crazy and there really was no alarm sounding. A few seconds later, Adrienne came out of her room and we both stood there. Rest uneasily in the fact that, if there is a fire, we will both probably die :p Finally, Emmie emerged from her room and said that it was, in fact, the fire alarm, and the three of us made our way to the door of our flat. We opened it... and found that the lobby was flooded with water.

Now, when the fire alarm goes off, even if it is a drill, the last thing you expect to find behind any door is a waterfall. But my building is apparently the building of disappointed expectations... or perhaps just surprising discoveries. There was water pouring from the ceiling, quickly forming puddles and rivers in our tiny can't-even-be-called-a-lobby. We picked our way through it and outside.

It was cold. Especially in pajamas, which Emmie and I were both wearing. Adrienne had actually gotten up on time, so she was dressed; Emmie had been doing homework. It wasn't any warmer forty-five minutes later when we were still waiting outside. We stood outside of our building and watched as the firetruck arrived, the firemen dash to the door... and pull up short as they saw, not flames, but water. They kept looking at each other like, "What do we do with this? We've never had to fight water before..." For the next twenty minutes, we watched firemen and QMUL security walked in and out of the building, looking confused and occasionally walking out with dripping-wet tools. The ceiling outside of the building, as well as inside, was now steadily leaking water.
Eventually, they said that there was a good chance that we wouldn't be able to get in for at least another hour, but that they would unlock the cafeteria (which is not open on the weekends) so we could sit in there and stay warm.

Let me paint a picture for you. Swarming the cafeteria were fifty (lots of people weren't there this weekend) grumpy international and English students, most of which are still in pajamas. Add to that that most of us had not eaten breakfast- even those who were awake when the alarm went off- and it was now about eleven. They made it very clear that they would not be giving us free food (which would have been crueler if there was actually breakfast being made in the caf.)

I sat in the caf with Adrienne, Laura, Emmie, Megan, Deanna, and Drew. None of us were very happy, especially when it was announced that it would most likely be another hour before we could get in because they weren't sure about the electricity. Eventually, they announced that everyone could go back in... everyone who didn't live in the east flats, which was my flat. Yay. They tried to placate us with the promise of food, but when they did get some food, it was fancy assorted chocolate cookies, Coke, and Sprite. I enjoy all of these things, but not in the morning when I haven't anything else to eat. I ate two cookies because I was hungry, but decided that to make that my breakfast would mean seeing it later that day. We all refused the soda.

I was grumpy; I figured that if we left for shopping at ten, we'd be back around two and I would clean, do laundry, and finish up some homework. Well, now it was noon and they were saying it would be another hour. They gave us vouchers for an Asian place so we could go there for lunch. Besides the fact that the thought of Asian food, just like the idea of fancy cookies and Coke for breakfast, made us all want to throw up, they asked, "Who does not feel adequately dressed to go to an eating establishment?" I looked down at my QMUL t-shirt and pink plaid pajama bottoms. Maybe if I said I felt this way, they'd let me change and then, instead of going to the restaurant, we'd leave campus to go shopping. But after we answered the question, they left it at that in a "well, that's nice, sucks to be you" way. Thanks.

Because of the schedule train wreck, I thought it would be smarter not to go shopping. But the thing was... we couldn't do anything else. I could stay on campus all I wanted, but without my books and computer, I couldn't do anything.

Oh, my God- my computer. How much water had gotten into our flat? What if the ceilings in the rest of the flat had opened up and even now, all of my stuff was getting soaked?!

We couldn't do anything about this, but we could try to leave campus and actually do something. figured that for clothes, I could maybe borrow something of Laura's, even if it was yoga pants. I was wearing normal shoes and an acceptable shirt. But here was the big problem- I couldn't see. I had left the flat without my glasses, thinking we were going to get back in soon, and I have terrible vision. It could be worse- I'm nearsighted, so at least I could see people I was talking to. But I knew walking the streets and going on the tube without my far vision would be a bad idea. Also, neither Adrienne or I had our Oyster cards. At this point, all I wanted was real breakfast food, my Oyster card, and a pair of pants that weren't bright pink plaid.

Adrienne is much more assertive than I am. She went up to the woman in charge and asked if the two of us might sneak in and grab our things- her bag and my glasses. The woman waffled a bit, so Adrienne exaggerated my condition to legal blindness. Finally, she talked our way into the building and we were allowed in with an escort.

Inside the flat, they were busy water-vacuuming up the large puddles that stretched from the "lobby", past the kitchen, to about the third dorm room. They were removing some things from the first two rooms- soaked. But the four or five rooms at the end of the hall- including mine, Adrienne's and Emmie's- were completely dry. Phew! Once in our rooms, we got the things we begged for- her, bag; me, glasses- and I also grabbed my bag and a pair of jeans. We went up to Laura's room, I changed into normal clothes, and we were off (after stopping by the caf to let Emmie know that her stuff was all right.)

Because we got started so late, we only did Covent Garden today, but I got a dress marked down by forty pounds (I paid fifteen) and a pair of Oxford shoes, which Laura and I have been pining for. We're probably going to do High Street Kensington sometime this week.

When we got back, we walked through a mostly-dry hallway and talked to Emmie; they hadn't allowed people back into the flat until two. I'm glad we left- it would have been a lot of wasted time.

Now to a lot of boring- cleaning, laundry, homework.

Quote of the Day:

"When you've made a life of theatre, you know what it's like to work hard. You know what it's like to feel the triumph of a standing ovation. And you know how close you always are to disaster. When your life is dancing on the edge of a cliff, you tend to believe in gravity." -Stephen Tobolowsky

Kitchen Adventures, Etc.

Not me

My name is Rachel and I am not domestic. Just putting "Rachel" and "kitchen" together in the same sentence is sure to garner some laughs from those who know me best. However, since my uni doesn't have a meal plan, that requires me to cook unless I want to shell out money three times a day for prepared food at school, I have to sort of learn to cook. I say "sort of" because I know how to make pasta, chicken, potatoes, and cookies (and my cookies can be a little dodgy if I've read the fractions wrong... be very afraid.) That's it. But my mom has just sent me a link of student recipes, so no doubt there will be more entries about my adventures in domesticity.

But we shall focus on two particular instances that occured in one night (Friday night.) I wasn't sure if we would be given dinner when we got to Herne Bay (though it turned out that we did, other people did not, so it was a good plan.) So I turned on the stove to boil some water for pasta, put the pot and water on with some salt, and went back to my room to finish packing. About ten minutes later, I went back to kitchen to find that the water was still sitting there very still...ly. What the freak? Why wasn't it boiling? It had been sitting there for ten minutes and I could feel the heat from the... oh. The burner next to the one it was sitting on. Oops. So I grabbed the handle of the pot to move it and burned my hand because it had been hanging for ten minutes over the burner that was actually on. I'm super smart.

Burning myself seems to have been my thing this week- when I was cooking chicken in a frying pan the other night, I kept trying to rest my wrists on the edge while flipping it or cutting it to make sure it was done. And this weekend at homestay, I burned a shiny strip across my thumb while straightening my hair. Pain for beauty... and food :p

That same night, Adrienne joined me in the kitchen as I was washing off some of my dishes. The water pressure in the sink I was using was nothing, so I decided to turn it off and heat up some pasta sauce while I waited for it to sort itself out. So I'm taking the sauce out of the microwave when the sink I had been using turned itself on full-blast, the water hitting the basin so hard that it was splattering the floor and walls around it. I put down the bowl of sauce and ran over to try and stop it, but no twisting of the knobs would make any difference. Adrienne and I both stood back and just watched, a little freaked out... and then the other one started doing the same thing! We both attacked a sink, twisting the knobs every way possible (so... two) to try and stop the water, but nothing worked, the water was scalding hot, and we didn't want to get soaked right before we left, so we stepped a safe distance across the wet kitchen and watched as the sinks worked together to spurt water everywhere.

"I think the kitchen's possessed!" Adrienne yelled over the sound of water on metal, and it certainly seemed that way for awhile, but apparently the spirits got it all out of their system a few minutes later, when the water stopped drilling into the sink and the water pressure was nil again... making it just as difficult as before to wash my dishes. :/


In semi-blog related news, I'm ecstatic that The Social Network won a Golden Globe for Best Screenplay (among other things) because that's the first thing I noticed about it when I was watching it on the plane over here- the writing is fantastic. Go see it! This relates to my blog because I would like to sing the praises of Facebook for allowing me to find out about an audition next week in London. Before I came over, I researched a ton of London theatres, subscribed to them on Facebook and Twitter and looked at their audition dates. One subscription on Facebook got me invited to an auditon for a play in which there is actually a part for me! So I'm pretty excited about that :)

One more thing I noticed when I was on homestay- when I'm in conversation with English people, I auto-correct a lot (look at the use of linguistic lingo. Gotta make that terrible class worth something.) Auto-correcting, if you don't know, is when people (women are more prone to it) automatically elevate or change their speech in an effort to make some sort of impression on the person they're talking to. In my case, when I would converse with my host mother and/or her children, I would make a big effort to replace my American vocabulary with British- coach for bus, university for college (and never "school"), tube for subway, football for soccer, etc., and I do that a lot with my English classmates, as well. As I said, this is less in an effort to appear English (considering that my accent sticks out glaringly) than it is an effort to blend in as much as possible and avoid any double-takes during conversation; I just want to have the conversation.

Rachel is Stupid: Episode One

Hello, and welcome to the premiere of our new show, where our star, Rachel, demonstrates just how foolish she can be. While it would be easy to give you a taste of this daily, we thought we'd just save episodes for special occasions. And what a special occasion today was, ladies and gentlemen, for Rachel seriously considered chaging her major to Stupid today... and it was only noon when she considered this! Let’s go into Rachel’s brain and hear things from her point of view.

First, we must flash back to a few days ago, when I told Adrienne that she could use my pots and pans to make some pasta, as her kitchen supplies had not yet arrived. I had already made my pasta and was halfway through my delicious Italian dish when Adrienne came into my room. The following conversation ensued:

ADRIENNE: Hey, what did you use to take he pot off of the stove?
ME: (is this a trick question?) My hand?
ADRIENNE: Well, I just thought that since the handle is metal, it might be really hot.
ME: Oh, yeah...

And now we come to today's instances. I had no classes so I decided that, before my appointment that night, I’d check some things off of my to-do list: do laundry, go to the library, check out the gym, buy some actual dinner food, etc. So I make to do the first on the list- laundry.

I had been very responsible. Though I have no laundry bag and cannot find one ANYWHERE to purchase, I’m a former Girl Scout, and therefore had been stashing my laundry in a sturdy cloth bag from Curves. I picked up this bag and also my wallet, because I thought maybe laundry wasn’t free to do here as it is at my home school. 'I am so prepared,' I thought. 'I am a laundry-doing wizard. I will go down in the history of laundry-doing. I am the Rudolph of laundry.'
So I made my way to the laundry building (no machines in the dorms) and when I got there, I couldn’t get in. I pulled on the door, but nothing happened. I pushed, because here, doors have handles and not flat metal panels when they want you to push them. Still, nothing happened. Then I noticed an electronic black box to the right of the door and waved my card in front of it- bingo! I went in with my laundry to find that thankfully, the machines were basically the same as at Arcadia. It did indeed cost money to do the laundry, which kind of sucks- guess I won’t be doing it every week like I do back home. So I loaded up the machine, fed in the coins, closed the door and tried to leave… and I couldn’t. The door was locked. There was a lock above the handle of the door- maybe if I twisted it… Nope. It just twirled around and around and wouldn’t let me out.

This was embarrassing. I was locked in the laundry room. How was I going to get out? Adrienne and Laura were in class, so I couldn’t even make a humiliating “LIBERATE ME FROM THE LAUNDRY ROOM!” call. I kept trying to get out, trying to look like I was just chilling by the door when people passed (because normal people just chill by doors.) Finally, I looked around desperately and noticed a few buttons that looked like light switches on the side. I contemplated what might happen if I pressed them. They might blow up the building. But then at least I’d be out. So I pressed one. And lo and behold, the door unlocked! I was free! But I still felt stupid for being stuck in there for so long (even though it was only about three minutes.)

While my wash was washing, I thought I’d go to the library, print out a receipt I needed and get a play I am supposed to read. As I mentioned, the library is kind of intimidatingly large. I went to a computer to try and log and it wouldn’t let me, so I found a librarian. “Could you tell me how to print out a receipt for a booklet I need for class?” I asked. They stared at me. “A book for class?” the woman asked. “Yes, a receipt for it. I heard we have to have it printed out in order to actually get it.” More staring. “We don’t deal with the books for the departments,” the man said. “You’ll have to speak to your head of department about that.” “Where did you buy it?” the woman asked. “On the e-shop,” I answered. “No, we don’t deal with that,” the man insisted. “We only have books and journals to check out, not to purchase.” “No,” I insisted. “It’s not a book, it’s a- a- a- a…” I couldn’t think of the word that they called it. I was creating a language barrier that didn’t exist. I had begun to use odd, jerky hand motions to try to represent a book that wasn’t a book but a collection of papers bound together by a wire. Obviously, I wasn’t doing it well, because they stared like it was their job. I was frustrated and therefore close to tears because crying is my response to everything.

I did not cry, though. Eventually, I got it across that I just needed to print something out, did so, and went in search of the play I needed. I followed the directions to the drama section with my call number, which began with PR. The last section was PN. Okay, it must be in the adjacent room. I entered and looked at the first shelf; PT.

WHAT?! The shelf I needed was the Grimmauld Place of shelves, except I wasn’t the Secret Keeper and so had no idea how to find it. Eventually I did and got a copy of the play with the proper editor and made my way to the checkout area.
Here’s the thing about checking out books at Queen Mary. There is not a person involved, save the student doing the checking out. It’s a machine. This was completely new to me. Basically, what you do is you scan the barcode on your i.d., punch in your PIN number, and then lay your book in this glowing blue box underneath the screen. I kind of expected it to be beamed somewhere, but then the machine spit out my receipt and bade me remove the book from the (non) beaming machine. Thus ended my adventure in the giant library.

But my day wasn’t over (nor is it now, as I wrote this.) Because I still had more on my to-do list. I needed to get some real food and so did Laura, so we headed off to Sainsbury’s. We decided to take the bus because it’s been kind of cold today. As you know, I just got my Oyster card yesterday, so I thought I was set… until the low, disapproving beep (as opposed to the high, “welcome on board!” beep) sounded when I pressed my card to the “touch in” button in the bus.

I didn’t know what to do, but I figured I’d ask the bus driver on the way back. I probably should have gotten off the bus; technically, I hadn’t paid. But I didn’t. And punishment for this was swift. Sainsbury’s is only a few stops from the school, and we were just one stop away from the one we needed. At this stop were literally twenty neon green-vested police officers, and it seemed that they were checking the buses for people with offended passes, a.k.a ME.

I tried to act nonchalant, but it’s like when you’re onstage (or anywhere, really) and you’re told to just act normally and you suddenly go, “…How do you do that?” Two policemen got on either end of the bus and started working toward the middle, where Laura and I were standing. The front policeman found that a man next to me was holding a problem card and kicked him off the bus, but before he got to me, he was distracted and went to the front of the bus again. The back policeman was still coming closer, and I knew that I was going to be kicked off. How humiliating. Their scary scanning was just like 1984, and I wondered, if they found out that I was a holder of an offending card, if I might be exposed to the rats. But just as the back policeman raised the scanner to look at my card, his colleague outside called the him, he got off the bus, and we pulled away. WHOA. Once I recovered, I was just annoyed with my card. I was not allowed on the bus on the way home; I have no idea what’s wrong with my card, but I have to find out before my appointment today so I can actually get there.

So there are all of my adventures before three p.m. today. When I got home, I engaged my drug of choice to help me calm down: Gilmore Girls. And after the theme song had played, I heard a knock on my door. A girl was standing there. “Hi,” she said in an English accent. “Are you watching Gilmore Girls?” “Er… yes,” I replied. “I thought so! I love that show, and when I heard the music, I thought that I wanted to meet the person watching it. Hi, I’m Emmie!” So I’ve finally met one of my flatmates. She’s very nice and invited me to hang out with the others in the flat, which is a relief, because everyone in the flat has basically been scurrying around Adrienne and me, the only two new people in the flat. Now maybe we can get to know them :)


Oh, and by the way, thanks for all of the comments, everyone! My inbox was filled with them when I got up this morning and it was wonderful to read all of your thoughts! Comments are love :) Check back where you wrote, because I'll be responding!