Take Me Home... Country Roads?

I try not to just post diary pages here, and I swear this day-recap has a point at the end.

First, though, I need to bitch for a second.

The day started out fine. I didn't want to get out of bed because I knew I had a long day ahead, but, heyho, you live. Once out of bed, life was pretty smooth.

Until I left my flat. Isn't that always the case? I sometimes wish I could be a homebody. Nothing bad happens when I stay in bed. It is a happy place. (and, yes, you can take that however you want. and, yes, that is what she said. and, yes, I went there. It is 3 am)

Surprise, surprise, the tube was delayed. No big except for the freaky hairy fat man who had his armpit in my face for most of the ride between King's Cross and Heathrow. Lucky for me, I have very little sense of smell.

At check in, my bag was overweight. Bah. So, in front of everyone, open up suitcase and tear things out to stuff in my purse and laptop bag. Lesson learned: always pack your undies on the bottom of your suitcase.

Onward to security. Which I set off. And after the lady gave me a rather invasive pat down and still couldn't determine why I set off the thing, I was escorted to a little room where I was instructed to remove my clothing. How sweet of them, they didn't watch while I undressed. I think the lady just wanted a chance to see my boobs. I can't blame her, but I really would have happily just flashed her and saved myself the half an hour and humiliation of being strip searched.

Continuing to the gate, things look like they will be uneventful. 9 hours to Chicago then two hours of chill time then another 4 to PDX where my family waits to take me to my beloved Taco Bell.

Wait... what is this? Delay?? How long??? Oh, an hour. I can live with that.

Tick....Tick....Tick....

What do you mean it will be another hour? I have a connecting flight to get on! Well, I guess we will be okay if we don't take off for another hour. It will be tight, but there are worse things in the world than running through airports (like being strip searched, for instance).

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Well, there go my connecting flight hopes. Oh well, they have to pay for it. OH! They are going to let us board the plane!

Things seem to be fine at this point. I get to my seat, the lady sitting next to me is a cool high school English teacher who wants to talk about Frankenstein with me. Rad.

I watch Monsters vs. Aliens. I don't suggest it unless you are delirious. After that I watch a bit of Desperate Housewives (why do so many people watch that trash?) to pass the time before the next session of the abomination Watchmen is to start and the plane hits a little turbulence. Suddenly the captain interrupts my judgment.

We are turning around.

Something about an auxiliary power thingy and them not wanting to continue over the ocean without it.

So, we get back to London, which looks amazing at night from air, stuffed into busses and taken to a rather swank hotel where i am supposed to sleep and wait to find out what they are doing with us in the morning.

Right. Well, now that I have my growling at my day done - here is my 'point.'

All this time has allowed a little spark of thinking. Not much, cause I really don't have the brain power, but something that I might expand on later.

Maybe this is where I belong. I mean, I have always wanted somewhere I feel like I fit. And I think I do here. I love the country roads of home, but I miss Finchley Road more.

Our take off was set to Oasis 'Slide Away' and it was just so beautiful. The sun was setting over London and I just felt this torn feeling in my chest. I miss my family and my friends from home. I can't wait to get back to Oregon and hug my little brother, see mountains, eat Tillamook cheese, get tackled by my best friend... But my heart is here.

I have been stolen, Oregon. I hope you understand.

England 2009

I was informed last night that I had many "cute"  american traits.  Somehow, my strange nerd habits like collecting and posting my theatre tickets make me American.  The giant Oregon flag over my bed didn't phase my friends in the least, but tickets to shows I've seen since arriving does...

Still working on that one...

Last night was the last show in our festival of new work.  The show was about the current culture of England and the experience of the MAATP class of 2009.  We were broken into companies and given a place in England.  The next morning (9:30 when the Jubilee line was down.  I wanted to cry) we were given boxes with video, sound and photographs.    About 7 hours later, we performed.  The interesting thing about my group, the Dover company, was that we had no English people.  Oddly, our group seemed to be well received.

Is this England? Is this England? Is this England?

In other news, other than cutely American, apparently my friends think I am beautiful, creative, kind and a "great big lesbian."  When I stopped laughing, I asked why.  No one could give me an answer.  To be fair, they don't actually think I'm a lesbian, they just think I'm greedy.

Perhaps.

But, if the frustration with English men gets bad enough to turn me lesbian, I think I will just go home.

"The Savage Attack on April's Wall" by Jenn and Melissa

April Alexander, you are about to get double-posted!

Ring-a-ding-ding!

Ring-a-ding-ding!

April Alexander, you have just been double-posted!

THAT'S WHAT HE SAID!

Or maybe she said? A he can be double posted as well

With strap-ons?

We are in the theatre and literature worlds. Not porno you sicko.

Some of us want to go work in film. And we all know that porn is when you fail at getting into the movie business.

"Just don't get it in my eye!"

It burns us, it burns us!

*head turns a 360* and *spits pea soup*

*refuses to masturbate with a crucifix*

oh, dude, you are so missing out. let yourself be penetrated by the spirit of the lord

I will not be Jesus' mother!

No, you can't be because I cast Heidi and I think I'm done doing religious satire for, like, the rest of my life

Can I be the dinosaur that's being fed?

You would have to audition. Impress me. Astonish me!

RAWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!

I liked the live version better. I'm sorry April, Jenn can't seem to express her inner T-Rex in text

It is very difficult to express facial expressions and stomping around in text.

It goes like this: *clears throat* RAAAAAAAAAAWR!!! *stomp stomp* GRRRRRRR >:O

There are not enough interesting keys on the keyboard to properly capture my amazing velociraptor impression that was perfected behind the scenes during Wild Oats.

Oh, I don't know. I have seen people with too much time on their hands do some pretty amazing things with slashes and whatever this is called: ~

That, my dear, would be called a tilde. And I may have looked that up on Wikipedia, but I'm not admitting to it.

brilliant! I was trying to google search that and failing

Always try Wikipedia first. And, I do what I can.

April can back me on the English school's hatred of Wikipedia. I can't tell you how many lectures we got. OMG the random function is AMAZING!!!

Seriously. I'm a little sad though. This is my last post on April's wall today. That makes me a sad panda.

Good game.

We were wrong! We need one more. And it's mine! This is like going into extra innings!

I Like Lions

The old lady next door gave me a pamphlet about her religion this morning. In her beliefs, all animals in heaven are cuddly and loving-even the lions.  

For a moment i was jealous.

I Won't Do What They Told Me

Went out last night.  Seemed like a good idea.  It is the first weekend of what is looking to be a horrificly busy term and this might be one of my only chances to get out to my favorite club in London and really party up.  

While drinking and sweating and singing at the top of my lungs I noticed something worth laughing at.  I couldn't have cared less about what the people around me thought of me.  I was jumping around like an idiot, pumping my fist in the air, cheering on Sheffield where appropriate, and even had a head-banging moment (see post title).  Between what we will loosely call dancing and the rockin' side poney-tail, I was in my happy place.  

The girls around me, however....

All they could do was swing their hips suggestively and watch the people around them.  It was pretty sad.  Here were were in a club playing music about being young and alive and all they can do is be afraid that no one would find them sexy.

What a fucking waste.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I like it when someone is deranged enough to find me attractive.  I am just not going to sacrifice my good time for it.  I like to think that my 'what you see is what you get' attitude will eventually lead me to someone who actually likes me.  If I just dressed up and dance all over my girlfriends, that would be false advertising.  I mean, I do that once and a while and there are pictures to prove it, but more likely is that I am in a tank-top and jeans, drunk and jumping around like a fool and I do both because they make me happy, not because I want to suggest to some stranger in a club that I am sexy.

Well, I had a great time last night.  Sorry to those who were too busy being sexy to enjoy themselves.

(ps - get over yourselves!)

Bloody Knackered Mate: An Update

In a drunken stupor last night I decided to try saying 'cheers' to the bartender when he handed me a beautifully poured french martini.  While this action caused my adrenaline to pump enough to make my ears burn, he just smiled and watched me turn to go back to my friends, completely unaware of the turmoil he had just witnessed. 

Oh yeah, personal barrier broken.  One step closer to not being an awkward yank.

In other news, I now happily drink beer, know the words to most Oasis songs and actually said 'reyt' in a conversation.  So, really, I'm not only loosing the awkward yank, I'm turning Northern.  

And I think I like it.

I Had to Start it Somewhere

So it started there...

Or here, rather:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSXWWrIxSB4

I have been listening to this song non-stop for months now.  Almost every day, I pick up my iPod and if it isn't the first thing I go to, it is in the mix I am listening to or eventually I start craving that strange whisper-singing that usually bothers the hell out of me.  I assumed that it was a combination of the great beat, the catchy hook and the amazing memories that I associate with it, but after I listened to it for the who-the-hell-knows time on my way home today something else hit me.

I get it.

I understand what she was looking for.  My parents aren't exactly 'loaded' but I have never had to worry about anything, so I've never really had something that was completely my own.  It always seemed like I got by based on who my family was.  Even if I fail miserably, my parents are able to pick up my pieces.

We in the upper-middle class wrongly, sickly even, romanticize the working class.  There is nothing great about wondering where your next meal is coming from, but at the same time, how fucking great to know that you are surviving on your own merit.  The strength of will that takes amazes me.  

I think of so many of the people I knew back home and everything they do is based on networking.  When I am at Waverly's, the posh golf course back home, all I see is falseness.  You have a hard time finding who your friends are because everything is based on social-politics (and when it isn't, you are paranoid as hell and often end up pushing them away with your neurosis).  You are always watched because heaven forbid you do something that would embarrass your family name.  You have a box that you are supposed to stay in and you better have a smile on your face while they fold it in on you.

When I moved here, I moved away from all of that.  I wanted what I saw the 'common people' with - a feeling of abandon, of liveness that only can come when you have nothing to loose.

I know I am just a tourist.  I always will be.  While I moved here to get away from the J-Crew crowd, I came here on a visa provided by a prestigious theatre school.  Talk about pretension.  

If things went completely wrong and the roaches were climbing the walls, I really could call my dad to stop it all.  Well, maybe not all of it, but he would certainly pay for the exterminator.  

I don't think they had it right.  I don't think poor is cool.  I think it must be hard, but rewarding and real.

How amazing to know that your daily actions actually count.  I just spent eleven hours working on a presentation about clowns.  I mean, I love what I do, but really?  What good am I doing?  Who the fuck cares?

Who am I kidding?  I care.  And worse is that I actually believe I can change things through theatre, for now starting with these clowns.

I am hopeless.